“No, she’s not,” he replies. “She’s going to get you into trouble.”
7
EVE
“And one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Brush through the floor and into fifth. Lovely, Eve,” says Mother Jacqui in her soothing voice, which she modulates to enhance the direction she’s giving. Not only is she one of the youngest of the Mothers, but she’s also the most agile—even though she’s almost seventy she can still touch her toes and bring her foot up behind her ear. Until recently she could also outrun me. I’m not sure whether I’ve become faster or she’s become slower, but either way, those qualities have made her responsible for Holly’s and my physical education. This covers everything from swimming to ballet, netball to gymnastics, karate to running, all to keep me fit and active. To make sure my body is in full working order and prepared for what’s to come.
I’ve never complained. There’s no denying the release that comes with exerting myself. The buzz makes me feel alive as the blood rushes through me, into my fingers and toes, especially when I’m boxing: they hang up a bag and let me hook, jab, kick, and punch to the rhythm of the music. I always feel exhausted when I leave, and more alive than ever.
In contrast to the aggression I love in boxing, they give me dancing—which always leaves me exhilarated, sometimes even enchanted. Especially ballet, which is such an emotive form of storytelling. When I was younger I used to sit and watch Mother Jacqui twirl and spin around the room in awe.
I’m allowed to watch old footage of staged productions every now and then. They were grand affairs in huge theaters, where everyone got dressed up as though it was quite the event. I understand why. The emotion, the detail, the magic—a body can express so much in the way it moves. It takes me somewhere else. It’s captivating.
I’m not at that level, but in many ways I feel like I am when I’m in class. In those moments, when I close my eyes, I’m transported. Not to a stage where I’m watched by an audience of thousands—I’m watched enough already—but to an empty auditorium where I perform only for me. Where I dance to the beat of my own drum. Occasionally I open my eyes and am surprised to be in the dance studio.
This is exactly what I’ve needed to calm my mind after the incident with Connor. In this room none of that matters.
I sense Holly behind me, breathing deeply after an intense class of pointe work. I always feel sorry for her in these classes. She’s not a natural.
“Now bring your right arm up and over, and lean slowly into the barre.” Mother Jacqui’s voice is low and breathy as she demonstrates what she’s asking of us. “Feel that puuuuuull…Keep your arm long, Holly.”
Holly grunts in response.
“Plié and stretch,” Mother Jacqui sings. “And lower into a révérence.”
I do as she instructs, my body thankful as it bows into the curtsy and welcomes the end of the session.
“Well done.” She smiles, giving a little clap, clearly happy with our progress. She walks to the corner of the room and pulls her uniform gray pants over her ballet tights, then slips her feet into her black shoes and her pale pink blouse over her head—plain except for the embroidered white logo to the left of her chest. This is the everyday uniform of the Mothers. It’s practical and nondescript. That’s another reason why I love to see Holly walking into a room; with her ever-changing wardrobe choices, she gives me something new to look at.
“That was a tough one,” I puff once Mother Jacqui has left the room. I grab the barre with both hands, then lean over to lengthen my spine.
“You’re improving,” Holly says.
I look up to see her wearing a patronizing grin.
“They’ve been working me hard,” I say matter-of-factly, straightening up. Holly’s wearing an identical outfit to my own—pink tights and a black crossover leotard. “They’ve even made me have another go at Mandarin.”
“Again? If you haven’t mastered it by now you never will.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“No, I…,” she falters. She never fluffs, which makes me think she pities me for what happened at the first encounter.
I clench my jaw. Then I open my mouth and out comes some broken Mandarin.
“What?” she asks, her brow dipping in confusion.
“Exactly.” I laugh, amused that I managed to quote Sylvia Plath in Mandarin.
“Potential Number Two looks decent,” she says, jumping on my good mood.
“He does,” I say dismissively. Soon I have to meet Diego.
I was distraught after Connor. Holly came to see me afterward, but not this Holly. I can’t be as open and raw with this one.
There are three Hollys. This is a fact that has never been confirmed or spoken about, but I know it’s true. They look and sound the same, but aside from the minute differences in their eyes, there are also tiny traits that give them away and help me to tell them apart. This one talks at me, not to me. As though she knows best. Arguably she does know more than I do on subjects they like to keep from me, but still…It’s irritating to see her enjoying that. She wears a permanent smirk. In my head I refer to her as Know-it-all Holly. She’s the one I’m usually a little more cautious with.
Next there’s I-concur Holly, who just agrees with everything I say, no matter how ludicrous. She usually joins me in my academic classes, but I hardly ever see her in my downtime.
And finally there’s Holly. Just Holly. The one who’s always been here. The one I trust above anyone I’ve ever met, even though I’ve never actually met her.
There were others too, before Know-it-all and I-concur, Hollys I formed heartfelt bonds with. I was sad to see them replaced, hurt that they’d been taken in that way. I think about them every so often and wonder what became of them.
As for these three, there’s no denying I have my favorite, but I’m always pleased whenever Holly turns up. No matter which version she is, I’m always glad of her company. Even this one. Most of the time.
“What happened with Connor was unfortunate,” she says, choosing her words carefully while rearranging the strap of her leotard.
“Hmmm…”
It’s a conversation I’d rather not have with her. I don’t want to rehash it.
“I like his curly hair,” I say quickly, turning her focus back on Diego, preferring the conversation to be steered forward rather than backward.
“I know, dark and gorgeous. It looks so soft.”
Her comment is as pathetic as my own, but I ignore the voice in my head telling me so.
“He’s good with numbers, apparently. And knows a lot about history,” I tell her. Even though I hadn’t been too keen to find out more about the next Potential, too embarrassed to go through it again so soon, he’d caught my attention when I heard of his interests.
“Really?”
“So I’ve been told. I wonder whether he studies the same history as us.”
“Of course he does. What else would he study?” She laughs as though I’m daft.
“We study ancient history,” I remind her, my tone flat.
“And?” she asks, as though anything that occurred after the Greeks and Egyptians is worthless.
“I wonder how it’ll work,” I mumble, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at her.
“Well, you’ve been talked through the new procedure.” She almost tuts, as though she’s irritated at having to explain it when Vivian already has. “You’ll be wearing a veil this time and stay behind Mother Nina. I’ll be up front leading the convers—”
“I meant me hearing of things I shouldn’t know about the outside world,” I interrupt.
“You know everything.”
“You think?” I challenge, almost laughing at her statement.
“Did you see he’s from Peru?” she asks, her eyebrows rising.
“And whe
re are you from?”
She shakes her head disparagingly. “Don’t make things so difficult, Eve.”
“It was an innocent question,” I shoot back, even though I know I’m pushing boundaries. “You’ve never told me,” I mutter, sitting on the floor to take off my pumps, my toes reveling in their freedom.
Holly doesn’t pander to me. Instead we stretch in silence until she deems that enough time has passed for her to probe again.
“Is there anything in particular you want me to ask him tomorrow?” she replies, taking us back to the topic they want her to focus on as she mirrors my action on the floor.
It’s been decided Holly will sit in my place while I blend in with the Mothers and observe. It’s an arrangement I’m more than happy with.
To blend.
To be a part of the Motherhood.
To be rid of the burden of being engaging and desirable.
“I’d like to know his first thought when he wakes up in the morning,” I say. This was the one question I wanted to ask Connor before our meeting was cut short.
“Really?”
“Yes. That initial thought, when your eyes open and you take in a new day, cannot be controlled,” I say, pulling my ankles into my bottom and enjoying the tug on my inner thigh muscles. “It’s pure. I wonder if he wakes up feeling lucky to be alive or grateful for the earth’s beauty…”
Holly looks perplexed.
“That’s okay to ask, right?”
I rarely ask her advice, not this one, but on this occasion the bewilderment on her face leads me to do so.
“You can ask whatever you like,” she says softly. “What’s your first thought? In case he asks in return.”
“Each morning I open my eyes to the most beautiful sunrise. I see the wonder that is nature and experience a thrill at the thought of being the one who can keep us here.”
Holly nods, seemingly in a daze, her gaze fixed on her ankles.
“That thrill quickly turns into an overwhelming weight of responsibility, and I long to go back to sleep,” I admit, revealing a touch more bitterness than I mean to.
“I’ll leave that bit out,” she says flatly.
“If you like.” I get to my feet. “I’d better go. I have to shower before we have the next round of Mandarin.”
“I’ll see you there,” she calls as I leave the room.
Holly will.
She won’t.
8
EVE
A bony hand squeezes my shoulder, waking me. As I open my eyes I’m confused to find Mother Nina hovering above me. Her mouth stretches wide while her cheeks wrinkle into a smile. In my sleepy state she’s like an angel, her snow-white hair illuminating the top of her head like a halo in the darkness.
Darkness.
The observation startles me as I look past her to the sky outside. It’s pitch black, not the dawn I’m used to being greeted with. It’s nighttime. Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow. Tomorrow. Today…It’s almost time to meet the second Potential.
But not just yet.
“Come,” Mother Nina whispers, waving an armful of clothes at me.
I frown, taking in the scene, my brain slow. “But the meeting?” I find myself mumbling.
“We’ll be back in time.”
“We’re going out?” I ask in surprise, waking up properly.
Mother Nina smiles, confirming my conclusion.
I throw back the covers, energized at this unexpected turn of events. It takes me seconds to get dressed in the black top and joggers she has selected for me. I don’t wait for her to fuss as she usually does. I reject our usual formalities.
I want to go.
As soon as I finish tying the shoelaces on my trainers I turn to Mother Nina with a nod, letting her know I’m ready.
She leads me to the steps out of my bedroom, down the stairs, through the dimly lit gardens, and to the elevator. I’ve rarely been out here at this hour. The place seems eerily quiet without the other Mothers milling around and getting on with their daily tasks. The silence is almost deafening.
I take a deep breath as the doors close on us and the elevator drops. The descent feels never-ending, as though we’re going down for ages. But, of course, we are. We’re going down, down, down to the ground. Down to the outside world. Something in my chest expands at the thought, my lips stretching into a smile that I try to suppress.
The doors open onto the cold gray collection bay—not quite outside in the elements, but it’s one step closer. The chill of the morning air is tickling my cheeks.
Ketch is standing at attention next to a black car. Its solid back door has been left open for us to climb inside. We do so willingly, longingly, expectantly.
It’s always like this. I’m happy and content in the Dome—of course I am—but when I think of being outside I long to explore a world I rarely see. A hunger bubbles up and I want to ingest as much as I can before they take me back to the home they chose for me.
Once Mother Nina and I are in our black leather seats, Ketch shuts the door with a bang, putting us into darkness, thanks to the windowless bubble we’re caged in. The inside of the car becomes a heavily padded cell. Within seconds subtle lights fade up, allowing us to see a little more—although there’s not much to look at.
Sitting in our comfortable spots at the back, we hear Ketch getting into the driver’s seat and closing the door with a dull thud. That tells me it’s just the three of us: our trip isn’t a big state affair. It’s more personal—special and intimate. My heart sings at the realization of where we’re going.
The car moves forward and I hug myself because I know we’re on our way to the happiest of places. I envisage us moving away from the Dome, through the city and the towns on its outskirts, enjoying the way my body sways as Ketch turns corners or hits the brakes. The rhythm is calming yet thrilling. I lean my head back and close my eyes.
As usual we seem to drive for hours, which makes me wonder what time it is if we need to get back for the next encounter. I don’t ask Mother Nina. I don’t want her cutting our trip short or, worse, changing her mind and having us turn back before we reach our destination. It’s been so long since they last brought me here.
The roads beneath us become more uneven—I can feel it in the way the car moves. What’s more, I recognize the dips and turns. We’re getting closer. Eventually we slow down. We stop. My heart flutters.
The mechanics keeping me in the back of the car moan as Ketch opens the door and sets me free. It’s not as dark as it was when Mother Nina woke me. The sky is lightening. It must be nearing dawn now.
I climb out, feeling the crunch beneath my feet as my shoes hit the gravel. The sound causes my lips to twitch into a smile. While I step away from the vehicle I breathe in the familiar smells of jasmine, rose, bluebell, and lily of the valley wafting around me. I hear birds chirping and water trickling, which fills me with joy.
I’ve been coming here for years. Vivian brought me here first. When we got into the car she revealed they’d found me a garden outside, a place in the real world that was for me alone. When she first told me, I didn’t care what it looked like. It could’ve been a patch of dirt, for all I cared. I was simply overwhelmed that a patch of something out here was going to be mine. I was blown away when I arrived to find a meadow in full bloom, with a stream trickling through the middle.
I asked why they’d allowed me to come here, but all the while I couldn’t stop smiling as I took it all in. I could tell Vivian was pleased by my reaction. I was so grateful that I hugged her. She let me, and whispered into my hair that it was all for me. All mine.
We ran through the shrubs and played for hours. I can picture Vivian here, smiling, as we played hide-and-seek. I hear our laughter, rising to the leaves high above. I felt closer to her than ever before.
She’s
not been back here with me since, even though I know she felt as I did. Her joy wasn’t faked or forced. It was genuine. She was kind, friendly, and affectionate. But after that day she distanced herself from me. A veil dropped between us and she became an authority figure, judging my every move. Our day here together has become a memory I find myself questioning. It was so different from how we are now.
Holly has never come either, but that makes sense, of course. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t function in the open air of the real world. The Drop is her limit.
I open my eyes and keep walking. I lose myself in the leafy green, the comfort of the scent, and the sound of running water. When I get to the stream I drop to the ground. The air seems richer here, damp and dewy in the morning light that’s slowly creeping upon us. I sit and listen, watching the birds fly overhead. The trees dance in the breeze, and the water ripples.
In the Dome I have the Drop to escape to. I love it up there, perched above the clouds with Holly at my side. Here, amid nature, I feel less isolated but stronger than ever. I’m empowered to do all I can to ensure that humanity survives, surrounded by such beauty. This is nature’s doing. Here, no one prunes the overgrown bushes, like we do in the Dome. Instead everything’s allowed to grow as it likes. It flourishes of its own accord. Sometimes I feel I’d like to be a single bloom here. A rose allowed to follow her own course…
Mother Nina has followed me from the car and perched behind me. Her eyes are closed as she too loses herself in the tranquility of a peaceful morning setting. What must it be like for her to be so far from the world she grew up in? At least I don’t know anything different.
Her forehead creases in thought, half a dozen lines becoming deeper than usual. Perhaps a memory from that time long ago.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
She nods, her eyes remaining shut. We stay like that for a few moments until she says, “I’ve got a gift for you.” She pulls a little package, wrapped in brown paper, from her bag.
“A book?” I predict with excitement. I’ve always imagined that books out here are like the clothes they give me in the Dome, a gargantuan quantity just waiting for me. They don’t give me a limitless stream of books. I know they hold some back from me, because most of the ones I’ve read were written hundreds of years ago—I’ve made a note of their publication dates. I’ve not read anything written within the last seventy years or so, maybe more.
Eve of Man Page 6