The Book of Kell

by Amy Briant

  Nancy said, “Alma has Down syndrome. Do you know what that is?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, exactly. I hadn’t been expecting a pop quiz first thing in the morning.

  “I think so,” I said haltingly. “There was a little boy at our…There was a little boy where I lived who Alma reminds me of. His body grew up, but his mind stayed a child.”

  Nancy nodded. “Alma is a good friend to have here, as you will see. And these are for you.”

  She handed me the bundle she’d brought in. It was all the clothes that I’d worn yesterday, plus the few additional garments from my backpack. And both of Mr. Giovanni’s wool socks. All were clean and dry. They smelled marvelous.

  There was one change to my meager wardrobe. The gigantic dark green parka I’d grabbed at the cabin was gone. I can’t say I missed its oversized, ill-fitting, reeking-of-campfire presence. In its place was a well-worn, but still in good condition, black leather jacket. The soft leather was cracked and faded, the satiny interior patched and aged—but it fit! A warm jacket that was actually my size. I looked up at Nancy, speechless. And wrestled with my conscience. Could I accept this? Should I? On the other hand, if they’d confiscated Old Greenie, did I have a choice? I needed a coat to survive.

  Nancy gave me a ghost of a smile as if sensing my turmoil, but merely said, “Why don’t you get dressed and join us outside? We’ll walk to breakfast and then start work.”

  Thus began a routine that filled all my waking hours for many days. The four of us would get up, eat breakfast with the rest of the sisterhood, then work for eight or ten or twelve hours. Sometimes even longer. I didn’t mind. I liked hard work, especially if it was outside. What I didn’t like was being held captive against my will, even if it was in the politest way possible. I could have left—they weren’t physically restraining me. But without my gear, I wouldn’t last long on the road. It was as simple as that. They knew it, I knew it. So I played along, and kept my eyes and ears open.

  Simone had said we could have our stuff back at the end of thirty days. Maybe she was lying, but that was okay. I had no intention of sticking around for thirty days. As soon as I figured out where my gear was and nobody was looking, I was gone. In the meantime, I listened more than I spoke and found out a lot about Tres Hermanas and its inhabitants.

  Also in the meantime: there was cake! And hot water! And an occasional softball game, where Marta, unexpectedly, unleashed a wicked fastball.

  As the days went by, I heard more than a few stories from the women of how they had come to Tres Hermanas. They had a doctor there, a French woman who gave both me and East a clean bill of health on our second day. In her exquisite accent, she told us she’d been on vacation in the wine country when the Bad Times hit. Stranded in Northern California with no money, no way to get home or even communicate with anyone in Europe after the Internet and all telephone services failed, she had made her way to Tres Hermanas with some dykes on bikes she’d met at a bar along the Russian River.

  As an aside here, I have to mention that the women at Tres Hermanas were a mixed bag, looks-wise, just like any diverse group of women, but that doctor was smokin’ hot. And that accent! Ooh la la. I heard someone say she was Pinto’s girlfriend, but I decided to ignore that, preferring to cling to the belief that Pinto was secretly holding out for me.

  Pinto herself, Nancy told me, had been a sheriff’s deputy in the area around Bodega Bay. Quite a few of the Tres Hermanans were former law enforcement or military, which explained their apparently good security. Women skilled in agriculture, construction, healthcare and education were also well represented. There seemed to be a place and a job and a purpose for everyone, no matter what her background was.

  I understood that East and I were being recruited. Yes, they were detaining us against our (well, my, at least) will, but they were doing so in an awfully hospitable fashion. They needed us—the majority of their population was forty and up. Tres Hermanas was a city of old women, getting older every day. There were no other new “recruits” as far as I could tell. The community desperately needed to add some younger members to keep things going for the future. That was clear to me.

  Was it clear to East? I wasn’t sure. She appeared to be having a good time being held captive by the Amazons, which totally pissed me off. As always, her looks ensured her popularity. I would see her laughing and joking with the other kitchen workers, yukking it up while I trudged by with a shovel or a sledgehammer over my shoulder. She and I didn’t see much of each other at first. I presumed they were keeping us separated on purpose to facilitate the brainwashing. Of course, I was glad East wasn’t suffering or in distress—but did she have to be the freaking life of the party? It was disconcerting to be so jealous—jealous of the attention lavished upon her by her adoring public…jealous of the women who got to spend time with her, look at her, hear her laugh…jealous of the possibility that maybe East would find someone else to share her sleeping bag…I tried to shut down such dark thoughts when they came upon me and concentrate on my mission: get my gear back, get the hell out and find my sister. Find Gabriel. Find Segundo—with or without Elinor Eastman.

  The work of the Utility crew took us all over the compound, which was a great way to learn about the place. The crew was just me, Nancy and Marta. “Utility” turned out to mean doing all the jobs the other crews did not. Or filling in if another team was short-handed. We dug ditches, picked grapes, fixed fences, cleared brush, chopped firewood—you name it, we did it. Except security—I would have enjoyed doing a shift or two with the Security crew, particularly if my imaginary girlfriend Pinto were involved, but that assignment never came. I wouldn’t have put the new arrival on security detail either. It was a good reminder for me that these women weren’t stupid. I needed to keep my wits about me. And that wasn’t always easy for me in Tres Hermanas.

  It was a dizzying (I was going to say “heady,” but this is serious) experience for me to be in a town of all women. Almost all of whom were queer. In my wildest dreams, I could not have pictured it. Well, maybe I could have, but I had never let myself picture it. I had grown up thinking—knowing—I was going to be alone my whole life. That love would never be an option for me. That I might never even know another queer woman, let alone have a girlfriend. A lover.

  And here they all were.

  Yet they were my enemies. Anyone who stood between me and finding Gabriel was my enemy.

  It was all very confusing.

  And it’s not like living in Lesbo Town was perfect. I was disconcerted to find that, having finally met a bunch of lesbians, I didn’t like a lot of them. On some level, it felt wrong, disloyal even, to think a queer woman was a jerk. Like I should treasure each and every one of them simply because they were so rare, mathematically speaking. But rare or not, a jerk is a jerk.

  Some of them were loud. Some were rude. Far too many of them were coarse. Nancy tried to explain it to me once, about the lack of civility, the crudeness passing as humor. We were eating breakfast in the common area at my favorite table under a large shady maple. She saw me wince at the noisy and nasty banter from the next table. Nancy started by telling me I was too young to remember or understand what it had been like for gay people Before. I silently swore to myself that if and when I became an adult, I would never tell a kid he or she was too young to understand something.

  “The thing is, Kell,” Nancy said earnestly, “there was so much we couldn’t do Before. For a lot of us, despite the horror of those bad years, this is finally a time of freedom and equality. We had to hide so much before—you couldn’t hold your girl’s hand in public, much less kiss her. If you dressed differently, or walked differently, or acted differently, you were in trouble. You couldn’t even say you were queer without paying a terrible price. You’d lose your family, your friends, your job…maybe even your life. So for those of us who lived through that, to now have the opportunity to do and say as we please…well, some of them go a little overboard, I know. But they’re ju
st reveling in the liberty they never thought they’d live to see.”

  “That’s great, Nance,” I replied, a bit caustically, “but I’m just trying to eat my breakfast in peace without hearing a bunch of rude shit that makes me want to hurl.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, her brow creased. Probably worried the recruiting effort would fail if they grossed me out too much. Plus, I think she secretly agreed with me. Nancy had the right stuff.

  “Some of them don’t know any other way to behave,” she admitted with one of her wry smiles. “But we’ve got some good people here, Kell. Don’t be too quick to judge us.”

  “Nancy, how come you’re not in charge of security?” I asked, wanting to change the subject. I was curious as well. With her military and police background, it seemed like she was the obvious choice. Despite my ridiculous crush on Pinto, even I could see that. Heck, I thought she should be running the whole damn place. I wasn’t attracted to Nancy physically, but I admired her—her strength, her honesty, her compassion. The way she absolutely refused to take any guff from anybody.

  She met my eyes for a second, then glanced away. She looked sad, which made me regret bringing it up.

  “Pinto wanted the job. And I did not,” she eventually answered.

  The silence hung between us like she was daring me to ask why not. She flicked me another look, like she was gauging my character. Again.

  “I’m sick, Kell,” she finally said.

  I was shocked. I stared at her.

  “No, Nancy…”

  “Yeah, kid, I am. I have lots of good days, but I never know when a bad one will strike. It’s why I came to Tres Hermanas. You reach a point in your life where you need other people. You need their help sometimes. Even if they’re rude and obnoxious and make too much noise—they’re still family.”

  I ignored the little dig at my judginess and stared at the ruins of my breakfast.

  Fuck them. They weren’t my family. My family was Gabriel. And sort of East. Maybe. That was my family. Not all these new people I didn’t have time to care about.

  For the thousandth time, I told myself to focus on what was important.

  Sick?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Just Plotting My Top Secret Escape, Don’t Mind Me

  After two weeks in Tres Hermanas, I had learned a lot, but not enough. I knew the layout and routines of the place but was still fuzzy on the overall geography. Where was the highway? I knew who was in charge and roughly how many women lived there. I knew about their livestock, their crops, their water and power supply. I had a pretty good idea who was sleeping with whom. And who wanted to be sleeping with whom. I had figured out who the major players were and who was in what clique. Jesus, so cliquey! Worse than school. All of that intel was well and good, but what still eluded me was the location of our gear. I hadn’t had much of a chance to poke around in town yet. I was fairly certain our backpacks were locked up in one of the small unmarked buildings in the innermost loop, but all of our Utility crew jobs had taken us away from the center of things. So far, at least.

  I wondered if East had heard or seen anything useful. Since she was usually working in the kitchen during meal times, I hadn’t talked to her much. We would see each other in passing—or I would see her as Nancy, Marta and I strode by on the way to our next filthy and back-breaking task. I’d caught a glimpse of her that morning through the open flap of the cooking tent, singing a work song with the rest of the kitchen crew as they chopped and whisked. I didn’t even know she liked to sing. Someone had done her long brown hair in a French braid. One more girly thing I could never have done for her. I scowled and walked a little faster. Those latrine pits weren’t going to dig themselves.

  That night was the weekly meeting. I showered before dinner, and my hair was still damp and spiky as I made my way down the stairs of the amphitheater, searching for East. In the crowd, the ladies were all agog with plans for their annual harvest festival. I spotted her in the thick of the kitchen crew and was debating trying to worm my way in amongst them versus catching her after the meeting.

  “Kell—venga aquí,” Marta summoned me to a spot next to her and Alma. I hesitated, but the meeting was about to start, plus Marta was giving me The Look, so I hurried to join them. Nancy was up on stage, seated on the benches with the other crew leaders behind Simone.

  The meeting was much the same as the previous ones—status updates from the various crew leaders and then the floor opened for new business. New business being mostly complaints and hogwash, with nothing getting resolved as far as I could tell. The hot issue that night was: Is It Or Is It Not Okay For One Woman To Address Another Woman As Dude? The complainant was originally from the east coast. The native Californians shouted her down. They all seemed to enjoy the bickering thoroughly. I hated it.

  The highlight of the meeting for me was Pinto’s security update.

  “Sisters,” she told us in her methodical way, “there have been no further sightings of the intruder. However, food and other small objects have gone missing at some of the outermost tents, so we believe he may still be in the area. My security patrols continue to be on high alert. Please remain vigilant. Anything out of the ordinary should be immediately reported to Security, Sarge or your crew leader.”

  After the updates, Simone recaptured center stage.

  “Just one more week ’til festival!” she proclaimed to much excitement from the crowd. She had to wait a moment for them to settle down before continuing. “Volunteers are still needed for the barbecue pit. See Buffalo for that. Oh, and our deejay has confirmed the stereo system is in good working order.”

  A burst of applause met that dual announcement, and I turned in my seat to see Beefy McGee (aka Buffalo) rise from her seat among the kitchen staff and wave to the crowd. She smirked, her bowl cut freshly trimmed. The deejay, a graceful older woman who went by the odd and less than melodious name of Euterpe, also rose to receive her due.

  Music was something I missed from home. On special occasions at the Settlement, they’d fire up a generator and treat us all to some recording from the past. As with everything, the music that had survived from Before was a hodgepodge. I remembered at the last Aptitude ceremony, there was Bach, Cole Porter, bluegrass and flamenco on the program. We had musicians back home too, playing either instruments salvaged from the devastation of San Tomas or ones they’d made themselves. We sang in school. God Bless America…

  There was lots of singing at Tres Hermanas. I’d heard other workers singing like the kitchen staff, but it wasn’t part of the utility crew’s routine. On Sunday nights, there was recorded music playing as dinner was served. Made me feel almost civilized.

  The meeting was over soon after that. Nancy joined us as the audience slowly climbed the amphitheater steps with much stopping to talk and laugh with friends.

  “East!” I finally succeeded in getting her attention at the top of the stairs. She waited for me, the crowd parting around her like a river flows past a rock. I caught her arm when I got to her, not wanting to lose her before we had a chance to talk. Nancy, Marta and Alma stopped when I did and stood there expectantly, waiting for me so we could make the walk back to our tent in the dark. Would they let me speak to East alone? I gave it a shot.

  “Um, that’s okay, I just want to talk to my friend for a minute. I’ll catch up, all right?”

  Marta looked at Nancy. Nancy looked at me. A long, cool, assessing look. I summoned up what innocence I had and met her gaze. Nonchalant. Just plotting my top-secret escape, don’t mind me. I don’t think I fooled her one bit, but she merely said mildly, “Okay. Do you have a flashlight, chiquita?”

  I showed her the one she had issued me.

  “Let’s go,” she said to Marta and Alma.

  East and I found a semi-secluded tree just off the path. I noticed they’d given her a jacket that fit as well. A flannel-lined barn coat—nice. Maybe that was number three on the official Tres Hermanas Recruit Proselytization Checklis
t: feed ’em, checkup with the doctor, outerwear…

  Women were straggling past us, singly and in small groups, calling good night to each other as they headed for their dwellings. I knew we only had a few minutes alone together for our first truly private chat since we’d stumbled upon Tres Hermanas. Anything more would be suspicious.

  “Are you okay?” was my first question.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah. But we’ve got to get out of here.”

  She couldn’t have been expecting me to say anything different, but it seemed like her face fell a little bit when I said it. I knew why—she’d found the safe place she’d been looking for. With plenty of food, shelter and people to admire her. Maybe it was wrong of me to judge her so harshly. She couldn’t help being what she was. Me neither. Lot of that going around.

  And truly, why should she want to go? She didn’t have family waiting for her in Segundo. Although…I was never going to say this out loud to her, but if her brother Baird miraculously returned alive—to find the Settlement destroyed—and then even more miraculously found Segundo as the logical next step—that was her one chance, her one-in-a-zillion opportunity to ever see him again. I didn’t know if East had thought of that highly unlikely scenario. I wasn’t about to bring it up because I didn’t want to be cruel—I knew in my heart that Baird was dead. That was the fate that awaited every Messenger. It was waiting for me right now, probably on the road to Segundo, but I had no choice. Segundo or bust.

  And if East didn’t care enough about me to make that her reason to leave Tres Hermanas, well, fuck her. Fuck all of them.

  It was just a few seconds between my words and her reaction, and the uncomfortable pause that followed—but it seemed like a lot of information passed between us in those few seconds.

  “I’m going with or without you, East,” I finally told her gently as I could.