The Secret Under My Skin

by Janet Mcnaughton

  I need to see Lem. Grabbing my Object, I rush from the house and up the hill, as if this ache were something I could outrun. Halfway to Ski Slope, I find Fraser coming down the path. When he sees me, he smiles. “I was just coming to see you,” he says. “The town’s upside down today, everyone pretending the Weavers’ Guild isn’t meeting with the military, trying to act as if a town full of soldiers is the most natural thing in the world. I had to get away. Where are you rushing off to?”

  I don’t want to mention Lem, so I say, “Nowhere.” This doesn’t seem to bother Fraser. “Suppose we go nowhere together then,” he says, falling into step with me. “What’s that you’re carrying?”

  “A cassette tape. It’s something I’ve always had. It might have a message from my parents. Lem is going to . . .” I stop, cursing my clumsiness.

  “Go on, then,” Fraser says in a neutral tone. “What’s he going to do?”

  “He’s trying to find a way to let me hear it. You saw him last night, didn’t you?”

  Fraser scowls. “I seen him. He never even looked at me. Doesn’t know me from a hole in the ground.”

  “Fraser, that’s not his fault. It’s what he went through. Don’t you want to meet him?”

  “My uncle says he doesn’t care about me.”

  I pick my words carefully. “I don’t think that’s true. He can’t remember you. He doesn’t care about anything the way ordinary people do, but when I asked him about you . . .” Fraser’s mouth falls open. “You asked him about me? When?”

  “The day you wouldn’t come to see him. I was trying to figure out what was going on. It was before I knew.”

  “And what did he say?”

  How can I say what I mean without giving Fraser false hope? “Not much,” I begin truthfully.

  “There, you see?” Fraser makes a gesture of annoyance. “You’re as bad as Missus Townsend. Giving him the benefit of the doubt when he deserves none.”

  I grab his arm. “That’s not true. Listen to me!” All the pent-up emotion of the morning pours into my voice.

  Fraser responds to my urgency. “I’m listening.”

  My eyes fill with tears. I hold my Object up, my voice shaking. “If I knew someone who had known my mother, nothing could keep me from him.”

  “Does he remember her?” Fraser asks. It never occurred to me that he wouldn’t know this.

  “Of course he does. He thinks of her every day. He gave me a book that belonged to her. Would you like to see it?”

  “What kind of book?” he says, his voice small as if he’s afraid to ask.

  We turn back down the path. “Poetry. Because maybe I was named for one of the poets. William Blake.” Then I remember what Lem said when he gave me the book, about the technocaust and what he’d lost. “Fraser, he spoke about you like you were someone he could never recover. I didn’t understand then, but maybe he gave me the book because I remind him of you.”

  Fraser smiles. “Well, you remind me of me so maybe that’s so.”

  An easy silence settles between us. Suddenly I don’t feel as if my life is ruined forever. When I give Fraser the book, he holds it like something incredibly fragile. I open the front cover, and he runs his fingers over the handwriting. “Her name,” he breathes softly. “Do you suppose she read this?”

  I have to laugh. “I would imagine so.”

  “Read to me, please? Just read anything,” he says, thrusting the book at me.

  “Fraser, can’t you read?”

  “Course I can,” Fraser says, indignant. “I went to school same as everyone. I’m just out of practice, is all.”

  I decide I’d rather not know what that means. The garden bench is in a patch of weak winter sun. I sit and open the book at random. “This is by Milton. It’s called ‘XIX.’”

  “What’s that mean, then?” Fraser asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, read it anyway.” So I do:

  When I consider how my light is spent,

  Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

  And that one talent which is death to hide

  Lodged with me useless . . .

  This catches my attention. I read on with more interest.

  . . . though my soul more bent

  To serve therewith my Maker, and present

  My true account, lest he returning chide;

  ‘Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?’

  I fondly ask; But Patience, to prevent

  That murmur, soon replies, ‘God doth not need

  Either man’s work or his own gifts: who best

  Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

  Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

  And post o’er land and ocean without rest:

  They also serve who only stand and wait.’

  “Read it again,” Fraser says. When I finish, he asks, “Did you understand that?”

  I shake my head. “Not much. I like the last line, though, ‘They also serve who only stand and wait.’ That sounds like me. And I liked the part about hidden talents, too.”

  I hope Fraser will ask what I mean but instead he says, “She read that, do you think?”

  “She must have.”

  He sighs. “I wish I could have known her.”

  “I know.” I hesitate. “Do you think you’ll ever want to meet Lem?”

  His eyes grow troubled. “I’ll think about it. Read me another.”

  But as I flip through the book, a shadow falls across the bench. “You two look comfortable.”

  “Erica! I thought you’d be gone longer.”

  Erica laughs. “A six-hour meeting is long enough. Come inside and hear the news.”

  We follow her into the house.

  The Future and The Past

  “. . . and it’s not just here,” Erica says, finishing. “The military is willing to work with Weavers’ Guilds across the continent.”

  “Then democracy could be restored without bloodshed. Erica, this is better than we dared hope.” The joy in William’s voice finally causes Marrella to take notice. While Erica described the meeting she paid no attention at all. Now, no doubt, she wonders what she’s supposed to understand. I’m not about to help her out but Fraser has overlapping concerns.

  “What about the conscripts the Commission took away?” he asks.

  Erica looks troubled. “We don’t know. Captain March says the military hasn’t seen them. Our sources say they’re in that big new fortress on Signal Hill. We think they were taken to St. Pearl and not the garrison towns so the Commission could keep them away from the military. It’s possible the Commission is going to use our children to fill out the Commission guard. I hate to think of them pitched against trained soldiers. We have to hope it won’t come to that.”

  “But surely the military wouldn’t fire on them, Erica,” William says.

  “Captain March said General Ryan could make no promises. If the young ones fight along with the Commission guard, the military will have no choice.”

  “But that’s terrible!” Marrella cries. “How could they fight their own people? Are they monsters?” She storms from the room without waiting for an answer.

  Everyone looks at me, expecting I will follow, but I want to know more. “Can’t you contact them somehow, Erica? Your people are all over the island.”

  “Yes, but the conscripts have been isolated from all but the most loyal Commission followers. And other things are happening now. The Commission has started to scramble communication signals so that it’s difficult for us to send or receive. They also seem to be sealing St. Pearl off from the rest of the island. The roads are closed.”

  “Why on earth would they do that?” William asks. “Captain March says the Commission may think it can hold St. Pearl by force, even if it loses control over the rest of the island.”

  “Using our children as their army? And that’s why the military can’t promise not to harm them?” The happiness is gone from William
’s voice. Erica bites her lip.

  “But Mark and Carson and the others would never fight for the Commission,” Fraser says.

  Erica smiles sadly and puts her hand over Fraser’s. “People can be forced to do things they’d never imagine, Fraser. They won’t betray us in their hearts, but they may have to fight for the Commission to save their lives.” She shakes herself and rises. “But nothing bad has happened yet. Things are very hopeful, really. And this situation could take months to play out. In the meantime, let’s not worry ourselves sick.” But Erica sounds as if she doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

  Fraser leaves when Erica decides we should eat. I’d rather help her than deal with Marrella. Erica hands me the poetry book as she clears the table. “You were reading to Fraser?”

  “Yes. A poem by Milton. About serving and waiting.”

  “Oh, ‘They also serve who only stand and wait.’ That’s the one about his blindness.”

  “He was blind?”

  “He went blind in adulthood. Milton was a political rebel, too. In fact, his blindness probably saved him from being executed for his beliefs.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Let’s see—about seven hundred years.”

  The forks I was holding clatter to the table. “Doesn’t anything ever change?”

  “Oh, Blake, don’t be discouraged. Everything changes. Except people and their desire to control one another.”

  My eyes fill with tears of frustration. “Then what’s the point?”

  “The point is the other thing that never changes. The desire of ordinary people to control their own lives. If anything is worth fighting for, that is.”

  The salad greens get a furious shredding while I think about Erica’s words. By the time the bowl is full, I have to admit she’s right. I didn’t know what freedom was a few months ago. Now I’ll never accept anything less. That brings me back to my own problems. “Erica, what did Milton mean about it being death to hide his talent?” I study the salad when I say this, afraid to meet her eyes.

  “He didn’t mean actual death, of course. He would have been safer not writing.” She pauses to consider. “He probably felt as if the life would go out of him if he couldn’t write, even though his blindness made it difficult. Even if it got him into trouble. That’s what talent does, I think. You feel as if you have to do the thing you do best, or you’ll just shrivel up inside. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason,” I manage to say. I pick up the salad bowl and carry it to the dining room so Erica will not notice when I start to shrivel up inside.

  Fraser had said that things would be more normal after the investiture. Over the next few days, I realize I had no idea what normal was. Suddenly, the house is filled with people I have never seen before. They come to talk to William and meet Marrella. Only Fraser comes to see me. Erica still leaves every afternoon, trying to contact other members of the resistance. I see Marrella only to help with her UV observations now that she’s doing them again, and then we barely talk. This suits us both. I didn’t realize what a strain it was to spend so much time together.

  Then, one night, Erica comes home later than usual, looking exhausted and gray. “We haven’t been able to reach anyone off the island for days. Now the whole system’s scrambled. Unless someone finds a way around this, we won’t be able to communicate at all.”

  “Oh, Erica, that’s terrible,” I say, easing her into a chair. “Was there any news from St. Pearl?”

  “Only from the few who managed to get out. They say people aren’t going to accept Commission rule even there. We know something is being planned, something big. But without information, we have no way of helping. Or protecting the children.” Erica puts her face in her hands. I reach out, tentatively, and rub her back. She pats my hand. “Thank you, Blake,” she says. “You’re such a help to me.” And I realize that Erica is the friend I have been looking for.

  I don’t understand what all these changes mean to me until I’m in bed that night. The archives Lem has been searching are probably accessed through the network that is now scrambled. If that’s true, he’ll have to stop looking. It’s a small thing compared to what’s happening to Carson and Mark, but it matters to me. I lie awake long into the night hoping I’m wrong. In the morning, I find Erica alone in the kitchen, strangely idle. She looks as if she hasn’t slept at all. I wonder if I can find a way to cheer her up. “I’m going to see Lem today,” I tell her when I finish breakfast. “Will you come?”

  “Yes,” Erica says as I knew she would. “I’ve been neglecting Lem.” As we climb the path, she says, “Has he found out any more about your past?”

  “No. I think he’s wasting his time.” I take a deep breath.

  “He won’t have access to those archives now, will he?”

  “Oh, dear. No, he won’t. Not unless he thought to download them. He has the capacity.”

  “Would he have, do you think?”

  “I can’t imagine. You’ll have to ask him.” We lapse into silence, each occupied by our own worries.

  Lem is busy with a small device at his workbench. “Good. You’re here,” he says, as if he’s been expecting us.

  “Have you tried to access the archives lately, Lem?” Erica asks so I won’t have to.

  “Can’t get through,” Lem says. “Are there solar storms or something?”

  “It’s the Commission, Lem,” Erica says very gently and she explains.

  When she’s finished, I ask, “You didn’t download the data, did you?”

  Lem runs his hands through his wild hair. “I didn’t bother. Could have, if I’d known. I’m sorry.” My eyes fill with tears. Lem turns back to his workbench. “Such a shame,” he adds, “especially now that I’ve got this tape machine running.”

  “You do?” Erica and I say together.

  Lem smiles, half sheepish, half proud. “Meant to tell you. I got distracted.”

  “So I can hear what’s on my Object—the cassette, I mean?”

  “Sure can. Did you bring it with you?”

  “No, but I can get it.” I turn to Erica. “I can, can’t I? Get it now?”

  She laughs. “Of course, you can. Go. I’ll stay here—I’d only slow you down.”

  I tear down the steep path just as I did the first day I came here, all those weeks ago. Only now, I’m not running away from anything. I’m running toward all the secrets in my past. I run as fast as I can but the trip seems to take years. When I finally collapse into a chair beside Lem, my legs tremble and I’m panting too hard to talk. I hand my Object to Erica and bend over to catch my breath.

  I hear a slow, deep moan. I look up, shocked. Could this be my mother? Lem makes an adjustment, the pitch rises, and suddenly we hear a woman’s voice, just as plainly as if she were in the room with us.

  “. . . so it seems strange to be talking to you as if you were grown up and far away when, in fact, you’re safe right here in my lap where you belong,” the voice says. A small child gurgles in the background. Me. “But the journey we are about to undertake is so long and perilous that I may have to leave you safe with someone along the way. If I do, I want you to be able to hear my voice so you will know how much you are loved and what a blessing you are to me.” My eyes fill with tears. Erica puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “Your father was taken from his lab last night.” The voice grows thick with emotion. “He knew this might happen, Blake. He made me promise I wouldn’t wait for him. If I were alone I would stay, but I have you to think about. So, somehow, we will travel very far from here to a place I’ve heard we can hide. That’s all I can tell you.

  “One day, I hope we can listen to this together and talk about how frightening everything was in the dark and dangerous past. But I can’t be sure. If you listen to this tape without me, just know that you were loved as much as you could be. I would never leave you unless I had to.”

  That’s all. My eyes are blinded with tears, but I raise my face to Erica. “She
didn’t tell me her name.” My voice is a wail. I can’t help myself. “She didn’t tell me anything!”

  Erica presses my face to her side and holds me. After a while she says, “She thought she’d be able to leave you with someone who would know who she was, Blake. She couldn’t imagine what lay ahead of her. None of us did.”

  Then Lem speaks. “Maybe she was afraid to leave clues. She didn’t say where you were going, either.”

  I wipe my eyes roughly on my sleeve. “I guess you’re right,” I say, but I can’t overcome my disappointment.

  Lem hands me a micro-disk. “I digitalized it for you. You can listen to it any time you want.”

  Erica strokes my hair. “There are some clues, though, Blake. Your father had a lab. He must have been a scientist. And your mother’s vocabulary. Did you notice? She talked about the long and perilous journey. She was well-educated, too. Probably not a techie, but it fits with everything we already know.”

  “Would they have harmed her if we’d stayed?” I ask. “Maybe not, but she did the right thing. Especially for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In Toronto Prefecture, children were taken from techies and adopted by childless government officials. They could have taken you.”

  “Then I’d be on the other side?”

  “Yes, and you’d probably never even know.”

  Did my mother do the right thing? Erica is certain but I’m not. Maybe we would have been okay where we were. What if I had been adopted? Walking back down the hill, I wonder what it would have been like to grow up privileged in some big city, unaware that anyone was living as I have lived. Thinking the right people had the power. Would that have been worse? I can’t help wondering.

  In my room, Erica shows me how to use the control panel to listen to the micro-disk. Then she leaves me. I spend the rest of the day alone. I listen to the micro-disk until I’ve memorized every word, every nuance of my mother’s voice. I understand how frightened she was and that she was doing what she thought was best for me. Erica brings me a tray at noon, just as we would for Marrella. In the evening, she says, “William and I would like to talk to you.”