“He’s out.”
“But he lives here with you?” he says, and I hear the surprise in his voice.
“Yes.”
I don’t tell him that Rowan hasn’t been home in two weeks and that I have no idea where he is, because it’s none of their business.
“Are you aware of the circumstances that brought Mr. Jackson back to the Gutter?”
“Yes, I’m aware,” I say.
“You’re aware that he has violent tendencies, that he’s considered armed and dangerous on the Mainland?”
“He’s not violent or dangerous or armed,” I say. “He’s a boxer. He’s been boxing his whole life because you-all asked him to. He doesn’t hurt people for fun. He’s just—”
“But you’re aware of what he’s capable of?” Rhodes says, and when I think about the twist of my arm and the time Rowan punched a hole in the Fieldhouse wall, I nod. I know more than anyone what Rowan Jackson Junior is capable of.
“I’m curious, Mr. Rhodes. If you thought he was so dangerous, why did you let him come back here?” I say. “Why would you send him back and then blame me for taking him in? Where is he supposed to go?”
“No one is blaming you for anything, Miss Dubois. I simply want to understand your decisions.”
“For a report on the project?” I say.
I use the table to stand up, holding DJ and placing him on my lap as I sit back down on the couch.
“My bibby. My bibby. My bibby,” DJ says to Miss Femia as he rubs my belly gently, and I move his hand away, adjusting the robe.
“You’re pregnant?” Richard Rhodes says.
“Yes. I’m pregnant,” I say with a sigh, and Miss Femia smiles.
“You look wonderful,” she says.
“And this baby is with Mr. Jackson as well?” Rhodes asks without looking up, ready to record my response.
“That’s not really your business. Although for the record, yes. This baby is also Rowan’s.”
“Miss Dubois, I’m only trying to help you,” Rhodes says. “There’s no need to be hostile. And there’s certainly no reason to lie.”
“Well, perhaps that should go both ways.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” he says.
“Why would you come all the way down here to do a report? Why would you come to my home in the Lower End? Have you come here to take my son?” I say, looking at Miss Femia so she knows this last question is for her.
There’s quiet in the room while Rhodes scratches his pen across the paper.
“Elimina, I haven’t come to take your son away,” she says. “But why don’t I take DJ while Mr. Rhodes finishes with you. I can walk around with him outside. It might make things easier.”
She reaches out like she wants DJ to come to her, wiggling her fingers and leaning in close as I hold DJ tighter. “You’re not going anywhere with my son, Miss Femia.”
Miss Femia sits up taller, her lips pursed tight like she’s hurt, and DJ squirms in my grip, fighting for more room.
“I need to understand a little bit more about your life, Miss Dubois . . . for the report,” Rhodes says. “That’s why we’re here—to understand your circumstances and your living arrangement and how you came to be here. So can we get back to that? Can we work our way through some of these questions, please, ladies?”
I nod because all I want is for them to leave us alone.
“Are you on Subsidy?”
“No. We’re not Subs, Mr. Rhodes.”
“Have you ever been to a meeting or gotten involved with the Network?”
I pause and think about Josephine, about the letters I’ve written knowing that the Network would use them. “No, I’ve never been to a meeting,” I say.
“And do you know anyone who’s involved with the Network?”
“What does the Network have to do with a report about the project, Mr. Rhodes?”
“I simply ask the questions and write the report. It’s not up to me to determine the questions or the significance of your response.”
“But if a person was involved with the Network, what would that say about them? How does that relate to my circumstances or my living arrangement or how I came to be here—the very things that you say you want to know?”
Rhodes looks over at Miss Femia, who’s trying to get DJ to laugh by tickling the top of his hands with her long, painted fingernails.
“It might say that, in terms of their circumstances, they’ve become a danger or a threat to the community here or the Mainland at large.”
“The Network is not a danger to this community, Mr. Rhodes. Quite the opposite.”
“So you’ve joined them?”
“No, I haven’t joined,” I say again. “I told you, I’ve never even been to a meeting.”
“What happened at Miss Charlotte’s, Miss Dubois?” Rhodes says, and this time I hear a tone that’s full of accusation, like he’s growing tired with being patient and polite.
“Elimina,” Miss Femia says, her voice sweet and high like a song. “Just tell us what happened.”
“They were going to take my son. I didn’t want to be separated from him,” I say. “I didn’t want to give him up. I wanted to be the one to raise him.”
“Did you ever mention this to . . . Dr. Luca or Miss Charlotte?” Richard Rhodes says.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“Why not?”
“Sarah. Tilly. Isobel,” I say, raising three fingers, one at a time.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Because they would have taken him away and I wouldn’t have been able to stop them. Just like they did with Sarah, Tilly and Isobel. Am I in trouble, Mr. Rhodes?”
Richard Rhodes opens the file and pulls out a letter, placing it on the table in front of me.
“Do you recognize this letter, Miss Dubois?”
It’s the letter I brought on my first day, the one Duncan forged, the one I handed to the guard with the crooked mouth the day Geneva came to get me at the Base.
“Do you know that it’s a crime to produce false documents?”
I shrug.
“Do you know who produced this?”
I shake my head, my heart pounding so loud I can hardly hear anything.
“Elimina, this is quite serious,” Rhodes says. “We’re here to do a report, like I said at the start. But you should know that there’s also a claim that you breached your contract, and we’re being asked by a judge to use this report in that case as well.”
“A claim?” I say, trying to remain calm. “Who’s making a claim?”
“It’s led by Mr. Gregors, Dr. Thomas Luca and Miss Charlotte Harris,” Richard Rhodes says, reading from the file. “They’ve charged you with forgery, kidnapping and endangering the life of a child.”
“Endangering the life of a child?” I say. “I mean, if taking my own child is endangerment, then what is it called when you take one hundred and ninety-nine die? Are you facing any charges, Mr. Rhodes? What about you, Miss Femia?”
“Miss Dubois, I’m not here to have a debate.”
“What do they want from me? Why don’t they just leave me alone?” I say, shaking my head and holding DJ close.
“You should know that their claims have merit, and that they’ve demanded the return of their property in keeping with your contractual obligation,” Rhodes says.
“The return of what property?”
Miss Femia and Mr. Rhodes exchange a glance before he responds. “Your son, Miss Dubois.”
I look at DJ, my stomach twisting and turning so tight, I feel like I might faint.
“The report will be used to determine whether their claim has any merit.”
“Well, what are you going to say, Mr. Rhodes?”
“We’re trying to figure that out,” he says, sliding the letter closer. “Do you remember this letter?”
“Just tell the truth, Elimina,” Miss Femia says. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay! If I tell you the truth, then I’
m a criminal. And if I lie, then I’m a liar, and then I’m a criminal too. Either way, you’re going to make me guilty, and then you’re going to take my son. Your project took me from this place when I had no say, even though my birth mother wanted to keep me. You gave me to a woman who loved me as best she could, who raised me in a place where no one wanted me around, and when she died, you—you, Miss Femia—drove me to Livingstone Academy and you left me there. You just left me with Mr. Gregors, and now you’re here telling me that he wants to take my child and charge me with kidnapping. Isobel was right. You’re all thieves. Not just now but from the start. You built this whole system to ruin us, and I’m done. I’m so tired of it all.”
The two of them sit there, and I see fear mixed with pity in their eyes as DJ stuffs three fingers in his mouth and sucks on them, his eyes wide at the sound of my raised voice.
“I can’t address the past here, Elimina. So let’s just focus on the situation we’re looking at right now. I don’t know if you realize it, but this report is very important.”
“If I’m just supposed to forget about the past, then why am I still paying debts? If I have to pay for what Gutter folks did way back then, why can’t you be held accountable for what you took from us? I mean, you’re still taking right now,” I shout, holding DJ tight against my chest. “You’re still trying to take everything from me.”
“Mama, don’t cry,” DJ says. He wipes the tears off my cheeks, kissing my lips with both of his hands pressed against the side of my face.
“Elimina, I know this is hard,” Miss Femia says.
“You have no idea what hard is, Miss Femia!”
“I understand you’re upset. But we want to help,” she says, and I bite down on my jaw to keep myself from letting everything I’ve ever felt toward Mainlanders come out.
“If you want to help, then either leave us alone or fix what you’ve done. But don’t come here judging my life and the way it’s turned out.”
“Miss Dubois, it would help if you could let us know if you’re involved with the Network. The people who are pressing charges are using that against you.”
“How?”
“They’re saying you’re an agitator,” Rhodes says. “They’re saying that you’re a disruption. You’re facing criminal charges.”
“They want to take my son and send me to prison?”
“I’m not saying it will come to that. But I need to know, are you with the Network?”
“I’m writing to my friend. I don’t control what they take and what they do with what I say. I didn’t even know they were doing it.”
“Perhaps if you can provide some information about the Network, I can put in a good word in your case.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“How do you get the letters out, Elimina?” Richard Rhodes says. “Who shares them? Just give me a name.”
I sit back, because something about where he’s going doesn’t feel right. “What department do you work in again?” I say.
“Miss Dubois, your answers could really help your case. If you could share a name or anything you know about the Network, we could make a recommendation to the judge.”
I look at Miss Femia and she looks down at the floor.
“I need you to leave,” I say. “I’m not helping you take down the Network. Even if it hurts my case. Because there’s nothing that I can say that’s going to change what you think about me, and I won’t hurt other people to make it possible.”
The two of them look at each other, and when they stand and prepare to leave, I rise from the couch.
“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Rhodes.”
“Of course, Miss Dubois,” he says, closing his case and letting it drop by his side.
“What was the plan when we turned eighteen—the project cases?”
“I don’t see why that’s important.”
“I just turned eighteen. I think it’s very important.”
“But you went to the academy. You have debt now,” he says.
“But if I hadn’t.”
“It’s a moot point,” he says as the two of them approach the door.
I stick my hand out to keep it closed, leaning against it with my back. “It’s a simple question, Mr. Rhodes.”
He lets out a deep, loud exhale, like he’s tired and wants to go. “If they met the criteria—if they stayed out of trouble and did well in school—the plan was, theoretically, to let project cases live and work like Mainlanders.”
“Debt-free?”
He nods, and I look at Miss Femia. I think about how Mother kept me in all the time after I turned ten, after the night we lit all those candles, how I spent so much time with her alone. I thought she was ashamed of me, but maybe she believed that whoever hurt the others would try to hurt me as well.
“Do you think that’s why people killed them? Because they didn’t want that to happen?”
“I don’t know, Elimina,” Miss Femia says softly, her face red and swollen like she’s about to cry.
I move away from the door, and Richard Rhodes turns the handle to open it.
“Mr. Rhodes, what are you going to tell the judge? What are you going to say about me?”
“I’m going to tell the judge the truth about everything I heard and saw here, Miss Dubois. And I’m going to tell them about the things you didn’t say and that I didn’t hear also. I will tell them whatever they ask me and whatever they need to know. It’s not my job to be emotional or take sides,” he says with a glance at Miss Femia. “But I will share the facts, Miss Dubois.”
THAT NIGHT, DJ plays with his toys while I write another letter to David. I tell him the story of the project and the one hundred babies, and the twenty who died in the fire. I tell him the plan for what would have happened when I turned eighteen if Mother hadn’t died.
“Do you think they will ever honor their promise, David? It’s so frustrating to follow the rules that they make when they never follow through with theirs.”
When I finish, I sign the letter the same way I have since I arrived in the Gutter, even though Doc Luca, Miss Charlotte and Mr. Gregors know where I am.
“Love, L.”
44
ROWAN HAS BEEN GONE FOR NEARLY THREE WEEKS, AND I try not to worry about rent even though the box under my bed is empty and I can no longer do my runs. I spend the afternoon asking about him in the marketplace, talking with Harriet and Sondra, the man with the gold beard and the kid who sells the X T-shirts. They all tell me the same thing with the same pity on their faces: they rarely see Rowan anymore and they only ever see him at night.
“Be careful, Elimina. He’s not himself,” Shirley says when Josephine and I leave William and DJ with her and the girls on our way to a Network event.
Shirley’s face is pale and there are dark pockets under her eyes. I can see how registering for Subsidy and taking on all the burden and guilt that it carries is weighing on her body and her mind. I see in her what Geneva always said and what I’ve known since I arrived: the Gutter System is killing us.
JOSEPHINE AND I pass Gutter folks in bright clothes and colorful wigs that seem to glow in the dark, the night loud and electric around us, full of music and noise. In the Corridor, people lie on mats made out of boxes, with old sheets and garbage bags stretched out for blankets. Some laugh and eat, while others sing under a sky that looks dark and wet, like the ink from the blue book of poetry.
At the south side, near the Subsidy Office, people sit on crates and along a low wall. Some are members of the Network, others are casual observers, wearing black for support.
“That’s Cat Cole,” Josephine says as a woman with black hair and dark, painted lips stands to speak to the group.
She talks about the people on the Mainland who are invested in our lives and our stories, and the work being done to increase support in the Gutter, as Mainland Guards look on.
“The Mainlanders who support us are few, but they are passionate,” Cat says. “And they will be cri
tical to whatever happens next. But the hardest work, the most important work, starts here. Living every day and fighting for what is ours. We need to get our land back and govern better with our own set of rules.”
People nod and clap.
“Independence!” she shouts.
Josephine joins in as the crowd shouts back, “Independence!”
After the speech, members of the Network serve soup in small bowls. They hand out packets of washcloths, toothpaste and toothbrushes while others play music on plastic drums. Josephine dances, moving around and laughing, and I try to keep up, holding on to the sides of my belly and moving side to side like I did with Duncan and at Violet’s surprise party.
When my back and my belly get sore, I watch Josephine sit with people in the Corridor. She asks questions about the kind of work they do, whether they’ve been to an academy or whether they’ve always lived here, and I see how she listens, how this is what she was missing on the Hill—the opportunity to help people who need her.
“Martin, good to see you again. You been home? You seen Leeza?” she says.
“That girl kicked me out,” Martin says, frowning and rubbing his hands against a shirt that was once white but is now gray with dirt and sweat. “Won’t even let me get my clothes.”
“We’ve got some nice stuff down at the Swap Shop,” she says. “I want you to come by tomorrow. If you don’t, I’ll have to bring something here, and I can’t promise you’re going to like what I pick, Martin.”
He promises to come tomorrow, holding out his hands and squeezing hers tightly.
“The Network, they do this every weekend?” I say.
“Different people speak. Sometimes they organize marches. There’s a whole other set of people who come every morning to help with breakfast. Same with the soup.”
She turns and helps a thin woman who’s leaning against the wall as a man in a blue shirt argues with someone from the Network about a second serving or a bigger bowl. The man starts yelling and the guards come rushing through, ordering everyone to move on.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn to see Rowan. Only it doesn’t look like him at all. His beard and his hair are long and messy, and he smells as though he hasn’t bathed in days.
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