by Gish Jen
“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Ondi says such lovely things about you.”
Not just a lie, but a needless lie. Even Ondi winced.
“Can we show Winny your garden?” she asked. And she proceeded to show him the worm house, the vegetable towers, the grape arbor, the hay bales. There were only seedlings and buds to be seen as of yet, but still he acted impressed.
“How remarkable,” he said. “How remarkable. How remarkable.”
Gwen and I were frozen by the sight of his gun. A gun in the garden—Eleanor would never have countenanced it, and had she been here she no doubt would simply have told him to leave it outside. Perhaps she would have asked him why he carried this thing, as well—to defend himself against what? And, of course, I wanted to forbid it, too. But Gwen and I had accepted Ondi’s surprise offer to drop by in the hope that she was going to tell us why Eleanor had said Ondi, Winny—if she indeed had. Forbidding anything was not an option.
And so here hung this brutal presence—a full-length SmartGun such as we had only seen on NetScreen. First Winny slung it over his shoulder the way one might sling a yoga mat. Then, sitting down, he slung it over his chairback.
I offered them some warm hibiscus tea.
“How remarkable,” said Winny again, tasting it.
“They make it with wild mint.” Ondi warmed her hands around her teacup.
“How remarkable.”
Ondi smiled. “So I have a confession,” she said, tossing her hair back. “We didn’t just come to visit.”
Gwen and I feigned surprise.
“We came,” she said, “because we thought you could use help.”
“How remarkable,” I said then.
Gwen managed to keep a straight face.
“It must be terrible to see Eleanor this way,” said Winny, unperturbed. “So painful and incomprehensible.”
“It is.” I tried to say this as if it was natural enough for him to know how Eleanor seemed, and as if I felt comfortable with that, when in fact I did not want the dirty fingerprints of his sympathy on Eleanor at all.
“We are here to help,” said Ondi. Relinquishing her teacup, she leaned forward like a talk-show host, lacing and unlacing her silver-painted fingernails.
“How so?”
“We can get you more visits. My father can arrange it.”
I stopped. “Your father?”
“His friends, really.”
“What friends?”
“The same friends who put the BioNet in.”
I could not speak.
“You know. The neural lace,” said Ondi.
“His famous doctor friends,” said Gwen, slowly.
“Yes. Some of whom ended up Surplus, like him. And who developed the technology by themselves, if you can believe it. Working on their own in, like, these little home workshops.”
So I wasn’t the only one with a little home workshop.
“Of course, some of them have Crossed Over now.” Ondi tossed her hair. “Thanks to their work.”
“With others hoping to Cross Over, too,” guessed Gwen.
“Yes.”
“Including your father?” I asked.
“He’s already Crossed Over.”
“Got himself out of that damned Flotsam Town,” said Gwen.
“Yes. He was invited to Cross Over earlier, you know, but he didn’t, like your mother.”
“I remember. Because he flunked EgoShrink.”
“That’s what my mother always said, but actually it was because he refused to work on the new RegiChip—which wasn’t going to be a chip, exactly, but another kind of traceable marker. Something more…I forget what they call it. Systematic?”
“Systemic, perhaps,” I said.
“That’s right. Systemic,” she said, tossing her hair.
“Because he was a radiologist.”
“Exactly.”
We all had some tea. So had her father Crossed Over permanently now? And was Ondi next in line? And what was that going to entail? I didn’t ask.
“Hence your family’s distinguished treatment,” I said instead. “I always wondered why your family got Cast Off for your trip to Vermont—it seemed so extreme. As if the AutoJudge were set, if not to black code, at least to gray. But now I get it. Your father’s seen the error of his ways.”
“As he hopes Eleanor will, too.”
“I can imagine.”
“Is your father working on the BioNet himself?” asked Gwen.
“Of course.”
“Though it wasn’t originally his field.”
“He picked it up. And they have to do a lot of scanning—complicated stuff Aunt Nettie doesn’t know how to do yet.”
“And he is based at this”—I didn’t want to say “prison”—“house?”
“The research center? Yes.”
“How remarkable.” How I wished then that we had some of Eleanor’s cookies—anything with which to break up this nightmare. I tried to carry on in a normal tone of voice. “And let me ask you. Is this, um, research center government-run, exactly? Or is it a private center, funded by the government but, you know, protected from public scrutiny?”
“It’s doctor-run,” she replied evenly.
“By people like your father.”
“Yes.”
I could sense a little rise in her as she answered and thought I recognized in it her younger self—the feisty Ondi. She fiddled with her nails, one of which, interestingly, she had left unpainted.
“It’s doctor-run on behalf of the government.”
“Yes.”
“How remarkable,” I said yet again.
“It means I’ve been seeing Eleanor,” said Ondi pointedly. “And that we can all go together, if you like.”
“What do you mean, you’ve been seeing her?” said Gwen.
“I mean, I’ve been going to see her. Since you aren’t allowed. And since she’s so lonely.”
“You and Winny?” I asked.
“Yes.”
For once I was grateful for the honking geese—indeed, I almost wished they would honk more at whatever threat they perceived.
“Thank you,” said Gwen, finally. “For looking in on her.” She tossed her hair as if in imitation of Ondi.
“You’re welcome.” Ondi’s manner softened. “I’m sure you’ve been worried.” Then she repeated, “We can all go together to see her.” She tossed her hair.
“Why are we being allowed?” asked Gwen.
“I think Aunt Nettie just wants you to really take it in. So you can make a rational decision.”
“About?”
“I don’t know. About your behavior, I guess. About being Problematic. And where it’s going to get you.”
“Lest I SpritzGram any Enforcers, for example.”
Ondi smiled a pained smile. “Exactly.”
Winny’s SmartGun, slung over his chair, rocked heavily as he sat back. He crossed his legs, showing off his new RealLeather shoes. The bottoms shone a pale peach.
“You realize my mother will never drop the suit.” Gwen’s chin rose. “You realize she will persist as long as she’s alive.”
Ondi arched an eyebrow. She tossed her hair.
“And what about you? Are you going to take up where she left off? Are you going to be just as bullheaded?”
“I am not returning to the Netted world, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Gwen. “Neither am I playing for the Netted League, and I will say whatever I please.”
“Even if your mother’s life is at stake?”
“Is that a threat?”
“I’m just asking hypothetically. What if she were about to be Cast Off?”
Gwen didn’t answer.
“Because you’re still young a
nd because you’re my friend,” Ondi went on, “they just really want you to see.”
“What they’ve done to her and what they could do to me, too? Is that it? And if she were Cast Off, who would take her out to sea, by the way? Would it be your father? Or would you do it yourself, what with your experience with this kind of thing?”
Ondi’s smile faded. “I am trying to help you, Gwen.”
“Thank you,” I put in quickly.
There was one more ponytail toss as Ondi turned toward me. “My father always says how he remembers everything you and Eleanor did for me,” she said.
“I’m sure,” I said.
She smiled.
* * *
—
“Phonier than phony.” Gwen was fuming. Indeed, Ondi’s unctuousness was so over-the-top that if there were a smidgen of the old Ondi left, Gwen could almost believe it self-parody. It was as if Ondi had stuffed herself into sausage casing, Gwen said. That’s how distorted she was. And Winny with his SmartGun and his AryanDerm! Gwen skewered some cherry tomatoes, roasting them over the stove until they blackened and blistered.
Two days later, though, we were visiting Eleanor with Ondi and Winny—consternating and confusing her, I could see. Indeed, Eleanor’s frown was so deep it did not seem so much like something actually hers as something applied to her face. She was wearing a yellow-and-white gown I’d never seen before—a shapeless, institutional affair—although over it, astonishingly, hung a mohair shawl Gwen and Eleanor had given to Ondi’s family when they were Cast Off. How had it gotten here? Why had it not been dumped in our yard? Had it somehow been missed, or had someone saved it? In any case, it was a marvel even now. Cinnamon and gold with streaks of teal and scarlet, and knit such that it fell with fantastic fluidity, it could have been a treasure glinting from the depths of a dragon’s lair.
How strange to see it here, especially as, above it, Eleanor’s hair had been neatly parted like a schoolgirl’s and fastened to the side with a purple plastic barrette. She was knitting, too, what looked to be a blanket square, though it could also be a sampler—blue and white, with some sort of pattern. Where had she gotten the needles and yarn? Her steely eyes were sleepy but alive and maybe, I thought, a bit wary as she looked up from a pair of reading glasses I didn’t recognize. Since when did she have turquoise glasses? Happily, thanks to the MediGlue, her wounds were barely visible, though they had a strange luminescence, like glowworms.
“Eleanor, look. I’ve brought you some guests,” said Ondi cheerfully. She sounded like a morning nurse.
Eleanor looked up from her work, blinking repeatedly in the sharp light. “Are these guests?”
“Good morning, Nellie.” I tried to act as normally as possible. “Thanks to Ondi we’ve been able to sneak in this extra visit. Or should I say, thanks to Ondi and Winny.”
Winny smiled brilliantly. In the bright light his front two teeth seemed fused together in a kind of dental unibrow.
“They have pull,” put in Gwen. “Heaven knows what kind but it’s great they have it, don’t you think? How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” answered Eleanor but then turned to Ondi with a perplexed look.
“Dearest Ondi,” she said. “Who is this?”
“Gwen. It’s Gwen.” Ondi placed her manicured fingertips on Eleanor’s shoulders—something I myself would have done with trepidation, even after decades of marriage. Eleanor’s temper, after all, not to say her reflexes. Eleanor, though, simply returned to her knitting. “It’s your daughter,” said Ondi. “It’s Gwen.”
“Why doesn’t she come?” said Eleanor. “You come. But Gwen doesn’t come.”
“It’s because she can’t come,” said Ondi gently—and the gentleness, I have to say, looking back, seemed real. “Not every day. Not the way I can. She isn’t allowed.” She said this matter-of-factly. “The AquaDrones. You know.”
AquaDrones?
“It’s not easy to get through,” said Eleanor.
“No, it isn’t.”
“It’s Aunt Nettie versus Aunt Nellie. Isn’t it.”
“A bit.” Ondi tossed her hair back.
“As if that’s any sort of contest.”
“It is, Nell, actually. It is,” I said.
“I’m sorry?” Eleanor looked confused but then looked up and, I thought, winked at me.
Did I really see that? Or did I just want to believe she was struggling less than she was? I looked down at her knitting and noticed that the pattern she was knitting into her blue square repeated but wasn’t an abstract pattern. It was letters. You could only see the bottom half of the letters as yet, but in a flash I realized what they were going to say—that they were a reminder to herself. MY NAME IS ELEANOR. MY NAME IS ELEANOR.
My name is Eleanor.
“And my daughter?” Eleanor said again.
“Here, Mom, it’s me,” said Gwen, touching her arm. “Right here. It’s Gwen. Gwen.”
“Gwen,” said Eleanor. “Of course, it’s you. My dear Gwennie.”
Gwen began to cry.
“Don’t cry.” Eleanor put down her knitting, leaned in to wipe Gwen’s eyes with the edge of her shawl, then looked up at Gwen’s face. “Just remember what I always told you.”
“What did you always tell me?”
“That I will be proud of you,” said Eleanor. “I will be proud.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. There will have to be some reason.” She frowned. “I will be proud of your knitting, maybe. I know you’ll make such warm things. In fact, I think you made this shawl.”
“No, Mom. You made it. You made it for Ondi’s family before they were Cast Off.”
“Did I? But I don’t know how to knit.”
“Yes, you do. You do. You’re knitting now.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Her needles started to move again. “I don’t remember but my hands remember. I’m glad I have some reading glasses. Thank you for bringing my reading glasses.”
“But I didn’t bring your reading glasses,” said Gwen. “I don’t think they’re even yours.”
“I brought them,” said Ondi. And there was the gentleness again.
Eleanor began to nod off.
“Is she being drugged?” asked Gwen. “It’s more than just the mall-truck food, isn’t it.”
Ondi frowned. “Maybe,” she said. Then, “Yes.”
“Because she wasn’t cooperating.”
“Yes.”
“She knows you better than she does me,” said Gwen.
“Well, she sees more of me,” said Ondi. “I’ll see if I can bring you more often. I don’t know why I shouldn’t be able to.”
It was dusk. The chandelier came on; the EnforceBots closed in. We kissed Eleanor and hugged her gently.
* * *
—
“You can only imagine how many points they will get for”—I could hardly say the words—“for winnowing her.”
“You know it will mean someone will pass the Final Test. Ondi, maybe.” Gwen agreed, hunched over her tea. She gripped the cup as if it were a baseball.
“Who can then Cross Over permanently,” I said.
For a long moment, neither of us could speak.
“So why don’t they just do it is the question, right? And the answer, because Ondi herself has convinced them to hold off,” Gwen guessed.
“But why would she do that?”
Gwen shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she sees her Grandpa Barney in Mom and just can’t do it herself—as she doesn’t want them to know. Maybe she’s trying to get someone else to do it for her.”
“Or maybe she doesn’t want it done at all?”
“We can hope.”
“Would we be just kidding ourselves?”
“I don’t know.”
/> “Do you think she loves Winny?”
“No.”
“Do you think she loves her father?”
“I think she wishes she could love him.”
I thought. “If they…if they proceed, there won’t be anyone to explain Ondi to herself.”
“Making her Homo regrettus once again.”
“Exactly.” I could still see Ondi in the garden, her face turned to Eleanor like a plant growing toward the sun.
“Well, maybe she’ll hesitate. Maybe she just likes being on the pitcher’s mound, for once. Maybe she likes my having to catch whatever she throws.”
“I wonder if Aunt Nettie knows.”
“Kind of makes you want to AskAuntNettie, doesn’t it?”
We left off.
* * *
—
We visited. Sometimes Eleanor seemed beyond communication; sometimes she could not even knit. But sometimes her fingers flew as if of their own accord. Her squares were for a blanket, it seemed, like the ones she had made for Ondi’s family before they were Cast Off. Some were solid; others looked as if they were perhaps meant to bear phrases but as if she could not manage to form the letters.
“I let her into the kitchen,” Ondi told us one day. “And what did she do?”
“She made a pie,” I guessed. “Like the ones she used to make for League games.”
“Apple.” Ondi looked thoughtful.
Did Eleanor realize she was in danger of being winnowed? Was she, for all her confusion, deliberately reminding Ondi of their long relationship and deep ties?
Another day, Ondi said, “She calls me Gwen sometimes.”
Gwen gazed at a painting, blinking hard.
“You’ve always been like a daughter to her,” I said coolly. “Indeed, you’ve been like a member of the family to us all.”
Ondi raised an eyebrow as if to say, Nice try. At the same time, she had to know, in her heart, that it was true.
* * *
◆
No one in the Resistance League was trying out for the Olympics. Now that they played against Netted teams, though, they knew many of the contenders for Team AutoAmerica; and so many hours did they spend brandishing their impassioned opinions as to who was a shoo-in and who not that it seemed a kind of sport of its own.