by Martha Moody
“I’m always ready for royalty,” Ferrescu had said, and led her through his cluttered living room to a chair near the window. She had to dodge a birdcage, filled with women’s shoes, hanging in the center of the room.
“Tell me about water,” Ferrescu had said, sitting across from her, smiling and closing his eyes.
So she did, and then she went on to her water map, its erasure and reimagining, and then she talked about Janie, and Janie and the computer, ending with the girl’s disappearance.
“You’re fond of this girl.”
“Yes, very.”
“But not in any …” Ferrescu waved his hand.
“She’s like”—a daughter, she started to say, but Ferrescu would find this suspect—“a niece.”
Ferrescu nodded approvingly. He tented his fingers in front of his face, his characteristic gesture, and Lila noticed a ring slip. He’d lost weight. “You suspect she’s on the Grid, and you suspect me of Grid connections.”
“I know she’s on the Grid. I finally got through to Allyssa Banks, who I’d met up there, and she finally answered. Not much, and she didn’t explicitly tell me Janie was there, but she told me not to worry.” Lila shifted in her seat, annoyed that Ferrescu’s eyes were still closed. “As for your Grid connections, you tell me. You do seem to know a lot about the place. I remember thinking that at L’Auberge.”
“What a lovely restaurant,” Ferrescu sighed. “I haven’t been there for so long.”
“I’ll take you there,” Lila pounced. “You get me into Esslandia and I’ll take you there.”
Ferrescu’s eyes snapped open. “Food first,” he said. “After all”—a laugh—“you might never get back!”
TUURO HAD BEEN on his own for two weeks, sleeping under a hyacinth bush in Chelsea’s backyard, when he walked into the Euclid police station and said to the male youngie on duty, “I want to confess to a crime.”
“What crime?” The clerk almost rolled his eyes; Tuuro realized people must come here routinely with confessions, hoping for shelter and food.
“Murder.”
The clerk hesitated, looked up. “Really?”
“The woman is dead.”
The clerk seemed annoyed at this response. He had Tuuro sit down in the lobby, where several women were also waiting. Eventually a woman in a uniform led Tuuro into a warren of offices, where she recorded him and spoke into a perc and screened his iris. Then the woman disappeared, and when she came back she said: “No luck fooling us. You can go home now.” She started to walk him out.
“But the woman is dead.”
“Of course she’s dead, she was over seventy.”
“I killed her.”
They were at the door to the lobby. The woman hesitated, gave him a searing look. “Disappointed her, maybe. Broke her ancient little heart, maybe. But there’s nothing to link you to her death.”
“What do you mean? I link me.”
The woman’s look had narrowed into something frightening. “Who are you? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go home to Dayton.” She pushed the door open, gestured him out.
He hadn’t mentioned Dayton. “Did you talk to Nenonene?” he said, almost shouting as he walked through the door. “Is that it?”
“I’m not at that level,” the woman said coldly. “If you can talk to him, go to it.” The door swung closed, its lock hissing. The women in the lobby drew together, as if they knew Tuuro’s sort.
“YOU KNOW WHAT they were trying to do in Sweden at the peace talks? They were trying to do a Dayton.”
Sharis and Howard smiled blandly; Abba frowned and wrinkled her forehead.
“The Dayton Peace Accord. Have you ever heard of it? It made Dayton famous all over the world. 1995. There was a country in central Europe called Yugoslavia that was made by bringing all these little countries together, but then it broke apart and all these countries and religions were fighting and the U.S. brought in major figures from the different groups to Dayton and put them together with negotiators until they hammered out an agreement.” Chad smiled at Howard.
“Were there bad guys?” Howard asked.
“Well, yes, actually there were bad guys. I mean, there were people who used hate and fear to inspire people.”
“Did they get punished?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact they did get punished. Eventually. At least, some of them. But we’re talking about Dayton now, and how all the people with all the arguments came together. So many sides you couldn’t keep track of them. They stayed at the air force base in the visiting officers’ quarters, not very fancy. They went sometimes to a sports lounge called Packy’s. They had a gourmet dinner together one night at a restaurant called L’Auberge, just up Far Hills from us. And you know what impressed them? How in Dayton people from all sorts of different backgrounds lived happily together. I remember reading an article about it when I was a kid, and one of the negotiators said that for him Dayton would always mean peace.”
A silence. “Does it still mean peace?” Howard asked.
“Absolutely.”
“It’s still peaceful there? Yugo … the place that was fighting?”
Abba looked quickly at Chad. Even Sharis lifted her eyes to him.
“Yes,” Chad said. “Absolutely. Peace peace peace.”
Sharis clicked the camera off. “You shouldn’t dumb it down,” she said.
THE GRID’S FARM guesthouse looked exactly the same. Lila watched Allyssa open the door for her into the kitchen. Above Allyssa was the square-hankie light, and behind her, standing on the brick-patterned linoleum, was Janie.
“How did you get here?” Lila burst out. “I was worried sick about you, I thought you’d gone to South Carolina and then the computer genies figured it out and we couldn’t believe you’d remembered all the codes and …” Lila trailed off, noticing Janie’s stiff posture, her unblinking eyes. “Are you okay?”
“You’re a very nice person, but I think I’m better off here.” Janie’s words ran together: verynice, betteroffhere. “I don’t want you to take me away.”
“How did you get here? I came up hidden in the back of a truck, because my friend Ferrescu does business with …”
“Helicopter,” Allyssa’s voice cut in. She glanced out the window, latched the door, came to stand at Janie’s side facing Lila. “She came in two weeks ago by American helicopter. The pilot took a real chance. I didn’t know she was coming, but, my God. I couldn’t turn her away.” Allyssa draped an arm over Janie’s shoulder, and Janie sagged into Allyssa. “We all hate what she had to go through, but she got here. She’s safe now.” Janie and Allyssa exchanged glances. Lila felt suddenly superfluous, excluded from their circle: an outsider looking at the scene would think Allyssa was Janie’s mother.
“What did you have to go through, Janie?” Lila asked, her mouth dry. One drink for acuity, but that was hours ago and now she needed more.
Janie looked down. She clasped her hands together and twisted her wrists.
Allyssa’s grip tightened on Janie’s shoulder. Janie’s hands broke apart and she turned her face into Allyssa’s shoulder. The movement pierced Lila’s heart. I want that, she thought.
“I’ll let you two talk on the porch,” Allyssa said, pulling back from Janie and stroking the girl’s shoulder. “Okay, honey?” Janie nodded. “Coffee, Lila? Cookies? Janie, I’ll get you a glass of Grid juice.” The girl headed out of the kitchen.
“I don’t know why you risked coming here,” Allyssa said in a low voice. “Janie has everything she needs.”
“Of course,” Lila said. “That’s what you say: We need nothing. Well, you may need nothing but I’m not so lucky. I needed to see Janie was okay.” Lila nodded at the refrigerator. “Do you have beer?” An agricultural product. Something an Esslandian would approve.
Allyssa raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” she said, leading Janie and Lila through the dining and living rooms, “I have beer.”
Lila and Janie sat on high-backed chair
s on the front porch facing west, looking out on brown and freshly planted fields carpeting a small hill just across the road, winter wheat green-yellow in the distance coursing over three separate mounds.
“So,” Lila said when Allyssa had left them, “how did you really get here?” anticipating the bright and elusive answer—“Helicopter!”—which was all she got.
“Look, I’m responsible for you,” Lila said. “Please don’t hide things from me.”
“The pilot was nice,” Janie said. “We had to land three places to find Allyssa.”
Lila nodded impatiently—what did she care about the pilot? “I’m hoping you’ll come back with me. That’s what your father wants, too.”
Janie’s eyes widened. “I don’t want to go back. America is doomed, it’s doomed!”
Lila waited a moment before she spoke. “Is that something you heard up here?” Keeping her voice gentle.
“That’s something you hear everywhere! Even the lady at the house where I …” Janie stopped herself.
Another pause. “Was there sex involved?” Lila hated the taste of beer, but she was stuck with it. She needed alcohol, in any form.
“What do you mean? How could you think that? Why would I even dream of …” It was Janie’s agitation that gave her away. Her hands again were clasped and twisting. Lila ached to put an arm around her.
“Oh, Janie.” The words had a mournful keen to them that caught both of them off guard. “I’m sorry.”
Janie bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I should have left a note but I … I was afraid you’d come get me.” Her voice quickened, took on a clamorous assurance. She stopped twisting and straightened in her chair. “I love it here. It’s perfect for me.”
Ah, Janie. So young, trying so hard to sound sure. “Why?”
“It wasn’t just your fault!” Janie burst out.
Lila took a long swig to hide her tearing eyes.
“I mean, you’re a nice person,” Janie went on. “You can’t help it that you have alcoholism. It’s a spiritual disease. Allyssa’s told me all about it. It’s a big problem in America. It’s not a problem in Esslandia because Esslandia’s a healthy place.”
Help me, Lord, Lila thought.
“I mean, Esslandia’s better than healthy. It’s magical, it’s complete. Did you know they break down their urine and use it as fertilizer here? Isn’t that char? And they use their bath- and dishwater to irrigate the fields. They use leftover corncobs to make soap. America is so profligate!”
Profligate. Surely not Janie’s word. Where had she heard it? Conversations and media sessions? Pamphlets and books? Perhaps all of these and more.
“Like I said, I talked to your father,” Lila began, wondering why Janie hadn’t responded to her mention of him, “and he …
“That’s another thing,” Janie interrupted. “Kids here don’t love only their parents. They have a whole community to love. It’s like you! If I hadn’t come to stay with you, I wouldn’t have known how char you are. And there are thousands of adults up here, and all of them are char like you are, and …”
Lila sank into her chair, feeling smaller and less necessary with each comment. Janie’s two weeks in Esslandia, as Janie told it, might have been her whole life. The storage sheds with their hay-stuffed insulating walls; Esslandian songs; the special church services that ended with the blessing of the seed. “I didn’t even know I liked soy loaf!” Janie said. She mentioned friends: Allyssa, of course, and the village planner Peter, the twins Romulus and Remus, Lenora Elkhart, Biddy Shoop. The more she talked, the more Lila’s brain ached, a palimpsest worn to near-transparency by Janie’s chatter on top of the coordinates of Lila’s trip here, on top of Ferrescu’s stories, her own stories, the water map. Out of the corner of Lila’s eye she saw a flickering in the darkening sky. It frightened her for a second—her own circuits coming unwired—but it was only lightning, far away.
“Let’s turn the porch light off and watch.” Janie hopped up in excitement. “I love storms.”
The storm was coming from the west, the direction they were facing, and they watched it a good ten minutes, the whole sky periodically seizing in light.
“Your father is going to worry,” Lila said.
“They’re really careful with their children. I mean, no offense, but a lot of time you didn’t even know what I …”
A jagged line of lightning cleaved the sky directly in front of them. A chill wind hit Lila’s calves. “We should go in,” Lila said, and they moved to the living room sofa, Lila on the way noticing the pitcher of beer set on top of the TV. Janie sat at one end of the sofa, Lila at the other. Janie twisted herself around so she could still look out on the storm. “I worry about you,” Lila said, reaching for the pitcher.
“Oh, Aunt Lila, you have to understand. Aunt Michelle told me about you when you were younger, remember? You had beliefs, didn’t you? You had beliefs?”
Lila chugged down her glass of beer and poured a refill. She turned to face the storm, also. A clap of thunder, finally, and a flash of lightning so close that blades of grass were visible atop the hill across the road. What town was that? Lila thought, and then: this is a very clear window. This thought pleased her, seemed particularly profound. “Is this special glass … ?” she asked, reaching out to touch it. Before Janie answered Lila knew the answer: this was special glass, designed to abolish reflection and bring the outside in.
Everything. They’d planned everything. What a thrill it must be for the Lindisfarne people, to look out on their perfect and self-contained world. No wonder they were willing to link up with the Alliance to keep it. Lila glanced around the living room, and it was no surprise (although she hadn’t until now expected it) to spot Allyssa standing silent sentry in the arched opening to the dining room. The rain started, whipping onto the porch.
My God, Lila thought, Janie will never get out of here. She thought of the sentries she’d passed on the road up, their caps and casual guns. Last summer she had passed no such guards. Janie was on her knees on the sofa, nose pressed to the special glass, and Lila’s hand as she reached to touch her shoulder had a distinct tremor. “Janie?” she said, glancing toward Allyssa, and to her surprise her next words were hard to form. “I’m going …” To. Have. To. Go. Soon. She’d drunk more than she thought. The truck was coming back to pick her up.
“You’re not spending the night? Okey-doke.” Janie’s face turned from the window. “I’m glad you visited.” She gave Lila a quick hug. “Isn’t it char here?” she whispered. “Doesn’t it make you think of Narnia? And Jeff Germantz was like Aslan.”
Aslan the lion? He was the God figure, wasn’t he? Lila would have to read the books again. In one way, Lila felt absolutely plastered, as if it was risky to stand. In another way she felt totally lucid, old enough to recognize a dream that couldn’t last, old enough to know better. “It’s something,” she said, batting at Janie’s tousled hair. She stood cautiously, then turned to Allyssa, the thunder rumbling behind her, and in that moment she had to remind herself this storm wasn’t for her, it wasn’t apocalyptic, this was no more than a spring thunderstorm in the Midwest.
She eyed the jug, but with Allyssa watching she didn’t dare take more. When she got home she’d have one drink for maintenance.
“You’ll be fine,” Allyssa said in the kitchen. “Our drivers can get through anything.” The truck was already idling in the drive; Lila wondered if it had ever left.
“I’ll tell her father she’s okay.” Her father she’s—was that right? She didn’t used to have trouble speaking. “Can I come back here? Can I see her again?” I’m giving you everything, Lila thought, looking into Allyssa’s eyes. Give me this shred.
Allyssa glanced back toward the living room. “That depends on her.”
“She’s twelve!”
“We trust our children.”
Lila turned to the window in disgust. “Why does she like you so much?”
“Lila.” Allyssa’s v
oice was soothing. “I was only pregnant once, years ago, and that was a boy-child. I lost him. When Janie showed up here I felt like she was everything I’d been missing. I think she feels that, too.”
“Forget it,” Lila said. “Just get me out of here.” She almost took a fall on the wet outside stairs.
AT THE END of April Tuuro got himself onto the Grid, simply walked out into it from the edge of Cleveland, hitched a ride on an Alliance truck with a driver (South American?) who asked no questions, got off within eyeshot of a village, and walked in the twilight to the edge of town. There he stopped beside a one-story building without windows. The air was dark but thick, like a bath of warm milk, and filled with low-pitched interjections like a leaky hinge. A toad? He was aware of a change in the light, like flickering from a TV screen in a darkened room, and then he realized the flickering came from the far sky. There was no thunder, only flashes that made the sky and clouds, for milliseconds, look like the sky filled with angels in those old-time pictures. Tuuro scrunched his back against the building.
God’s fireworks, Tuuro thought. As if God was clearing out his warehouse, tossing out the charges left over from previous storms. It had been a turbulent spring.
Tuuro saw Lanita bending over the plate of eggs he’d made her, felt her small hand hanging on the back of his belt. Lately, he’d noticed, he wasn’t thinking about her much: his daughter had become unreal to him, as inconsequential as someone else’s child. Was this what happened with other absent fathers? Had this happened to Tuuro’s own father? Would I even recognize Lanita now? Tuuro wondered. He told himself it didn’t matter. He would never get to Chattanooga, and even if he did, Lanita’s mother wouldn’t let him near her. How could he argue? I’m not a … I didn’t … When in his mind the truth would be drumming: I killed Chelsea, I killed Chelsea.
“I see your guilty face,” Naomi would spit. “Don’t you think I can see your guilty face?”
He was walking to Allyssa. Of anyone, she’d understand.