I asked about it once. I wanted to know why there was such a gap in literature. Naturally I was curious—there is so much I don’t know. Vivian told me that many decades before, technology had taken over, so there had been no need to produce actual books. But that was all. I’ve learned to be thankful for what I receive and keep certain thoughts in my head. Greed is an ugly sin and I know I should want no part of it…yet I experience a surge of joy when I receive something new.
“It’s not a book, exactly,” she says.
“Oh?”
“Well, it is, it’s just…Open it.”
I laugh at her uncharacteristic loss for words and rip apart the paper eagerly.
“What’s this?” I ask, inspecting the object in my hands. It’s more like a notebook, like the ones I use in the schoolroom, although with its black leather finish it’s far more luxurious.
My hand grips its spine while I thumb the pages, glimpsing what’s inside. My heart stops at the handwriting.
“It’s your mother’s,” Mother Nina says quietly.
I turn to the first page and a lump forms in my throat.
Letters to my baby, by Corinne Warren.
You don’t know me yet, but I am your mother. You might not call me Mother, you might choose Mama, Mommy, or Mom—but whichever it is will more than suffice. I can’t wait to hear you call to me. I can’t wait to see you grow. But more than anything, I can’t wait to hold you in my arms and to know you’re safe.
My life will be complete when you’re in the world with your father and me, but until then this is a little gathering of letters from me to you, from mother to babe.
“Why haven’t I seen this before?” I ask.
Mother Nina’s face is pensive but stern. “It’s best to focus on the fact that you have it now, Eve. Please learn that not all battles should be fought, especially those that start with good intentions.”
I look back to the book in my hands and run my fingers over my mother’s words. Words she wrote for me to read. I could sit and read all of it in one go, thinking about how her hand must have glided across the page as she dreamed of our future together. I could soak up every little detail of who she was, what she wanted for me, and ponder whether anything has been realized, but I don’t want to rush through the only tangible thing that’s passed between us. The opening paragraph is enough for now. I place the book against my chest and hold it there. I feel more complete, almost whole.
I take Mother Nina’s hand in mine, stroking her thin and wrinkled skin with the other. She may not be my real mother, but she is here and has bridged the gap.
This isn’t how I’d expected the day to start, but I’m glad it has.
Time passes while I enjoy the setting, the warmth of Mother Nina’s hand in mine, and the feeling of promise that swells inside me at the thought of what awaits me.
For once, everything feels real.
9
EVE
I fall asleep in the car on the way back, which isn’t surprising in view of the early start, the overload to my senses of being outside, and the emotion that’s flooded me.
The first thing I do when I’m back in my room, sitting on my bed, is open the book of letters, reread the first paragraph, kiss the page, and bury it under my pillow. I’m desperate to carry on, but it’s getting late. The Mothers will come in soon to get me ready and I don’t want them seeing it or talking about it. Not yet. For a second I find myself wondering whether Vivian knows I’ve got it, but, of course, she knows everything. Does that matter? That’s a question for another day. I have been handed an unexpected gift from my mother. In lots of ways wise old Mother Nina was right about choosing where to channel my energy. My chest swells at the thought of coming back to my mother’s handwriting a little later, but now I must focus on the day ahead and the encounter with Potential Number Two.
* * *
—
The Mothers enter en masse and start to get me ready. It’s noticeably calmer than last time. There’s less of a buzz as they go about their tasks. Or perhaps I’m setting the tone: I’m more relaxed than before. Being at the stream has conquered my nerves, and the gift of my mother’s words has propelled me into the day ahead. I’m eager for the meeting, of course, but I’m looking forward to afterward and spending time alone with my mother’s notebook.
Perhaps the Mothers are mirroring what I’m projecting. We fall into silence as I’m handed a pretty dress, similar to the one I wore for my last meeting. Only this time it’s hidden beneath the uniform of the Mothers. Similarly, my hair is styled and then hidden. My makeup is perfected.
As Mother Nina pins my headscarf into place she lets out a sigh of dismay. My longest-serving friend has been pensive since we got back. Her wrinkled face is a little tighter than usual, making her look almost stern. Something is on her mind—that’s not an expression I’m used to seeing on her.
“It’s such a shame to be covering you,” she mumbles, the hooded skin over her eyes creasing further.
“It’s only for the first meeting,” I say reassuringly, our roles reversing as I try to put her mind at ease. We’ve had a great morning and I’m buoyed on the strength of it.
“It’s just so unnatural this way,” she continues in no more than a whisper, her face screwing up in agitation.
“Can we really call any of this natural?” I ask, my voice low and measured.
“Maybe not,” she agrees, gently brushing my cheek. The affectionate gesture makes me smile.
Her disappointment in the change of procedure is understandable. After last time, I know how much these meetings mean to the Mothers: I saw their disappointment etched on their faces and heard it in Mother Nina’s sobs. Not only are these encounters a promise of the future, they’re a reminder of the past.
The thought of the outside world creates fire at my core. Soon Mother Nina’s old world could be a part of my future if the final encounters go well. Reading my mother’s letters has brought an excitement, belief, and renewed sense of hope for what’s to come.
“Where did you meet your husband?” I ask.
Mother Nina takes a deep breath as she debates whether to answer or not.
“Go on,” I whisper.
“At a bar in the city,” she blurts before she can stop herself. She blushes as she turns to the dressing table and busies herself with packing away her beautifying tool kit. “It was before they stopped allowing us into such places.”
“Why did they stop you?”
“They thought it wasn’t a good idea. They were right,” she concedes, snapping shut an eye shadow to emphasize her point.
“What was it like? When you first met?” I sit on my bed, unsure that I’ll get a response. I want to hear more now that she’s started to open up. She’s talked of her husband before, of course. Just little bits here and there—enough for me to know how smitten they were and how heartbroken she was to lose him. That’s the thing about the Mothers: the majority are here because they have a tragic tale to share, although they rarely tell it. Not to me, anyway. I know she loved and lost, and that her loss brought her to me. To have Mother Nina, who knows so much about me, telling me more about herself has me rapt.
“It was electric,” she says plainly, flinching as she lets the memories in. “I knew there was no way I was leaving that night without the promise of seeing him again. He asked me to marry him two weeks later.”
“Two weeks?” I gasp.
She giggles. “It was a different time. It felt good to be spontaneous. Even though…” She trails off, her face caving just a little. “I still wouldn’t change it. We were born to be together. Even if it ended far sooner than it should have. His heart was mine, and mine his. My life became full because of him.”
“It sounds so romantic.”
“It was,” she whispers, zipping up the last bag and looking me over
once more. Her face is serene despite the sadness. “He made my life full, but you’ve made it complete. The future will be filled with connections like that because you’re here and doing what you’re doing. Thank you,” she adds. “Look for that special something, Eve. Seek out love…Or, rather, allow love to seek out you.”
I smile at her. What is love? I’ve read about it in books and expressed it in dance classes while stretching my limbs, but what does it feel like?
“Our girl,” Mother Nina says, reaching over and stroking my cheek so that I’m looking directly at her. “You’re everything we could’ve wished for, far more than we prayed for. Now, let’s go.”
She turns away. I follow her out of the room and stand in my new position within the formation, behind Mother Nina, in front of the other silent Mothers. This time there’s no muttering of excitement. Rather, it’s as if there’s a job to do, and everyone wants to execute it to perfection.
I hear a rustle of clothing as faces are obscured.
I follow suit, my fingers clumsy with the fabric.
We go.
Ketch and his team are waiting for us when we walk out of the elevator, causing a wave of heat to crawl up my neck to my face as I have a flashback to my meeting with the first Potential. The sight of them makes me feel ashamed and embarrassed. Even though I know they can’t be, I feel like they’re all staring at me, maybe even sniggering.
As we walk past their formation an urge comes over me and I steal a glance at the closest guard. It’s something I’ve never done before, but today I can’t help it. Curiosity and paranoia force my eyes toward the stranger whose job is to protect me. He’s young, maybe a couple of years older than me. He’s incredibly tall, with dark hair and a muscular physique, his cheeks chiseled, his eyes focusing straight ahead. It’s like he’s unaware I’m just a few feet away from him.
He blinks and swallows, his Adam’s apple jolting upward. Then, as though he can sense someone looking at him, his eyes flick nervously in my direction and lock with mine.
I gasp, my whole body tensing in alarm.
That wasn’t meant to happen.
That isn’t allowed to happen.
“Everything okay?” Mother Nina whispers.
“I must have a stray pin in my dress or something,” I lie as I rub my thigh, taking a deep breath to steady my pounding heart.
I’ve certainly been testing the rules lately, but taking a toy onto the Drop and challenging Holly are nothing in comparison to disregarding orders put in place to keep us all safe.
“Want me to look?” Mother Nina offers, slowing her pace. There’s a scuffle behind us as the rest of the Mothers realize that something’s occurred. I hear Mother Kimberley apologize and Mother Tabia tut.
“No. I’m fine,” I mutter, her kindness adding to my guilt.
We press on. This time I keep my eyes on the floor in front of us because I’m scared of them landing on anyone else.
As before, Vivian steps out of her spy hole and strides over as soon as we’re outside the chosen meeting room, the heels of her boots making hardly any sound on the marble floor.
“Are you clear on everything?” she barks.
“Yes. Let Holly do the talking.”
“Correct.” She sniffs. “She’ll enter once you’re seated. Diego doesn’t know you’re here. He thinks it’s another training exercise before the meeting later. To reiterate from our earlier discussion, do not let yourself be known until I say so.”
She’s always telling me what to do, and I hate that. This is my encounter, my Potential. None of this would be happening if I didn’t exist. Vivian used to understand that, but now she’s nothing like the woman who chased me through the meadow. Instead it’s sometimes as though she looks at me with disgust, and I’m not sure how to process that shift.
“I’ll be watching,” she says, gesturing for Ketch to open the door and let the meeting commence. “Go.”
* * *
—
Diego is shorter than I imagined. This is the first thing I notice as I walk into the room. He’s not far off my height. His skin is rough and dark, his eyes small and beady. He wears a plain white shirt over brown pants with matching brown leather shoes. His mustard blazer gives him an earthy appearance, as though he’s at one with nature. I like that. He’s also wearing a straw hat, trimmed with a wide length of red fabric and a piece of white ribbon to keep it in place. It jars with the rest of his outfit. I’ve seen something similar in history books, so I imagine it has something to do with his Peruvian heritage. It’s touching that he’s honoring his ancestors.
He doesn’t look nervous like Connor did. He looks controlled and centered. He barely moves as we all enter.
Shuffling in as one of the Mothers is entirely different from walking in as myself. It’s the first time I’ve been part of the group rather than with it, which makes me sad: this is an isolated occasion, and soon I’ll just be Eve again. Diego doesn’t even register our existence. I’m not used to that: Eve gets pandered to wherever she goes. To be ignored is an alien sensation. It’s a little thrilling to go unnoticed. To blend.
We find our seats quickly and without fuss.
“I hope you’ve not been waiting long,” Holly calls as she enters the room wearing a floor-length pink gown and cream wedge heels.
My heart soars when I see the subtle, delicate glint behind her eyes—my Holly. I wasn’t sure which one it would be, but now that I’ve seen her I know this’ll go smoothly, that we’re all in safe hands.
Diego shrugs despondently.
“Did you have a nice dinner last night?” Holly asks, not discouraged, as she sits on the chair opposite him with her back to us.
“Richer than I’m used to, but it was food,” Diego replies, his voice lacking any warmth or kindness. Perhaps he’s annoyed at having to speak to Holly again rather than meeting me. Or, like myself, he may not be in the mood for small talk, with the weight of humanity’s future on his shoulders. Either way, it’s surprising he hasn’t succumbed to Holly’s upbeat personality. She always puts a smile on my face.
“Let’s use this as a rehearsal for later, shall we?” She’s clearly trying to warm him up so that this meeting isn’t another waste of time. It’s funny being in the room like this, knowing that Holly is working for Vivian. I wonder if they’re communicating in some way and whether they use the same tactics when they’re with me. The thought sobers me a little. I look to Diego and will him to perk up, to give us something.
“Let’s pretend that I’m Eve,” continues Holly. “Feel free to talk to me as you’d talk to her. You can use this time to practice.”
Diego’s eyes go from Holly and drift to the floor in front of the Mothers and me. His gaze trails along our line of shoes and continues to the steel-toed boots of the other males in the room. The action makes my breath catch in my throat.
“It is a pleasure to meet with you,” he says slowly, his words clear through his thick accent.
He lifts his eyes so that they’re back on Holly, his face relaxing.
“That’s better,” Holly says, and I hear the smile in her voice, a look Diego mirrors as one side of his mouth inches up a fraction.
“Forgive me, this is new for me,” he says, shaking his head.
“This is new for everyone.” Holly laughs kindly. “None of us really know what we’re doing, so let’s just keep this casual and friendly. Yes?”
Diego nods and shifts in his seat, getting himself into a comfier position.
She’s won him over, as I knew she would.
“Tell me about your life in Peru.”
“I study math and history. I like learning.”
“That’s good. Eve is always picking up new skills and knowledge. It’s good you have that in common,” she sings.
It’s odd hearing her talk about me as though I�
��m not in the room. I can’t help but wonder what else she’s going to tell him about me.
“I have a family,” he goes on.
“Yes.”
“Four brothers,” he continues. “Our family owned a farm. The crops died. Our animals died.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“My father died,” he says without emotion—perhaps because he doesn’t want to break down in a roomful of strangers. Even though I didn’t know my own parents, I still feel full of sorrow that they’re not here with me. “I study and learn to help my family,” he continues earnestly. “I want a good job.”
“That’s great. It’s always important to be ambitious.”
“That I am,” he concurs.
“How did you find the process of becoming a Potential?” Holly asks, tilting her head to one side while her elbows slide across the desk, moving her closer to Diego. It’s a look she gives me when she wants me to confide in her—so open, friendly, and sympathetic. “I imagine it hasn’t been easy so far. Perhaps your ambition has helped.”
I know very little about how the three Potentials were selected. Genetic compatibility, of course, psychological profiling, physical studies, beliefs perhaps—I imagine they were subjected to every possible testing method the EPO could think of to whittle the population down to the chosen few. However, studying Diego, a simple man who doesn’t seem extraordinary in any way, it’s hard to imagine what they saw in him. Or what attributes they felt would be beneficial to any future offspring.
“I studied hard,” Diego agrees, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his palms. “This is an honor. To be here. To be chosen. I’ve taken it very seriously. I’ve prayed. Asked for guidance. Become all I can be,” he says passionately, now spreading his hands across his chest. “Earth needs us to be strong. To give ourselves over for the cause.”
Eve of Man Page 7