Wolf Country

by Tunde Farrand

  Finally Nurse Vogel notices me, waves in my direction and I stroll down the hill.

  ‘Alice, I wasn’t sure from the distance if it was you.’

  ‘It must be years since we met. This place looks more beautiful than ever!’

  ‘They are trying hard to outdo other Dignitoriums,’ she says, sarcasm lacing her voice. ‘In my view they are all quite similar. The management easily forgets that they all use the same architects and garden designers.’

  She stands up and we give each other a warm hug. I’m afraid she might break in my embrace. Her wise, curious eyes examine me with delight. The playful sparkle hasn’t faded one bit. In her mid-seventies, the oldest person I’ve ever met, Nurse Vogel looks much less hideous than the elderly people featured in history programmes. Amazingly, she still has all her teeth, despite the fact that most people start losing them soon after the age of sixty. Perhaps they are false. Does she have the smell, too? I try not to sit too close. I know it’s not her fault; it’s what old age does to all of us. Nurse Vogel, born in the seventies of the last century, could be my grandmother.

  ‘How are you these days?’ I ask her.

  ‘What can I say?’ She shrugs. ‘Work, work and more work, all over again. Here, please meet Owen.’

  The tall, stocky man on her left flashes a seductive smile in my direction, but his deep brown eyes betray the fact that he is floating somewhere between the real world and another. In his late twenties, he’s much younger than the average resident.

  ‘Hello,’ he says, grinning. Not waiting for my response, he gives me a big bear-like hug and kisses my cheek.

  ‘Now, Owen, let me find you a lovely game,’ Nurse Vogel tells him gently.

  ‘Combat boys, please,’ he tells her, still clinging on to me and chuckling.

  ‘Owen, let Alice go, you’re suffocating her,’ Nurse Vogel says and quickly starts peeling Owen off me.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, smiling back at Owen. ‘It’s just a happier version of him,’ I blurt out before I realise I’m parroting the adverts.

  Nurse Vogel holds a mini-screen in front of him and puts a pair of headphones over his ears.

  ‘I love you,’ he shouts at me from under the headphones, waving, then buries himself in the video game.

  ‘Isn’t he a bit young to be here?’ I ask in disbelief.

  ‘More and more of the young end up with us, mostly executives who are on top of the world one day, and for one reason or another the next day are…well, here.’ Nurse Vogel pats Owen on the shoulder as if he’s a high-achieving schoolboy, and sits down next to him. It’s funny, he is more than double her size.

  ‘Tell me, how have you been coping?’ she asks, offering me a seat on her right.

  ‘I’m OK now, thank you.’

  ‘I remember how it wore you out. It’s not easy to lose one’s parents, at any age. It reminds us that it will soon be our turn.’

  ‘And you? How is your back? Did you manage to get the money for the operation?’

  ‘Not yet. By the time I save up for it, I probably won’t need the operation any more.’ She laughs and I’m shocked at how she can be so light-hearted about it. ‘But it’s bearable.’

  ‘I was quite surprised to see you here,’ I blurt out. ‘I assumed you’d be…retired by now.’

  ‘Oh, no. When I go, I’ll go quickly.’

  ‘Yes, but…why avoid the pleasurable part? There must be a reason why ninety-six per cent of people choose retirement over instant euthanasia. They said it on the Globe. It must be a dream to live in a place like this, starting every day in the spa, then off to Eternal Peace classes, then having a four-course meal for dinner.’

  ‘It’s not really–’

  ‘Mum couldn’t stop raving about the food. She told me how she and Dad would go to the open-air restaurant overlooking the lake, where the jazz band on the terrace began to play and when the waiter lit the candle on their table, Mum always took Dad’s hand. They had just such a perfect moment, every single evening. They completely understood why the first six months are called the honeymoon period.’

  ‘That’s the slang for it, yes. Officially it’s called Pre-Sedation Period.’

  ‘And when their Sedation Period began, it was great, too. ‘They remained themselves, just a happier version.’ I glance at Owen, who is still giggling and fervently pushing the buttons on the mini-screen. ‘When the sedation stopped for their last day, so that we could say our goodbyes, even with a clear mind they weren’t afraid of death any more. They knew, just as I did, that they were going to a wonderful place.’

  Nurse Vogel’s eyes turn darker. She watches a tree branch stirring in the wind.

  ‘How is Philip?’

  I don’t respond.

  ‘I still remember how good you and he were together. The way he looked at you.’

  I’m unsure of what to say, whether to burden her with my problems. Nurse Vogel turns to me and I’m forced to look into her eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong, Alice?’

  ‘He disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’

  ‘It was on Boxing Day.’

  ‘In the explosion?’

  I nod, but can’t say a word. We are quiet for several moments, and she probably senses that I might break down if she asks any more.

  ‘Poor soul, you have only his eccentric father now.’ She exhales deeply. ‘Mind you, I quite liked him, I thought he was a true independent.’

  ‘He’s gone completely off the rails since then. He moved to the Zone. Voluntarily.’

  She pulls a face of disbelief then shuffles closer and gives me a hug, a long and heartfelt one; her compassion is heart-warming.

  ‘So you have no one left now.’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘If you need to talk, anytime, let me know,’ she says, patting my shoulder. ‘Just call me.’

  ‘It would mean a lot. But you’re so busy–’

  ‘Helping others is what keeps me alive. Try to see it that way.’

  We sit there quietly, enjoying the silence, when suddenly her gaze moves up to the dense canopy of an elm tree opposite us. My gaze follows hers.

  ‘Don’t! Please, don’t look that way,’ she whispers.

  ‘Why?’

  Ignoring my question, she checks the time on her watch and stands up gracefully.

  ‘Give me a ring tonight,’ she tells me, avoiding meeting my eye, before turning to Owen. ‘Time to go in, darling,’ she tells him, like a mother to her child.

  I don’t understand what’s happened but I know she’s on duty so I don’t want to hold her up.

  ‘What about working here?’ she asks, hurriedly bidding me goodbye. ‘It’s much less stressful than teaching.’

  ‘I’ve already thought about it, Nurse Vogel. But I’m not as strong as you are. I couldn’t do…this.’ And I steal a side-glance at Owen.

  Seeing my parents’ names on the memory wall and the little chat with Nurse Vogel has made me feel a bit lighter as I make my way back home along the promenade. I’m bewitched by the Sunday lunchtime cavalcade, how it swirls and dances and fuels itself with the energy of pleasure. I don’t see a single sad face. Everyone smiles as if it’s the default human condition. Just by walking here, just by being myself, I’m a killjoy. An aching loneliness settles in my bones.

  I leave the promenade and walk across the lawn. The first building on my right is our old home, the one I had to leave in February. It’s a sleek four-storey condo surfaced in deep-red brick and wooden panels. It doesn’t let me forget. Whenever I pass it, I can’t help but look up to the roof terrace. Our terrace. Usually I take another route, to avoid the building, but today I feel like facing it. The silver paint on the rail is sparkling in the sun; Philip repainted it just last year. The new inhabitants must have discovered the sunniest spot, as I can see the top
of a lounger in the corner, the same place where I used to sit.

  The ash-blond woman is on my terrace again; the woman who took our home. She put up that boring grey-blue curtain in our bedroom, which I feel like tearing down. I want to tell her it’s our home, Philip’s and mine. But there’s no Philip, he might be just a pile of grey dust, and I don’t even have the solace of seeing his name written on a commemorative plaque.

  I don’t stop and after passing three condos I arrive at mine. When I was a child we still used keys. Mum could never find them in her bag. I remember one winter when we arrived home and she had to throw everything from her bag onto the frozen pavement. It took her minutes to find the keys but then her hands were so stiff she couldn’t hold them. I can still see her blowing hot air onto her palms, rubbing her hands together before she could turn the key in the lock.

  All that is in the past now. By lifting my left wrist to the scanner, I open the gate with my ID Phone and make my way upstairs. From my usual spot by the window, I see that the courtyard is almost empty – even the reading woman seems to be away. I have a perfect view of the apartment right under hers. It’s painful to watch but I can’t help it. The young girl on the balcony, no older than nineteen, is wearing white sensory sunglasses for the blind while feeling for the clothes she hangs on the line. She hangs them as neatly as anyone with normal eyesight. His jeans, his shirts, his underwear. At first I thought they were grandfather and daughter, but I’ve seen far too much. Gratitude and respect are reflected in her every move – just for being alive.

  My thoughts return to Nurse Vogel’s behaviour this morning. It’s strange how nervous she became all of a sudden. I know she was on duty but there was something else. She looked like she was afraid. No doubt it’s age-related paranoia.

  I’m unsure whether to trust her with my problems. I know she asked me to call her but I don’t know how strongly she’s affected by old age. Maybe – unbeknown to her – she will do more harm than good.

  Once I see her smiling eyes on my screen, I know I’ve done the right thing. She’s nestling in a large puffy armchair, and her room is lit by a cosy subdued light. She’s back to her normal self, there’s no sign of the earlier fear on her face. I feel warm comfort spreading through my body.

  ‘Right,’ she says, sighing with relief. ‘Now we can talk undisturbed.’

  ‘Undisturbed by whom?’

  ‘Dignitorium staff are not supposed to get into conversation with visitors while on duty.’

  ‘Were you being watched?’

  ‘We are all being watched, my dear.’

  ‘But it’s for the residents’ safety.’

  ‘It is indeed.’

  ‘Since we met, I haven’t been able to get Owen out of my head. As a successful executive, how could he end up in the Dignitorium?’

  ‘When his firm went bankrupt, he lost everything, including his mental health. He couldn’t earn his Right To Reside any more. It sounds so terrifyingly easy, doesn’t it?’

  ‘But it’s so… I don’t know.’

  ‘I know, my dear. I’ve done this for decades, but it’s still heartbreaking when a young one comes to us. Sometimes, however, I think it’s still the best option for them.’

  ‘At least in the Dignitorium he’s safe from the abductions,’ I say with unease.

  ‘Oh, don’t even get me started on that,’ she waves dismissively. ‘I have been campaigning for years to have the Zone restructured. If more of those criminals get out, who knows what could happen to us?’

  I can’t help but admire Nurse Vogel’s strength, being able to campaign for what she believes in at her age. But she’s right. The number of abductions in the Low-Spender areas has doubled in the past few years and it is an open secret that the High Spenders are behind it, earning a fortune by trading in human organs. They wouldn’t do the work themselves, of course. They employ corruptible Zone residents, most of whom are so desperate they would do anything to survive. Not having trackers, they are perfect for the job.

  ‘You have no reason to worry as a Mid Spender, it was a one-off,’ she says.

  It’s easy for her to think like this. But I’m still disturbed by the horrible event that shook the foundations of our society a few years ago, when three Mid-Spender children were abducted on their way home from school. From my school. I’m about to tell her this when all of a sudden her face turns a deathly white. Her eyes are fixed on something above the camera.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ she says. She must have put her ID Phone on the table, because all I can see now is the wall with a painting hanging askew. I try to listen for noises, but all I hear is Nurse Vogel shuffling around the room. When her face finally reappears on the screen, she’s like a different person.

  ‘What’s happened, Nurse Vogel?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘Nurse Vogel, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘I wish it was a ghost, Alice,’ she mumbles, her eyes darting around the room. ‘I must put this down.’ I don’t know if she’s talking to me or to herself.

  She apologises and, without waiting for my reply, hangs up. I have no idea what frightened her. I hesitate over whether I should call her back, to ask if she needs any help. Finally I decide to drop her a message. She replies immediately. ‘Please don’t worry about me!’

  Wolf Country

  The deep humming of the monorail lulled me into a dreamlike state. Through half-closed eyes I watched the running lines of trees and sheep grazing in the fields. I supposed Dad was also snoozing next to me, but I was too sleepy to turn my head. This was my very first time in the countryside – a birthday gift from my parents and I was fizzing with excitement. That week I turned sixteen, the same age as Sofia when she’d left us three years earlier, for good. Voices rose from the seats behind me. An older lady was travelling with her daughter to Chatsworth House, where she would be retiring. I overheard her saying that it used to be the private home of an aristocrat, but had been converted into a grand Dignitorium for the cream of High Spenders.

  The two women stood up, the older lady giddy with anticipation as she walked down the corridor to the restaurant car. She was wearing a short-sleeved summer dress, decorated with flowers, and a purple fascinator in her hair. But the youthful clothes couldn’t hide her sagging skin and the disgusting brown spots on her hands and arms. She must be over seventy, I thought. A rarity, probably a privileged High Spender who could afford to live forever. But even she couldn’t buy her way out of a rotting, decaying body. Dad nudged me gently with his elbow.

  ‘Good morning, Princess Alice. Don’t miss out on the view.’

  I sat up and bent forward to have a closer look at the landscape I had seen only on the Globe. I touched the cold surface, as if I wanted to make sure it was real.

  ‘This is incredible, Dad. It’s huge, it’s everywhere.’

  My head was still filled with the conversation I’d just overheard. I was wondering how I would feel when the time came for my parents to retire and I escorted them to their Dignitorium. My stomach turned. Sofia was right about my being selfish: it was selfish wanting them to stay with me in their miserable old age instead of letting them enjoy the most beautiful months of their lives, preparing for their final departure in a dignified way. I scolded myself for letting such bleak thoughts even cross my mind when Mum and Dad were only in their early forties.

  Dad was lost in thought.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘I’m planning the day ahead. Look…’ and he took a folded paper out of his pocket. On the cover it said: Map of the Peak District.

  ‘This is what people used before the digital age.’ The map smelled funny, like it had been rescued from an ancient attic.

  ‘I’ve booked two lovely rooms in a guesthouse called
Rose Cottage.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ I patted his hand.

  I couldn’t believe the majesty of the landscape. This is how the Owners live! This is how Sofia lives! I pushed the bitterness away. I couldn’t let Sofia ruin my day – not this day that I’d been looking forward to all month.

  The further your destination was from a mega-city, the more expensive the fare. Tickets to settlements with countryside-access such as Bakewell cost a small fortune, but when it came to me, Dad didn’t care about the price. The landscape outside changed, turning dark. Heavy clouds filled the sky, threatening rain. In the distance, I spotted rolling hills embracing a city. Dad was staring out of the window with a look of yearning in his eyes. For a moment I could see him as a little boy, running over these hills, or riding his bike on these streets. Soon the monorail arrived in Sheffield. The station was built into the side of a hill, providing a full view of the city’s ultramodern skyline.

  ‘Have you ever thought of moving back here?’ I asked Dad.

  ‘Sometimes. We could have been given a three-storey detached villa here. But your mother wouldn’t even consider it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s not much of the high life here.’

  The monorail halted in a glass-covered tunnel and we got off. I looked around me on the platform. This was my first time in the north of England and it was clear this was a very different world from London.

  Soon we embarked on the next monorail. Once we left Sheffield, the buffet-belt under the window started moving, carrying drinks, sandwiches, sweets and newspapers. I took two sandwiches out and we ate quietly. When Dad had finished, he suddenly said: ‘I wasn’t a good father to her, Ali. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.’