HELPER12

by Jack Blaine

  “What was that he liked?’

  I can barely hear her over Jobee’s screams.

  “I’m sorry?” I cup my hand behind my ear.

  “What was it that calmed him down!”

  I shake my head; I can’t think. Then I remember. “His feet—he likes it when you rub his feet!”

  She starts squeezing his toes, pushing at them and pulling them. Jobee is so upset at this point that nothing would have calmed him anyway, and he continues screaming. She shoves him at me, a look on her face that makes me take him as fast as I can.

  “Take him out of here!”

  I grab the spoon and the bowl of cereal and back out of the kitchen. For some reason I want to keep her in front of me. Once I am out of her sight, I turn and run back up the stairs to my room.

  We don’t leave my room again, that night.

  The next morning, Helper raps on my door. When I open it, she holds out fresh towels.

  “You’re to be at dinner with the baby this evening in the formal dining room. Per Ms. Sloane.” She raises her eyebrows at me.

  “Fine.”

  “Prompt at seven,” she says.

  “Thank you.” I close the door in her face.

  I dress Jobee carefully, and make sure he has a full stomach before we descend the stairs to dinner. I want him to be amiable toward Ms. Sloane, and a full stomach can’t hurt.

  It’s five minutes until the hour, but Mr. and Ms. Sloane are already seated. Mr. Sloane smiles wanly when I enter the room.

  “Good evening, Helper12. I hope all has been well for you while we were gone?”

  “Yes sir. It’s been fine.” I settle Jobee in his high chair.

  “The boy looks good,” says Mr. Sloane. “Healthy.”

  “Yes, he’s very healthy, sir.”

  Ms. Sloane looks at Jobee with no expression.

  There is no place set for Thomas.

  “Is your son away?” I should not have said this; I know that as soon as I have.

  “What do you mean?” Ms. Sloane looks at me sharply.

  “She means Thomas, dear,” Mr. Sloane says, quickly. “That’s all.”

  Ms. Sloane appraises me.

  “I understand that you spent a day in the country. With Thomas.” She narrows her eyes.

  “Thomas wanted to get to know J . . . William.” I put my hands in my lap. They’re shaking. I cannot believe I almost said Jobee’s name.

  “I see.” Ms. Sloane eyes Jobee. “He seems a bit better-behaved tonight.”

  “He had a stomach ache last night. I’m so sorry about that.” I try to take regular breaths. I hope she doesn’t notice.

  She sniffs.

  “Darling, I think we need to discuss Thomas’s school situation.”

  Mr. Sloane looks weary.

  “Not at the table, Anna.”

  “But I’ve put a call in to Barr—“

  “Not now, Anna.” Mr. Sloane looks surprised at his own tone.

  “Well.” Ms. Sloane lowers her eyes. “Fine, dear.

  We eat the rest of our meal in silence.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  I don’t see Thomas for three days. I go to meals in the kitchen, except for dinner, when I am expected to be present in the formal dining room. Jobee cries every time Ms. Sloane tries to hold him, no matter what I try. I think he has been too long with me, and I despair at how to get him to like her. She looks at him with something between dislike and disdain, now. One time, I hear her muttering when she walks away from us.

  She says what was I thinking.

  I am growing afraid for Jobee. And afraid for myself.

  I try not to think about what Thomas told me, about projections and calculations. While I’m bathing Jobee, or watching him giggle at his boggle toy, I wonder what he would have been tracked to do. Would he have been an Artist, or a Laborer, or a Thinker? He would have been whatever they needed, says a voice in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut hard as if that will make the voice stop.

  On the fourth day, Thomas appears at the dinner table.

  He looks older, somehow, as though his hair is about to go grey. His face is leaner, and he holds himself very still.

  Mr. Sloane looks apprehensive, and Ms. Sloane looks like she wants to spit. I try to settle Jobee as quietly as possible into his high chair and busy myself feeding him his cereal.

  Helper comes out with covered dishes. “We have halibut filets tonight, with buttered sukis and greens.” She sets the dishes down carefully, rebalancing her tray as she takes each of them off.

  “Thank you Helper,” says Mr. Sloane. “It looks delicious.”

  Ms. Sloane doesn’t look up from her plate. Thomas says nothing.

  Once Mr. Sloane has served us all, he sits back in his chair, and looks at his food. He looks sick to his stomach.

  “I suppose you’ve been sleeping in the city.” Ms. Sloane’s voice is hard, and brittle.

  “Yes.” Thomas sounds like he’s speaking to a stranger.

  “Well, you’ll stay here tonight. Your father has arranged for an interview with Director Matthews—”

  “I’m not going to that school.”

  “Yes you are, Thomas!” A knife clatters off of Ms. Sloane’s plate as she half-rises from her seat. Her face is red and she sprays droplets saliva as she screams the words. Mr. Sloane rises too, and puts his hand on her shoulder.

  “No. I am not, Mother.” Thomas doesn’t look at her.

  “Thomas!” Mr. Sloane is still patting Ms. Sloane’s shoulder. “Your mother has been through enough, don’t you think?”

  Thomas stares at his father.

  “Has she? Has she suffered any more than someone who wiped her own son should?” Thomas’s eyes are glittering, but not with tears, this time. They gleam with sheer hatred. “Greg’s dead. Because of her. And the fact that you can stomach it makes me wonder what kind of man you are.” He pushes his chair back calmly and stands. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says, looking at me for the first time. Then he walks out of the room.

  Ms. Sloane collapses in her chair, sobbing. Then Jobee starts crying too.

  “Take that thing out of here!” Ms. Sloane’s face is buried in her hands, but her words are clear. I scramble to get Jobee out of the high chair, and take him upstairs.

  He calms quickly once we’re away from the dining room. I can’t say the same for myself. I’m shaking while I change him, shaking as I lay him in his crib for the night. She called him a thing.

  There’s a low knock on my door.

  It’s Thomas. He doesn’t wait for me to answer—he opens the door and slips inside the room. He doesn’t cross the room. Instead, he leans against the door, watching me where I stand by Jobee’s crib.

  “Benna.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here.” I’m afraid for him. And for Jobee. And for myself.

  “I shouldn’t, should I?” He smiles a strange, sad smile. “I shouldn’t be here. But here I am.” He crosses the room in three strides.

  “I shouldn’t be in love with you, but I am.” He doesn’t touch me; his hands are at his sides, but I feel the effort it takes him to keep them there. “And you’re in love with me, Benna.”

  I shake my head.

  “I know you are—I feel it from you. So don’t lie about it now, Benna.”

  “I won’t. I love you.” I look into his face, still shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter, that’s all. It doesn’t matter if I love you, or if you love me. We’re not supposed to be together.”

  “Says who, Benna?”

  “Says the world. You know it, Thomas. So stop behaving like a child.” I turn away from him. “I have to try to protect Jobee now.”

  He laughs. A low, ugly laugh. “I heard what she called him—didn’t you?” He puts his hand on my shoulder, turns me back toward him. “She called him a thing. I know you heard that, Benna.”

  I try to turn away again but he holds me there.

  “She’s been talking to Father about him—I overhe
ard them today in his study. She said it was a mistake. She asked Father what could be done. What could be done, Benna. About Jobee.”

  A buzzing starts in my head, low, at the base of my skull. She’s got the power to do whatever she wants to with Jobee. She can throw him away like he’s garbage. And suddenly, it’s clear to me that this is what will happen.

  “There are places in this world, Benna, where we can be together. Where nobody knows who we are, and it isn’t wrong for us to be in love.”

  “Where?” I can’t hear what he’s saying through the buzzing. I need to focus, I need—

  “Remember the lake? Remember how you sketched my portrait, right out in the open, and nobody said a thing? Remember how we kissed, Benna?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve been asking some questions. I’ve been doing some research.” Thomas slides his hands from my shoulders down my arms, until he’s holding my hands. Even at a time like this, I feel a stirring from his touch. “Deen can help us get transport; he knows some people. He’s—he was going to help Gregory and Rob get away.”

  “How?” I want so desperately for this to be true, but I can’t believe it. “We’d need funds, we’d transport, we’d—”

  “I have all that. What do you think I’ve been doing for the last few days?”

  “What do you mean, you have all that?” I wonder if Thomas has actually lost his mind.

  “I know it’s a lot, all at once.” Thomas squeezes my hands. “I’ll tell you all of it tomorrow afternoon. They’re going to the city then, to make arrangements for Greg’s ashes. It will take them a few hours. We can talk in the courtyard, where Helper can’t hear.”

  I can’t think of anything to do but nod.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  I’m waiting for him in the courtyard. Jobee has had his bottle and he’s ready for his nap. I’ve got him set up in the whizby, so he can sleep while we talk.

  Helper has been giving me looks all morning. At breakfast, she asked me what my plans were for the day—something she has never done before. I told her I had no special plans.

  “So you won’t be going anywhere, then?”

  “What do you mean? I never go anywhere, do I?”

  “Well,” she said brightly. “You and Mr. Thomas went to the city that time. And then you went to the lake with him, too.” She smiled, a frightening, knowing sort of smile. “I just wondered if the two of you planned to go anywhere today.”

  The Driver kept his eyes on his plate the whole time. When he left to take the Sloanes into the city, I retreated to my bedroom with Jobee, and hid there until noon. Then I came down to the courtyard to wait.

  When he appears, he looks even more tired than he did last night. He goes to Jobee and leans over him, watching him sleep for a moment.

  “I could use one of those,” he says, when he sits down next to me.

  “A whizby?”

  “A nap.” He looks at me. “Helper is in the kitchen, but I know she’ll be passing the door soon. Probably more than once. So we’ll have to speak as quietly as we can.”

  I nod.

  “Benna.” He starts to say something, and then stops. He shakes his head, as though he’s trying to clear it. “I need to tell you what I want. I’m going to tell you all of it, what I’ve been thinking, what I’ve been doing, since I found out Greg was dead. And when I’m done, I need you to tell me yes, or no.” He turns to check the door to the kitchen. Nobody is there.

  “If it’s no, if you can’t be with me, I’ve got a plan for you and Jobee—a way you can get out of here. I won’t leave you here for her to do whatever she pleases with you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, then. Here’s my idea.” He lowers his voice even more. “There’s passage set up for two people, on a ship that leaves the day after tomorrow. It’s been set up for weeks, already paid for, and there won’t be a lot of questions asked about who those two people are.

  “The ship is going to a place where people don’t care if you’re a Helper and I’m Society. We can be together. And Jobee can do what he wants to with his life, when the time comes.

  “I’m not saying it will be easy. It will take us time to get there, and during that time we’ll be at risk of being found out. Once we’re there, it will be safer, but not a lot easier. It isn’t like here. There are things we’ll be doing without.” He looks back at the door again—still no Helper.

  “That’s it, really. We have to move fast though, so if you’re in, I need to know now.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s in the Tongal region.”

  “Your parents just went there!” I know Ms. Sloane said something about that place. I don’t know what this is—is he playing a game of some sort? Is this a trap?

  “Shhh.” He checks to be sure my outburst hasn’t brought Helper to the door. “I know. And it wasn’t my parents, it was just my father. Mother wouldn’t be caught dead outside a resort.” He hesitates.

  “Listen, I think my father knew about Greg’s plans. I think Greg said something, something that tipped Father off. Greg did love him so much. But he knew Mother would never let him be who he was. And Father . . . Father’s weak. He loved Greg, but he couldn’t protect him.” Thomas bites his lip.

  “I think maybe he went to see what sort of life Greg would have. To see where he’d be spending his days, once he was gone. Thomas’s voice grows harsher. “Before she had him wiped and he couldn’t get away.”

  I consider it all. How things are here, how they’re likely to get. I keep seeing Ms. Sloane, looking at Jobee like he’s disgusting.

  I look at Thomas. He’s been kind to me. When he didn’t have to be, for any reason at all.

  “I’m in,” I say.

  Chapter Thirty

  I’ve got everything ready. All of Jobee’s and my clothes are stuffed into the bags Thomas brought me. I’ve packed the drawing tablet and charcoals, too. I gave the bottle with the sleeping medication in it to Jobee over an hour ago. There is really nothing else I can do, except wait.

  It’s been dark outside for a long time now. Thomas said he would be here before dark. I try not to think about what it means that he isn’t here. I check on Jobee one more time. He’s still sleeping. He looks so happy, evening in this induced sleep. I wonder what they’ll do to him if we get caught. I wonder what will happen if Thomas never comes.

  “Ready?” Thomas whispers to me from the door.

  He’s here. He’s here, and I realize how afraid I was that he wouldn’t be able to come to me. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since he left.

  “We’re ready,” I whisper back. I pick up the smallest bag, the one with my drawing things, and sling it over my shoulder. I take Jobee out of his crib and settle him in the baby sling, so that he’s close against my body. He doesn’t stir. Thomas takes the bag filled with clothing. He holds the door open for me, and as I pass through he touches my cheek. I stop and look up at him.

  “We’ll be all right,” he says.

  “I know.” I kiss him on the lips softly. Then I start down the stairs.

  In the kitchen, Thomas stops at one of the cupboards. He feels for the knob in the dark, and when he finds it he opens the cupboard and slides out a box. Inside are a dozen bottles of formula, which he shoves into the sack of clothes. He replaces the box in the cupboard. We walk out to the courtyard without a word, making as little noise as we can manage.

  There’s a slight breeze, and shadows from the potted plants writhe on the courtyard walls. We walk to the gate, and Thomas keys in a series of numbers in a keypad I’ve never noticed. The gate slides open and Thomas motions me through. He follows and we’re on the street. As the gate slides shut, I look back at the house.

  The kitchen light is on.

  I freeze.

  “Thomas,” I breathe.

  He turns, and utters a soft curse.

  “Here.” He pulls me over behind one of the brick columns that flank the gate. W
e wait, silent, afraid to peek around to see what’s happening, in case Helper is peering out the kitchen window. The street looks empty and cold. I wonder what we have been thinking. How will we ever get away from this place? What could Thomas have in mind?

  As if it’s answering my unspoken question, a motor purrs from somewhere up the street. I look, but I see no lights. As I continue to watch, the Sloanes’ vehicle pulls into view, lit from above by the streetlights.

  I guess the party ended early.

  We’re ruined. I can’t even cry. There’s nowhere to run, and Thomas seems to know it too—he stands quite still next to me, awaiting our fate. I feel him take my hand.

  “Okay,” he says. The vehicle pulls up next to us. I wonder why the gate isn’t opening.

  “Benna?” Thomas pushes me forward. “Get in!”

  “What?” I turn to him, incredulous. The door of the vehicle opens.

  “Best hurry up, miss,” says the Driver from his seat. “I’ve got to get back to the city quick in order to pick up the Sloanes, so they won’t know anything unusual is happening.”

  I scramble into the back, shielding Jobee from jolts with my arms. Thomas loads in the bags and we slide off into the night.

  The Driver doesn’t talk, all the way into the city. Thomas doesn’t either. It’s a huge risk the man has taken, and I don’t know what to say to him to let him know I understand what he’s done for us.

  The city looks different at night; there are multi-colored lights everywhere, and we pass a huge, animatronic advertising display showing robotic women wearing the latest fashions. The way the robot women are presented, sitting at a table in a make-believe café, reminds me of the animals in the Commons, and I remember how little Thomas and I knew about each other then. I wonder how much more we really know now, except for that we love each other. I think that may be all we need to know. I hope so.

  The Driver slows the car, and pulls it over next to a seedy-looking leather shop that’s closed for the night. He doesn’t turn around.

  “Mr. Thomas.”

  Thomas leans over the seat toward the Driver. He reaches out, and the Driver shakes his hand.

  “We won’t be back, Driver.”