HELPER12

by Jack Blaine

  Thomas hugs Deen, for a long moment. “Come see us, Deen. Start saving for your tropical vacation. We’ll have a room for you there.”

  Deen smiles, a sad, lonely smile.

  “I might take you up on that, boy.” He turns to me. “Don’t forget what you have here,” he points to Thomas. “But don’t forget what you have here, either, if you know what I mean.” He laughs. “You can handle him.” He hugs me, gently because I have Jobee in the sling. I whisper my thanks in his ear.

  As soon as we reach the corner, the tram pulls up. Thomas helps me up onto the platform, and we look for seats. There are two near the back. Thomas is managing both bags, despite my protests. He wrangles them under the seats and we settle in.

  “How long is the ride?”

  “It’s just under an hour,” says Thomas. “I’ve got a bottle handy if Jobee needs one.”

  I look around the tram. It’s almost full in our car, with all kinds of people, most from the lower designations. There are some Society members, but not many.

  “Thomas, how did Deen know Greg?”

  “Through Rob,” says Thomas.

  “How did he know Rob?”

  Thomas looks out the window. “Rob was Deen’s son.”

  I don’t understand. Deen is a lower designation. Even if he is running a restaurant instead of doing whatever labor he was tracked for, he couldn’t have a son. Or, maybe he could. But even if he had a son, his son wouldn’t be allowed to go to the same school as Greg. I turn to ask Thomas, and he’s watching me.

  “He had a woman. She was a Breeder. She developed some sort of health problem, and they were going to send her to the labor camps.

  “I don’t know how he got involved, but he did, and he got her out before they sent her. I don’t know if he bought her or what. They hadn’t yet sterilized her when she turned up gone—I assume she was reported as dead. And when he and she were together, well, he fathered Rob. She didn’t make it through the labor.

  “He raised Rob himself, from what I know, and when it was time for him to go to school, Deen bought forged papers for him. He worked night and day to pay the tuition. Rob was a smart kid. He did better than Greg in some subjects. He was Deen’s joy.”

  “Where is Rob?” I realize I’ve never been told.

  Thomas looks down at Jobee. He reaches over and touches Jobee’s hand.

  “Rob killed himself, when he heard that Greg had been wiped.”

  Neither of us says anything for a long while. There’s really nothing to say. We hold hands, and watch the city go by out the windows.

  The tram is crowded for a few blocks, and then lots of people get off. Then we go a few blocks more and lots of people get on. I see Laborers and Helpers and some designations I don’t even know. One man has a Z on his arm—I have no idea what that designates. There are two Society boys at the far end of our tram, school boys from the looks of them, and they make me think about Greg and Rob.

  We slow again to pick up more people. I watch them as they board. There are three Domestic Helpers, probably on their way to shop for the Society members they work for; there is a Thinker; I’ve never seen a real Thinker. I wonder where she’s on her way to; is it some windowless room where she sits with other Thinkers, and discusses some grave issue that must be solved? I’m pondering this, idly watching other passengers climb aboard, when I see her.

  I freeze, and it feels as though my heart has stopped, as soon as I see her face. She still has the same bow-shaped lips, and the same beautiful eyes. One of them is blackened now, though; someone has beaten her.

  It’s Kris. I don’t know what she’s doing on this tram, but if she sees me, we’re doomed.

  What I see next chills my blood even more than her black eye. Walking slightly behind her, clutching one of her hands in his, is the Director. The man who sold me.

  They sway up the aisle toward us, looking for two seats together.

  Thomas looks at me, frowning, and I realize my grip on his hand has tightened. I look down, and see that my knuckles are white. I loosen my grasp, and whisper to him.

  “We’re in trouble.” I try not to move my lips at all. I glance at him, wondering if this is the last time I’ll be this close to him.

  Thomas puts a pleasant expression on his face.

  “What’s happening?” He speaks under his breath, so only I can hear him.

  “The Ward Director is here.”

  The seats in the tram are arranged in sets of four: two attached seats face forward, and two face back. Thomas and I are sitting in two seats that face the front of the tram. One man sits in one of the pair of seats that face us—a Laborer on his way home from a night shift somewhere, from the looks of him. He’s been sleeping for the last twenty minutes of the trip.

  I do a quick scan of our car; there are no empty seats, except the seat across from us, and a seat a little ways behind us.

  Kris and the Director keep coming closer and closer, until they are two rows away from us. I watch their feet, afraid to look up. Jobee is awake, but quiet, and he stares up at me, smiling his baby smile.

  I see Kris’s feet almost pass us, but then they stop. The Director’s hand points to the seat across from us.

  “You sit there—I’ll take that one. Don’t forget I’ll be watching.” He uses the same tone with her that he did when he told me that he’d sold me.

  Her feet side-step into the tiny space between our seats and the ones facing us, and she sits down across from Thomas. The Director’s feet move on, and I hear him settle in the seat behind us.

  I can’t look up.

  We ride in silence. I don’t know how long—time seems to be suspended. Then, the tram jolts, and we all jostle in our seats. The Laborer next to Kris wakes with a start.

  “Wha?” I hear him mumble as he wakes. Then, quietly, “What’s happened to your eye there, girl?” He doesn’t sound as though he’s concerned. He sounds like a predator, smelling blood.

  Kris doesn’t say anything.

  I see his hand, snaking over to her knee. She moves as far away from him as her seat allows, but she doesn’t say anything at all. I know why; I know what she’s thinking as well as if she were telling me herself. Trouble here, trouble there. If she makes a scene, who knows what the Director will do. He’s got her out where she isn’t supposed to be, doing—what exactly? Has he sold her, too? Did he use her himself before this little excursion, where he’ll deliver her to whoever paid him?

  The hand slithers toward Kris’s thigh.

  “Do you like that?” It’s Thomas, speaking softly to the Laborer.

  “Wha?”

  “I said, do you like that?”

  The hand stops. “What do you mean?” The Laborer sounds suspicious.

  “I mean,” says Thomas, “do you like what you’re doing there?”

  I sneak a glance backwards, at the Director. He’s studying a reader, oblivious to the scene playing out here.

  “Who wouldn’t like it?” The Laborer keeps his voice low. “Unless you’re some sort of kink.”

  Thomas lets go of my hand and reaches into his coat pocket. When his hand reappears next to mine, he’s holding a short, sharp knife. The blade glints in the light. He holds it so the Laborer can see it.

  “Do you like it,” whispers Thomas, “better than you like your hand?”

  The Laborer is silent. His hand stays where it is on Kris’s leg.

  “They won’t do a thing to me, you know.” Thomas keeps his tone conversational. “You’re a common Laborer.”

  The tram slows, approaching another stop. People begin to board, pushing into the already crowded car. The Laborer makes a disgusted sound, and gets up from his seat. He pushes past Kris roughly and makes his way to the exit. Almost immediately, a woman takes his place, heaving a sigh of relief as she sits down.

  “Thank you, sir.” Kris speaks as quietly as she can, fear and gratitude mingled in her voice. “Thank you so much, and thanks to your lady, too. You’ve got a brave man
, miss.”

  When I say nothing, I see her lean slightly forward. “Are you all right, miss?” She says it softly. She doesn’t want to attract any attention.

  I look up. When our eyes meet, hers widen immediately. I hold her gaze as long as I can, pleading with her silently, hoping that she won’t give me away. She could; it might help her situation, and I see this realization go through her mind. I watch her as she looks from me to Thomas to Jobee, as she puts together the pieces of evidence we’re presenting, in order to arrive at her conclusion.

  “Next stop, waterfront!” The announcement blares over the loudspeakers.

  The bruise looks bad. He hit her really hard, whoever hit her, whether it was the Director or some other man. I wish I could tell her how sorry I am that it happened. I wish I could tell her I’ve missed her.

  I wonder what she’ll do.

  Thomas gets our bags together and stands up. He steps into the main aisle and back, in order to let me and Jobee get out in front of him. He keeps his back toward the Director, as do I. I see Kris look past us, toward where the Director is sitting. I don’t stand up. I’m waiting.

  Kris looks back at me then, and she studies me carefully. She looks at Jobee, who is gurgling to himself and trying to grab my chin. She smiles, the faintest curve at her lips, the saddest smile I think I’ve ever seen. Her eyes return to mine, and she nods, ever so slightly.

  I stand immediately, and as I turn to go, I reach out, and touch her hand with mine. Just one touch.

  I don’t look back when we get off the tram.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  I’m still shaking when we get to the ship’s gangway. Thomas speaks to a man there, and the man checks a list.

  “Almost missed boarding,” says the man, shaking his head at us. He looks down at the two bags we have with us. “Is that all?”

  Thomas nods. “We’ll keep those with us.”

  The man shrugs. “You’re on C Deck, 47B.” He hands Thomas a chip. “Rules and regulations, meal schedules and emergency procedures on that. Review it when you’re settled in your cabin, please.” He points to a doorway on his left. “That way.”

  We go through what seems to me to be a maze of passageways and stairways, until we reach the deck that Thomas says is ours. Jobee is getting cranky. There’s been too much jostling today, too many new sights and sounds for him. Finally, we come to a door with 47B marked on it.

  The cabin is small, but it’s private. There’s not much more than a bed and a bathroom. I lay Jobee on the bed and get his bottle ready. As soon as I’ve changed him, I prop him up with the pillows and let him eat.

  “Where did you get that knife?”

  Thomas grins. “Wicked looking, isn’t it?” He takes it out of his pocket to show me. “Deen slipped it to me. He said I might need it someday. He was right.”

  I shake my head. “I thought she was going to report us.”

  “She was the girl from your drawing, wasn’t she?”

  I’m surprised he remembers.

  “Yes.”

  Thomas sits next to me on the bed. He strokes Jobee’s arm, watching him drift to sleep.

  “Was she a friend?”

  I think about that. “I guess she really was, after all.”

  “She looked like she was in trouble.” Thomas frowns. “I wish we could have done something.”

  “You did do something.”

  “Not enough.”

  “No. But you did what you could do.”

  I can’t relax; Thomas is lying on the bed with Jobee, but I want the ship to move. I sit on the edge of the single chair in the cabin.

  “It’s almost time, Benna.” Thomas watches me from the bed.

  “I know. I just want us to be on our way.”

  Soon enough, we are; an announcement comes over the speaker set into the ceiling, telling us that the ship is departing the dock. I think all three of us are exhausted, because as soon as I join Thomas and Jobee on the bed, we’re all asleep.

  The trip takes over a week. Much of it is a blur to me; I get seasick the first night and never really recover. Thomas takes over all of Jobee’s care, and fetches me weak broth and protein crackers. He helps me to the shower and helps me back to bed. I have never felt so much like dying in my life.

  Thomas goes up on deck with Jobee every day. When they come back, they smell of salt and their faces are flushed from the wind. Thomas tells me stories about the people on the ship; the old man who says he is a scientist, going to an island he won’t reveal the name of to do some sort of secret research; the crewman who plays the fiddle every afternoon for whoever will stop to listen; the elderly couple who walk the deck four times round each morning, holding hands. I love listening to his voice, and picturing the people he’s describing in my mind.

  When I’m not vomiting, that is.

  Jobee doesn’t seem troubled at all by sea travel, or by the fact that I am not the one changing him or giving him his bottles. He loves to grab Thomas’s hair and pull it, hard as he can. Thomas just laughs, and gently untangles it from Jobee’s grasp.

  He’s been loading a chip into his reader each day, studying the maps Deen got for him. He’s also been trying to learn the language. He practices on me, making me quiz him on how to say bird, or fish, or boat.

  On the morning I finally feel like I could get up and walk on deck without vomiting every other step, we arrive in port.

  Thomas has our things all packed back into our bags. I have Jobee in the baby sling. We make the reverse trek through the passageways and stairwells that got us to our cabin, and soon we’re standing at the gangway.

  The air is warm and soft, and so is the light. It seems so different from what I know. The port is bustling below us, and there are brightly colored fabric awnings rippling in the breeze. We descend the gangway, and at the bottom there are men, standing along the dock holding signs. On the signs are what I assume are the names of the people they are hired to meet. We start to walk by the men.

  “Thomas,” I say. “Where are we going now?” I know we have to find a place to stay; we’ve talked about looking for a hostel of some sort at first.

  Thomas doesn’t answer me. He’s staring at one of the men, a tall, solidly built man about twenty years older than us. The man is holding a sign like all the others.

  The sign reads SLOANE-KITTERING.

  I grab Thomas’s arm. Seeing that name here—it can’t be a good thing.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say, and I start to tug him away from the dock.

  He doesn’t budge. In fact, he pulls me and Jobee with him, toward the man.

  “Thomas!” I pull hard on his arm and he stops. He turns to me. He looks so relieved, though I can’t understand why until he speaks.

  “Deen’s last name is Kittering.”

  Chapter Thirty Five

  The man’s name is Luni. After Thomas shows him his real identification papers, showing his name is Sloane, Luni tells us that he’s been coming to the docks for weeks, every time a big ship arrives. He tells us he was paid to do so; that the people he was waiting for would be on one of the big ships.

  He tells us that the man who paid him said there would be two young men. When he saw us, he knew we weren’t the people he was waiting for, because we weren’t two young men.

  “A woman, and a baby,” he keeps saying, shaking his head. “But you are Sloane.” He holds his hands out to Thomas as though he is surrendering. “So what can I do?” He starts to walk away.

  “Wait, what man?” Thomas runs after him. “What man told you this?”

  Luni studies Thomas. “He looks like you, the man.” He turns to go. “Come on,” he says to us.

  Thomas stares at me.

  “Your father,” I say. He nods.

  Luni keeps gesturing for us to follow him. “Come, come. We have a long way to go.” He points to a cart parked near the dock. A donkey is hitched to the cart by some sort of harness. The donkey looks bored.

  “Whe
re would we be going?” I don’t know what to think. I’m not sure I trust Luni.

  He looks at me as though the same thought has just occurred to him, too.

  “Wait a minute,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Wait.” He turns to Thomas and fixes him with an appraising eye.

  “Do you,” he says, “have the paper?”

  Thomas cocks his head at the man.

  “Do you have,” says Luni, “the paper?” He narrows his eyes at Thomas. “Or not?”

  “What paper?” Thomas shakes his head. He looks at me and raises his shoulders.

  “I don’t have a clue,” I say.

  Luni puffs his cheeks out. He snorts. “The paper, man!” He waves his hands at Thomas. “The man say you will have the paper—the sealed deed.”

  “Well I don’t have any paper, man, so—”

  “Thomas.” I know what it is.

  “What?” Thomas is pulling at his hair. Jobee reaches out from the baby sling; he wants to pull Thomas’s hair, too.

  “The paper Deen gave you, with the weird seal on it.”

  Thomas digs around in his pocket. He pulls it out and turns it over so Luni can see the seal on it.

  “This?”

  Luni nods. “Yes!” That is the deed to your house. Come, now. I take you there.”

  The house is more like a beach hut, but it’s sturdy and dry. It’s set on a cove. There’s a boat pulled up on the shore. We climb down out of Luni’s cart and stand in front of the hut. A woman steps out onto the wide porch and shades her eyes with her hand.

  “The man said to have it ready,” says Luni. “My wife, Nyna, she cleaned it. She brought in food. You should be set for a while.”

  Nyna steps off the porch and starts walking toward us.

  “I can screen in that porch for you, no time,” says Luni.

  Nyna laughs when she hears him say this, a tinkling laugh like bells.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  I’ve spent the day sketching beautiful children. Nyna’s girls, actually. I gave her one of the sketches when I was finished, and I was actually proud of it. I’d captured both of their faces perfectly, and there was a vibrancy on the page that I don’t think I’ve achieved before. Thomas says I’m growing by leaps and bounds. I don’t know about that, but I’m definitely improving.