Gutter Child

by Jael Richardson

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and she nods and moves to the side to let me into her apartment.

  “You okay?” she says, like she knows from the expression on my face that something is wrong. Only I’m not sure where to start.

  “Auntie,” DJ says, leaning out of my arms, and Josephine reaches for him and squeezes him tight, holding his cheek against hers.

  When William hears DJ’s voice, he comes to the door, and when I tell him that we’ve moved to the Lower End, he cheers and pats DJ on the back. He takes DJ to his bedroom to show off his train set and his stuffed bear, and when the two of them are settled, Josephine and I sit down on the yellow couch in her living area.

  Her apartment is just like ours. It has the same gray walls and the same brown carpet, but her place has plants in the window and pictures on the wall, like a home.

  “Is this why you’ve stayed away?” she says, pointing at my belly, which is noticeably round even under my oversized T-shirt.

  I nod, and when she shakes her head I can’t tell if she’s mad at Rowan or mad at me, or if there’s enough anger to share between the two of us.

  “Does David know?” she says.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I know you two have been writing, Ell.”

  “How?”

  “He wrote to me trying to figure out if you’re okay,” she says. “I have to say, it helped to know you weren’t talking to him either.”

  I look down at my hands, where the two scars are starting to look similar.

  “Does he know about the baby?” she says again, and this time I nod.

  “But you couldn’t tell me?”

  “Telling David is easy, Josephine. I don’t have to look at him and see his disappointment.”

  “I’m not disappointed,” she says with a long sigh. “I’m surprised. And worried. I’m hurt that you didn’t come sooner. That’s all.”

  I nod and we listen for a moment as William explains what the conductor of a train does from the other room: “Can you say conductor, DJ?”

  “So what are you going to do, Ell?”

  “I don’t know. I never imagined being here forever. It was always going to be the Hill. I just thought somehow I’d get there. But now we’re here. Now there’s just no way.”

  I bury my face in my hands, and Josephine reaches over, resting her hand on my back. “You can always make a home here. Be happy or a version of happy with me,” she says.

  “I know. It’s just . . . I just don’t feel like I belong,” I say, shaking my head. “This isn’t home for me like it is for you. And I think I’ll always feel that way.”

  “You think you don’t belong because you were raised that way,” she says. “It’s what the project did when they gave you to that Mainland woman. It’s what Mr. Gregors did with that coat. They made you believe that you were one of them. They tell us all the time that the way the Mainland does things is somehow best. That the Gutter System is how we become great. But you know better, especially now. You don’t see this as home because it was taken from you. This is home, and they took that from you from the start.”

  I think about her words, wondering if it’s true—if the Gutter can ever really feel like home for me the way it does for Rowan and Josephine.

  “But what do I do, Jose? I don’t know what to do,” I say, and I hear in my words the same helplessness I’ve seen in Rowan since he returned from the circuit, like I was raised to lose too.

  “Is it wrong for me to want Redemption Freedom, to have what Mainlanders have? I don’t want this debt. I don’t want it, Josephine.”

  “No one wants debt, and you can want that, Ell. But just know that you’re not really free if the Gutter System still exists. That debt they gave you when you got to Livingstone, it isn’t yours to pay. You don’t owe them anything. They owe you. They owe all of us.”

  Her face is strong and intense, and I can tell that she’s waiting to see if I get it, if I understand.

  “Where is all this coming from, Josephine?”

  She stands and turns, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her dress. “I’ve joined the Network, Ell. I’m not going to Healing Days and begging for money anymore. I’m going off Subsidy. This is my home,” she says, pressing her hand to her chest. “This is Sossi territory, and we want it back.”

  “When did this happen?”

  She shrugs and looks away. “I guess it started when I was waiting for you one day at Johnny’s. This lady came in, and she was with this man, and they were dressed in black. I knew they were both part of the Network. They sat in the booth next to us. And the woman spoke in a way that sounded just like those poems we read. There was this fire in her voice, and I listened to everything she said. Her name is Cat Cole, and I’ve been going to meetings and doing work with them since that day. It’s what I was meant to do, Ell. I just know it.”

  I take a deep breath, unsure what I should say next. I worry about Josephine’s safety, but I also envy her purpose, the way she is fighting for what she wants.

  “Look, Ell, I’m not asking you to join or anything. But you should know that this is a war. And we all have a part.”

  “What does that mean, Josephine?”

  She sighs and moves to the kitchen, where she opens one of the drawers. She pulls out a small black box and hands it to me. There’s an E engraved on the top, and the box is filled with clippings from Mainland newspapers. At the top of the pile, there’s an article with a picture of me holding DJ—the one the photographer took during Healing Days. The title reads, “Heartbreak at Healing Day—Who Is the Woman Who Wept?”

  The story is about the “destitution and despair” of the Gutter. It addresses the Gutter System and the Subsidy Cycle and a few medical success stories from Healing Days. I turn to the other articles—“Woman Who Wept Pregnant by Failed Boxer Rowan Jackson,” “Woman Who Wept Sends Poems to Secret Lover,” “Woman Who Wept Fears for Her Future,” “Woman Who Wept Facing Subsidy Crisis.”

  When I read the articles, I realize the stories all come from the letters I wrote to David, the stories I shared with him privately. I feel my stomach bend and tighten at the thought of my letters being shared in newspapers all over the Mainland.

  “Who . . . How did they get these? How did you . . . ?”

  “The one with the picture came out in a Healer magazine. Apparently, there were tea-drinking Mainland ladies who saw it and cried with guilt just at the sight of your face and the story that went along with it. They wanted to know more. So the Network found a way to give it to them. They’ve been using your letters to raise sympathy. They’re trying to get rid of the Gutter System and make this place ours. No more Subsidy. No more Mainland Guards.”

  “Josephine, these are my words. These are my private letters. I sent these to David.”

  “I know, Elimina,” she says quietly.

  “And if they’re everywhere, if this picture went everywhere, then people know where I am. If Mr. Gregors or Doc Luca or Miss Charlotte recognize me, they could come for DJ,” I say frantically, terrified at the thought.

  “I know,” she says, lowering her head.

  “Are you a part of this, Josephine? Is this the kind of work you do? Stealing people’s words? Why are you showing this to me?”

  “Because you’re my best friend. And because David is my brother, and when I heard the Network talking about you, when I saw this, I thought you should both know—”

  “David knows?”

  She nods.

  “Is he angry?”

  “All David cares about is whether you’re okay. He would do anything for you, Ell.”

  I shake my head, remembering the night Josephine went missing and I learned about their plan. It felt like nothing was real, like everything was a lie. And I sit there quietly for a moment, trying to figure out why this feels different and the same.

  “I’m risking a lot by telling you,” Josephine says.

  “What do you want me to do, Josephine? Am I su
pposed to stop writing to David?”

  Even as I say this out loud, I know that I can’t, that writing to David gives me joy and hope in a life that often robs me of both.

  “David loves you, Ell. From the time he met you at Livingstone and even more so now. I know it. He’d be heartbroken to lose both of us.”

  I nod, tears burning my eyes, because I can’t imagine life without him either.

  “Besides, if you stop writing, they’ll know that I told you. They’ll figure it out.”

  Josephine watches as I look through all of the articles, reading each word carefully.

  “What are you going to do, Ell?”

  I think about all the letters, about all the things I confessed and all the stories that are spread out across the Mainland, being read by people I don’t know who are interested in my life.

  “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” I say.

  Josephine nods, pulling a few pieces of paper and a thin black pen out of one of the drawers.

  She sits the boys down, and they all eat meat rolls while I start to write a letter to David, where I talk about being a mother again.

  “David, I’m worried I’ll do it all wrong.”

  I share the stories of Tilly and Isobel and the things Miss Charlotte said at her Home for Troubled Girls, and when I’m done, I tell David how much he means to me, and how grateful I feel to be heard.

  43

  I LIE DOWN ON THE COUCH IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY, wearing one of Rowan’s old boxing shirts and a pair of ratty underwear, while DJ naps in the bedroom. The changes in my body are happening faster than they did the first time I was pregnant. After yesterday’s run to the Upper End, which felt twice as long as usual, my back and knees are still sore.

  I sat with Elsa May and the ladies for some time, listening to them argue about plants, and before I left, I could tell that they knew as well as I did that I’ll need to stop running sooner than we thought. But if I stop running, I won’t have enough for rent.

  I receive a letter from David, and I smile at the sight of his words, grateful that his letters always seem to arrive when I need them the most.

  “I’m so sorry about Tilly and Isobel. But I know you are a wonderful mother,” he writes. “I know DJ and the new baby are lucky to have you. Because I feel that way as well.”

  I read about his new projects and the things the Freemans are up to, and I fall asleep with his letter held close to my chest.

  I WAKE TO a loud knocking, and I sit up quickly, wondering if someone is really at the door or if I woke up in the middle of one of my nightmares where someone comes to take DJ away.

  “Elimina Dubois?” a man says, knocking louder.

  “Who’s there?” I say, my voice quivering at the sound of my old name.

  “We’d like to speak with Elimina Dubois,” the man says with his mouth pressed close to the door.

  “Just a minute.”

  I pull on a pair of shorts and slide into a robe, tightening it with one of Rowan’s belts, my heart pulsing loud and hard. When I open the door just a little, the chain pulled taut, I see two well-dressed Mainlanders—a man with a briefcase and a red-haired woman with her back to me who’s speaking to a pair of tall guards.

  “Can I help you?” I say, trying to sound as normal as I can.

  “I’m looking for Elimina Madeleine Dubois,” the man says.

  “. . . Well, my name is Lima,” I say, stumbling over my own name, hoping they don’t know who I am.

  “We just want to talk, Elimina,” the woman says, and when she moves toward the small slit in the door, I recognize the woman who left me at Livingstone Academy and never returned.

  “Just give me a minute.”

  I close the door and lean against it, staring at my apartment, which is scattered with toys and clothes. I pick up the laundry and pile it in the corner, placing everything from DJ at the bottom. I hide all of his toys and place a cover over the box of diapers, then close the door to the room where DJ is napping.

  When I open the door to the apartment, the man with the briefcase enters ahead of Miss Femia, leaving the two Mainland Guards outside.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Miss Femia says, walking into the middle of the apartment and looking around. I nod, even though I don’t feel the same way.

  Miss Femia places her hand on the back of a wooden chair from a kitchen set donated by a factory worker who got sick and took a turn for the worse and is expected to go any day. “Take good care of it. It’s been in my family for years,” he said with a sad look in his eyes, and I promised to try my best.

  “Elimina, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Richard Rhodes,” Miss Femia says, gesturing toward the man in the black suit and tie who’s staring at the cupboards and the ceiling as though he’s making notes on all the things that need fixing.

  Miss Femia sits down on the edge of the couch, while Richard Rhodes grabs a chair from the kitchen.

  “Why don’t you sit next to me?” Miss Femia says, patting the cushion.

  “What’s this about?”

  “It shouldn’t take too long,” Rhodes says, grabbing a file from his briefcase.

  “Richard just has a few questions. Have a seat. Please, Elimina.”

  I sit down slowly, leaning on the arm so there’s plenty of room between me and Miss Femia.

  “Elimina, I work for the Mainland government. So does Miss Femia, which you already know. Miss Femia works in Family Services, but my role centers around Policy and Implementation, particularly as it relates to Special Projects.”

  I adjust the cushion, moving the pillow so my lower back feels more comfortable.

  “The Gutter Enhancement Project has been part of my portfolio from the start,” he says. “And we’re here to finalize a report on the project.”

  “You’re here to write a report?”

  “Yes, we’re speaking with all those who were involved,” he says.

  “That’s going to be a pretty short report, don’t you think?”

  The two of them pause for a moment, unsure how to respond.

  “I know what happened. To all of them,” I say.

  Miss Femia lowers her eyes while Richard Rhodes coughs into his fist.

  “Yes, well, we had planned to do a report when you were twenty-one. That was the original scope of the project—to see how everything unfolded. But there is some new urgency in speaking with you now—”

  “What new urgency?” I say before he’s finished his thought.

  Richard Rhodes opens the folder on his lap and pulls out a black-and-white photograph, placing it on the coffee table. I stare at it for a moment before picking it up, even though I recognize it immediately.

  The picture that appeared in the paper had been grainy and brown. But this copy is sharp and shiny—DJ biting into the pickle, juice dripping down his chin, our foreheads tilted together in black and white as the crowd lift their hands.

  When I look at it, I remember all of the feelings I had in that moment—the fear, the unbearable worry—how all that only got worse when Rowan arrived.

  “This photo appeared in a Healer magazine a few months ago,” Rhodes says. “And then in Mainland newspapers and a paper on the Hill. It’s been getting a lot of attention. You’re quite famous, in fact.”

  I tilt my head, pretending to be surprised.

  “It’s a very powerful photograph,” Miss Femia says. “I knew it was you as soon as I saw it. I thought, Oh my god, look how strong she’s become. Look how grown-up.”

  “So, you came because of this picture?”

  “We’re here to find out how you’re doing, Elimina,” Miss Femia says.

  “How I’m doing?” I say, reaching my hands out to show my scars, waving them around. “I’m in the Gutter. I live in the Lower End, next to a factory that’s killing people. How do you think I’m doing?”

  Miss Femia sucks her cheeks in like she’s swallowed something bitter.

  “Elimina, why don’t we start wit
h how you got here? What happened in Riverside?” Rhodes says, holding his pen up like he’s ready to write. “You were sent there straight from the academy, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were set to deliver your baby with a . . . Dr. Thomas D. Luca.”

  “Yes,” I say, swallowing hard.

  “According to our records, that never happened. The delivery with Dr. Luca, that is.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Can you tell us more about what happened? We have a notice of a pregnancy, we have the father’s name, but no name for the child. No record of birth,” he says.

  I look at Miss Femia, then back at Richard Rhodes. “Am I in trouble?”

  “I’m just here to collect information,” Rhodes says. “What happened at Miss Charlotte’s Home for Troubled Girls, Elimina?”

  The door to the bedroom creaks open, and the two of them look in that direction while I close my eyes, wishing he would have just kept sleeping a little longer. When I turn, DJ is standing in the doorway to our bedroom, wearing only his diaper, his face scrunched and confused.

  “I wet, Mama,” he says, closing his eyes and shielding his face, like the room is too bright.

  I place him down gently on his back to change him as he continues to watch the two strangers with a mixture of fear and curiosity. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Mainlanders who weren’t Healers or guards, and it’s the first time a Mainlander has ever been inside the apartment, sitting on the couch like they belong.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. These are Mama’s guests,” I say, leaning over and kissing his head. “Can you say hi?”

  “Hi,” he says, covering his face with both hands.

  “Is this your famous son? The boy with the pickle?” Miss Femia says, smiling with a gooey kind of grin.

  “Yes,” I say, but I don’t smile back.

  I remove the cover from the diaper box and change him on the floor while Richard Rhodes adjusts his papers and continues with his questions.

  “His father, Rowan Jackson, do you know where he is?” Rhodes says.