“It wasn’t what I thought it would be,” Josephine says, like she was only waiting until we were alone. “At the Hill. It just wasn’t what I imagined. They made us work hard all the time, and I know how that sounds. But somehow working at the Hill felt . . . different. I couldn’t get over all the stuff they had and how they wanted us to work for them, like they were Mainlanders. Do you know that Mabel Freeman has never had a job? Never. Not like a real job where she goes and does something hard and sweaty. She just . . . supervises things, like she’s a Deco or something. But not like Ida. She’s nothing like Ida. That woman just sits around reading books all day, talking like she’s a star in a movie: ‘Helloooo, David,’” Josephine says in a voice that’s meant to sound high and sultry like Mabel Freeman’s.
“She lives this whole other way, Elimina. They have so much money. They have this big house. And then they have other houses that are just for people to come and stay in when they’re traveling on their fancy boats. And these Mainlanders who visit and the regulars who live on the Hill, they expect us to do everything for them. We tie up their boats and we clean them. We say hello, but only when they want us to. Some of them like to act like we’re not even there. We had to call them sir or madam, and we had to wear gloves all the time. Like folks don’t know who and what we are and where we come from. Like they don’t know what’s underneath.”
I look down at my hands, the old scar that’s messy and worn, and the new one that never feels like it belongs.
“They had us doing every kind of job you can imagine,” Josephine says. “Did you know that there are things Mainlanders buy that you can only get on the Hill—that they do business with them?”
I nod.
“Well, the Freemans are involved with almost all of it. Coffee and this chocolate bean that Mainlanders use for their skin. They’ve got their hands in everything. They have so much money, Elimina!”
Josephine looks out on Block 1, squinting into the sun. I move DJ into the shade and fan him with my hand so he doesn’t get too warm.
“You know they could have hired you right there at the employer fair? Violet too. They could have afforded both of you. And whenever David talked about that day, how lucky we both were that it was them, I asked him why they didn’t save you right then. If they’re so great, why didn’t they save us all? Imagine how different things would be. You’d probably have your debt mostly paid off, and Violet would still be alive.”
I think about this imaginary life and what it would be like, but when I look down at DJ, I wonder if I could ever enjoy a life that doesn’t include him now.
“What did David say when you asked him that?”
Josephine growls and stands, waving her arms as though the very mention of David infuriates her. “I didn’t share half of what I’m saying with him because I couldn’t. He adores the Freemans. He thinks they hung the moon in the sky with their bare hands! Whenever I criticized them, he would ask me why I hated them so much. He would beg me to keep my voice down because he was afraid they would hear. But I couldn’t care less if they could hear. Maybe if they heard, they would do something about it.”
“Josephine—”
She holds her hand out, like she doesn’t want me to say anything, like she knows what I’m going to say next.
“I love David, Elimina. But when we got there, he changed. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. All I know is that I couldn’t get past who they were. Those people on the Hill surrendered to the Mainland and then left our families here with nothing. They just paid for themselves and left. Now there’s this whole Gutter System that we’re stuck in, while they’re making all the money they can. Sure, they’ve got their David cases and their Hill Coalition, where they do some good here and there. And sure, they took me in. But what about this? What about what they did to all of us?” she says, gesturing toward the whole Gutter. “I don’t know how to explain it, but working for them made me feel far more like a fool than I ever did working for Mainlanders.”
When William comes over and asks if he can go down the block with the other boy, Josephine tells him not to be gone too long and not to go too far.
“Stay away from the guards,” she says, and William nods and runs away quickly. “Did I ever tell you how David and I got to Livingstone?”
I shake my head, and she takes a long, deep breath, looking out on the park.
“My parents tried to pay their way out for years. They worked and their parents worked and their parents’ parents worked. They all took the best-paying jobs they could to stay out of debt. They saved and they saved, passing money down like a torch they said would light our way out someday. Every generation added and saved, placing money all over the house in special hiding places, in case of money raids, so that one family could get out together. But when I was ten, there was a fire, and suddenly everything was gone. Our house. Our money. All that we saved. Gone. Just like that,” she says, snapping her fingers in the air.
I think about the money tucked under my bed, the payments I’ve earned over the last few months, how hard it would be if all of that saving was suddenly gone, let alone generations of it.
“The fire destroyed the home my parents’ great-great-great-great-grandparents built, and my parents were devastated. They came down to the Lower End on a bus with nothing but their children in their arms, a legacy family who had lost everything their family had ever owned and earned. They couldn’t bear to look at us. That’s why they sent us to the academy. They were too ashamed to live with us as Subs and give us debt.”
I look down at DJ sleeping in his stroller, unable to imagine the pain I would feel sending him away, not knowing if I would ever see him again.
“A month or so after I sent you the letter at Livingstone, I got word that Mom and Pop weren’t well, and I knew I had to come back. I needed to see them again. I kept thinking about what my family had always wanted—for us to always stay together—and I had to be here with them. But the Freemans didn’t understand.”
“They wouldn’t let you go?” I say, and she shakes her head.
David had mentioned the passing of his parents, how hard it was, how he often thought about me losing Mother at fourteen, but he never mentioned knowing they weren’t well.
“They said it was too dangerous, and David agreed with them. Can you believe it? He said Mom and Pop knew this could happen, that what they wanted more than being together was for us to find success,” she says. “I was so angry at him. And the Freemans too. But I had nothing. No money in my hand, just some imaginary debt I was paying down . . . So, I took some things, to help me get home . . . and to help Mom and Pop once I got here.”
“You stole from the Freemans?”
“I figured Mom and Pop might need medicine. And all that money I earned was just sitting with some debt manager. But it was mine. I earned it. They owed me.”
“So you just took things?”
“Just a few gold items and some dishes. They have so many dishes. Some they don’t even use. Some just sit in bookcases, like trophies or something.”
I place one hand on my chest, like I’m not sure what to say next. “Did you get caught? Did they find out? Josephine, why would you do that?”
“David was just as mortified as you. He begged them to be lenient, and the Freemans arranged for my punishment to be coming here with a large fine instead of going to jail.”
I sit back and rub my hand across DJ’s hair.
“It’s fine. Really. Life’s a lot simpler,” Josephine says. “I have William, and we play music in the Corridor and do deliveries for the pharmacy. We’re Subs, but we try to make a little extra so that it’s not so tight. And I like it. It feels good, you know. To be here at home.”
I close my eyes and listen to the wind moving between the buildings, rustling the leaves of two nearby trees with roots that burst through the concrete.
“Don’t stop going to the Hill on account of me, El . . . Ell,” she says, stopping at a shorter version of my name.
“It just wasn’t for me. David would love the company. Especially if it’s you.”
I hear the choke in her voice, the way she clears her throat, like she misses David more than she wants me to know.
“Did you get here in time? To see your parents?”
She smiles a little with her lips tucked tightly together. “I said goodbye just in time.”
We sit quietly and watch the sun slide down, and when Josephine leans over and rests her head on my shoulder, I wrap my arm around her, grateful to have my friend back, grateful not to feel so alone.
37
THE FIELDS ON THE WAY TO THE LOWER END ARE USUALLY empty, but on my fifth run to the Subsidy Office, they’re packed with green tents and people moving about like busy ants. The ride takes twice as long as usual on account of the steady stream of buses and backed-up checkpoints, and when we finally arrive at the terminal, Mainland Healers are pouring out of buses wearing red shirts with “We Come to Heal” written across the chest in bold white letters. I stare into the chaos and my heart races quickly as I remember the fear that comes with being outnumbered by Mainlanders.
In the Corridor, Mainlanders are hanging lights from tall poles and setting up barriers and tents along the lanes. Tight groups of Mainland Healers stare up at buildings and point, while guards lead them through the marketplace. When I reach the lemon stand where Harriet usually works with her daughter, Sondra is working alone, smothered by a crowd of young Mainlanders.
“Seems like a bad day for your mother to be away,” I say, and she smiles and shrugs like she doesn’t mind.
“Healing Days. Biggest three days of the year in the Gutter,” Sondra says. “They’ll have real doctors and dentists packing the lanes and doing free appointments by tomorrow. Momma’s resting so she can line up real early for the dentist.”
In the Gutter, there are a few small clinics set up in the Lower End to treat minor injuries like broken bones or small wounds, but the Medical Center, where Geneva works as head nurse, provides the most significant medical care. According to Josephine and Duncan, the long bus ride combined with the cost of treatment prevented most people in the Lower End from ever going there. Most people preferred to trust local home brews and remedies they got from neighbors and whatever they could find in the Corridor—most of it focused on reducing pain, not treating it.
“Momma wants to line up at four in the morning to be sure she gets in on the first day,” Sondra says, serving two more lemonades to a pair of Mainland girls who giggle and point at my hair.
“In the morning?” I say, and Sondra nods.
“Wish us luck,” she says, handing DJ a small glass of lemonade, which he lifts slowly to his mouth and laps like a dog.
WHEN WE ARRIVE at Johnny’s, Josephine and William are waiting in the same booth where we always meet after I visit the Subsidy Office. I apologize for being late, telling them about the traffic and all of the Healers in red shirts who got in the way, and Josephine begs me to stay late for celebration night in order to make it up to her.
“You should see it. I mean, it’s something. I can’t believe they don’t have this on the Mainland,” she says.
“So long as you have a birth card saying that you were born on the Mainland, there are doctors and hospitals open whenever you want,” I say.
“What about you?”
I shrug. “Most of them refused to see me or insisted that Mother pay double.”
“Well, maybe this is one thing that Mainlanders are missing out on,” she says as we watch a group of Healers on the other side of the street set up a ladder and organize cans of paint.
“Have you ever had red pickles, Auntie?” William says, and I crinkle my nose at the thought.
“Pickles soaked in red sugar,” Josephine explains, shaking her head and squinting her face like they taste as gross as they sound.
“They’re the best,” William says, rubbing one hand across his belly and squeezing DJ’s chubby hand. “You want a pickle, DJ?”
DJ smiles as he watches William and tries to move his mouth the same way.
“Pic-kles,” William says slowly, and DJ pauses for a moment, then laughs as though the very sound of the word is funny.
“When I was little, our family would always go to Healing Days,” Josephine says, in a way that sounds both sad and happy. “Our parents would pack us up and we’d spend a few days down here, staying with family friends. We’d get our teeth checked and we’d go to the celebration shows each night. It was the only time of year when we got to stay up really late. The shows didn’t mean much, but it was fun to watch.”
I place my hand over hers and when she squeezes back, I feel how much this memory hurts now that David and her parents are gone.
“We can’t stay the night, but I’ll stay as late as the bus will allow,” I say. “Hopefully, Geneva doesn’t send the Mainland Guard or switch the locks.”
Josephine smiles and William cheers, picking up DJ and squeezing him tight as the Healers across the street cover the words “SOSSI” and “RESIST” with seven purple letters outlined in white: “BELIEVE.”
BY THE TIME it’s dark, the Corridor is crowded from the bus terminal to the Subsidy Office, with guards perched on all the rooftops. People flood to the Corridor, including families with small children, factory workers in uniform and a group of Gutter folks wearing black.
“No, no, Healers go!” the group in black shouts until dozens of Mainland Guards wearing masks and holding shields push them back.
DJ sits in the stroller next to William while Josephine and I sit on a low wall, and when the lights onstage turn up, Healers in red shirts take the stage, welcomed by loud applause. They sing songs, and they clap and dance, and when the music gets slower, the crowd sways, stretching out their hands as though the music is a cure they can touch.
I close my eyes and try to feel what they feel, but nothing happens.
When the singers are done, a thick man with a bushy gray mustache takes the stage. He talks into the mic about the Mainland doctors who’ve come to the Gutter and about the people they’re going to save, shouting so loud that the crowd claps whenever he stops, begging him to go on. “Do you believe?” he shouts, and everyone cheers. His eyes seem to find me in the crowd, so it feels like he’s staring right at me. “Do you believe?”
The Healers back in Capedown visited the hospitals regularly, and when Mother got sick and the doctors told me she would die, I sat by her bed and prayed for her to come back. But nothing happened. When I saw an old woman in a red shirt making rounds, offering prayers, I asked her if she could help me.
“Can you heal my mother?” I said to the red-shirted Healer with white hair and bony shoulders.
“I suppose anyone can be healed,” she said, standing a few feet away and smiling with a strange curve of her mouth.
She spoke differently with me than she did with the nurses and the Mainlanders who were ill. I saw how she held them close and wept over them, and I saw how she took a step back when I approached. She didn’t come in Mother’s room and she didn’t pray for her, and when Mother died the next day, I wondered if prayer only worked for Mainlanders, or if that Healer let her die so I would leave Capedown.
The Healer with the mic and the mustache invites a young man in a factory uniform to join him onstage as the other members of his crew stand nearby, shouting and hollering in matching coveralls.
“Way to go, Tommy,” they shout.
“Atta boy, T,” they say as the man moves across the stage, waving at the crowd, his hair neatly braided in rows.
The Healer with the mustache places his arm around Tommy and shares how Tommy got an appointment with the dentists last year during Healing Days. “Is it true you had a mouth full of problems?” the Healer says.
Tommy smiles with his lips pressed tightly together, his brown skin glistening under the lights. “I did, sir. I had a mouth full of problems,” he mumbles into the mic.
“He needed new teeth and that’s what w
e gave him,” the Healer says, and he points at Tommy and shouts, “Show them, Tommy!”
The young man smiles, and when he stretches his mouth out wide, everyone applauds because his teeth are impressively straight and white.
“Are you a believer, Tommy?”
“I’m a believer,” Tommy says, still smiling and shaking his fist in the air.
Tommy steps down as his coworkers pat him on the back and give him high fives, passing a Gutter woman who heads onto the stage with her young son.
“This is my friend Dellianah,” the Healer with the mustache says to the crowd, inviting the woman forward with a wave of his hand. “Am I saying that right, Dellianah?”
The woman smiles. “Oh, yes, sir,” she says.
“Dellianah and her son were here last year, and you know what? I’m going to let her tell you the story. Because she tells it so well.”
He places his arm around the woman and points the mic toward her mouth. She shares how sick her son was, how she was certain she would lose him, and how the medication the doctors brought during Healing Days saved his life.
“I believe, and you should too,” she says, and everyone claps and shouts.
“Who else is a believer?” the man with the mustache says.
People wave their hands, jumping up and down, as the singers return and the music starts up again. Only this time, the Healer stays too, talking and walking while the singers shift and move to the music. “We come to heal,” they sing when the music pauses, their voices softer and quieter than before. The man talks about believing and purpose, about why they’re really here, and when DJ fusses a little, I pick him up and hold him on my hip so I can still hear and see the show.
“We didn’t just come here to heal, to bring doctors and dentists,” the man says. “We came here to help. We came here to help you.”
I feel a tingle down my spine, like somehow this message is for me.
Gutter Child Page 26