Perfect Flaw

by Robin Blankenship

  I slip into my bedroom and gather some things I might need: extra clothes, some matches, a picture of my mother. I shove them all deep into my backpack and walk straight to the front door. Their eyes bore into me, but I don’t turn my head. My mother is sniffing, but my father is silent, like a rock.

  I pull open the door and close it behind me. The cool air bites at my skin. The sun is just starting to set.

  As I walk away from my house and my parents, my feelings are not hurt. I understand their decision. I respect their choice. They will need someone to take care of them in their old age, someone who can provide more than just love. And that position is not mine. It can’t be. It belongs to anothergirl or boy, one who is yet to be born.

  * * *

  The streets are dark. The moon is high and full and yellow. My jacket is little help against the whipping chill of the wind.

  There is no one around. I’m all alone in my walking, a single small person under an endless sky. Lights are on in the houses. They are warm and loving. The one on the left belongs to my old friend Bennet. We were in the judging house together earlier today, but he left after the second set of judges, assigned to be the city accountant. Inside, his parents have undoubtedly baked him a big cake. They will sing and dance and present him with his new uniform, the one reserved for those in job training. I guess I will have my child’s uniform forever with its soft gray pants and gray jacket. As far as I know, there is no uniform for the useless.

  There’s a big house at the end of the road and I turn right. There are no houses now, just businesses lining both sides of the street. They’re closed now, shut up tight. There is a buzzing sound coming from between the eye doctor and grain store. I slip into the dark space, a small alley with a dumpster on one side and a gray box on the other. The box is what’s making the humming. It’s a heating unit, probably left on by mistake.

  I sit down beside it and warmth washes over me. I smile with relief. With my eyes closed, I can pretend that I am back home, sitting on the couch, watching a science program on the TV. My parents sit next to each other holding hands. When I look back at them, they smile at me.

  “Hey.”

  My eyes snap open. There is a man in front of me wearing a black suit and tie. He is bent down, reaching a hand towards my arm. I jump up and back away, shaking my head. This is the undertaker, the man with the furnace. Did they send him to come look for me? Do they throw older people in the furnace just like the babies, burn them to ash?

  “It’s okay,” he hisses. “I won’t hurt you.”

  I stumble backwards, twisting my bad foot. I fall hard and smack the ground. He reaches down and grabs me by the arm, pulling me up. I have my footing again, but he’s still holding on tight, fingers like talons.

  “Come with me. Everything will be fine.”

  He pulls me down the back of the alley. I am not sure if I should fight to get away or just go willingly. I don’t want to be burnt up in a furnace, but I don’t want to be a burden either. I don’t want to bring down my great nation, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life on the streets.

  We come out on another commercial road and he pulls me along it. The big gray building at the end is the undertaker’s. No one ever goes inside it except for him. He brings the bodies to the ceremonies on his mechanical cart. He doesn’t get help from anyone.

  He drags me to the side door and sweeps his head left and right, as if looking for spies, then he pulls the door open and pushes me inside.

  It’s dark and I stumble forward. The door closes and the lights flick on. He checks the drapes on the windows, pulling them back and forth, straightening them, blocking out all the light. Then he turns to me, his face serious, and he jerks his head towards a closed door.

  I am sure that this is where the furnace is kept. He’ll open the door, push me in, and turn it on. In a moment it’ll all be over. Maybe that won’t be so bad. My parents can have a new child, a perfect one, and they will never see me huddling in the street to keep warm. They will never feel sad or ashamed.

  He twists a key in the lock and shoves the door open. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath.

  “Watch the stairs,” he whispers, grabbing my shoulders like he wants to help me, protect me. It reminds me of my father before the accident and a shiver runs down my back. I guess if you’re going to put someone in a furnace, you will at least be nice to them first.

  He reaches back and closes the door, locks it, then keeps moving forward. There’s a turn in the stairs and I see light, lanterns hung around the walls. There are people sitting at a table and chairs. A man with a hunchback, a woman with a thick body and twisted face, and an old man with white eyes. There are beds along the walls and a little girl sits on one, blanket wrapped around her body, face turned away.

  “Guys,” the undertaker whispers, “There’s another one.”

  They turn to see me, and I look down at the floor in respect. Perhaps these are the people who run the furnace, but why would there be a little girl?

  “Head up,” the undertaker says, tapping my chin with two fingers. “We are all equals here.”

  I do as he says and the people in the room are smiling. The girl has turned now and I see her crossed eyes. She is my neighbors baby, I’m sure of it, the one that was taken to the furnace. She tilts her ear towards me, and there is a strange plastic thing around and inside of it. It must help her hear because she seems to understand what’s been said.

  “What about the furnace?” I whisper.

  He chuckles and grabs my shoulder, squeezing me into him. “That old thing hasn’t worked in years. Not that I ever used it in the first place.” He puts a hand on my back and pushes me forward towards a bed against the back wall. “This is where you’ll sleep from now on.”

  I climb up onto it and wrap the blanket around my shoulders. This place is chilly, smells wet, and there are no windows, but I am grateful to the undertaker, grateful that there is no furnace.

  “I can’t promise you much,” the undertaker says, “but I will feed you and keep you safe for as long as I can.” He heads back towards the stairs. “But for now I have to go. Don’t want to look suspicious. See you in the morning.”

  He disappears up the stairs and all eyes turn to me. The man with the hunchback grins wide and nods. “I’m Tip,” he says. “I’m thirty-three but my brain is seven.”

  I don’t know exactly what he means, but I smile and nod. “I’m Ishka. I’m twelve.”

  “I’m Igson,” the old man barks, much louder than necessary. “I’m blind as a goddamn bat.”

  I open my mouth, not sure if I should apologize or laugh, but I’m cut off by a high-pitched cackling. The woman with the deformed face smacks her fists against the table.

  “Bat,” she says and laughs. “Bat. Bat. Bat.”

  “Hush, you,” Igson says, eyebrows pushed together. He turns his white eyes towards me. “She’s a goddamn loon. They’re all goddamn loons.”

  The girl on the bed, the one I carried around as a baby, looks over at me with wide, crossed eyes.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  Her mouth is a straight line. “Bay,” she says. “And I’m not a loon.”

  * * *

  There are footsteps on the stairs and I open my eyes. It’s the undertaker. He grabs the nearest lantern and turns up the flame, then moves on to the next one.

  “Good morning,” he says, but there is no indication it’s morning. It is just as dark as it was when I climbed into bed.

  “Morning. Morning. Morning,” the deformed woman says. She sits up and claps her hands.

  Igson grunts, throwing back his covers. “It’s too goddamn early.”

  Me and Bay just sit quietly, shivering under our blankets.

  “My trainee is coming this morning,” he says. “I don’t want to keep the kid waiting nor do I want
him poking his nose down here before I know if I can trust him.”

  I wonder which of my classmates is his trainee. While not luxurious, undertaking is a respectable career. His parents are surely very proud. I am just a tiny bit jealous that it isn’t me.

  He drops a basket on the table. “Two buns each. No fighting.” He eyes Igson, then winks at me.

  ***

  Two Months Later

  It is not so bad living in this basement. It is quiet and there is not much to do, but it’s better than being burnt to ashes. At night I still imagine my parents and what they’re doing without me. Sometimes I pretend that I am sitting with them, that we are together and happy, that my accident never happened.

  There is a sound from above, steps on the staircase. The undertaker shakes as he makes his way down, basket in hand. He sits it on the table and smiles, but he looks weak, defeated. He coughs.

  “I’m not feeling well today,” he says to me and Bay. We are drawing pictures with the crayons he brought us yesterday.

  In his eyes, there is a haggard look. There are lines on his face. It never occurred to me before this moment that the undertaker is an old man.

  “There’s enough food for tomorrow as well, in case I can’t make it back.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I just smile at him and say, “I hope you feel better.”

  * * *

  My stomach growls. My guts are burning. Beside me, Bay’s body is limp. She breathes softly. There is a dryness to her skin, a tightness.

  The undertaker has not visited in a long time. Without windows there are no days or nights, but I know it has been much too long. We’ve gone to sleep and woken up four times, but without the undertaker to tell us goodnight and good morning, we don’t know if we slept at night or day.

  “I’m so goddamn hungry,” Igson grunts.

  The woman with the deformed face is crying in the corner, her wails filling up the small room.

  “My belly hurts,” Tip says, rubbing his stomach.

  If the undertaker is gone for good, then surely the trainee has taken his place. People do not stop dying just because the undertaker is sick. Or gone.

  I stand up and walk to the stairs. I can feel their eyes on my back, but I don’t turn around. I don’t want to lose my confidence. At the top of the stairs I stop and grab the doorknob. It’s locked so I jiggle it, but it won’t budge.

  “Help,” I scream. “Somebody, anybody. Please.”

  I scream and scream and scream. And there is a noise, a shuffling sound, like footsteps. My heart races. A key is inserted into the lock and the door opens.

  A boy stands on the other side, eyes wide. He looks me up and down. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. I recognize him from school, but I do not know him well.

  “I’m Ishka,” I say, shifting my eyes to the floor. I hope this sign of respect is enough to soften the hard look on his face. “The undertaker takes care of us down here. We are useless to our great nation, but we need some food and water.”

  “Useless,” he says, and the word is disgusting on his lips. “If you are useless, then why should I waste the resources of our great nation on you?”

  It’s a good question and I have no answer. I don’t know what to say.

  There is a loud cackling from downstairs. It’s the deformed woman. If I do not deserve resources, I’m certain he will think worse of her.

  “Please,” I say. “We are ashamed of our uselessness, but one of us is very small, a tiny girl. She needs some water.”

  The boy huffs. One shoe taps the ground. “I will give you nothing. The undertaker is dead. I am in charge now. You useless must leave. Now.”

  He steps aside, as if to let me pass, but I do not step forward. I shrink back down the stairs to get Bay, to get the others.

  Igson, Tip, and the deformed lady stand at the bottom of the stairs, eyes on me.

  “Go on up,” I say, pushing past them. I pick Bay up off the bed and she moves just enough to wrap her arms around my neck. She is more than half my size, but I have to manage. I follow the others up the stairs.

  The new undertaker stands at the door with his arms crossed. We pass him and head towards the front of the building. Bright afternoon light streams through the window and it is a wonderful thing to see. If we find nowhere to go, I am glad to see the sun one last time.

  I reach past the others to push open the door and step outside. Tip guides Igson by holding his hand. I wonder how long it’s been since they’ve seen the outside, since they’ve smelled fresh air.

  People are going about their business, visiting shops, walking kids home from school. It is the busiest time of day and all eyes turn and land on us. I look down in respect, and I hope the other useless are doing the same. We do not want to look any bolder than we already are.

  There is no noise, not a single word spoken, not even a loud breath. Their eyes burn my skin, piercing like needles. I shift Bay’s weight in my arms.

  “Ishka?”

  My heart stops. I look up, tears already flowing from my eyes. Mother is beautiful in her yellow housewife uniform. She drops her shopping bags in the street and runs to me, then wraps her arms around me and Bay, squeezing tight.

  “Oh, Ishka,” she says, pulling away to look me in the eyes. She runs a hand along the side of my face. There is so much guilt in her eyes and I’m sure it is because of how bony and pale I’ve grown in the dark basement.

  “I am so sorry, Ishka,” she says. “I will never forgive myself.”

  I shush her and shake my head. “Don’t feel bad, Mother. I was useless to you and to our great nation. There is nothing wrong with what you did.”

  “No, Ishka,” she says, shaking my shoulders. “It is the wrongest thing I have ever done. Someday, when you grow up, you will understand.”

  “I do not think I can grow up,” I say. “I have no place in our nation.”

  She bites her lip. She knows it is true.

  “I just want to get some water for Bay,” I say. If we must die, at least I can ease her pain.

  But my mother is cut off before she can answer. An old woman shrieks. She stumbles forward, grabs Igson by the shoulders.

  “Oh, my Love,” she says, tears running down her cheeks. “My sweet, sweet, Love.”

  “My goddamn wife,” Igson says, then smiles wide.

  She wraps her arm around his back and stumbles away. I wonder if she is allowed to do that. Perhaps they will both be punished when they’re caught.

  “What’s going on here?” A deep voice says.

  It’s the mayor. His eyes dart between me, Mother, Bay, Tip, and the deformed woman. I cast my eyes to the ground and my mother does the same as she stands straight.

  “Who are you people?” the mayor asks.

  “We are the useless,” I say. “The undertaker cared for us, but now he has died and we have come out for food and water.”

  “The useless?” He pauses and I can feel his confusion radiating over my body. “What about the furnace?”

  “It’s broken, sir.”

  “There is no place for useless people in our great nation,” he says.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, and I feel my fate imprinted on my bones, branded on my skin. He wants us killed.

  “We will arrange transportation to the next town,” he says. “They certainly have a working furnace there.”

  He turns and begins to walk away, and tension builds in my chest, like a fist around my lungs. If he leaves now, if he walks away, we will all be burnt, even little Bay. I can’t let that happen. I must try something. There is nothing for me to lose.

  “Wait,” I say, and the crowd gasps. He turns around and I do not bother to divert my eyes. There is no point now in showing respect. “I...I...”

  He stares at me, his eyes narrowed. I
swallow hard.

  “I don’t think I’m useless,” I lie, then take a deep breath.

  “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  “So what are you good for?” His voice is challenging, but I will not back down, even though I am desperately searching my mind for an answer.

  “I can take care of the useless.”

  He laughs. “The useless will be turned over to the furnace within hours. Ashes don’t need cared for.”

  I shake my head. I have never been good at crafting stories, but I must do my best to save us, to save Bay. “The furnace is big and expensive to run and transporting us to the next town will be expensive too.” I am surprised about the words coming from my mouth, but I don’t stop. “If I could have just a small place, an unneeded place, I could care for the useless. We don’t need much. Just a bit of food and water.”

  My eyes dart to the ground automatically, but I lift them up again. I am trying to save my friends’ lives. I do not need to feel so small.

  Chattering runs through the crowd. They are whispering, leaning towards each other, and I wish I could hear what they are saying, but it all blends together.

  “What would be the point for the nation?” the mayor asks. His arms drop from his hips to his sides.

  I take a deep breath. “Well,” I say, thinking carefully about how to be the most convincing, “family members could come see them, come visit. That way they wouldn’t lose them completely. They wouldn’t be as sad. Mourning costs the nation money too.”

  The mayor’s eyebrows crease together and I think he is really considering my lie. Even if he says no, I am proud that I tried.

  Everything is silent now, even the crowd. Their eyes are wide and flick between me and the mayor. I want to look back at Mother to see what she thinks, but I am afraid to move a muscle and disrupt his thoughts.

  “Okay,” he says, his face softening. “We can work something out.”