by Nōnen Títi
The next evening Jema stayed over at Kaspi’s home, since Kityag was out with a friend.
“You’re not eating,” Kaspi said, tapping the still-closed container.
“I’m not hungry.”
“The interview isn’t until tomorrow, Jema. You have to eat something.”
“I know.”
“It’s only an interview. They’re just people. All they can do is say no.”
“Exactly.”
“Then don’t let them turn you down. Tell them you’ll do any job.”
“But I don’t want to sound like I need them.”
“Seems to me that you do.”
That might be so, but there was no need to go and announce that to people. How many applicants would they have? Why did so many people want to leave DJar? People who didn’t fit in, people who weren’t accepted because they were different. But were those normal people so normal or were they just in the majority? Imagine creating DJar with all its artificial life — was that normal? How many outcasts were needed before they became the norm? How many people like her, like the kids in Closed House? No-hopers, lost and sunk too far, while Jema was still holding on to a float. But that float had only a three-station lifespan left. The only chance of not drowning was a big kabin called Kun DJar, but it was still so far away.
“If they say no, which they won’t, then at least you know you’ve tried,” Kaspi said.
“But it would be so humiliating.”
“No. Humiliating is having to go see a doctor and allow him to put you in the Land Beyond.”
“At least you don’t have to face anybody aft— Oh.” Jema immediately regretted saying that.
She held her breath when Kaspi turned red as she tried to swallow her food. First Kaspi’s shoulders shook a few times slowly, then faster and faster until her face relaxed and she laughed out loud. She didn’t stop for what seemed like minutes. The hand she slapped on the table nearly hit the tray in front of her. Jema exhaled silently. She would have preferred it if Kaspi cried or got angry. This was frightening.
Kaspi finally wiped her eyes. “There’s nothing like a good laugh in a bad situation,” she sniffed.
“I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry.” Jema pushed her tray away. Now she really didn’t feel like eating.
“You have a habit of saying things you don’t mean to say and yet all you do is worry about what to say to strangers.”
Jema repeated that she was sorry. She would try. She just wished all those formalities didn’t exist.
“There are a lot of things I wish didn’t exist. Don’t you think I get scared knowing where I have to go in Station Six? Everybody gets scared, but you can’t let it take over. You still have to go.”
Jema didn’t argue. How could she justify being so worried about an interview that could only change her life for the better when Kaspi had to worry about losing hers?
“Now eat,” Kaspi said.
Too many what ifs kept Jema from relaxing all evening. “Do you think they’ll let me take Nori?” she asked. She had played with the idea. The child had nobody. She could pretend Nori was hers.
Kaspi was sceptical. “Just don’t go making up stories,” she said.
“It’s not like DJar will want to keep her. They’ll be glad to be rid of her; another useless person out of the way. That at least I have in my favour.”
“Nobody wants to be rid of you,” Kaspi answered.
“Who knows, maybe Kityag does. He might throw a party.”
“You’re starting to test my patience.” Kaspi stood up and walked to the bedroom, her stride a little more intent than usual, her calm waters disturbed by the skim of Jema’s rock. It would be wise not to throw any others.
Kaspi returned with a small photograph. “I want you to have this.”
The photo showed a younger Kaspi sitting on the floor of her city home next to a jumble of mattresses and blankets on which her children and Jema were playing. All three were dressed up; Lusji as a doctor with a doll in her hands, Tisji with a collection of toy animals and Jema as an explorer — stereotypes.
“You were looking for ancient objects, pretending to be on Freberer… Make it happen, Jema. Go explore that new planet.” Kaspi didn’t make an excuse for the tears in her eyes.
Jema looked back at the picture. Lusji was a nurse now. Tisji had studied biology. Jema hadn’t explored anything. Workers didn’t go to postlearners. “I’ll try, Kaspi. If for nobody else I’ll do it for you.”
Very early the next morning Kaspi walked her to the transport depot. “Sure you don’t want me to come?”
“I’m sure. I’ll be back tomorrow,” Jema promised.
“Why don’t you stay with your mom a bit longer now that you’ve got the moon off anyway?”
Jema hadn’t wanted the moon off, but it was mandatory. “No. Whatever happens I’ll want to talk to you. Besides, I can just see Mom’s face.”
It was chilly out even if it was supposed to be summer. Jema put her arm through Kaspi’s. “What if you could come too, would you do it?”
“Of course I would, but I can’t. I’m too old. You know that.”
“But if you were younger and you still had a good job, would you still do it?”
“I would still go. Now stop making it hard for me,” Kaspi replied.
“Sorry.”
“And stop apologizing!”
The trip in the airfloat took four hours. Jema just stared at the pages of the print she had taken. If only she could stop her mind from racing for a while. Why could every other person just do this? Why did she have to worry about how many volunteers there would be and how each one of them was likely to be more qualified than she was?
It was lunchtime when she arrived in Geveler City. She’d not been here for over a year. It was nice and warm but the sterility struck her. Mom was happy with the visit from her oldest daughter but before Jema had the chance to sit down, the unavoidable question had already been asked: any hope of another grandchild? Mom couldn’t help mentioning that Giti already had her two.
“You know, Mom, I need you to do me a big favour.”
“What’s that, honey?”
“I need you to sign me a letter that states you have no problem with my wish to go to Kun DJar.”
The cup of coffee was put down in front of Jema with a bang. “What did you say?”
“I want to go on that kabin to Kun DJar and I need you to sign this.”
It was the letter she had printed out a few days ago. Mom dismissed it after a quick glance. “You’re not serious. Those are only rumours. Nobody’s really going.”
Jema replied that she was due for an interview with them in two hours.
Her mother ran her fingers along the partikels she had lined up against the table’s edge as if to make sure not a millimeter protruded into boundless space. “If I sign that and you go, I’ll never see you again,” she said.
“You don’t see me very often now anyway. At least if I went you would know I was happy.”
“But you’re happy now. You’ve got a comate with a good job and it isn’t too late for a child.”
“Mom, if I stay with Kityag I’ll never have a child. Please sign the letter.” She put the pen on top of the paper and pushed it, knocking the partikels over the edge with her elbow.
Mom was shocked that Jema wanted to leave Kityag and didn’t hide it. Trying not to get irritated, Jema listened to the predictable advice from her mother, who was picking up the partikels. Decommitment would not change things. If she just tried to talk to Kityag… Time was short. “You’re too old to start over. What would I tell my friends?”
“Mom, please!”
Jema couldn’t afford to get angry. It would take her at least half an hour to get to that office building. She looked around the room. In the corner hung the photographs of Giti and Jema, their comates and Giti’s children; Mom’s show-off collection.
She tried once more, saying she was going anyway. The letter would
only make it easier. “I’d hoped we could visit Giti and have meals together after.”
“And were you planning to go to an interview in that?” Mom indicated the long red skirt Kaspi had given Jema because it didn’t fit anymore.
“What’s wrong with this?”
“It’s like you purposely dress to offend people’s sense of fashion or grace.”
Keen observation skills, Mom. Jema stood up and pulled the skirt straight. She had no need to be labelled one thing or the other. “I’ve got to go; I’ll ask Kaspi to sign.”
“Are you really sure?” Mom asked, picking up the letter.
Of course she was sure. She wouldn’t have gone through all this if she wasn’t.
“Okay then, I’ll sign, but I hope you’ll change your mind.”
Jema nodded. Mom could hope all she wanted. She promised to be back later and stay the night. Of course, if she was turned down she wouldn’t go back at all. She wouldn’t be able to live with Mom’s “I told you so”.
She arrived with an hour to spare and waited along with a large number of other people, who were all there for the same reason. “Office number three,” she was told when it was finally her turn.
Office number three was more like a cubicle. The desk and two seats filled the entire space. On request, she handed over the records she was carrying to the woman at the desk after the introductions where done. Daili didn’t look like a maker, though you couldn’t see that from the outside. It was more the way she handled the documents, which were the evidence of what Jema could not do. They were given a lot less attention than her words.
There was something homely in the way Daili took the partikel from a file and put it into the wave-unit. “The first thing I’d like to know is whether you only pulse or if you can write by hand,” she said.
Surprised at that question, Jema answered she could write. She wasn’t that young anymore. While scanning the screen Daili explained about the journey and the finality of it. Had she said it would be hell, it wouldn’t have made a difference to Jema.
“I’ve just reread your request message. You’re quite desperate to go then?” Daili asked.
Jema tried to recall what exactly she had written, but confirmed Daili’s question with a nod.
“Do you want to give me your reasons?”
Jema had expected to have to explain how she could be useful to the colony, not why she wanted to be away from here. She struggled to find the words without giving away too much, but in the end she still mentioned Kityag. Daili accepted that as why there was no letter from him. She also mentioned that the note from the director said that a status rise was long overdue, which was news to Jema.
“Tell me about the place you work?”
This didn’t feel like an interview. It became easier to talk, so easy that Jema even expressed her wish to take Nori. As if there were no people waiting outside, Daili took her time asking more questions and then sat back and smiled. “So now I’m going to have to come up with a reason for us taking a specialist in caring for people with emotional problems?”
Jema held her breath. She didn’t want to react the wrong way.
“However, I’m thinking that going to Kun DJar will create enough problems even for the sanest of people, never mind the users.” Daili ran her hand over the pulseboard and then ejected the partikel. “There, now for Bue’s sake stop looking so worried. I’ve put your name on the list.”
“Just like that?”
“I’ve also made a provisional mention of a child, but you’ll have to get the approvals for that from the institution and the mother. The issue of children isn’t solved yet, but I could maybe get her signed on as one of the userchildren that come from the children’s homes.” Daili said she’d send the details in the next moon and to call her if anybody made problems.
Once outside, Jema couldn’t help but smile at the bright light Bijar cast over the city. She strolled back to the charging terminal for the city vans, stopping here and there at a large shop window displaying luxuries, sweets and wines. She bought a marzipan doll for Kaspi. She would have loved to call her right away but preferred to tell her in person. Besides, Jema never carried a spinner. She despised them for intruding on private time. Should she have tried to get Kaspi signed on too? But the answer would have been no. And Nori? Would she tell her or just take her?
All that was left to worry about was what to do about Kityag. Should she tell him tonight over the wave or tomorrow when she came home? “Oh, by the way, Kityag. I went to visit Mom and I’m leaving for good. I’m going to Kun DJar.” The look on his face would be worth it.
Mom was dressed to go out when Jema arrived. Her skirt too short, her hair loose instead of tied back the way she’d worn it earlier, and wearing a mountain of make-up — trying to look younger, as they all did. Trying, maybe, to avoid the looks of pity.
“I thought you said we would meet at Giti’s for meals?” she greeted Jema.
“Well, I came here first.” She walked with Mom to the van that would take them to her sister’s house.
“Well?”
“Well what, Mom?”
“You said you were going for this interview?”
Jema deliberately let her ask the question.
“Did they accept you?”
“Yes, they did.”
Mom would now regret having signed the letter and be disappointed that Jema hadn’t messed up for a change. They arrived at Giti’s in silence but were welcomed by a lot of noise from inside. Giti looked flustered. “About time we saw you again,” she told Jema.
“This may be the last time,” Mom said.
The children, four and almost eight, had just had a fight. Giti turned to put right whatever was wrong, saying she’d get meals in a minute.
“I’ll do it.” said Jema, who was hungry now. She left Mom to talk to Giti and went to put the mealmaxes into the oven, allowing herself a brief daydream of having her own children to make dinner for. It was disturbed by her nieces running into the room and then stopping to study their unexpected visitor. She smiled at them.
Quiet came when the children started eating. “I can’t stand much more of this, the noise, the constant fights. They never listen to me. It wears me out,” Giti complained.
“It’ll be the light that puts the children on edge. I was always glad to have you kids off my hands in summer. Two’s too many.”
Good one, Mom. That would make Giti feel better.
“I wouldn’t have minded if one had been a boy,” Giti agreed.
Jema turned her attention to her food so not to show her sudden resentment towards them both. They had children because it was what most people of their status did; it was a job. Sure, they loved them, but they couldn’t wait for them to grow up.
Giti asked what job Jema had interviewed for and did that mean she’d move back to the city? Jema told her about Kun DJar, taking pleasure in her sister’s surprise. Giti had either misunderstood or Mom had intentionally left her in the dark.
“I told you this might be the last time you see her,” Mom said.
Jema promised she’d come back one more time.
“How about Kityag, is he going too?” Giti asked.
“Not if I can help it.”
The oldest of the children wanted to know what Kun DJar was and if Jema was going to live there, so, for the next eight minutes, Jema answered questions about the trip, the kabin and how far away it was.
“So you’ll never come back?’
“Never,” Jema answered, unable to hide a smile.
“Like when Granny goes to the Land Beyond?” the little one asked.
It went very quiet then. Giti exchanged looks with her older daughter before both looked at Mom.
“Yes,” Jema answered. “Just like that.”
The meal was finished in an awkward silence. Mom busied herself making desert while Jema called Kityag on the wave. All he was concerned about was why she hadn’t told him about going to the city and how she
’d paid for the trip. Only after she said she’d be back tomorrow did he even ask if everything was okay. She told him everything was fine. She wasn’t lying. Everything was fine for her.
The evening didn’t get any better. The children didn’t want to go to sleep despite Giti and Mom chasing after them — or maybe because of it. The little one, aware of Jema’s attention on her, refused to put on any clothes and showed off her body in a way that could have been copied from an adults-only show. She ignored her grandmother’s orders to come down off the table.
Jema sat back and watched her mother get more and more agitated. Giti’s pleading didn’t do any good either. In the end, to prevent Mom having a heart attack right in front of her, Jema picked the child off the table and carried her through to the bedroom. When the girl tried to get back up, Jema tickled her and blew on her belly until she giggled so much she couldn’t get up.
“Don’t you go encouraging indecent behaviour.”
“Oh come on, Mom. She’s four years old. Let her enjoy it now she still can.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you were her mother. You won’t have to put up with a spoiled teen later.”
“It would be a lot healthier if people touched more and praised less,” Jema answered, referring to the guidelines she despised. Unwanted behaviour was to be tolerated without responding to it, no differently at home than in Closed House, while adults were expected to give incessant praise — shallow responses — for all accepted behaviour. Besides the superficiality, it didn’t work since negative behaviour was often impossible to ignore and thus resulted in parents begging, as Mom and Giti had proven just now, and so rewarding it with extra attention and sincere emotions, while the praise was empty and cold.
“You have easy talking. You don’t know what it means to have kids,” Mom said.
Jema cursed deliberately, which invoked the immediate attention from the children. “You see what’s wrong with this planet? Nothing is allowed and you wonder why people want to leave?”
“You blame everything on DJar. Don’t think any other place will be this good,” Mom answered.
“There are plenty of things wrong on DJar. It’s like living in a giant prison camp. Everybody is both prisoner and guard.”