The Boundless Sublime

by Lili Wilkinson

  Blood rushed to my cheeks. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘Sexual … urges are another way that we are trapped by our flesh bodies,’ Lib explained. ‘Like hunger, or illness, or addiction. To free our actuality, we must deny the body those urges.’

  This sounded … wrong. We were supposed to not feel? Not fall in love? How could anyone think those things were bad?

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Lib hurriedly, seeing my expression. ‘We don’t discourage love. The Institute is all about love. But it’s real love, unsullied by the urging of the flesh. It’s pure. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.’

  ‘Have you experienced it?’ I asked. ‘The pure love?’

  Lib closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I have glimpsed it,’ she said with a slightly sad smile. ‘I have brushed it with my fingers, and it makes me all the more determined.’

  I tried to damp down my disappointment. No relationships. No Fox. My fantasies of us curling up next to each other every night evaporated. I was tempted to turn and head out the gate that very moment, to go back to my house and my ashen mother and school and my friends …

  But then there’d be no Fox at all. At least here I could still see him every day. Talk to him. It was true that I wanted Fox in a way that Lib definitely wouldn’t consider to be ‘pure’, but that wasn’t the only thing I wanted. More than anything, I wanted to be close to him. And maybe he’d agree to leave with me.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘No relationships. But if Fox and I are just friends … could we be placed in the same work unit?’

  Lib frowned. ‘Work units aren’t for socialising,’ she said. ‘They’re for work.’

  ‘Oh, we’d still work hard. Harder, I promise. It’s only … Fox is my friend and I came here to be with him, and I’ve barely seen him.’

  Lib’s gaze turned cold, and I shivered. She was different, here. Smaller, somehow? Shrunken? ‘I just organise the roster,’ she said. ‘Any changes must be approved by Daddy.’

  She said it with a kind of finality – as if for her, these words ended the conversation. But I wasn’t going to back down that easily.

  ‘Great!’ I said chirpily. ‘I’ll go ask him.’

  Lib looked shocked. ‘You – you can’t ask him. Daddy doesn’t have time for your inconsequential concerns. His mind is pure, focused on loftier goals.’

  ‘It’ll only take a minute.’

  ‘Daddy doesn’t have a minute.’ She snapped the words out, and I knew I hadn’t been imagining it. She was different here. She was on edge, almost as if she were afraid.

  ‘What don’t I have a minute for?’

  Lib’s face drained of colour and she spun around. Zosimon was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, immaculate in his white linen and smiling indulgently. Lib opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to find the right words.

  ‘Daddy …’ she stammered.

  ‘I was feeling a little peckish,’ said Zosimon, winking at me. ‘Thought I’d pop outside for some fresh air and sunshine before my session with Magnus.’

  I frowned, confused. If Zosimon was hungry, why didn’t he go to the kitchen? I glanced at Lib, who looked … strange. Frightened. Awestruck. Besotted.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Zosimon turned to me. ‘Heracleitus? Are you settling in well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I said. ‘Actually, I wanted to ask a favour.’

  Zosimon raised his eyebrows, but he was still smiling. He stepped out of the doorway and raised his face to the sun. ‘Go on,’ he said, his eyes closed.

  Lib appeared to be holding her breath.

  ‘Could I possibly join the work team that Fox is in? We’d really like to be together.’

  A flicker of … something … passed over Zosimon’s face. Disappointment? He opened his eyes and looked at Lib with a slightly quirked brow, but Lib’s face was like stone. Zosimon closed his eyes again, nodding benevolently.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Libavius should have put you two in the same unit to start with. You and Furicius have a special bond, I can see that.’

  Lib’s expression didn’t falter.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I promise we’ll work hard.’

  ‘I know you will. Libavius, make sure Furicius and Heracleitus are placed in the same work team at the beginning of the next rotation.’

  Lib opened her mouth as if to say something, then pursed her lips into a single whitish line and snapped her head in a nod. My spirits sank a little. The start of the next rotation? We couldn’t be together straight away?

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Zosimon. ‘This rotation is almost over.’

  I nodded. How long could it be? A few days? The end of the week? I could definitely stick it out until then.

  Zosimon inclined his head and opened his eyes, looking right at me. ‘Heracleitus,’ he said. ‘It was brave, to ask me that favour. There are lots of people here who wouldn’t be brave enough to do that.’

  Lib looked furious.

  Zosimon nodded to himself. ‘Brave,’ he murmured. ‘Heracleitus is brave. I like that.’

  He turned his head back up to the sun, taking deep breaths.

  Lib grabbed me by the elbow and hauled me inside.

  ‘You have some nerve,’ she hissed. ‘You’re lucky Daddy didn’t reduce you to a pile of atoms.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘It didn’t seem like a big deal. He didn’t mind.’

  Lib shook her head, and hissed air through her teeth. ‘You’ll learn respect. I hope it won’t be too late for you.’

  I wasn’t able to ask her what she meant by that, as Zosimon came in. He patted his stomach and grinned at us both. ‘Stuffed to burst,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t eat another thing.’

  Lib led me back to Newton, and I got to work scrubbing all the lunch dishes. Then I mopped the floors again and wiped down the trestles and chairs, before being sent into a storeroom to help Newton measure out the supplements for the evening meal.

  The Institute was really into supplements. Everyone took a basic dose of Vitamins A, C and D (but never B, E or K), sodium, choline, magnesium, potassium, chromium, copper, iron and sulphur. We were then prescribed specific supplements depending on our moods or energy levels. I wasn’t sure how the members of the Sanctify team determined who needed what – did they ask people about their moods, or just observe them? Either way, they were written up on a long list that was posted inside the kitchen for whoever was measuring them out. There seemed to be hundreds of possible supplements, but glancing at the list, I noticed iodine being prescribed to counteract doubt and confusion, vanadium for exhaustion, selenium for sadness and melancholy, manganese for anger or bitterness, and silicone or zinc for anxiety. Newton told me Zosimon made all the supplements in his laboratory, but I didn’t believe her. They looked exactly like the vitamin pills in our cupboard at home.

  Two women I hadn’t met before came in to help Newton get dinner ready – broccoli stalk ‘pasta’ with green beans and sage, buckwheat and endive tabouleh, and a snow pea and chicory salad with hazelnuts. They were friendly and warm, telling me ludicrous stories about Zosimon’s adventures as a botanist in the Amazon jungle. It was crazy stuff and obviously made-up, but hugely entertaining. At dusk, the bell sounded, and everyone came inside for dinner.

  After dinner, I helped the rest of the Domestic team clean up and soak the quinoa for the next morning’s breakfast. Then I followed them into the old warehouse for what I was told was Family Time.

  Fox came up to me, his face full of smiles.

  ‘Where have you been all day?’ I asked. ‘You weren’t at lunch, or dinner.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Fox. ‘There was all this stuff I had to do. Because of being at the Red House for so long.’

  He didn’t hug me, or take my hand. I wondered if Lib had talked to him too. It didn’t matter. I was so happy to see him. He showed me to a pair of upturned crates that he’d found for us to sit on, as proud as if they were silk cushions. We sat side by side, close
enough that I could feel the warmth of him beside me.

  Family Time was what I’d overheard the previous night, when I was quarantined in my room. Candles and kerosene lamps had been lit, so the warehouse glowed with a warm, golden light. Everyone was smiling and relaxed, and it was easy to forget about the dietary restrictions and the weird philosophies. Zosimon came in and chatted with us – nothing like the formal lecture we’d had that morning. People asked him questions, and he told us silly stories about his ‘past’, about Ancient Rome and the frozen Arctic north and the Galapagos Islands.

  It was a kind of running joke in the Institute – that Zosimon had lived for thousands of years and had all these adventures.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said to the enraptured crowd, ‘I really don’t know my own strength. I remember once when I was working as a code-breaker during the Second World War, I reached for the telegram machine too eagerly, and crushed the whole thing to dust. It was rather embarrassing.’

  Everyone cackled with laughter, and I laughed too. It felt easy, bubbling up inside me. Fox looked over at me, his eyes crinkled with pleasure.

  Stan had a guitar, and we all sang together, old campfire songs and ballads that everyone knew, our voices twining together and rising up to the dusty warehouse rafters. After a while, the gathering broke into smaller groups. Fox and I sat with Pippa, Newton and Val. Newton, who had been so stern all day in the kitchen, seemed like a totally different person. Her dark hair was unbraided, and fell in long loose waves down to her waist. She spoke in soft tones, telling me about her life before the Institute, getting married too young in order to escape her strict parents. When she and her husband failed to get pregnant, Newton had sunk into a deep depression. Her marriage had fallen apart, and she’d ended up aimless and drifting, looking for answers. She’d found those answers at the Institute.

  ‘Now you,’ said Fox to Pippa. ‘Tell Ruby—’ He broke off and blushed. ‘Tell Heracleitus your story.’

  This was nothing like being at the Wasteland with Fox. In comparison to the people at the Institute, my friends seemed like sea urchins, cold and thorny, sharp spines of insecurity and jealousy preventing them from ever connecting with each other. Here, even voiceless Val seemed to be a part of the group. People acknowledged him when they spoke, smiling and making eye contact, and he nodded as he listened to their stories.

  ‘I’m afraid my story isn’t a very interesting one,’ said Pippa, shooting me a rueful look.

  ‘Don’t sell yourself short,’ said Fox with a frown. ‘It’s interesting because it’s your story.’

  Pippa smiled fondly at Fox. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’m a poor little rich girl. I had everything I ever wanted growing up. I was one of those kids who asked Santa for a pony and then actually got one. In Year Twelve, I was on track to get into the best law course in the country. And I had this perfect boyfriend, Aidan.’ Her expression tightened a little. ‘The day before exams started, we were at a party and I saw Aidan in one of the bedrooms with … with a guy. I didn’t want to deal with what that meant, so I just went home and got up the next day and went to my exams and did the best I could. But after my last exam, Aidan was there, waiting for me outside. I thought we’d talk about it. He’d tell me he was gay, we’d both cry a little, you know. But instead he went down on one knee and pulled out an engagement ring. I … I didn’t get it. I asked him how he could do that … ask me that, after what I’d seen. He admitted that yes, he did like guys. But that didn’t have to stop us from having this perfect life together. It made me so sad to think he couldn’t have the life he wanted with another guy.’

  ‘Why couldn’t he?’ I asked. ‘I mean, he could have married a guy, had kids and a career.’

  Fox nodded, and I knew he’d asked Pippa the same question.

  Pippa sighed. ‘His family are religious,’ she said. ‘They wouldn’t be okay with it. It made me realise how much of a façade it all was – rich people living these lives that looked so perfect, but inside were rancid and toxic. So I didn’t accept my university offer. I didn’t want to be a part of that world anymore. I met Welling, handing out water bottles, and we started talking.’ She glanced over at Welling and smiled. ‘He really got it, you know? He’d lived that privileged life too. He knew how fake it all was. So he brought me here. That was about a year ago.’

  The conversation wandered to other topics, and I marvelled at how open everyone was. There was no judgement of past mistakes. No malice or selfishness or greed. Just love, and understanding, and acceptance. People talked about the future, about hopes and dreams for the world. For the first time in months I missed my piano, missed coaxing music from stiff white and black keys with fleet fingers.

  These people understood. They too had floundered in the black tide, but they’d found a way out, a path to dry land. Maybe I could too. My muscles were tired from working all day, but in a fuzzy, pleasant sort of way – the weariness from honest labour, instead of the exhaustion of a restless mind.

  When Family Time was over, Fox walked me to my room, his fingers brushing mine as we bade each other goodnight. His touch was thrilling, made all the more so with the knowledge that it was forbidden. We stared at each other for as long as we dared, our eyes doing all the things that our bodies couldn’t. Then Fox drifted down the corridor to his own room, and I was on my own.

  I climbed onto my bed and pulled the damp-smelling blanket up around my chin. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. The warm, clear feeling I’d had at Family Time slowly leached out of me, until I was left alone and empty.

  ‘Ruby!’ said Anton’s voice, and I sat up in bed, staring around wildly at the darkness. My heart pounded and my jaw clicked, ready to clench. I wanted to press it away – the memory of his face, his voice. Bite down until everything went white. I thought of Zosimon that morning, breathing and swaying, and me, breathing and swaying along with him. And I didn’t bite down. I took a deep breath and imagined Fox’s face. His eyes. His smile. The touch of his hand.

  And I let it come.

  Anton, waking me up at five o’clock on Christmas morning. Anton, laughing so hard at one of my terrible jokes that he could barely breathe. Anton, scowling because Mum wouldn’t let him stay up to watch the Olympic diving. Anton, crying after another kid had pushed him over at school. Anton, forcing Mum and Dad to sit and watch him shout raucous nonsense songs while I accompanied him on the piano.

  Eventually, the memories stopped coming, and I slipped into sleep.

  The days slipped by. I worked hard in the kitchen with Newton. I ate my oversalted food. I listened to Zosimon’s lectures with a sceptical ear. I drank the eggy water. I sat with Fox at meals and Family Time, occasionally letting my hand brush his. Everyone was a bit vague as to when the current rotation was to end, but I was confident it would be soon. And then Fox and I could spend every day together. I had so much to tell him, to ask him, but I wanted to wait until we had some privacy.

  Each night I lay awake in bed, reliving every moment, every conversation that Anton and I had ever had. I’d been afraid I’d lost him completely, but he was still there, vivid and solid in my memory. I let him laugh into the silence of my room. I fought with him over who got to sit in the front seat of the car. I gave him a hug when we heard Mum and Dad fighting and told him that everything would be okay.

  Then, with the sound of his voice still ringing in the darkness, I would relive the day he died. Flirting with Ali. The bitter sting of cigarette smoke in my throat. The missed calls on my phone. Eventually listening to my messages, hearing my mother’s voice turn from irritated to angry to hysterical. Arriving at the hospital only to be told I was too late. Feeling like an actor in a medical drama – not sure if I should cry or scream or faint. Sitting with Mum in the special room they put aside for people like us and feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly ravenous, but not knowing how to ask Mum for money for the vending machine. Realising, after hours, that Dad wasn’t there, and asking Mum where he was.

  I went ove
r the funeral again and again. It was just us – a small, grey, numb affair. We didn’t want a big fuss. Dad was allowed to come, but he stood off to the side and didn’t look at us. Tears ran down his cheeks, and occasionally I heard a broken, choked sob. Mum and I were silent. Cold, blank. Empty. Anything else hurt too much.

  Other memories came too. Seeing Dad’s face on the news. A reporter coming to our door to ask for a comment. A social worker helping me through a website that let Mum get welfare payments until she was ready to go back to work.

  But mostly I just saw Anton. I imagined the accident. The smile on his face when he saw Dad’s car. A slight frown or widening of the eyes when the wheels skidded on the gravel. The thunk of his little body hitting the bonnet. The silence left behind after his heart stopped beating.

  I lay awake in the darkness night after night, seeing it all over and over again. But it wasn’t like before. It wasn’t painful. It was sad, and intense, but it felt right. Methodical. Like washing a wound until it ran clear.

  After two weeks at the Institute, I fell asleep minutes after climbing into bed and slept for a solid eight hours, for the first time in months. On waking the next morning I felt as though I was finally whole again.

  10

  ‘And so there I was, being chased out of the Imperial Harem by fifty albino eunuchs, while the poor Ottoman Sultan was howling for the Grand Vizier. Little did he know that the Vizier had run off with the Queen Mother with all the gold they’d embezzled together.’

  Everyone laughed heartily. Zosimon’s laugh was the loudest – tears sprang to his eyes.

  ‘That was a long day,’ he said, and got to his feet. ‘This has been a long day too. You’ve all worked hard, and have earned a restful night.’ He turned his head. ‘Pippa, please join me in the Sanctum.’

  I saw Pippa’s cheeks turn pink, and her eyes widen. Lib’s face flashed with … jealousy? But the expression was quickly replaced with a smile that showed too many teeth. ‘Well done,’ she whispered.