While Nanako plopped herself on one of the sofas, I knelt down at the table with her mother and Madison, who was examining her surroundings with newfound interest since she’d lived such a sheltered life.
"We’re back," Nanako sang out.
Two pairs of small feet immediately thundered down the stairs and the air was split in half by high-pitched shouts of joy as Nanako's little brother and sister caught sight of me and flung themselves across the room to land on top of me.
"Kazu and Akiko, so glad to see you again," I said when they dropped onto the floor beside me. Kazu was a skinny kid with short cropped hair and was still several inches shorter than his mother. Akiko, two years Kazu's junior, was so small. I wondered if Nanako had looked like her at that age.
Kazu tugged at my hand, "I got a trophy from the soccer league two weeks ago, Ethan – you've got to come see it."
"Ethan needs to rest a bit, Kazu-chan," Nanako said, but I jumped to my feet. "It's okay," I smiled, "Lead on Kazu-chan, show me your trophy." I garnered from the kids' reaction that we must have gotten on like a house on fire when I was here two years ago.
"And I got a blue ribbon from track-meet last week," Akiko said as she bounced alongside us.
I gave my wife a wink as I followed them out of the room, and she rewarded me with her cute upside-down smile.
I went upstairs with Kazu and Akiko, and they excitedly showed me the trophies, ribbons and keepsakes they’d accrued since I last saw them. I delighted in their attention, but at the same time, I was dying on the inside, for I knew I would leave soon and never see them again. What cruel twist fate had played on me: to bestow upon me the wonders of being genetically engineered, to bless me with the most wonderful girl in the world and marry into the greatest family ever, but then to have the latter two torn away because of complications caused by the first.
* * *
After dinner, Nanako took me by the hand and led me outside into the backyard, where we sat down on the immaculately maintained green lawn outside the lounge room window.
"Okay," she began sternly, "Spill the beans, I know something’s troubling you. You’ve been different ever since you got back. And it ain’t got nothing to do with Okada, so don’t go blaming it on him."
I looked at the grass and wondered what to say, because I’d been planning to wait a few weeks before springing this on her.
"Come on, out with it, Mister," she commanded.
I glanced at her, but then quickly broke eye contact, and while focusing my attention on a miniscule beetle climbing a stalk of grass, I began to talk. "In light of what we learned from Madison – that all attempts to have children will result in miscarriages – and keeping in mind how much it means to you to have your own kids, I’ve decided to offer you a divorce so you can remarry and have kids and the future you deserve. And after the divorce, I’m gonna go somewhere – New South Wales, Queensland, I dunno yet – and you’re not to come looking for me. I want you to get on with your own life, okay?"
"Look at me, Ethan."
I tore my eyes from the beetle and hesitantly met her gaze.
"There ain’t no way I’m ever gonna divorce you, you big doofus. You’re my husband and I love you and I’ll stay with you forever, regardless of what the future holds."
"But..."
"I married you because I want to be with you," she continued, not letting me get a word in edgeways. "If we have kids, hey, that's a bonus, but that's not why I married you. Because whether we have kids or not, I’ll be happy, because I've got what I wanted, and that's you."
"You really mean that?" I asked, deeply moved. I was sure she’d see the merit in getting a divorce, so her answer took me by surprise.
"Of course I do, silly," she assured me. "Besides, if it turns out we really can't have kids, there is another option."
"What's that?"
"We can adopt. There are always plenty of orphans, maybe not in Hamamachi, but we’d have no problem finding some in the other not-so-well-off Victorian towns. Do you know how much we could bless an orphan, rescuing them from poverty and giving them a home and a family?"
The full ramifications of her words suddenly smashed aside the layers of despair that had blanketed me ever since I’d decided to offer her a divorce, and a deep seated peace and joy spread throughout my entire being – I wasn’t going to have to leave her after all.
I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, and she snuggled against my chest and laid her head on my shoulder.
"Itsumo to itsumademo – always and forever, you are mine and I am yours," I whispered as I kissed her on the forehead.
"Always and forever," she whispered back.
* * *
Seven months have passed since that talk, and a lot's happened in that time. The Hamamachi council asked me to head up a new Special Forces unit attached to the Militia to deal with Skel incursions and the like, to replace the disgraced Rangers, since they'd all been put on trial and imprisoned.
I told 'em I'd accept the position on one condition – which they grudgingly accepted – that they let us raid Skel territory to rescue slaves and bring them back to live here or in Inverloch, with Hamamachi footing the bill for all associated costs. When Nanako heard of the condition, she immediately jumped on board, as did Madison, David, Shorty and Leigh, as well a small number of Militia volunteers.
In fact, just yesterday we got back from our second incursion into Skel territory, bringing with us a whole bunch of slaves we'd rescued. The slaves' reintegration into society was assisted by two newly appointed immigration officials, Jack and his sister Beth.
Hamamachi was making good on its promises to make reparations for the Rangers' crimes, which included financing the construction of new homes for returned slaves, and extensions to both Inverloch and Hamamachi hospitals.
I was even in discussions with the council about the need to offer reparations to Newhome, though my motives weren't entirely selfless. I was hoping that at some stage in the future, good relations could be established between our towns, and that I'd be able to visit and see my family again; maybe even get them permission to leave. That Newhome would let me back inside the town or grant such a boon was probably (insert, almost certainly) wishful thinking, but it was a dream I wasn't gonna let go of.
On the more personal level, Madison's settling relatively well into life here in Hamamachi, and she's my second in command in the Special Forces unit. David's like a pig in mud now that he's got unlimited access to real computers and Smartphones. Shorty's found himself a girlfriend – no, not Madison – a Japanese forager a couple of years his senior. Leigh's become hard-and-fast friends with Jack, Beth and several of the slaves they rescued, and pops over to Inverloch to hang out with them every second day.
Me and Nanako? Well, we've got a quaint little unit not far from her mother's place which is the perfect size for entertaining our friends, and for now, we're just concentrating on liberating as many slaves as we can. We haven't forgotten about raising a family, though, and my research revealed foster-kids programs in both Inverloch and Hamamachi, so there's plenty of opportunities to adopt, should we decide to go that way one day.
But, we've got each other, always and forever, and that's enough.
Love...keeps no records of wrongs.
1 Corinthians 13:4-5
New International Version (NIV)
Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011.
Impersonator
Forager Impersonator: Book One
30th October 2016
Copyright © 2016 Peter R Stone
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
As soon as Father burst into the flat, I knew something was very wrong. From my vantage point in the kitchen doorway, I saw him put his keys on the hook b
eside the door with trembling hands, and noticed he was breathing rapidly with shallow breaths. I wondered what could have spooked him so badly. He saw me and quickly averted his bloodshot eyes. That was strange. He always greeted me when he came home. Concerned, I watched him closely while wiping sweaty palms on my faded kitchen-apron.
“Finally decided to grace us with your presence, did you?” Mother said. In an open display of defiance, she didn’t even bother to rise from the threadbare sofa near the kitchen entrance. Like me, she was three inches shy of six-foot, but was all angles, compared to my still developing curves.
“Remember your place, Wife.” Father’s voice wavered and he looked anywhere but at her.
“Dinner was ready an hour ago,” she said.
“Hot or cold, with the slop you lot dish up, does it make any difference?”
“Try increasing my housekeeping allowance so I can afford more than just flour and vegetables.”
“Stop harping on about money!” He never yelled like that. I wondered if something happened to him today. He was an hour late home, but that happened often enough lately. Sometimes he went to the Worker’s Club after work and came home drunk. It’s what he did on the other nights he came home late that concerned me. He would be sober, downcast, and his suit reeked of tobacco, although he didn’t smoke. Our town, Newhome, banned cigarettes, but according to my twin brother, Brandon, plenty were available through the black market.
Tonight Father was neither drunk nor could I smell tobacco on his clothes. This was something new. Something bad.
“Why do you bring back less than a quarter of what you used to?” Mother spoke softly, but there was an unmistakable edge to her voice.
“I told you about the budget cuts at work. It was take a salary cut or get the sack.” He blinked faster as his eyes darted nervously about the room.
He was lying. I could tell by his body language. I wondered yet again what really happened to his money. Was he blowing it on booze?
As my parents continued to bicker, I ducked back into the kitchen and tapped my fingers against the stained glass oven door. It was no longer too hot to touch. The roast vegies inside would still be warm, but that was a far cry from serving them hot. If we had left the oven on at a low temperature, they would be hotter, but we were going to be hard pressed to pay the next electricity bill as it was.
“Father’s home then?” my sister asked. She was standing beside the bread maker on the kitchen bench. At fifteen, Karen was three years my junior, although slightly taller. We sported the same strawberry-blonde hair and brown eyes, but apart from that, you wouldn’t have thought we were related. In respect to my face and figure, I was a true plain-Jane – or plain-Chelsea – if you asked my brother. Karen, on the other hand, turned many heads with her gorgeous curls, defined cheekbones, and fuller figure, which she somehow managed to accentuate even though she wore the mandatory ankle length dresses. It rankled me that it was 2120AD but the law required we wore dresses like those worn in the early nineteenth century. Clothing styles of the past two centuries were banned, as they were deemed too revealing and therefore provocative. Personally, I’d settle for a pair of jeans and hoodie like my twin brother wore.
Another difference between Karen and me was the large purple birthmark near the hairline above my left eye. I used to hate going out in public when I was little because people stared at me, thanks to my mother refusing to let me have a fringe. Then one day my father sat me down and showed me a similar birthmark on his knee. He said it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, because the marks made us unique and were not something to be ashamed of. I believe that’s what my mother was trying to teach me, she just didn’t put it into words.
“Father, or someone who looks just like him,” I replied.
“Is he drunk?”
“No.”
“Small mercies, then.”
“I don’t know. Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“He looks afraid, like he’s terrified of something.”
“You serious? I thought he’d grown an impenetrably thick skin since the accident.”
“Well, something’s gotten through to him,” I replied.
I grabbed a pair of oven mitts and took out the tray of succulent roast vegies, which included potato, sweet potato, pumpkin, carrot, onion, and parsnip. I dropped the tray on the bench and grabbed a plate down from the cupboard.
We would serve Father first and wait in the kitchen while he ate. Normally my brother dined with him, but we hadn’t seen him for a week. He had been stressed out of his mind about something when he came home from work last Thursday. Refusing our attempts at conversation – even mine, he had packed a few things into his new backpack and stormed off. I was concerned, but not overly so. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone off by himself. He normally stayed at a friend’s place for a few days to get Mother out of his hair.
Once the menfolk had eaten their fill, the women would divide what was left between them. This custom was part of the uniquely crafted society handed down to us by the Founders who established this town in the ruins of post apocalyptic Melbourne, Australia. Just over a century ago, a global nuclear war had virtually exterminated the human race and much of the world along with it.
The Founders, in their great wisdom, created a society that would not make the same mistakes our ancestors made. One significant part of their vision was to restore males and female to clearly defined, time-honoured roles. Males became the breadwinners and women the homemakers. Therefore, boys went to school to learn the knowledge and skills required to join the workforce when they graduated, since only men were permitted to work. And girls remained at home while their mothers taught them to cook, sew their own clothes, and manage the household.
According to the Founders, the pre-apocalyptic family environment had been destroyed by males and females joining the workforce, resulting in a generation of children raised without proper supervision. Children, who upon reaching adulthood were socially inept and lacking in moral judgement. Only by restoring women to their role as fulltime mothers could children receive the teaching, guidance, and love they needed to grow into mature, responsible adults.
This sounded great in theory, but I couldn’t say I was particularly fond of our ‘unique’ culture, and in fact, spent most of my life quietly bucking it, just like my father used to. That was because although women were supposed to be revered as the cornerstone of our society who raised the next generation, they tended to be treated as second-class citizens by the menfolk on whom they waited hand-and-foot.
“Our son home?” I overheard Father ask.
“No,” Mother replied.
“Why not?” he demanded. I wasn’t sure if he was panicked, angry, or both. I moved back to the doorway so I could watch them argue. Father’s eyes widened slightly when he caught sight of me. He looked away again. What was with him tonight?
“How would I know?” Mother asked.
“Because you’re his mother!”
“And you’re his father.” She was angry too now.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Wife.”
“What tone would you prefer?”
“Do you know if he’s even going to work?” he asked.
“Apparently not. His boss rang this morning, asking for him. He hasn’t been to work since Thursday.”
My hand flew to my mouth in shock. Brandon hadn’t been to work for a whole week? He’d never absconded from work before – he lived for his job and the camaraderie he shared with his workmates.
It suddenly occurred to me that if he didn’t go to work tomorrow, it could be my opportunity to escape this prison town and make my own life out there in the Victorian countryside. A life away from the oppressive rules and regulations I didn’t agree with. A life where I would no longer live under the threat of death.
“He hasn’t been to work? What on earth is that boy playing at? How is he supposed to pay his room and board if
he doesn’t work?”
I thought it was weird that Father insisted Brandon give him a quarter of his wage every week towards ‘room and board.’ He was a member of the family, right? Not a stranger who lodged with us.
Father initiated this strange practice after he was accidentally shot, framed as the cause of the shooting, and consequently imprisoned – the event that had inexorably changed our family for the worse.
“Is that all you’re worried about, his money?” Mother was flabbergasted.
“He owes me room and board from last week’s wage.”
“Husband, you’re unbelievable! Aren’t you worried about where he’s been this past week? About what happened to cause him to run off like that? What kind of father are you!”
“Don’t be so melodramatic! He just hanging out with his friends, as usual,” Father said.
“You ever heard of him ducking work before?”
“No, but can’t say it surprises me. The boy’s so caught up in himself and his own world he doesn’t consider the consequences of his actions. We were too soft on him, that’s the problem.”
‘You didn’t see him when he got home from work last Thursday before he ran off. Looked like he was mighty troubled about something,” Mother replied.
Mother was right. I’d never seen Brandon so distressed before. And it had annoyed the daylights out of me when he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. He had never kept anything from me before – well, not that I was aware of. We were like peas in a pod. I hoped he was okay and would hurry back home soon, or at least ring to let us know he was okay.
Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series) Page 72