She returned to the nonfiction shelves and chose a small volume entitled A Short History of Amatka. After asking for and reviewing Vanja’s papers, the librarian printed a small library card and registered her loan. Then he returned to his index cards and seemed to instantly forget all about her.
The street outside was almost empty; it was not yet time for the midday break. Vanja walked homeward.
FOURDAY
Thunder rolled, and Vanja sat upright in her bed. It was morning. The room was freezing; her breath came out in white puffs. Vanja pulled trousers and a shirt on over her sleep clothes. It was too cold to even think about washing.
Amatka felt just as desolate as their parents’ collective. Each time Vanja and Ärna went to visit their parents, Ärna seemed comfortable about the whole arrangement; she would move around their parents with ease, accepting the change of environment without complaints. Vanja would miss the dormitory and the noise of other children. Their mother, Britta, was withdrawn and forbidding. She spoke to her children in commands: eat, sit up straight, go to bed. She didn’t touch them unless she absolutely had to. Lars was different. He would let Vanja hold his hand, even crawl into his lap sometimes, but he let her down again when other adults were around. He shouldn’t coddle the children, Britta said. It would make them neurotic.
At night he would always tuck his chidren into bed. This one time, Ärna had fallen asleep straight away. Lars bent down and smoothed the hair from Vanja’s forehead. His beard tickled her cheek as his face came even closer. His whispered words smelled of alcohol: No one knows where we are. But we’re not allowed to say that.
That night, he had remained seated on the edge of her bed, studying Vanja’s face for a long moment. We understand each other, you and I, he’d said. And then he seemed to sober up and began to tell her a story about how people had found a hole in the world, and passed through, and ended up in this place. But where “this place” was, no one knew, not even the committee.
—
Downstairs, the kitchen was empty. She found some leftover porridge in the fridge, which she fried and ate in solitude. A formal-looking note on the table informed her that the requested material was now available for collection at the commune office.
—
The receptionist inspected Vanja’s note and papers and went to get a thin brown envelope. Vanja accepted it and exited the central building. The eatery next to the huge arc that was the clinic looked inviting. The interior was simple and tidy, small tables and chairs upholstered in green set along the row of windows. The menu offered coffee and alcohol, pickled mushrooms, a handful of warm dishes. Vanja ordered a pot of coffee and sat down at a table to open her envelope.
The list of manufacturers she’d requested a few days earlier turned out to be very short, with no names other than those she’d already found. She could add information on corporate organization, founding date, and revenue to her notes. All three manufacturers had reported stable revenues for several years. People didn’t exactly seem to be clamoring for new products. Vanja sighed to herself.
“It can’t be that bad,” said a voice behind her.
It was Nina. There were dark circles under her eyes, but she was smiling.
“Hello,” she said. “I usually eat here after the night shift.” She sat down on the chair opposite and prodded the envelope. “What’s that?”
Vanja shrugged. “A list of hygiene-product manufacturers. It’s not very exciting.”
Nina laughed. The cook rang a little bell over at the counter. Nina got up and returned with a plate piled high with hash and boiled beans. Vanja leafed through the papers while Nina methodically shoveled food into her mouth.
“Why did you get a job like that, really?” Nina said around a mouthful of beans.
Vanja folded and refolded one of the pages. “Ehm…I don’t know.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s a pretty odd thing to do. Interview people about how often they wash themselves?”
“Yeah…I suppose it’s not that great.”
Nina gestured with her fork. “I’m not saying it’s boring in itself, but you don’t exactly seem like you enjoy being around people. I mean this whole thing of making small talk and being friendly. You seem more like Ivar, like you prefer your own company, correct me if I’m wrong. So why pick a job where you have to talk to people? Or was it assigned to you?”
Vanja folded the paper again and again. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
Nina put her fork down. She rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Let’s try this, then,” she said. “What’s your education?”
“Information assistant.” Vanja kept her eyes lowered, but she could feel Nina watching her.
Nina nodded. “That makes sense. And what did you do before you started work at E.H.S.?”
“I wrote pamphlets for the education unit. You know. Those little manuals.”
“ ‘How to Stay Healthy’ and ‘General Clothing Maintenance,’ that kind of thing?”
“Yes, exactly. It was sort of fun, actually.”
“And how did you end up at E.H.S.?”
“It was Ärna. My sister. She knew the founder of the company. She thought I needed to get out and meet people.” Vanja unfolded the paper and folded it in the other direction. “So I got an interview.”
Nina pushed the empty plate into Vanja’s field of vision. “And how’s that working out for you?”
“Eh. It’s okay. Or…I guess that’s irrelevant.”
“Okay, you’re going to have to relax a bit, Vanja. I know you’ve come to do a job, but you’re welcome here. I really enjoy having you.”
Vanja looked up. Nina was leaning in even closer, head tilted to one side. She smiled when Vanja met her gaze. The green in her irises was speckled with brown. Fine lines radiated from the corners of her eyes. They deepened as Nina smiled again.
“There you are,” Nina said. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I mean it. I’m glad you’ve come.”
Vanja felt her face flush and looked down at the table again. “I’m glad to be here,” she mumbled.
“Except that you hate your job,” Nina added.
“Except that. I don’t think I’m very good at this. I mean…there aren’t any instructions for what I should be doing. I’ve tried to do some research, but…I don’t even know what they want.” Vanja fingered the coffeepot. “What if I do it wrong? What if I’m here for three weeks and come back with information they can’t use?”
Nina laughed. “It’s not you—it’s your job that’s completely absurd. Well, all right. I’ll help you out, if you’ll let me.” She poked at the crumpled paper in Vanja’s hand. “You’ve got your statistics there. We’ll get you some workplace visits. We can start at the clinic, and then you can do a field study with Ivar. And then we’ll persuade Ulla to talk a little about what it was like back when she was young, so you get the historical aspect. And then you’ll have a nice little report for your boss.”
Vanja considered this. “It sounds good, actually.”
“Then that’s decided!” Nina got up. “I’m going home to get some sleep. I’m on the day shift tomorrow. You can come with me to the clinic then.”
Vanja stayed for a while after Nina had left. Nina’s familiarity was both unsettling and liberating. It was impossible to lie to her. If Vanja wasn’t careful, Nina would soon realize what a failure she was dealing with, and then she’d back right off. It was almost comforting to know that beforehand.
She tore a page off her notepad and wrote a short letter.
Dear Ärna,
Have been in Amatka for a few days. It is cold but my hosts are friendly. Am doing research. Do not know how long it will take, but have a ticket for a trip back in three weeks’ time, so should be finished by then. I hope Per is fine and that Pia and Dorit are well behaved in the children’s house.
Vanja folded the paper and packed her things into the satchel. When she exi
ted the eatery, she turned toward the center again, heading for a little all-purpose store, where she bought a couple of necklaces made of spotted pebbles from the lake. She moved on to the post office and sent the letter and the gifts to Ärna.
—
Back in her room, Vanja wrapped herself in the pink duvet and put the two library books down next to her on the bed. A Short History of Amatka described the pioneers and their hard work to build the colony—twice. According to the book, Amatka had first been built as a coastal colony in the style of Balbit. Shortly after construction commenced, the lake’s water level suddenly rose, forcing the colony to move. Most of the building materials could be transported inland, but some had been lost.
A section of the book was dedicated to the Heroes, pioneers who had contributed to the colonies with exceptionally hard work and initiative. Benins’ Yara and her group, who built the railroad from Essre to Amatka sleeper by sleeper. Haras’ Samir, the brilliant scientist who prevented an epidemic by synthesizing a cure from mushrooms. Danlas’ Åke, who organized the first children’s house. And Speaker Hedda, the greatest Hero of them all. When the old world was decadent and doomed to ruin, Speaker Hedda found a way into a new world and led her people there. No one had ever explained exactly where the old world was, or what it was like. It was irrelevant. They were here now, in the new world, where they had built the ideal society.
Another section of the book featured Amatka’s literature, especially its poetry. Berols’ Anna had a whole page to herself. In the picture she was solemn, of early middle age, with severe dark eyebrows over a soft face. According to the caption, Berols’ Anna was one of the people who died in the fire in Leisure Center Three. Vanja leafed through the book until she found a chapter with that title.
On Thirday of the twelfth month, in year 90 A.A., a fire broke out in Leisure Center Three, where almost a hundred citizens had gathered to take part in Amatka’s annual poetry and music festival. The fire started in the coatroom, where an electrical component short-circuited and ignited the clothes on the walls, generating massive amounts of smoke. The fire quickly spread to the rest of the hall. The final death count was 103, with most victims succumbing to smoke inhalation. We mourn our comrades and honor their memory by looking forward, thankful for their many contributions to the commune.
“Looking forward” meant that this was no longer an accepted topic of conversation. Perhaps the accident was someone’s fault: a decision made somewhere that would have made the committee look bad. Or people had mourned too much and for too long. That wasn’t proper, either. One should be grateful and look forward.
Vanja put the book down and opened About Plant House 3. The text was difficult to read at first. Every sentence had been whittled down until only the absolutely necessary words remained. Every one of those words was precise; it could have been lifted out of the text and hold enough meaning in itself. In Berols’ Anna’s poetry, all things became completely and self-evidently solid. The world gained consistency in the life cycle of plants, the sound of a rake in the soil. Breathing became easier. Vanja read the book from cover to cover. When she had followed Plant House 3 through an entire year, from harvest to harvest, the room had darkened. Downstairs, someone clattered with pots and pans.
“Would you help Ulla with the marking?” Nina called over her shoulder as Vanja came downstairs. “We’re to do it a couple of times a week.”
“Sure,” Vanja said.
—
Ulla opened the door almost as soon as Vanja knocked.
“Nina told me to help you mark things,” Vanja said.
“Ah,” Ulla said. “I can’t manage that on my own, can I. How kind of you.”
She showed Vanja into a little hallway, where the doors to all three rooms stood open. Two rooms were completely empty. The third, the room directly below Vanja’s, was furnished. Ulla had a table with two chairs, a bed, and a cabinet; books cluttered every surface.
“How are you finding Amatka, then?” Ulla said.
“It’s fine,” Vanja replied.
“I heard you had an accident.”
Vanja nodded. “I did.”
Ulla tutted. “That won’t do.”
“I know,” Vanja said. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. Once is just an accident, after all.” Ulla winked at her.
Vanja went through the other rooms to mark the lights, windowsills, and doors, then returned to Ulla’s room. Ulla was already busy marking her things, one by one. It became clear why she needed help: she owned more things than anyone Vanja had ever seen. She turned to the left wall and a rickety shelf.
Wedged between a copy of About Bodily Variations and A Biography of Speaker Hedda was a slim volume with the word Anna handwritten on the spine. No About, just Anna, as if the book was named Anna. One couldn’t name a book anything other than BOOK, or start the title with anything other than “About…” Naming an object something else, even accidentally, was forbidden.
Vanja drew the book out and opened it. Poetry, on what looked like good paper, handwritten in faded blue ink:
we speak of new worlds
we speak of new lives
we speak to give ourselves
to become
Ulla gently took the book out of Vanja’s hands. “That’s personal, dear,” she said.
“Is that Berols’ Anna?”
Ulla nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“But it’s handwritten,” Vanja said.
“It was a gift.” Ulla tucked the book back in between the other volumes.
“What does she mean, to become?”
Ulla looked Vanja up and down, as if she was examining her. “I might tell you sometime,” she said eventually.
“I read about the fire,” Vanja said.
Ulla’s mouth twisted. “Right. The fire.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. We’re looking forward, after all.” Ulla turned away. “Go on with the marking, dear.”
FIFDAY
It wasn’t yet light out. Nina and Vanja had a slow morning meal of fried porridge. The coffee Nina had made was acrid and bright yellow.
“I’ve arranged so you can go with me all morning,” said Nina. “After that I’ll have to take care of patients.”
The streets were nearly deserted. Amber light pooled under the streetlights. The white arc of the clinic building made everything else look very small.
Nina brought Vanja in through a side entrance. They entered a low hall almost entirely taken up by two gray vehicles with the words TRANSPORT VEHICLE stenciled on their sides. Nina led her through the garage and a pair of double doors. On the other side was a long corridor with doors spaced evenly along its white walls. A murmur of low voices and shuffling feet, punctuated by mechanical beeps. The air smelled of disinfectant. Vanja had forgotten how heavy that smell was, how it made her ribs feel too tight.
“Are you okay?” Nina asked beside her.
Vanja nodded automatically.
Nina continued down the corridor. “Anyway, this is the emergency room,” she said over her shoulder.
“It’s very calm,” Vanja said.
“There’s rarely any action in there.”
Nina made an abrupt left turn and opened a door to a stairwell. They climbed two stairs and emerged into a new corridor. The atmosphere was livelier here: staff in white overalls, patients in wheelchairs and on stretchers. Nina brought Vanja to a desk where she was asked to sign in. She accepted the small tag that said CARD FOR VISITORS, and followed Nina to a room lined with cabinets and shelves stacked with work clothes. Nina retrieved two pairs of white overalls and handed Vanja one of them, along with a pair of shoe covers. She opened one of the cabinets and took out a pair of white indoor shoes.
“You can put your clothes in here.”
Vanja’s overalls were too large. Nina pulled on hers and smiled as Vanja rolled her sleeves and legs up.
“It doesn’t matter which size you pick—they never q
uite fit.” Nina pointed to her own overalls, which were too short in the sleeves but too long in the legs. “The important thing is that they’re not tight across your bottom. That could make lifting patients embarrassing.” She winked.
Vanja took her notepad and a pencil from her satchel and hung it in the cabinet. “I’m ready.”
The smell of disinfectant washed over them as they returned to the corridor, and Vanja’s stomach turned.
“Are you really okay?” Nina asked again. She leaned closer. “You’re pale.”
“Eh. It’s just the smell.” Vanja laid an arm across her belly.
“Just let me know if you need to go outside.”
Vanja straightened. “No, no need. Can we get started?”
Nina looked at her for a moment, frowning. Then she nodded and continued down the corridor.
—
They spent the morning visiting the different units. Amatka’s population suffered from lifestyle diseases and work injuries: bad backs from work in the plant houses and the mushroom farm; cardiovascular disease; osteoporosis. And depression, everywhere depression.
“It’s a little darker here than in Essre, have you noticed?” Nina said.
Vanja shook her head. “I think dawn and dusk come at roughly the same times as usual.”
“No, it’s not that. The daylight is weaker. It’s at ninety percent of the brightness in Essre.”
“Who says?”
“The research department.”
“Oh.” Vanja considered this. “What does it feel like?”
“Feels? I’m used to it. But you must have noticed it’s dimmer.”
“Maybe a little…No. Not really.”
“Well. That’s how it is, in any case. That’s why we have the light rooms.” Nina pushed open a pair of double doors.
The corridor they entered was more brightly lit. The doors on either side had little windows that revealed rooms entirely furnished in white. Every room was populated by people in white coats who sat in white reclining chairs, their legs wrapped in white blankets. Ceiling lamps spread a bluish-white light.
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