The Forgetting

by Sharon Cameron

  “What,” I say, “does Janis want so badly in this room that she would go to these lengths to find that code? Or maybe the right question is, what is in this room that she doesn’t want anyone else to discover?”

  We both look at the light wall. There’s information in there. I suspect more information than any book could hold.

  “I’ll look for Janis,” Gray says. He’s already standing in front of it, wrapped in a blanket, deciding where to start. I scoot my chair to one of the squares on the table, touch the blue light, hold my hand over it, but nothing happens. I run my fingers over the edges, looking for anything to push, but there’s nothing.

  “Moose,” Gray says.

  “What?” I look up and there is an image on the wall of something freakish. I think there might be legs, but that’s about all I recognize. “I thought you were looking for Janis?”

  “I was. I chose ‘Curriculum,’ thinking there might be a history of Canaan, for the Learning Center, but instead it’s a history of Earth.” He looks back at the bizarre image. “I think it’s … alive.”

  “No, it isn’t!”

  “I’m just reading what it says.” He touches the image and the thing starts walking, leaning down to eat vegetation, or I assume that’s what it’s doing. I feel my mouth drop.

  He starts touching words at random. “Cat,” “frog,” “elephant,” “snake,” and “eagle,” which flies like a moth, only much better. Some of it is beautiful, and some is so strange I can’t make myself look at it. Then he touches “shark.” A legless, armless thing, like the snake, only this is breathing water instead of air. We watch it attack another swimming creature, tear it to pieces. And consume it. I cover my mouth.

  “They eat each other,” Gray says.

  That is too horrible to be believed. Except I just saw it. Then he sees a word we both recognize: “cricket.” He touches it.

  “That’s not a suncricket,” I say, though I can almost see the resemblance. It does hop like a suncricket, but it’s much too big, and doesn’t have facial expressions.

  “So after the Forgetting … ” Gray says, staring at the cricket in the light square. “I would say no one from Earth had names for the things here. They wouldn’t have known them long enough to remember. So they just used the names already in their heads? Like ‘cricket’?”

  That makes sense. “Same with the plants, too, I would imagine … ”

  We haven’t looked at plants, but I’ve already seen growing things in the other images that aren’t familiar at all. Wrong shapes. Wrong colors. Then we both recoil. Gray accidentally touched “chicken” while hovering his hand over the list, and there is a woman, looking thankfully recognizable and human, and like the shark, she’s eating the body of something called a chicken. I can just make out what must have been a leg. Gray is fascinated; I am disgusted. I consider never eating—or swimming—again. No wonder a hundred and fifty people wanted to leave Earth.

  I go to the next blue light square, trying to make it do something, anything, until Gray says, “There.”

  I look up and a woman is smiling out from the light. Erin Atan. Dark hair, deep-set eyes. A chemist, and a dyer. “Look at her children,” says Gray. The oldest is Janis. Below her information is the word “vlog,” in a different color.

  Gray touches the word, and I jump as Erin Atan suddenly begins talking to us. Weirdly, she’s in the white room, almost in the same place I’m sitting. I look around, I can’t help it, but she’s not here. She’s just an image on the wall, a piece of time that has been caught and kept. There are dates below her face, as if they’re written on the image.

  Year One, and Erin is smiling and happy. She has two children, one born on the ship, Centauri, one on Canaan, and her husband is a weaver. Year Two, Year Three, Four, Five, and Six, just a few minutes for each, describing a life in Canaan. She talks about growing food with her own hands, the satisfaction of discovering how to make what’s needed, what your neighbor needs, as if these are things she’s never experienced. She has three, four, and five children now, and she watches them grow without the prejudices of Earth. I wonder what this means.

  But by Year Nine, there is a subtle shift in Erin’s tone. By Year Ten, the difference is marked. She has seven children, and doesn’t know how many more might come. The harvest was miscalculated. The roof garden doesn’t supply enough. Her sleep patterns have never adjusted to the long periods of light and dark. The latrines were not properly dug out, and overflowed in the rain, fouling the water supply. Her education is being wasted. Her children’s intelligence is wasted.

  “On Earth, they could be living like kings,” she says. “Here, they plant fields and scrub the dye vats. We’ve found what NWSE wanted us to find. It’s time to send the signal, call Earth, and claim our reward. Let Earth see what they think of their perfect society. This was never supposed to be forever. Not if we didn’t want it to be.”

  “Call?” Gray asks.

  I shake my head. The word is confusing, like “enter” was. Call Earth. Send a signal. What does that mean? Shout to them? Bring Earth here? And what did she mean, we’ve found what they wanted? I don’t know what a “king” is, but Erin Atan, in Year Ten of Canaan, must have been just on the verge of forgetting those children she was talking about. It makes me sad.

  “We were the best of the best,” she goes on. “If the Council won’t send the signal, then we’ll have to do something about it.”

  The image ends there. Gray looks for the word “signal,” but he can’t find it. He sits in the other chair, leans back his head. “If you needed to talk to another planet, where in Canaan could you do that?”

  It’s a good question. And the answer is probably here. The only place with machines we don’t understand. Or at least, the only place we know of. It’s incredible to think that we could be sitting in a place where we could talk to Earth. It makes me feel that Earth is real. Then I think of what Erin said, and the broken, blasted rock in the cavern.

  “Do you think Janis’s mother, and whoever else, tried to get in here to send that signal, to talk to Earth? But couldn’t because—”

  “They couldn’t get in. Because they didn’t have the code?” Gray finishes. “It could be. Janis must remember something about your family, something that makes her think one of you has it. Maybe your family was on the opposite side. With the Council.”

  I think of Janis asking me about heirlooms and history.

  “But why now?” Gray goes on, thinking aloud. “I don’t know how many years have gone by, but it’s a lot.” We listen to the faint hum of lights, and then he spins the chair to face me. “We know she comes to the pool. Could she have seen you out here, do you think? Remembering whatever she does about your family? How often have you been on the mountain?”

  “Dozens of times. I’ve never seen anyone else, but … I wasn’t looking, either.”

  “Maybe she thought you already knew about the door. And the code. Maybe she thinks you come in here all the time.”

  “But why not do anything about it? Why not send Reese to yank me from my bed? Have Jonathan flog me for rule-breaking?”

  “I don’t know. But she plays games, Nadia. She was asking me about your memories. I told her I’d asked you, that you didn’t remember anything, and I think I convinced her, but … she was asking. You can still get out your window?”

  I nod. But we both know that neither one of us is safe. And none of this gets us any closer to understanding how to stop a whole city from forgetting who they are. To stop Gray from forgetting me. We have to get the First Book.

  But the Archives stays closed. Three more times we go to the white room, watching the vlogs without learning anything much different than when we watched Erin Atan’s. On our fourth trip we sneak down Jin’s steps in the rain, soaked again, hurrying down Copernicus. I think we haven’t been seen until someone calls my name, and I turn to see Gretchen, standing beneath the eaves of the locked Archives.

  “I assume you still w
ork for me, Nadia?”

  She’s referring to my disappearance before the Archives was closed. I nod. Gray stands still just behind me.

  “Then be here as soon as you can after the leaving bell. We’re opening up next waking.”

  I exchange a look with Gray, and I see that he agrees. Tomorrow we steal the book.

  Mother smiled at me today. So I asked a question. Why do some doors have keys and some don’t? Why do there have to be locks? Mother said some things should be kept safe. I thought it was because some things were bad to let out.

  NADIA THE DYER’S DAUGHTER

  BOOK 3, PAGE 59, 4 YEARS AFTER THE FORGETTING

  The day of our book stealing, Karl finally has my new one ready. I have to dash back home in the downpour to tie it to my tether, to put the stolen book I’ve been carrying into my hiding hole so that I can switch the new book with my real one on the Archives shelves.

  I’m hurrying back down the hall when I see Liliya coming out of her room. I’ve hardly seen Liliya since before the festival, and only now do I think that maybe she’s been avoiding me as much as I’ve been avoiding her. She looks dazed. Wrong. She glances at me once, then turns around to go back where she came from.

  “What’s happened to you?” I say sharply.

  “Go away, Nadia” is her reply. I follow her into her room. Liliya’s room has always been like a cross between Genivee’s and mine. Decorated, but organized. With lots of things, but all things in their place. It’s not like that today. It’s a mess. How long has she been like this? I think I know why. Now that I know about Janis and Gray, I think Liliya might be in the same situation with Jonathan of the Council. It certainly would explain his interest.

  “Cut it off, Liliya.”

  “Leave me alone,” she yells, tired.

  “Don’t see him anymore. Cut it off.”

  She hesitates, then picks up her blanket, like she’s going back to bed. Cutting it off is probably not that easy.

  I lower my voice. “If you need me to, I can hide you.” This makes her pause, brings her head up. I’m not sure I could get Mother over the wall, but I think I could get Liliya there. “Say the word, and I’ll do it.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me, and I see the fear I saw there once before. Then I watch her expression change. Her chin lifts, searching for some of her former swagger. “I hear the Archives is opening back up today. How’s that work going for you?”

  This is a jab, but it lacks Liliya’s usual punch. I ignore it. “Just tell me if you need to disappear, and I’ll make it happen.”

  All this makes me late and I run to the Archives, stopping outside beneath the tiny bit of shelter created by the thatch to catch my breath. To get ready for what I’m about to do. I run up the steps and push open the door.

  The waiting room is already full, packed wall to wall with damp people. I have to wait in line at the desk for Imogene to write me on her list, behind Frances the Doctor and the potter’s wife. The potter’s wife looks me over, gaze lingering, and Imogene does the same as she finishes writing in Frances, her eyes finding my necklace and staying there. I’ve worn my blue tunic with the lower collar today, so the necklace is prominent, but I didn’t realize that people noticed me this much. That Gray had practically posted a sign around my neck, just like when he sat with me at Eshan’s whatever. I suppose I should know these things. I suppose he did. While Imogene writes me down she says quietly, “I want to talk to you.”

  I don’t reply. I’m lifting my arms for Reese’s search. Reese has gotten lazy with me. He hardly looks in my pack, which now has a brand-new, unused book in it. But his search is taking a little long.

  “Really, Nadia,” Imogene says beneath the noise of the room. “During your break?” I still don’t answer. “Okay?” she insists.

  I nod in answer, she gives Reese a look, and he lets me go. I take off through the door to the anteroom and into the stacks, find my rolling table, and, as expected, Gretchen is right behind me, cranky.

  “Nadia,” she says, “please arrive as close to the leaving bell as possible. Is that understood?”

  Or what? I think. This close to the Forgetting, she’s lucky to have anyone show up at all, and we both know it. But I do feel guilty for those days I didn’t come, so I nod my apology.

  “I may need your help in the front today, if we have to start turning people away.”

  She cannot turn anyone away. Not today. I need Gray inside. But I only smile, accepting Gretchen’s words. She leaves with her book at a quick clip, and as soon as the door squeaks shut I take off at a trot to the back wall of the Archives, to the N shelf, closest to the locked door. I open my mouth and take the glass key off my tongue, gasping once before I shudder. Gray’s key may be pretty, but it tastes terrible. I slide it just beneath the end of the N shelf and hurry back to my spot, though not to do Gretchen’s inventory.

  I realized before my absence that the book Gretchen wears strapped to her middle is what she’s using to find requested books by name, which is disappointing, because I’d wanted to search it for Anna the Planter’s daughter. The book is so small, though, compared to the massive one I’m using, I think it must be in some kind of shorthand or code, and wouldn’t do me good anyway. So I search the huge book on my rolling table instead, pushing the cart slowly down aisles I haven’t paid the first bit of attention to. The hours until my break stretch long and slow. I don’t find Anna’s name.

  When Gretchen finally gives me my break I step out of the Archives into the chilly rain. I heard Imogene getting up for her break as well, while I was searched, and when I come back from the latrines, she’s waiting beneath the shelter of the thatch, next to the sign that reads “Remember Our Truth,” rain making a curtain in front of her. I dart through the water to stand beside her, and Imogene says, “I need you to talk to my brother.”

  I look at the water running down into the gullies that drain beneath the walls. I don’t want to talk to Eshan. Possibly ever again.

  Imogene lowers her voice even further. “He’d been drinking, Nadia. And I think maybe … I think you misunderstood, okay? But this is something different.” She glances once around us. “There’s a rumor at the granary. Eshan says they’ve gone through the counting, and next distribution day, rations are going to be cut by a third.”

  I blink once. I can’t believe that’s true. Surely the harvest couldn’t have been that bad? If it is, it’s a disaster, especially for Imogene’s family. Their rations are too low as it is.

  “Eshan told me you’ve been bringing us extra. We owe you, but … he doesn’t think it’s been coming out of your stores. Or your garden.” She shakes her head. “He thinks you’ve been going over the wall. I know it’s crazy, but … ”

  I see Gray coming in the light of the streetlamps, his book covered, hair curling in the rain.

  “… and now Eshan’s going to the Council, to try and get them to let him go over. He thinks it’s safe, because you’ve been going, don’t you see? Tell him you haven’t been doing anything like that, Nadia. Tell him he misunderstood.”

  I think you were just telling me how I’d misunderstood him, Imogene. I sigh. Imogene doesn’t want Eshan to go because she’s afraid of the other side. As we’ve been taught to be. I’m not sure what I can do about that. Gray pauses when he sees me talking to Imogene, takes shelter beneath an eave, partially obscured by a column. He won’t go inside the Archives until he’s sure I’m in.

  “Please,” she’s saying. “Talk him out of it. If things are really that bad they might let him go. He doesn’t know what’s out there, and it’s too close to the Forgetting. What if he doesn’t come back in time? I know he’ll listen to you.”

  I’ve got to let Gray get inside. Finally I settle for, “I’ll talk to him, Imogene. If I can.” I feel guilty saying it, because she won’t like what I have to say if I do. Eshan is right. If the harvest was bad, we should be foraging beyond the walls. As soon as we can.

  Imogene breathes her r
elief. She sighs, stares at the sheeting rain. “Don’t you ever just wish the Forgetting would go ahead and come already?” My expression must be incredulous, because she adds, “You know, a fresh life. A new start … ” Then her gaze focuses again on my necklace. “So,” she says, smiling, “that’s glass, is it?”

  “Girls!” Gretchen’s head is out the Archives doors. “What’s wrong with you today?”

  We both scurry up the steps, and when I look back Gray is making his way toward the Archives, shaking the water from his hair.

  The second half of the day seems longer than the first. I search the book for Anna. I wonder where Gray is in the waiting room. I can feel the presence of the glass key beneath the N shelf. When Gretchen finally comes to tell me I’m done, she looks tired, which is to say, the tiniest bit mussed. I tell her I’m going to finish my row, and I pretend to. Very slowly. The first step of our plan should have already happened. If it worked. If what Imogene told me about Deming is still true. All I have to do is be the last to leave. I wait, and the absence of sound is a roar in my ears.

  When I decide I can’t wait longer, I ease out the door into the anteroom. The door to Gretchen’s workspace is open. I peek inside. Empty. I’m hoping she’s gone, that she’s left Deming to see us out the door, but no. Gretchen is outside, going over Imogene’s list.

  “There you are,” she says when I appear. Imogene shrugs at me. Deming is standing in his usual position halfway down the hall to the reading rooms. Reese is gone, the waiting room empty. “Deming,” Gretchen calls, “can you come take care of Nadia’s search?”

  He shambles over, glances in my pack, and while he’s patting me down, he says, “Room Three.” Just a whisper. It’s the most I’ve ever heard him say. I hold in a smile.

  Gretchen seems inclined to keep Imogene talking about her lists. Someone did not get signed out. I think for a moment it’s Gray, who is apparently in Room Three, and a cool trickle of fear slides down through my chest. Deming was supposed to have taken care of that. But the someone left off the list is from earlier in the day. A mistake. Imogene apologizes. Deming can’t search me any longer without being indecent. I bend down and fiddle with the tie of my sandal.