Pure

by Karen Krossing

  “Sure, he’s my nemesis, and a voice for Purity.” He squeezed my hand to tell me to be quiet.

  A woman appeared in a field overrun with lifewort. “Lifeweed, originally called lifewort by the company that created it, can be processed into an oil used to make biodegradable plastics. However, it was nicknamed lifeweed by its detractors once it was proven to be invasive. This seemingly useful plant is now damaging crops, parks, and entire ecosystems.”

  “Is that true?” I thought of the patch under the pines, where nothing else would grow. I wouldn’t want lifewort to take over, but I admired it.

  “Lies. All lies. Hubert is behind it.”

  Hubert flashed onto the screen again. “We prohibit any gen-eng of humans that would permanently alter the gene pool. So how can we allow a company to modify plant or animal DNA? It’s an act of controlling the future, obliterating life as we know it. Like humans, DNA modifications of plants and animals should be limited to repair, rather than subject to permanent enhancement. GrowTech should be forced to cease all research in this area and provide the funds to clean up this mess.”

  “What’s the difference between carefully bred plants and genetic engineering?” Dad snorted again. “You notice they didn’t ask my opinion.”

  “If we don’t watch out,” Hubert continued, “GrowTech will begin experimenting on humans next. Then we’ll be no better off than the Beyond. Isn’t that why we support our Purity communities — to escape the chaos of two-headed babies and designer viruses? We can’t pass the negative effects of our experimentation onto future generations. We have to stay pure.”

  “Oh, please.” Dad wiped a hand over his face.

  This guy is a fanatic, I thought, and he’s after Dad. I glanced at my father, wondering how he put up with this.

  A news anchor appeared behind a circular desk. “In other news, the latest massive solar grid, which was expected to be operational by December, was sabotaged last night. No group has come forward to claim responsibility, and officials expect the new power allowances to be delayed until next summer.”

  I groaned. “Not another power shortage!” I had only a little time for sketching as it was.

  “As if Hubert isn’t enough,” Dad’s voice was gruff, “now Dawn will have to justify its power requirements.”

  Then Dad must have caught the pained look on my face because he said, “Dawn will purchase more power allowances. We’ll get through it, somehow.”

  Dad had often told me why he and Mother had applied to come to Dawn, long before I was born. Violent climate changes had made the cooler temperatures of the north attractive. Mother had wanted a pure community without bizarre, half-human genetic creations running about. And the Purity settlements had promised support for GrowTech as well as a stable energy supply. If only that were true.

  He squeezed my hand again, this time as a comfort.

  I squeezed back. Dad was a maniac workaholic who wanted me to match his frantic schedule, but he cared.

  A Purity ad had begun babbling on the display screen. “The Genetic Purity Council protects you and your family from the horrors of this world every day.” A picture appeared of a malformed beast attacking a young boy, reminding me of that creepy transgenic in the commons that had gone for my toes. “Help Purity grow by donating generously to the settlement expansion campaign.” The screen showed happy settlers building new housing units. “Together we’ll forge the future with a pure human race. Purity — Committed to Tomorrow.”

  “Screen off.” Dad stood abruptly, knocking his slate onto the rug. The screen went blank. “I’ve got to go.” Dad grunted as he leaned over to pick up his slate. When he had straightened, his face was red and puffy. “You can imagine the day I have ahead of me. I’m sure Purity will be investigating GrowTech, yet again.” He shuffled out of the room. “Take care of yourself,” he said from the hall. “You’re looking tired today.”

  If only that were it. With a knot of worry in my stomach, I walked down the long hall to the kitchen. Power shortages and Purity propaganda — I could do without either. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Purity, or someone else, was watching me.

  From the front of our unit, Dad called, “Lenni? Your mother wants to see you this morning. Be sure you talk to her.” The front door slammed.

  Of course she did. She was unavoidable.

  The footsteps of Mother and Elyle echoed from the stairs. Mother insisted on scrutinizing me each morning, and was always waiting for me after the Academy. If I dodged her, she’d trail me to school. I couldn’t begin to understand why. I just tried to endure it.

  In the kitchen, I prepared two sliced apples sprinkled with cinnamon, toast with Nutrio spread, and orange juice. I eyed the energy consumption gauge beside the sink, watching the numbers slowly blink higher and higher. As if we’d ever have enough. I carried my tray into the sunroom.

  The room was full of rich green leaves, the fragrance of flowers, and the undercurrent of rot. Mother and Elyle were there — Mother in oversized glasses that magnified her eyes. Of course, she didn’t need glasses. Anyone could get lens implants, but doctors made her nervous — ever since they’d hauled her to a medical unit during a prolonged crisis. She’d howled and tried to get back home, but they’d called it a breakdown and kept her longer. It’d been the easiest six months of my life, except for the visits.

  I sat at the table and took a large crunchy bite of toast.

  “Morning.” Elyle nodded a friendly hello.

  I tried to smile back with my mouth full. “Morning,” I mumbled through my food.

  Elyle padded across the room to shut a window from the heat of the day. She moved with the grace of a cat, even though she was a few years older than Mother. The smell of lavender always clung to her.

  “You’re a delicate girl, Lenni. Please, eat like one.” Mother was using tiny shears to prune her plants.

  The tangy spread turned sour in my mouth. How could she make anything grow?

  “Can’t you even say good morning before you tell me what to do?” I took another bite.

  “I’m only trying to help,” Mother said, using her lecturing voice. “You’re capable of so much. You need to do your best, always.”

  “I’m just eating toast!”

  Mother’s hand, holding the shears, began to shake. Great. Now, I’d done it.

  Elyle studied the two of us. She came to stand behind my chair and smoothed my hair. I looked up at her. Her eyes flickered like tiger’s -eye gems — brown at the edges moving into a shining gold. Let it go, her expression said.

  I tried to calm down. Breathe. Be like Elyle. Nothing Mother did could upset her.

  “Mara,” Elyle spoke to Mother, her tone gentle, “should I fix you an elixir?”

  When I was a baby, Elyle was hired as my nursemaid, but now she cared more for Mother than for me. Elyle was her shadow. Always there, always nurturing. How could Elyle stand her?

  “Oh, Elyle, you’re so good to me.” Mother sat heavily in a chair, dropped the shears into her lap, then put a fat hand to her forehead. “Lemon and licorice, please.”

  Elyle headed for the kitchen. I made myself swallow my anger along with my food. I tried not to glare at the bucket of daffodils that Mother had forced to flower out of season. Mother fanned herself with her hand and breathed in rapid bursts. The air was tight between us.

  Minutes later, Elyle returned with the elixir, and Mother drank in slow, full gulps.

  “Elyle, I owe you my life, as always.”

  “I would accept no such gift.” Elyle smiled.

  I bit into a cinnamon apple, but the intense smell of the elixir overpowered its sweetness. My nose twitched. I watched Mother power back the elixir.

  “Now, Lenni, we have something to discuss,” Mother began when she’d recovered. “The Academy has informed me that you did not attend classes on Saturday.”

  I hardened into stone, my hand clasped in a fist around my napkin. I needed an explanation, fast.

&nb
sp; “Don’t try to give me any excuses.”

  How did she know what I was thinking?

  “Perhaps you need Elyle to help you find your way to the Academy?”

  I cringed, although I was surprised she wouldn’t want to do it herself.

  “Now, do you want to tell me where you were instead of school?”

  “Well, uh…”

  “We’re trying to do our best for you.” For a moment, Mother’s eyes saddened, her eyebrows knotted. “After your disappointing performance last year…”

  “My assessment was excellent!” I looked at Elyle, expecting her to help.

  “Now, Mara…” Elyle began.

  “… and your strange preoccupation with art…” Mother pronounced art with a hard, sharp T. “I can’t trust you to know what’s good for you.”

  Why did I get her for a mother? I couldn’t wait for Elyle to smooth this over.

  I stood, pushing my chair back so hard that it toppled over with a satisfying crash. “If I did tell you where I was, would you even try to understand?” I yelled, facing Mother down, with only the gray of the table between us. “No. You want to control my life. No friends. No fun. Nothing but the Academy.”

  “It’s for your own good, Lenni,” Mother’s voice cracked. “If only you knew the sacrifices I’ve made for you. If only you…”

  “That’s enough, Mara.” Elyle’s voice held a warning.

  Mother stopped, stunned. As if she’d said too much.

  “You’re not the only one who’s made sacrifices!” I shouted.

  Elyle shushed me. Her back to Mother, she mouthed, “Keep her calm.”

  Keep Mother calm, the doctor had said, but who cared about me? Still. I bit my tongue, remembering her last episode. It could get worse.

  “You seem a bit pale, Mara,” Elyle continued. “Do you need to lie down?”

  “What?” Mother mumbled. “Yes, I am lightheaded today.”

  “Let me help you to your room.” Elyle helped Mother up and guided her around the table, then sagged as she began to support most of Mother’s weight.

  I threw my napkin on the table and stomped past them, feeling invaded, controlled. I was missing some vital ingredient that would satisfy Mother — get her off my back. Never enough. Never pleased. No matter what I did, it was wrong. So why bother? I would do what I wanted, when I wanted. She could order me around, but she wasn’t in charge.

  waterstone

  “Lenni?”

  I was sketching in the front room. I quickly switched off my slate, jammed it into my shoulder bag, and hurried to the door to get into the gray shoes I had to wear to the Academy. The smell of sunblock on my legs reminded me of sunshine and sweat, the lakeside commons and drawing — and Purity.

  Elyle came down the stairs and into the hall. “Oh, it’s you,” I said, tying my shoes. Not Mother. Good. She would have started a lecture about sketching.

  I was wearing the blue-gray shirt and knee-length shorts of the Academy uniform, although I hated looking the same as everyone else. It made me feel like I was a clone.

  “I have something to show you,” Elyle said.

  Elyle had found a moment away from Mother. “What is it?” I asked, curious.

  Elyle’s cheeks rounded with her smile, and gentle layers of wrinkles deepened around her eyes. “You have time before school. Come.”

  She padded off down the hall. I followed, intrigued. Mother demanded most of Elyle’s attention, but when Elyle sought me out it was always worth it. Like when we’d hiked to the waterfall and swum in the lake. The water had been cool and the sky wide open.

  In the basement, the tile floor echoed our footsteps. I squinted at the bright artificial lights. We were heading toward Elyle’s workroom, a place she kept strictly private. I sucked in a breath. Please, Elyle, show me inside.

  Once, when I was about six, I tried to sneak into Elyle’s workroom. I’d had the door open a crack when Elyle’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Not for you.” She had brought me upstairs and given me creamy fudge and a firm lecture. The taste of fudge still made me feel guilty. I hadn’t gone near her workroom since. Even Mother didn’t go in.

  Elyle stopped in front of the wooden door to her workroom. I didn’t dare speak, but I desperately wanted to know what she kept in there. When Elyle slid open the door, I peered over her shoulder, eager to get a look.

  Muted colors, a floral scent. Elyle snapped on the single overhead bulb. The room was smaller than I had expected and it was decorated with exotic stone sculptures and silk wall hangings. Shelves on one wall held several small, rough stones and a large lump shrouded in white cloth. Elyle was an artist, too!

  I followed her in. She should have told me. We could have shared so much. Yet, I knew why Elyle had kept her secret. In Dawn, art could be dangerous if Purity didn’t like it. And Mother would never approve. At least Elyle was sharing now. I felt honored, trusted.

  “Here.” Elyle motioned toward a basin with a plastic tube hanging over it like a faucet. Water streamed from the tube onto a medallion-shaped object that was suspended by a wire mechanism. “Your water stone.”

  “My water stone?”

  I heard a soft whir. A pump in a large tank on the floor sent water flowing steadily through the tube and over the object.

  Elyle nodded. “Finally finished.”

  Her eyes misted over. She turned a tap and the water slowed, then stopped. I leaned over her shoulder as she loosened the wires and removed the stone.

  Why had she made it for me? What did it mean? I was bursting with questions, but I knew Elyle well enough to hold them back. Her explanations were never rushed, and she revealed herself with the same agonizing pace as clouds meandering across the sky.

  She ran her hand over the stone, caressing its edges and curves, then held it up for me to see. The speckled gray and green stone was about the size of an egg, only flat and round. The water had shaped the stone so that a raised image had emerged in the center, its textures and colors suggesting the fluid figure of a woman bending to reach something distant, untouchable.

  I stroked the stone. It was wet and cold, but my hand warmed it, brought it life. I pulled back.

  “Why?” I couldn’t hold in my questions any longer. Elyle smiled at me. “I’ve been shaping this since I came — just after you were born. My husband conceived the craft, but I altered his basin and tube.”

  “You’re married?” I’d never heard of a husband, never heard much about Elyle at all. She’d always evaded my questions.

  “I was.” Elyle looked away, but not before I caught her sad expression.

  “What happened?” I couldn’t help prying. Elyle married — it was so intriguing.

  “He passed away suddenly. It was a hiking accident.” She turned back, her eyes brighter than usual. “He called his technique ‘spirit shaping,’” she said, clearly halting further discussion of her past. “He used water to discover a person’s soul.”

  Like my portrait of that woman, I thought. Maybe Elyle would understand.

  “The stone is a protection, too. An amulet to guard the soul against those who seek to harm it.” She paused. “I’ve made a few in my time. Have one myself that my husband made for me. I made your mother one, too. Don’t show them around, though. Private stuff.”

  Mother tolerated a water stone, but sketching was a frivolous waste of time? Now, that was fair. A hot flush of anger flared up inside, but I forced it back down, not willing to ruin this moment with Elyle.

  “Can I hold it?” I studied the stone, looking for its hidden truths. It was so much like that portrait — capturing the essence of that woman. I’d seen inside her, understood her.

  “It’s yours now.” Elyle smiled again, then placed my water stone reverently in my hand. “You’re ready to understand it.”

  “Oh, thank you, Elyle,” I cradled the stone. “But what do you mean — I’m ready to understand it?”

  “Just what I said. Learn from it. Keep it with you always.”


  She seemed to think that this stone could answer all my questions. I studied it again, skeptically this time.

  Elyle began adjusting a new stone in the wire mechanism. She moved the thin tube so that it hung over the stone and turned the tap back on.

  I breathed in the water’s fragrance. “Lavender?” Elyle’s familiar smell.

  “It’s actually a blend of oils designed to awaken the form within the stone.”

  She slowed the water’s flow a little. Only the trickle of liquid and the whir of the pump broke the silence.

  Then the pump stalled and sputtered. Elyle leaned down and tapped it with her fingers.

  “Don’t quit on me now.”

  The pump sputtered back to life.

  Elyle watched the pump critically, and I watched her, wondering at this new side to her. I’d lived with Elyle for over fifteen years and often felt more connected to her than my own parents. Now, I understood why. Elyle was an artist, like I was. Tears found my eyes.

  Then Elyle said, “Your mother, she has her good side. You see how she nurtures those plants? How she helps them bloom?”

  My body tensed at the mention of Mother. I nodded slowly.

  “She’s worried about you, trying to care for you.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to bloom when she demands it.”

  “She needs help. And so do you, more than you know.” Elyle headed for the door. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I made you a waterstone.”

  “Oh, Elyle. Why do you stay with us?” I wiped my eyes, thinking of the years Elyle had spent with us, sacrificed for us, to help Mother and me. She made home bearable, but why did she bother?

  “Lenni, I could never leave. You and Mara and Leonard have become my family, and I’d do anything to protect you.”

  “You would?” I followed her into the brilliant white hall, liking the idea that Elyle was family. Many times, as a kid, I’d wished she were my mother, or at least related to me in some way. I guess after all these years she was family, although I still couldn’t figure out why she’d want to be.

  “I would. So let me help.” She slid her workroom door shut.