Death in Florence

by George Alec Effinger

  "Hi, Eileen."

  "Staefler," she said. She was not very surprised. She wasn't disappointed, either.

  "Sure," said Staefler. "I hope we haven't come at a bad time."

  "No, no, come on in. I was just upstairs reading. Come in, already."

  "Thanks, Eileen. Do you mind if the kid comes, too?"

  She shook her head. "No, of course not. You have any bags?"

  "Just these. I brought some things from Venice."

  Brant smiled. "What did you bring me? Food?"

  "No, sorry. I brought you some lace, some glass, and some leather."

  "Oh," said Brant. "Thank you."

  "I'll just put them down here. You can look at them in the morning."

  Brant was glad Staefler had come, and she was pleased by his gifts, as meaningless as they were. "I've been wanting someone to talk to," she said.

  "It's your own fault," said Staefler, smiling briefly. "You know where I am. You could drop by anytime."

  "Well, in my condition—"

  "What condition?"

  Brant held the candle up a bit higher. "See?" she said.

  "Uh," said Staefler.

  "That knocks you over, doesn't it?"

  "Congratulations," he said. He was very uncomfortable.

  "Let's go talk," she said. "You want to know if you're the father."

  "No, I, uh-"

  "Let's go talk," she said.

  * * *

  Staefler and the Arab kid stayed in Florence for three days. Brant enjoyed their visit; it relieved her loneliness and took her mind off the discomfort of her condition. Several times she thought about her wishes that someone would come to reflect her majesty. Once, while the three of them walked through the gardens behind the palace, Brant thought she caught a glimpse of that reflection, although she wasn't sure.

  Staefler was eager to impress on her how grateful he was. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate all you've done for me," he said. "You've made me see the good in Utopia 3."

  "I wish I could do the same for myself," she thought.

  "You're like Eve in the Garden of Eden, before the apple," said Staefler.

  "You're crazy," she said. She walked with one hand resting on the bulge of her belly.

  "No, really," said Staefler, obviously embarrassed.

  "This isn't the Garden of Eden," she said.

  "It could be," said Staefler. "I know what you're thinking. I'm starting to sound like Moore. But this could be a paradise, if it weren't for Waters."

  "If this is the Garden of Eden," said Brant, yawning, "there has to be a serpent."

  "There doesn't have to be. We're just trained to expect one. Let's get rid of him."

  "Sure," said Brant. "How?"

  They returned to the palace. Staefler and the Arab kid were going back to Venice. As they said good-by to Brant, Staefler noticed a new message from Dr. Waters. "What now?" said Brant.

  Excuse me, it's only Dr. Waters again. I'll be very brief. Buddy and Claire have told me that they haven't seen you in quite a while. Do you dislike them? Have they caused you any trouble? Have they offended you in any way? I'm quite prepared to have them transferred out of FLORENCE, if that's the case. I'll even demand that they offer you a verbal apology. Please let me know at your convenience.

  I hope you realize that this child may not be your last one. You have a long and fecund life ahead of you, for which you should be grateful. Perhaps it's time to consider the lives of others whom you may affect through carelessness or thoughtlessness. What of your child? What of those who love you? Would you knowingly hurt them? Would you take the chance of having yet another unwanted child? What do you intend to do in the future?

  As you know, there are no birth control devices of any sort anywhere in Utopia 3. They were all removed before the beginning of the project, after a special policy-making conference attended by the members of Utopia 3's governing body. This decision was unanimous. Now, however, the governing body is prepared to offer you, as the first woman to become pregnant in the project, your choice of birth control methods, providing that you agree to transfer your option and title to certain specified areas of Utopia 3. These areas are different than the ones I asked for previously. Please consult with Buddy and Claire for the exact details.

  Got that? All right. I'm waiting to hear from you. I hope I won't be disappointed again.

  "What governing body?" asked Brant. "There's not supposed to be any governing body."

  "His tone is different with you, isn't it?" said Staefler.

  "I guess so," said Brant. "I just ignore him."

  "I did for a while, too. But then I gave in just to shut him up. He was going to wreck my miniature golf course, I think. I'm back to work on it now. I stopped for a while, but now I have a reason to finish it. I want to get it done by New Year's."

  "Why?"

  Staefler smiled. "It's a secret," he said. "Come on, kid, let's get the stuff in the car." The Arab kid dragged Staefier's suitcase across the parking lot. Staefler bent forward and kissed Brant's cheek. She said good-by and went inside the palace. She was tired and she wanted to lie down.

  * * *

  Pilessio, Brant's secret country retreat, was beautiful in autumn. She was always soothed by the first glimpse of the quiet, bucolic village. She drove her car to one of her favorite houses, one that had belonged to a baker and his wife. Pictures of them at their wedding stood framed in the bedroom, on a bureau. There were little painted china dishes near the pictures, filled with pins and earrings and strings of beads and coins. Scented bars of soap were in the drawers, along with the couple's abandoned underwear. When Brant put her clothing in the drawers, they came out smelling of lilacs. She loved that, and she thought of taking the scented soap back with her to Florence, but she didn't. Somehow, she knew, that would be wrong. The soap should remain in the drawers in Pilessio, tucked under the underwear that no one would ever wear again.

  The first thing that Brant did was to turn down the covers and get into bed. She was very tired. She found that she got tired more easily lately. She looked up at the ceiling of the bedroom and listened to her heartbeat. She put both hands on her belly. After a little while she felt movement. She sighed.

  She didn't know what to do. She had no idea of what happened during childbirth. When they had covered that subject in high school health class, Brant had been absent, at home with the flu. She had never learned what to expect, what precisely to do. Staefler had tried to calm her anxiety. "Don't worry," he had said. "Everything will be all right. It will all come naturally." That was exactly what she was afraid of.

  Was it worth going to see Buddy and Claire? Would Dr. Waters provide a physician and a nurse? All she had to do was sign a paper or something. The closer it got to that last month, the more willing she became to sign away anything. In Pilessio, in her sixth month, she started to cry. She wished that she were a cat or a guppy. They never had trouble having babies. They seemed to know exactly what to do. All that Brant knew was that there was an awful lot of ways to turn it into a tragedy.

  Childbirth was going to be painful. It was going to be something that she couldn't avoid, no matter how much she wanted to. She was going to have a baby and she wasn't going to have any help at all. And after she had the baby, she was going to have to decide what to do with it.

  Pilessio wasn't as peaceful as it had been on earlier visits. It was her own fault, and Brant knew it. She moved restlessly through the homes of the town's former inhabitants. She opened trunks and explored the backs of closets. She lifted shirts and socks in dresser drawers, looking for secret hidden things. She found little, just some pornographic pictures and little caches of money. She was upset and she realized that she might go crazy unless she did something soon. What that something was she had no idea.

  When it got dark she left the house and went out to her car. There was a flashlight, some candles, a bag of food, a container of drinking water, some clothing, and some books in the trunk. She transferred
it all to the house. She made herself something to eat and went to bed. She had a restless night, and her dreams were all filled with an unspecified anxiety.

  In the morning she ate a can of Mary Kitchen Roast Beef Hash and made some hot cocoa. She felt a little better, but she was getting used to the pattern: more self-assured during the day, panic growing as night came on. Her lower back ached. She sat at the table and sipped the cocoa, wondering if she had had enough of Pilessio. She stared out a window toward the town's central square. To her surprise she saw a car driving slowly around the square. She put down the cup and waited. She made no attempt to attract attention.

  After a few minutes the car stopped in front of the house where she was staying. A man got out carrying a long white carton. He came to the back door and knocked. "Eileen?" he called.

  "What?" she said, still not getting up from the table.

  "It's me. I want to see you."

  "See me in Florence. That's home. This is vacation. Go away."

  "I can't," said the intruder. "I've come all this way. I have to see you. It's important."

  Brant muttered to herself as she went to the door. She looked out through the curtains and saw that it was Carlo Mazzatti from the orientation lodge. Her own feelings surprised her; she was neither glad to see him nor upset. She didn't feel anything but a slight nausea, but that was unrelated to his arrival. She opened the door and let him in.

  "Hello, Eileen," he said. He came into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

  "Can I get you a cup of hot cocoa?"

  "No, thanks, I've had breakfast. Here, this package is for you."

  She took the box from him and opened it. There were red roses in it, and she said, "Oh."

  "I hope you like roses," he said.

  "Yes," she said, "I love them. Thank you."

  "I wanted to bring something. I didn't know what you'd like. Do you have a vase to put them in?"

  "Oh, I don't know, I guess I'll take them back to Florence like this. Thank you."

  Mazzatti smiled. "I'm glad you like them." There was a long silence. Brant drank her cocoa, and Mazzatti looked uncomfortable. "I heard that you were, uh—"

  "I am with child," she said.

  "Yes, with child. I heard the news at the lodge. It is a wonderful thing."

  "You want to know if you're the father," said Brant.

  Mazzatti blushed. He smiled weakly. He said nothing.

  "What are they saying about me back at the lodge?" asked Brant. "Are they making up stories and passing rumors? Am I the girl in typing class who isn't going to graduate with her class? Have I taken a trip to Puerto Rico over the holidays, or maybe just checked into a hospital for a routine examination? Or are you bringing a new offer from Dr. Waters, maybe some terrific operation that will restore my honor and take away this unsightly bulge?"

  "No, Eileen, you misunderstand me. I have come on my own, out of a genuine love for you. I brought you flowers so that you would think better of me."

  "You could have brought half a gallon of milk and a dozen eggs."

  Mazzatti nodded. "Yes, you are right. I'll make a note of that for the next time. Would you like a loaf of fresh bread with them?"

  "Sure."

  "Excellent. I recall once when you said that you would not be a baby factory. I hope that you have realized that by having this child, you are fulfilling yourself as a woman, and you are doing Utopia 3 the greatest service possible. Dr. Waters has been deeply moved by your story. You are gaining a large following of well-wishers at the lodge and in the workaday world beyond."

  "It makes me proud," said Brant. "You're crazy, Carlo. Take these flowers back and give them to the old woman in the cafeteria who spoons out the potatoes. She's a nice lady, and nobody appreciates her at all. She just works there, and nobody talks to her, and she sure as hell isn't ever going to go riffling through Utopia 3."

  "As you wish, Signorina." Mazzatti was disturbed, but he just took the box of roses and left. Brant stared after him, watching him get into his car and drive away. She liked Staefler, and she liked Moore, but Mazzatti was too much of a company man. Brant hoped that he would go back to the lodge and tell her well-wishers just what a bitch she was.

  * * *

  Miss Brant! Miss Brant! This is Dr. Waters, Miss Brant! Wake up, wake up! You're not the only one in this project, you know. This whole thing hasn't been dreamed up for your exclusive benefit. You have to put something in to get something out. We're all very disappointed in you, Eileen Brant. We're sorry we ever permitted you the liberty of Utopia 3. You've failed us, you've failed everyone in the world who hopes Utopia 3 will be a success. We had to turn someone down in order to accept you. There are many others in line to take your place. Shape up, Eileen Brant! We know where you are, we know what you're doing, we know what you're thinking! I am deeply concerned. Myra Waldecott is concerned. To say nothing of what you've done to poor Carlo Mazzatti. Straighten up and fly right! You are undermining all the good work we've done. There are other people here, entranced by your legend, who are being seduced into treachery. They talk about you in whispers. They wish they could meet you. They marvel at your "courage" and your "fegato" (pluck). Your pregnancy is followed as though it were a continuing story on daytime television. These people are deluded, as you are deluded. They are subversive, and you are to blame. You cannot withstand us, Eileen! You cannot hold out against the massed will of people all over the world! Being a woman, being a pregnant woman, will avail you nothing in the courtroom of civilization. There will be no pity. There will only be justice, for you and for these faithless followers of yours. A terrible justice.

  That's it for now, Eileen. Think about it. Come back to the lodge and apologize. My door will always be open to you.

  * * *

  Dr. Bertram Waters did not accord Brant the respect she felt was her due. If ever she doubted that she had achieved real majesty, the last message persuaded her otherwise. Would Waters go to such lengths for anyone? Did he do the same for Staefler? No, he did not. Evidently Brant was special in some way. She was noble; she was regal. And there were many people who followed her fortunes with intense interest. She had power, even though she was uncertain how to wield it. Brant was a danger to Dr. Bertram Waters. She and her ragged band of adherents meant revolution. Brant enjoyed the role, and she was determined to carry it out. She would not fail her underlings.

  As a first step, she drove back to Florence. She had a lot of work to do, and on top of the list was the necessity to establish herself where her agents could report and receive new instructions. She wished that she weren't pregnant, because it would have been easier that way. But then, if she weren't pregnant, she might not have the solid base of influence to work with. She sat up in her bed in the Pitti Palace and waited. She waited for the first of her underlings to arrive.

  Brant waited a long time. A full day passed and she was still alone. She opened a can of potato chips and a can of bean dip and munched in bed. She drank a can of grape soda. It was dark outside and the evening was cool. It was the first week of October, Libra, and the middle of her seventh month. She was so pregnant that she frightened herself. "I've never seen anyone as pregnant as this," she thought. "I hope to God it isn't twins." That set her thinking about multiple births, and she pictured herself spawning litters of mythological horrors. The fantasies exhausted her. She dropped the can of potato chips and the bean dip over the side of the bed. Her head lolled on her pillow. She had barely enough strength to take a last gulp from the can of grape soda. Then she dropped it, too, and fell swiftly into a deep sleep. In her dreams that night she sat on a high ornate throne. People came before her and knelt, and she sent them all away on urgent missions. In her dreams she was merciful, beautiful, wise, just, and not pregnant.

  * * *

  "Hello?"

  Brant woke up, startled.

  "Hello? Eileen?"

  "What? Who's there?"

  "It's me, Eileen. Can I come in?"

  Brant
was annoyed. She didn't like having people come in and wake her before she was ready to get up. She wondered if she had neglected to lock the doors the day before. She must have; that was bad, she thought, because one of Dr. Waters's henchmen could have sneaked in and cut her throat.

  After a moment of silence, S. Norman Moore entered the chamber. He was wearing a military-style uniform of dark green. On one arm was a white armband with the Utopia 3 emblem. The same concentric circles device was on a badge he wore over a breast pocket. An embroidered band went around one sleeve at the cuff. Brant saw that it said MYRA WALDECOTT. The dark green uniform slacks were tucked into high black boots. Moore wore a green peaked hat, with the emblem over the black visor. "Good morning," he said, smiling.

  "Good morning," said Brant. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "This?" he said, running a thumb over the material of the tunic. "This is our new uniform. What do you think of it?"

  "Do you really want to know?" Brant frowned. It was more than a frown, really. It was the expression she made when she bit down on an especially rotten peanut. "I've got a word for it. It's a word I don't use very often. I mean, if I don't like something, I'll say 'it's dumb,' or 'it's stupid.' That's the way I talk. But Norman, I'll tell you straight out. You look absolutely foolish."

  Moore seemed disappointed. "Oh," he said.

  "What is it, some kind of army now?"

  "No, no, Eileen. No, it's nothing military at all. I don't want you to get the wrong impression. We're paramilitary. Paramilitary."

  "Why you?"

  Moore looked down at the floor. He took a deep breath. "I promised my mother I'd co-operate," he said.

  Brant laughed out loud.

  * * *

  For lunch that day Moore went food-gathering in Florence. He came back with a variety of canned goods which he whipped together into an assortment of tastes and textures. Brant was intrigued with his skill and pleased by the effect. As an added touch he opened a bottle of Puligny-Montrachet with the appetizer and soup courses, a St. Emilion with the Spam, and with dessert he had brought an unusual treasure. Moore had stumbled upon the cellars that had once been Hungary's State storehouse of essencia, the rare Tokay made from the juice that oozed from the best grapes while they were waiting to be crushed. In bygone years this sweet essencia was aged and brought out only on the most solemn occasions. It was unlikely that anyone but monarchs had ever tasted it, and it was unlikely that anyone but monarchs and wine stewards knew of its existence. The State cellars were located in a village called Tallya, very near the eastern border of Utopia 3. There had been only sixty-four bottles there, and Moore had carefully packed each of them in a panel truck and taken them back to Prague. He had not tasted it yet, because he wanted to give that honor to Brant.