Beauty and Dread

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

He had taken her latest offering, John Ashbery’s Some Trees, to bed with him tonight. As he read the poems, considered avant-garde in the fifties when they were first published, he felt suddenly guilty. Did he really have time for reading, let alone writing poems, when there was so much work to be done?

  “Do you think I should stop writing poetry?” he said to Maddie as they lay in bed. “It seems indulgent now. When it was just me and Bruno, I didn’t worry about taking time off from surviving. Now that I have so many jobs and so many people counting on me, it feels like a luxury I can’t afford.”

  “Hogwash,” Maddie said, sitting up in bed. “Don’t ever let me hear you talk like that again.” Her eyes blazed in the weak moonlight. “It’s more important now than ever before. If we don’t keep making art, what’s the point? We’re meant to do more than just eat, shit, and squirt out babies. We’re meant to create beauty in any form we can. We’re meant to feel with every cell in our body, and not just happiness because we got laid or sadness because we lost someone we cared about...I’m talking about profound, complicated emotions that only we humans can feel. What do you want to use on your canvas, Pablo? The crappy four-crayon box they give kids at Macaroni Grill or a hundred tubes of Sennelier oils and the best sable brushes? That’s what art does. It makes us feel complex emotions. It makes us experience life in ways we wouldn’t otherwise, being so busy with the business of staying alive. When we read a poignant line of poetry or gaze upon a magnificent painting or hear an aria so exquisite it makes us weep, that is what it means to live. That’s what it means to be human. Not this bullshit business of keeping our bellies full. Now shut the hell up and go to sleep.

  “By the way, I love you, Poet Fellow.”

  Pablo smiled. “I love you too, Angel Girl.”

  ###

  “So you went to your real home?” Jessie murmured to Amelia from the bed where she had been sleeping all by herself like a big girl, down the hall from Pablo and Maddie. For the week Amelia had been gone, she had stared through the darkness to the empty twin bed against the other wall, wondering where her special friend had gone. She knew Pablo and Maddie were close by, but she worried the monsters’ whispers would get louder when she slept all by herself. They were at their worst when she was alone and more so late at night. Sometimes they got loud even during the day, but not as loud as they had been at the store where her new family had found her.

  “Yes. Remember I told you I might need to go there, and might not come back, but that there will always be someone like me to look after you.”

  “I’m glad it’s still you that’s looking after me.”

  “It may not always be so, my dear. If that time comes, you must be strong. Do you think you can do that?”

  Jessie nodded, her hair rustling against the white pillow case.

  “Good girl. And you haven’t told anyone about what we’ve talked about, right?”

  A shake of the dark head.

  “Excellent.”

  “Did you come back to help Maddie’s baby that’s still tiny in her belly?”

  “That’s one of the reasons, but I realized I have more work to do here. Some very important jobs.”

  “Looking after me?”

  “Yes, that is one of the most important jobs. Taking care of Maddie while the baby is still in her belly is also very important.”

  “What about the Smiling Man?”

  Amelia frowned. “Who is the Smiling Man?”

  “I can’t see his name, but he has a pretty horse. His smile looks too big for his face. People are afraid of him but they do what he tells them to do. Sometimes they get killed anyway.”

  “I see. Is he near?”

  Jessie rolled onto her back and gazed up at the popcorn texture of the small bedroom’s ceiling. “Not yet.”

  “You mean he’s coming here? Do you know why?”

  “I think he’s really mad at that Dani person. There’s more but I can’t see it. Maybe I will when he gets closer. Maddie sees him too.”

  “Did you tell her you see him?”

  “No. I thought you might not want me to.”

  Amelia pondered something for a moment. “I have much to think about,

  child. You should try to sleep now. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

  The old-soul eyes didn’t close the rest of the night.

  Chapter 10

  Steven felt something cold and wet on his cheek. He had been so absorbed with the task of getting the final work done on the greenhouse that he hadn’t realized how chilly the weather had turned, nor had he noticed the slate clouds that had edged out the puffy white ones while he and the building crew nailed and tie-wrapped and Gorilla-glued the last board in place and the last bit of plastic sheeting onto the wood frame. The first incarnation of their community greenhouse was finished. He knew it would go through many changes and expansions as time went by. Their needs would increase as the population did...which was already happening. In addition to the Hays women, a handful of others had drifted into town and were allowed to remain after a thorough screening by the security crew. Julia had put together a list of questions to ask newcomers, and depending on their responses and their skills, some were invited to stay. As a result, Liberty’s township had expanded to include a dental hygienist and her partner, who’d been a student of veterinary medicine minus the degree. Steven felt they had struck gold when the couple wandered up to the eastern checkpoint. Other new residents included a former senior manager for Wichita’s main wastewater treatment plant who could turn brackish, bacteria-riddled water into potable water faster than any sand filter system, and a cantankerous old farmer whose knowledge of horticulture rivaled Lisa’s and who also claimed to know blacksmithing. Steven had been delighted with all of them, or more specifically, with the addition of their talents.

  It was the first snow of the season, and it had come early according to his almanac, but they were damn near ready for it. He stepped into the structure which took up a huge chunk of Liberty’s town square, replacing much of the real estate that had previously been filled with tidy grass, quaint benches, and maple trees. It was sixteen feet wide and ninety-six feet long. Ed had modified his post-and-rafter design to accommodate the larger dimensions they had decided on, as well as the open trench system that would channel heated water throughout, raising the interior temperature during the dead of winter when solar heating alone would be inadequate. The well had been bored several days earlier, hitting the water table at a relatively shallow depth, then fitted with a PVC system of pipes, screens, and valves which would be powered by the unfinished windmill looming beside it. The cistern contained two valves and was ready to attach to the windmill the moment it was finished. One valve had been equipped with a commercial faucet for use by the townspeople, so everyone had easy access to clean water without having to haul it from Wilson Lake. The second valve had been fitted with copper pipe and connected to the boiler, a rusty but functional steel dinosaur that had been salvaged from one of the old government buildings. From the other side, warm water would flow down a wooden trough lined with more sheeting, warming the air as it traveled between the rows of vegetables. Gravity would do the work of circulating it on its journey through the greenhouse to its final destination: a collection reservoir that required a power source to channel the water back uphill to the boiler. The smaller windmill was already built and in place waiting for its bigger cousin to begin pumping water out of the ground. This part of the project had been hugely laborious, but during sunless conditions, it would save their food from freezing. The other options they had considered – Trombe walls and a heat exchange system using car radiators – had been nixed due to concerns about efficacy and sustainability. Their trench method was downright medieval, but it would work and it would last.

  The walls and ceiling were polycarbonate sheeting made of a thermoplastic polymer; an insulating layer of horticultural bubble wrap was attached to the interior side. When the sun shone, they could expect an ambient te
mperature of at least fifty degrees, even if it was below freezing outside. When Mother Nature withheld her sunshine, or worse, sent one of the nasty blizzards she unleashed once or twice each winter, the heated water system would be utilized. Someone would keep the fire burning beneath the boiler; the fuel crew had stacked a cord of chopped oak and cottonwood nearby.

  Lisa hadn’t waited for the walls to go up before she had begun cultivating and preparing the soil in anticipation of the planting. The dozen or so members of the garden crew all reported sprouted seedlings from the peat pellets they had been nurturing. Now it was time to plant them in the raised beds or the prepared furrows, depending on the variety.

  It was an auspicious moment. Steven wouldn’t have made a fuss about it, but he knew the others had planned a celebration of sorts. Someone had provided champagne for the occasion, and everyone took a sip from the bottle.

  “You’ve done a hell of a job,” he said to Lisa and her staff.

  The first crop would consist of spinach, kale, carrots, broccoli, and seed potatoes. The seedlings were handled with the reverence they deserved; these tiny plants would keep their town from starving when there was no more food to be scavenged. He hoped the timing of their first harvest worked out without an uncomfortable period when people wished they had used their resources for foraging.

  That’s what ants do, though. They plan ahead. Everyone should be ants.

  Steven nodded. “Thanks. You have too. I knew my seeds were in good hands, but the seedling crop your group turned out was better than what I could have done.”

  The frank brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “That’s because you don’t count on people enough. You’re afraid to delegate important stuff. You think you’re the only one who can do the task correctly. No offense, but you have to trust people to be smart enough to at least do the simple jobs.”

  Ouch. If she hadn’t been dead on, he might have been offended...but she was right. The machinery of their small community would force him to change his ways.

  “Duly noted. I’ll try harder. I promise.”

  “Uh huh. I need to get to work. The windmill will be ready soon? If not, we’ll have to hand pump the first watering.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m heading there next.”

  He stepped through the wood framed plastic door and out into the chilly overcast day. He could control a lot of things, but he couldn’t control the weather. Since he had let his personal garden go fallow after the last harvest, he was as dependent as everyone else on the success of the cooperative venture. There hadn’t been enough hours in the day for him and Jeffrey to keep up with it. Perhaps by spring, his communal responsibilities would abate and he could get back to work at his own household.

  Ed and three workers were measuring, sawing, and hammering with fervor. Steven smiled. He knew Ed wanted the windmill finished more to impress Lisa than for any other reason. The meager snow flurries had petered out, but it was cold. They would need to get it finished and warm water running before nightfall, when the temperature could plummet. The seedlings were at their most vulnerable, and since there were no perfectly-coiffed meteorologists providing weekly forecasts on the six o’clock news, they must always be prepared for the worst.

  “How’s it looking?”

  Just as Steven, Ed had a way of fixating on the task at hand to the point that everything else in the world ceased to exist. It was one of the many qualities he liked about the man. His construction knowledge was profound, and what he lacked in social skills, he more than made up for in tenacity. Giving Ed the task of windmill building was like setting a hound loose at a fox hunt – he wouldn’t stop until the fox was dead and they were pumping water, even if it took all night.

  It was interesting how jobs that might have been considered lowly or blue collar before Chicxulub were now given the respect they had always deserved. There was no need for art history scholars or law professors these days, but people who could weld pipe, knit socks, and create nutritious meals from Spam and kale would be valued in Liberty.

  “Four hours. Five at the most. Does Lisa know we’re close?”

  “Yes, I told her we would have wind power to pump her water before nightfall. Don’t make a liar out of me, Ed.”

  “No sir. We can do it.”

  “Good man.” Steven clapped the bony shoulder, then turned as he heard the sound of his son’s bike approaching.

  “Dad, they want you to come to the hospital.” Jeffrey skidded to a halt. As one of the youngest members of the security crew, he was often recruited to run errands. Only a few people had walkie-talkies which were reserved for emergency use only; batteries were too valuable for mundane tasks.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Natalie wouldn’t tell me. She just said to come get you.”

  Steven frowned. Natalie had taken a position at the hospital, her master’s degree in literature not being a useful commodity these days. He wondered how she was faring under the somewhat baleful eye of Cate, the nurse practitioner turned ‘doctor.’ These days Natalie seemed barely able to contain her hostility every time his path crossed with hers.

  “Ride on back and tell them I’ll come as soon as possible.”

  “I think they wanted you to come now.”

  “Damn it. All right.” With a glance back at the nonfunctioning windmill, he pedaled after his son. Like batteries, gasoline was far too precious to waste just to get a person from point A to point B. It was saved for the HG, fuel, and security crews. Everyone else had to hoof it or pedal.

  Father and son made good time to the hospital, only a few blocks away from the greenhouse. When he followed Jeffrey into the building, he was surprised by the progress since his last visit. Everything looked organized and clean, and a fair amount of weak sunlight filtered into the large lobby where the nursing station had been set up. Just like gasoline and batteries, candles and kerosene were precious commodities and were used sparingly...mostly at night.

  Steven pondered his lengthy to-do list and considered whether he should move the mini power grid system closer to the top. It would be wonderful to get the lights back on in Liberty, but he knew it would be a herculean task. Hell, it might not even be possible. Better to stay focused on the necessities. Electricity was a luxury some of their great grandparents did without, and it could wait for now.

  “We have a problem.” Natalie was as lovely as always. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a tight bun and she was beginning to get some meat back on her bones. She would always be willowy, but at least she no longer looked skeletal. Despite the wave of animosity he always felt in her presence, he wished nothing but the best for her.

  “What is it?”

  Suddenly Cate appeared behind Natalie. For a large woman, she moved with surprising grace. And stealth.

  “Looks like one of the Hays girls brought a case of measles with her.”

  “Measles? Who gets measles these days?”

  “The children of people who oppose inoculating their offspring.”

  “Really? There are people stupid enough not to vaccinate their kids?”

  “Apparently there were,” Cate replied in the high-pitched voice that was at odds with her size. “The anti-vaxxers believed inoculating caused a number of maladies, including autism. No evidence was found to corroborate their beliefs, but was that because it didn’t exist or that not enough scientific study had been done? And besides, why should the government force you to inject chemicals into your child’s body?”

  Steven studied the woman’s face. The smirk was present, as usual, so it was difficult to discern on which side of the issue she stood.

  “Because vaccinating is the reason we no longer have polio, tuberculosis, and small pox,” he said.

  The beefy shoulders shrugged. “Yes, but think about the explosion of autism and behavioral issues since the fifties. Maybe there is a correlation.”

  “Or maybe parents coddle their children too much.”

  “At any rate, we
have a case of measles. Turns out the girl was home schooled and was never vaccinated for anything.”

  “But if the rest of us were, where’s the problem?”

  Cate snorted. “You’re smarter than that, Steven. Vaccines aren’t a hundred percent effective, nor do they last forever. They diminish in efficacy throughout our lives. Consider the newborns. If these diseases are present, they’ll be sitting ducks. I expect infant mortality to revert to nineteenth century levels.”

  He nodded. Thank goodness Jeffrey had received every vaccination the public school system required. Laura had seen to it.

  “We don’t have to worry about that yet, I guess,” he said.

  “I suppose not, but it’s just a matter of time.”

  “So what’s to be done?”

  “Not a damn thing. I’m just a country doctor, Jim. All we can do is isolate the patient and care for her as best we can. She’ll either recover or she won’t.”

  He smiled at the Star Trek reference and wondered if there weren’t a lot more layers to this odd duck than just her strange voice and inexplicable bulk.

  “How contagious is she?”

  “Very. Unlike Ebola or HIV, the measles virus is spread through casual contact. You can be exposed by walking into a room that an infected person recently coughed in.”

  “Shit. What protocol are you following?”

  “SOP as with any infectious disease. Only people who have been vaccinated,” she indicated Natalie, “are allowed to enter the girl’s room. Latex gloves, paper masks, and eye protection. If it were something even more serious like SARS or TB, more extreme measures would be taken. Fortunately, the hospital is well supplied with gear.”

  “But no medicine, right?”

  “Correct. Just like the Walgreens and CVS stores, the hospital’s pharmacy had been cleaned out.”

  “It sounds like you have everything under control. We’ll mention this at the next meeting.”

  “There’s one more thing. We’re also seeing some early cases of vitamin deficiencies. I think we may have some scurvy and pellagra showing up here in Pleasantville.”