Future Chronicles Special Edition

by Samuel Peralta

  They didn’t look guilty at all. And they didn’t look COW-compliant, either.

  Sandra saw a table to the side where all the goodies were piled up. More desserts than she had ever seen together in her whole life. It was unbelievable. Mountains of cookies, gallons of ice cream, rich cakes and pies of all description.

  She took a plate from the side of the table. Her hands were trembling. She got in line and ventured in a whisper to the man beside her, "How do you pay for this?"

  The man looked at her, his merry eyes meeting hers. "They weigh the food, and charge you for how much you eat."

  "They don’t just weigh you before and after?" She smiled, hoping he’d know it was a joke.

  "No," the man said, "that wouldn’t work." He gestured with his head toward a green door on the left. "Over there is the vomitorium." He said. "A lot of people eat this stuff and then get rid of it, so they don’t lose their COW status."

  Sandra shuddered. She shook her head. Nothing was going to stop her from getting her dessert, and she didn’t intend to throw it up afterward. She looked at the dazzling display of sweets and reminded herself not to go crazy. Even with the bit of extra walking she’d done she couldn’t afford to gain any more.

  Gazing at the cookies, cakes, pies, ice cream, and everything else, Sandra decided that what she wanted most was a piece of cake just like the one she had left behind at lunch today. She looked over the mountain of lusciousness until she found a rich yellow cake with deep chocolate frosting. She picked up a piece and put it on her plate, nearly dying with the effort of not biting into it right away.

  Placing the cake on the scale, she gasped when she saw it register 3700 money units. Sandra was stunned. She had enough in her account, but barely. It would be a tough squeeze paying rent this month. Thank God she had just gotten paid. She pressed the keypad to enter her numbers into the moneybot machine.

  With trembling hands, she carried the cake to a seat by the side. She could hardly wait to taste it. She was salivating again. Sitting down, she placed a napkin in her lap, reached for her fork, and slid it into the succulent cake. As she raised the morsel toward her mouth she could already taste the buttery richness of the cake and the fabulous chocolatey goodness of the frosting. She let out a breath of relief as the fork traveled to her mouth.

  At last. Sweetness was to be consummated.

  Whaa. Whaa. Whaa. Whaa.

  An alarm was sounding, and the patrons were in a panic. Everyone in the room dropped what he was eating. Three people came around holding big garbage bags, and the patrons shoveled their food into the bags. A partition started moving from one side of the room to the other, concealing the table that held the mountains of desserts. Another person rolled out what looked like a chair from a medical office, and one of the workers sat in it.

  There was a stampede of customers through what had to be the rear exit, and Sandra followed them out the door. Her cake, purchased at great price, was left behind. She gave a woeful glance behind as she escaped.

  * * *

  Sandra sat on the auto bus looking around at the people. Across the aisle was a mother sitting with a toddler. He was a little boy with dark curly hair, and he was flirting with her. He looked up from under his thick lashes at Sandra. His big brown eyes were as dark as chocolate.

  After a minute, he started to fidget in his rolling chair. His mother spoke to him in a low voice, but it didn’t seem to calm him down. The fidgeting turned into whining and the whining turned into wailing. Soon he was making so much noise that the rest of the passengers in the car were sending annoyed looks at his mother. The mother hurriedly reached into her bag and pulled out a cookie. She handed it over to the boy, who stuck it in his mouth and began sucking on it.

  Sandra gazed at the cookie. Why did kids get cookies when they cried? If she cried, no one would give her a cookie.

  Her desire for the cookie led her to stand up. She started to approach the little boy. She walked across the car and stood close to him, glad that it was crowded and people would imagine she was politely giving up her seat. From this position, she could smell the little boy’s cookie. There was a waft of sweetness in the air. Her mouth was watering.

  She knew it was ridiculous. She hoped no one else on the car could tell how much she was lusting after that cookie. For a moment, she considered snatching the cookie from the sticky fingers of the toddler. Her face flushed with the thought of doing something so absurd. Of course, even if she did get the cookie, it would only make him scream again. Then everyone would look at her. They would wonder what the crazy lady was doing taking the cookie from a little boy. They were probably looking at her now thinking that she was more than three pounds over the COW.

  Sandra shook her head to remove the nutty fantasy. She looked down and saw that the chocolate-eyed toddler was smiling at her, cookie crumbs on his mouth and his chubby little fist holding out what was left of the sweet bribe. He was offering it to her.

  His mother leaned down and shook her head at him. “No, the lady doesn’t want your cookie, honey,” she said. “Your cookie’s all sticky,” she said. “Eat the cookie yourself.”

  The mother glanced up with a smile at Sandra. Her gaze turned a little less friendly when she saw Sandra. She shook her head. She looked back down at her cute little son and spoke with a barbed tone. “That lady doesn’t need a cookie anyway.”

  Sandra’s face burned. She raised her eyes up to the other side of the car. Sliding along the walls of the car were the latest government proclamations.

  Twenty minutes of exercise per citizen required—six times per day.

  Each citizen will be assigned a COW (Citizen’s Optimal Weight) and is allowed a three pound weight fluctuation range (outside of illness, pregnancy, or growth years). Any deviation from the COW will be noted. Individuals with deviant weight will be entered into restrictive eating programs until they have returned to optimal weight.

  Good citizens are punctual. Tardy workers will be punished. To be on time is to be late. To be early is to be on time.

  * * *

  Sandra reached her front door, ran her card by the lock and let herself in. She tossed her bag down in the front hallway and shucked off her coat.

  Walking into the kitchen, she realized that she was already hungry for dinner. She went to the Nutrition Unit and spoke. "I’ll have broiled chicken, broccoli, artisanal water, and cake."

  The N.U. spoke back. “Preparing broiled chicken, broccoli, artisanal water."

  "And cake."

  "No cake."

  "I want cake."

  "No cake."

  "I want cake."

  "No cake is available to you at this time."

  "Cake.” She was shouting now, and her voice was shaking. “Give me cake, dammit. This is my house. You are my Nutritional Unit. When I ask for something, you have to give it to me. I want cake."

  "I am not authorized to supply inappropriate foodstuffs to someone who is past COW."

  Sandra looked around the kitchen. She was tempted to pick up one of the stools and bang it into her N.U., but that would get her nothing but a bill for a new one. Instead, she tried to be clever.

  "I appreciate your guidance in nutritional matters," she said, her mouth trembling with the effort to sound calm. "I would like two cups of flour, one egg, a cup of granulated sugar, two teaspoons of water, 1/2 teaspoon of salt, and eight tablespoons of butter.”

  It was a moment before the N.U. responded. When it did, Sandra could swear that she heard some calculated amusement in its artificial voice. "I can give you two cups of flour, one egg, two teaspoons of water, 1/2 teaspoon of salt."

  "What about the sugar and the butter?"

  "Those items are not available to you at this time until you return to your specified Citizen’s Optimal Weight."

  Sandra took off her shoe and pounded on the computer interface of the Nutritional Unit. She pounded until she heard something break, and until her arm got tired. A sad little sound came out of the N
utritional Unit, a sort of sigh, as though it was troubled but proud to be dying for a cause.

  * * *

  Sandra wandered down the hallway wearing only one shoe. She was hungry and her N.U. was no longer. What was she going to do?

  She felt dazed. The quest for cake had become the focal point of her existence. As she walked, heedless of her direction, toward the front of the building, she saw the elevator doors opening up. Out stepped her neighbor, Mrs. Krowitzky.

  "Sandra, how are you, dear?" Mrs. Krowitzky said.

  "I’m in a bit of a pickle, Mrs. Krowitzky," Sandra said. "My N.U. is on the fritz, and I have nothing to eat."

  "Oh my goodness, child, we must get some food into you! Here, come along down to my room and I’ll feed you," Mrs. Krowitzky said. "We can’t have you starving in the hallway, now can we?"

  "Thank you so much, Mrs. Krowitzky," Sandra said. "You can’t imagine how grateful I am."

  "What happened to your unit?" Mrs. Krowitzky asked. "I never do trust these things. It’s just not right to depend on machines for sustenance, I always say." She shook her head. "If we had some sort of system breakdown, we could all be starving right there in our homes."

  Mrs. Krowitzky ran her card across her front door as they reached it. She turned to look at Sandra with a conspiratorial smile. "It’s because of that very reason that I always keep extra food on hand, that I can access directly." She winked.

  Sandra followed the older lady into the kitchen. She stopped short when she saw all the cabinets on the wall. She had never seen a kitchen with so much storage. She wondered what could possibly be kept in all of those cabinets.

  Mrs. Krowitzky went to the center of a wall and opened wide a set of double doors. Behind them was a treasure trove of desserts that rivaled the stash at the clandestine sweet shop. Piled on the shelves were brownies, cookies and cakes.

  Mrs. Krowitzky turned to Sandra and said, "Would you like something sweet first, or do you want to have a real dinner, and then top it off with dessert?"

  Sandra’s mouth was open, and it was a moment before she could speak. She closed her mouth. She looked down at the round Mrs. Krowitzky. For the first time, it occurred to Sandra to wonder how the old woman managed to avoid the COW. She was clearly outside of anyone’s optimal weight range.

  Mrs. Krowitsky’s eyes were bright. "I see you’re wondering how I get away with keeping all of these goodies in my place," she said. She smiled again. "I’ll let you in on a secret. Mr. Krowitsky used to work at the NNH, as it was first known—the National Nutrition Headquarters. Now, of course, everything has been folded into Federal United—F.U.”

  She looked pensive. “How I miss my darling Herbie. He was in charge of developing the first round of Citizen’s Optimal Weights." Mrs. Krowitsky’s eyes glistened. "Of course I was always a little above average weight, and since I was healthy as a horse—and between you and me, Mr. Krowitsky was a fan of my extra roundness—” Mrs. Krowitzky paused and gave a little chuckle. "Well, Herbie made sure that I got one of the identity cards that allowed me to be exempt from the usual COW limits."

  Sandra sat down at Mrs. Krowitzky’s tiny table. She didn’t want to think too hard about the dear departed Herbie and his enjoyment of old Mrs. Krowitzky’s curves. She looked up at the open cabinets and the array of sugary delights.

  If Sandra had only known what an incredible abundance was available right down the hall, she would never have had to look for cake in all the wrong places. But of course, if she’d been aware of the largesse in Mrs. Krowitzky’s kitchen, she couldn’t have stayed within ten pounds of her COW.

  "This is amazing,” Sandra said, looking at the stash of goodies.

  Mrs. Krowitzky smiled and waved her hand toward the bounty. "So what’s your desire, sweetheart?"

  "I want cake. I’ve wanted a piece of cake all day," Sandra said.

  "Then cake you shall have," the old woman said as she stood up.

  She pulled out a plate made from real china and put it on the counter. She took the cake out of the cabinet and removed the glass cover. The moist chocolate frosting glistened in the light. Sandra watched as Mrs. Krowitzky took a knife and sliced a generous piece, put it on the plate, and pulled a fork from a drawer. The fork was made of real metal.

  Mrs. Krowitzky placed the cake in front of her. Sandra could feel her mouth watering yet again.

  "Would you like some tea to go with your cake, honey?" Mrs. Krowitzky asked.

  "That would be nice," Sandra said. She was dying to launch into the cake, but hesitated to do so before Mrs. Krowitzky was ready to sit down. The old woman took out an ancient teapot and put it on an old-fashioned heating unit, so antiquated that Sandra had seen the like only in photographs. In a few moments Sandra could hear the water boiling. She had never boiled water herself, so she was surprised to see how it worked when it wasn’t done by a Nutritional Unit.

  Mrs. Krowitzky poured the water into a real mug and inserted a teabag. "Honey or sugar?" She asked.

  Sandra shook her head in amazement. "You have both?"

  “Of course,” Mrs. Krowitzky answered. “I have everything here.”

  “I’ll have honey, then,” Sandra said, gulping. She was going to make the most of this while she could.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Mrs. Krowitzky said. “You just sit tight, right there. I have to go to the little girl’s room. I’ll get you the honey in just a moment.”

  Sandra sat in front of the table, eyeing the golden yellow cake. It was the same kind of cake she had almost gotten to her lips twice in the course of the day. She could imagine how delicious this piece was going to taste, with its succulent chocolate frosting. She was dying to take a bite, but she knew that her reward was coming soon. Mrs. Krowitzky would be right back. Once the old lady had sat down across the table from her it would be polite to dive in.

  This was unbelievable. To know that she could come back here to Mrs. Krowitzky’s apartment any time and have sweets to her heart’s content… now that she knew this treasure trove of desserts was available. And how nice to have someone understand. Someone who wouldn’t judge her for wanting a moment of sweetness.

  What a kind soul Mrs. Krowitsky was. Sandra couldn’t believe she’d never paid much attention to the old lady down the hall, with her gray hair and the wart on the side of her nose. She’d always dismissed her as being just some old fusty thing.

  But not anymore. Sandra had the feeling she and Mrs. Krowitsky were going to be the best of friends from now on.

  Sandra eyed the cake, sitting lush and tempting on the plate right in front of her. It looked delicious. She was starting to feel impatient. It had been quite a few minutes.

  What was taking Mrs. Krowitzky so long? It was getting harder and harder for Sandra to wait. She had the tea in front of her and she had the cake in front of her and her mouth was watering again. She didn’t need the honey.

  She picked up the fork. Surely Mrs. Krowitzky would understand if she took one bite. Surely that would not be considered so impolite that she could never come back again to the land of plentiful sweets.

  With the fork in her hand, Sandra leaned down to sniff the cake. The aroma was amazing. She could smell the buttery freshness and the incredible rich chocolate frosting. She couldn’t wait any longer.

  She put her fork into the delectable mound and sliced a hefty chunk of moist yellow cake and chocolate frosting. She raised it to her lips and finally placed the bite inside her mouth.

  The explosion of flavor was incredible. The buttery goodness and the chocolatey sweetness melted in her mouth as she bit down on this incredible slice of bliss. As she chewed slowly and with relish, she felt her taste buds stand up and shimmy with delight. This had been worth waiting for. This was the most delicious bite of cake she had ever tasted.

  Sandra closed her eyes as the sweet morsel began to dissolve in her mouth. She swallowed. She felt tiny tears leaking from her eyes with the deliciousness of this heavenly mouthful.

  The d
oor burst open. In came three men in uniform followed by Mrs. Krowitzky. Sandra dropped the fork and jumped up, pushing her chair back from the table so hard that it fell over behind her.

  "You’re under arrest, Sandra Morris, for flaunting the COW Regulations." One of the uniformed men approached her and put her hands in cuffs. Another one turned her, not too gently, toward the door of the kitchen and began marching her out. “You are hereby informed that you were caught in the act of eating foodstuffs outside of the officially mandated dietary regimen for a person with your Citizen’s Optimal Weight who has strayed above the permissible three pound swing.”

  Sandra looked over at Mrs. Krowitzky. To her astonishment, she saw that the old woman looked gleeful.

  The man continued, droning on in a tone that made it clear this was a statement he recited often. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you have been seen eating can and will be used against you in the OW Court of Law—the Optimal Weight judiciary tribunal.”

  Sandra turned to the old lady. "Mrs. Krowitzky, what is this? What happened?”

  What had seemed to be a motherly glint in the old woman’s eye now looked more like malevolence. “I caught you for the F.U.,” the old woman said. “Caught you fair and square.” She pulled the cake across the table and took a generous forkful, licking her lips as she ate it.

  “You turned me in? Why? You keep all these sweets yourself—”

  “Come on, Ms. Morris,” one of the cops said. “Down to COW Headquarters for you.”

  “But I don’t understand. How can she have all this stuff and you look right past it? While I get arrested?”

  “She’s a dessert informer, ma’am. It’s a cake sting.” The man moving Sandra through the hallway and out of the apartment shrugged his shoulders when he answered her. “She turns in folks like you who step outside the law, and she gets to keep the goodies so she has some bait.” He was a big guy, and he looked more sympathetic than the others.