by Olivia Joy
‘Hey, where’s your spirit, love?’
* * *
That night Xandria slept fitfully in the tiny attic bedroom of the Olsens. If Gabe and Lars disapproved of her staying there, they did not vocalize it. The elderly but good-humoured Gabe attempted to engage her in conversation while Lars disappeared out to the lake shortly after their introduction. Mrs.Olsen cheerfully put Xandria’s reticence down to tiredness and promptly showed her the spare bedroom.
Xandria floated silently into the bedroom, musing that it was the closest to the ground she had ever slept before. Compared to her one hundred and eightieth floor apartment back in New America, this was quaint. The house too was pretty old – one hundred and fifty years at least. She had never seen anything older than the inauguration of New America.
Waking up the next morning, she was spared the memories of the previous few days. Mrs. Olsen was waiting for her with breakfast as she emerged into the kitchen. Xandria was not used to eating often, relying instead on nutrition tablets.
‘You don’t like it?’ she asked anxiously, trying to read Xandria’s expressionless face.
‘It’s fine, thank you,’ she replied, ‘it’s just that I don’t eat very often at home.’
Mrs. Olsen gawped at her.
‘What do you mean? How on earth do you survive?’
‘Tablets,’ Xandria said vaguely, unsure as to the extent she was permitted to tell foreigners. ‘But sometimes we eat.’
‘You’re a strange lot,’ Mrs. Olson replied cheerfully. ‘I was going to suggest a picnic by the lake for lunch. But you don’t have to come. It might be a bit weird if you’re just watching all of us eat.’
‘No, it will be okay.’ Xandria corrected, feeling a pinch of embarrassment. The woman was doing so much for her and for no apparent reason other than a now broken connection with her grandmother. She tapped her throat and tried again. ‘Thank you. It will be interesting to see the lake.’
Xandria had never used many niceties in her rhetoric before. It was something that was not demanded of her generation and was no longer taught. She had observed older citizens of New America such as Reginald Excelsior demonstrating this charisma, a remnant from the olden days, but had never seen the need for it until now. She suspected these Old World folk would require it by the bucket load.
She spent the morning watching mirages containing news flashes from the Old World. There was much speculation about the vote back in New America; it seemed that the whole world was waiting with bated breath to see what would unfold. There were some murmurs about the threat of war, but the prevailing thought was that nobody really wanted to deal that card, because who knew what would happen then.
She felt disconnected from her home country. It was a pity that her cell did not work in this country. She could have transmitted the news from New America right into the Olsen’s living room and they would be none the wiser.
She wondered what Henry was doing, if he was moving ahead with Ophelium. She hoped so. The love potion was still working.
Shortly before midday, Mrs. Olsen and Gabe knocked on the door timidly.
‘Are you there, Xandria? We were going to take a walk along the lake now.’ Mrs. Olsen said brightly.
‘I definitely need it,’ Gabe winked at her, ‘I’m no spring chicken and am not getting any younger.’
Xandria got up obediently.
‘Of course.’
Together they strolled the short distance down to the azure water, as Mrs. Olsen filled the silences with amiable small talk about this villager and that. Xandria found it peculiar that these insignificant individuals could warrant conversation. She privately wondered what a waste of brain matter it was, hoarding all sorts of random information about the comings and goings of these people.
At the water’s edge Lars was already sitting, casually talking with two other people. He stood politely as Xandria approached, but did not meet her eye.
‘Xandria, meet Agnetha and Gerhard. Magritte’s husband and daughter. She could not join us today unfortunately.’ Mrs.Olsen said, embracing the two of them warmly as she had done to Xandria yesterday.
Xandria privately wondered if she had been kept away. Agnetha goggled her in fascination. She was very young, in her thirties at a guess.
‘You’re from New America, how interesting,’ she blurted.
Her father gave her a warning look.
‘Let’s eat,’ said Gabe.
* * *
After the meal, Mrs. Olsen took Gabe back to the house, muttering something about the heat of the midday sun. He could be heard grumbling for quite a distance while his ever-patient daughter coaxed him along the path, offering a helping hand many times but being repeatedly swatted away obstinately. The others remained at the waters edge idly making conversation. Xandria was largely trying not to listen to such trivia until Agnetha turned to her again.
‘So how come you are here? I thought it was forbidden to leave New America.’
Xandria blinked at Agnetha.
‘People are not usually permitted to leave the country without a good reason, although I was lucky. My family is trusted. But I shall be returning soon.’
‘But what about the vote? Is it really true you’re going to gas us all?’
The other two had up until then been having their own quiet conversation, but it was now obvious they were intent on listening to her answer.
‘It depends which way you see it.’ Xandria answered. ‘We’re just trying to find a permanent solution to stop feeling things.’
‘But why ever would you want to do that?’ Agnetha asked bluntly. ‘I love to feel things, it makes life worth living. Just look at the rays of the sun beating down on the lake for instance. Do you see that? Do you not feel it’s one of the most beautiful natural things you could see?’
Xandria briefly fixed her gaze on the spot that Agnetha was pointing towards. She saw the sight objectively. It was a well documented physical process; it did not stir her in the slightest.
‘We have other things in New America,’ she said after a pause. ‘Other things which take up a great portion of our time.’
‘Oh, you mean like a family?’ Agnetha asked naively. ‘Do you have someone back there?’
‘Not quite,’ said Xandria. ‘But people do have families.’ She glanced over suddenly at Lars to find him staring straight at her deep in thought. It provoked a flicker of anxiety in her chest. He was impenetrable. He reminded her of Henry. Oh Henry. How she missed him.
Agnetha leaned in as if to conspire.
‘Is it true…we heard that you people take love potions if you want to form partnerships because otherwise you can’t feel emotional connections.’
Gerhard nudged his daughter halfheartedly as if to warn her to stop, although it was obvious he too was fascinated by this illicit glimpse into her life.
Xandria decided that since these people already knew about it, it would not do any harm to confirm the rumour. She didn’t know how to make conversation with them and otherwise the time was going to pass terribly slowly.
‘It’s true,’ she said, before adding purposefully, ‘to some extent.’ She could not give the secrets of her country away on a platter. They would surely Sign her Off if they found out. The blind trust they had in the Reinhardt name was astonishing. Maybe by now they would be hearing about her mother’s end. Would there be an inquest? Or would space travel continue, the regrettable incident hastily covered up by the authorities as if those unfortunate citizens on board had never existed?
She could think about it sometimes with an admirable level of detachment, as if it had happened to somebody else. It was just one of those things, she told herself. Sometimes life deals an unexpected blow, and there is no rhyme or reason behind it. To sit and ponder these unanswerable questions will not heal us. Nowadays she heard this voice commentating her thoughts with frustrating regularity; it seemed to be an unwelcome side-effect of her Suppressitor glitching.
Suddenly Lars spoke u
p. His voice was quiet and controlled. Xandria had to jolt out of her thoughts back to the tired subject of the heart.
‘Why buy liquid love when you can have the intangible thing for real?’
The words pierced the air; his voice was challenging yet soft. What paradox! Her fingers crept up to her Suppressitor. She cursed the foolish device. Ever since Voss had gone people were revealing their weak spots by having to click the damn thing more and more. After a couple of clicks she felt calmer.
‘I don’t understand.’
Lars continued. She noticed that when he spoke, everybody listened.
‘The real thing. It never dies. It lives on in the heart without a shelf life. It doesn’t need a top up, for it has no antidote.’
There was a surprised silence. Even Agnetha could not think of anything to say.
‘Lars’ alchemy of the heart, eh?’ chuckled Gerhard, shattering the intensity. ‘But maybe you folk are sparing yourselves from a lot of pain.’
‘Something like that.’ Xandria said, still looking at Lars as if trying to extract something – she knew not what – from his countenance. He had turned away however, momentarily distracted by some ripples spreading across the lake surface.
‘And…and you don’t experience any other urges?’ Agnetha pressed, deciding it was now or never to pick Xandria’s brain.
Xandria knew what she meant. She had learnt about this in school.
‘We are immunised against everything except our emotions,’ she replied emphatically. ‘Everything.’
Agnetha whistled.
Suddenly there was a yelp from Gerhard.
‘That bloody wasp, it stung me, can you believe it?’ he exclaimed in exasperation, leaping to his feet.
Lars sprung up looking concerned, swatting the buoyant creature away with a firm hand. Xandria had never seen an insect before. She felt a tremor of fear.
‘Here, let’s go home and get you something to help with the pain.’
Xandria now looked doubly confused. Gerhard groaned.
‘Ohhh please don’t tell me you guys don’t feel pain either?’
The blank look on her face answered his question.
* * *
The following day only Lars was around when Xandria appeared downstairs.
‘Oh. Where is Mrs. Olsen?’ she asked, not knowing it, but feeling disappointed. Mrs. Olsen was the only one who did not question her with obvious disdain. Without noticing it, she privately enjoyed the woman’s unassuming, maternal company. Yesterday she had sat silently watching her bake a cake from start to finish. It was an almost therapeutic experience. The amount of effort poured into the food item impressed her. It struck her how many small moments there were in the Old World which could bring such obvious pleasure to people.
‘She is out.’ Lars said, offering no further explanation. ‘She told me to take you to the church where your grandmother is buried.’
‘Buried?’
‘We don’t just erase people and pretend they never existed. We honour the dead here.’ Lars said frostily.
Xandria felt a flush of anger shoot up her back. Her hand immediately flew to her neck and clicked, but no comfort came. In New America this sort of behaviour was becoming the norm, but Xandria had not paused to realise how strange this clicking action seemed to those from the Old World.
‘You have no right to criticise something you know so little about,’ she gasped in retaliation, feeling stings of alarm.
‘Sorry.’ Lars said, turning away. ‘Let’s go.’
Xandria followed him feeling her anger turn into resentment. She stared daggers at his back thinking bitterly how dearly she would love to Sign him Off there and then. He was so smug and unbearable. Three seconds later, however, her Suppressitor jolted back to life.
‘What is your job?’ she asked pleasantly.
Lars regarded her with bewilderment. Her mood changes were unsettling.
‘My family has land,’ he replied shortly. ‘We have been tending it for hundreds of years. Farming, I suppose you could call it.’
Xandria processed this information for a moment, before deciding she could think of nothing that compared to that profession in New America. There was not much open land remaining there these days, and even if there was, she was pretty sure that with the help of a chemical it could quite happily look after itself. She subtly turned to regard Lars’ strong side profile. His lips were set in quiet determination. She had the overriding impression that he was only escorting her under the fierce duress of his mother.
A few minutes later they must have been close to their destination, for Lars’ purposeful pace suddenly slowed. Xandria looked up at the edifice before her.
My, it was beautiful! A small stone chapel surrounded by the most astonishing gardens she had ever seen, such bright flowers, such sedate blooms, how the birds reclined in the trees – but this was incredible! She was being sucked into a vortex, she couldn’t stop herself….
Click.
She choked.
‘What’s wrong?’
She found herself kneeling on the floor, staring up at Lars. A near miss. What had happened to her Suppressitor?
‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
He looked mildly concerned but said nothing. Inside, her nerves were clattering in fright at what had just happened. She focused desperately on maintaining a steady breathing pattern until a dose of elusive calm eventually followed. Trying not to dwell on what ha just happened for far of relapse, she followed Lars. Together they wound their way silently through neat lines of well tended stones, each with a few words describing the deceased. It all seemed terribly old fashioned. Safely back in her right mind, Xandria wondered if this land belonged to Lars, too. Was it his hand that had created this haven?
‘Here,’ Lars said softly, stopping.
He motioned to a granite slab at the end of one of the rows. There was a bench next to it, and looking up, the branch of a sycamore tree curved around the back, quite conveniently, as if offering a sympathetic arm.
She was about to ask him about the surrounding land but her good sense interrupted her. Lars was gazing at the stone with such a look of thoughtfulness and vulnerability. She had never seen someone look like this. It was almost…touching.
Touching?
What was that? She poked her Suppressitor in irritation. It was malfunctioning and sending the strangest thoughts into her head which she could barely decipher. Soon it would be time to jet back to normality, she resolved. It did not feel safe here.
‘What do we do here?’ she asked.
Lars fixed her with his ice blue eyes. Strange, they were warmer yesterday among his friends.
‘We pause and we respect,’ he murmured. ‘And we remember.’
Xandria bowed her head instinctively and allowed herself to inspect her grandmother’s stone.
‘Kristina Reinhardt.’ And then – ‘To live in the hearts of those you love is not to die.’
She looked hesitantly over at Lars. His head was still bowed, yet he was gazing surreptitiously over at her. Was it concern? Pity? She averted her eyes. The man was a riddle.
Fully concentrating now, Xandria tried desperately but she could not fathom it. Why did these people wax on about love? She had tried it with Henry, bless his powerful enigmatic entity, but like the inevitable outcome of even the best planned clinical experiments, it had somehow failed. She stared at the stone for a few more moments, trying to glean something that she did not think she was getting. This was her grandmother, for Okadigbo’s sake. Her mother’s mother whom she had never known. Surely there must be something? Anything? But it was no use. She felt nothing.
Then, something in her stomach began to stir. Instantly she knew it well, this hungry, niggling beast named annoyance. It reared its ugly head only too often these days. Why, it must like Norway. It was here that it could pester her, feeding off her frustrations and then greedily asking for me.
Oh, why could she not connect? Dolt, dolt, dolt! S
he was beginning to look stupid in front of these Old World people, and ironically it was they who were the ignorant ones. She was the strong one; she was the one demonstrating only too clearly that all attachment to the past was detrimental. What did they want her to do? Fall to her knees, prostrate, and incoherently mourn the faceless skeleton who could not reply? Who did they think they were? Had they found a way to eradicate every disease imaginable like her own noble country? Evidently not!
‘Your people have this love thing, but where has it gotten you?’ she burst out.
Lars frowned at the outburst. He motioned at her to come away from the grave stones. She wanted to scream, ‘So they can hear you now? Really…?!’ But she had the better sense.
Back outside the church yard, Lars turned to regard her again. She had managed to hold her tongue as well as her burgeoning temper for the duration of the hasty exit. She imagined he might shout at her and was fully braced for this. But instead stood before her, regarding her with a sort of sympathy.
‘Is it always like this?’ he asked quietly, ‘the battling to control your emotions?’
She blinked at him. Such a direct question. How dare he? But how right he was, and why did Voss leave them so? But good grief, how she missed Henry…
She jerked back to the current moment, regarding Lars unsurely.
‘Not always,’ she heard herself whisper. ‘Only until recently.’
‘What happened?’ He said, his expression frozen yet kind. Like his mother.
‘Things…’ she muttered, feeling she had already said too much. ‘Things are not working right now. But they will. Soon.’
‘The gas.’ He said simply, seeing it all fall into place.
‘Is it difficult?’ she returned unexpectedly, feeling a sudden sense of comfort. ‘Is it difficult for you people? To somehow control everything with nothing? You are all so powerless to your feelings, all at the mercy of this colossal force. But how do you keep going through such sadness?’
‘Every low means a high is just around the corner,’ he replied somewhat gruffly, his eyelashes directed at the earthy ground. ‘That’s how I see it anyway.’