Yarn

by Jon Armstrong

  I turned back to my father. "Stop talking about other brandclans! You could get us debranded!" I stuffed my mouth with five of the black gum sticks.

  "Get your rep," he repeated.

  "Stop saying that!" I worked my jaw, softening the gum. The corn tenders used pest gum when they found anything bad on a stalk or an ear. You spit the black juice onto the rust or the blight. It tasted like rot, but it worked. "Take off your shirt," I said, as my mouth began to fill with the sour juice.

  "Stop," he told me.

  I wanted to scream. "Dad, please, lay back. This will help!"

  He rubbed his face, coughed wetly. Giving up, he flopped back down on the dirt as if exhausted. He muttered something when I pulled up his shirt, but didn't open his eyes. Strangely the sores that covered his chest ended abruptly an inch above his shorts. I chewed a few more times and then began to spit the pesticide on his rash.

  Pilla shook her head. "Pure Xi can't kill." "He had sores all over," I told her.

  "Sounds like he was a very heavy burner." She pursed her mouth sadly. "Who told you he died of Xi?"

  When the fry truck melody woke me before dawn I checked my father. He was resting quietly, but in the dark I couldn't tell if the pesticide gum had done anything.

  "I have to go," I whispered to him. "I'm going to try and get more gum tonight. Just stay here. Rik will check by later. You'll get better."

  When I returned that evening, my father was gone. All that was left was the flattened ground where we had slept. I found Rik in the front field.

  "The rep's in the house," he said quietly. His face was long, his eyes cheerless. "You should talk to him."

  Our rep was a heavy man with thick features and a long, heavy beard. He had a way of looking off into the distance and twisting his mustache when he spoke.

  He was talking with several other men inside the foyer, but when he saw me he dismissed them. "Good news! The regional rep came by before, and he looked at your dad!" He gazed out at the mountains on the horizon and smiled. "M-Bunny is very interested in rashes." Twirling a clump of hair below his chin, he reached into the pocket of his shorts with his free hand, and pulled out a small bag. "His recycle bonus was big. Even after my rep's take, and mine, you have quite a lot of metal."

  Recycle bonuses were coveted and honorable. Large ones were rare and were only given to the most loyal men or for special circumstances. I stared at my rep. I couldn't understand. Goosebumps covered me, and it seemed the world was shrinking away. "Where is he?"

  My rep smiled and shook the little bag. I had seen my dad a total of twenty days. Now all I would have of him was a handful of M-Bunny's stamped tin coins.

  "He was sick," I told Pilla. "I figured it was the sores."

  She gazed at me sorrowfully. "Was he in bad pain?"

  "He was hurt. He didn't complain."

  "No." She spoke softly. "Pure Xi doesn't work like that. Neither does dark."

  "Are we going to burn?" the salessoldier with sores interrupted. "I'm ready!"

  Pilla reached into one of the sleeves of the cardigan, yanked out a square of Xi cloth and tossed it at him. He began rubbing it over his neck and chest as the others cheered him on.

  Dill stood beside Pilla and me. "You think it was dark Xi?" he asked.

  "He said his dad had many sores. That just means he burned Xi often. Dark Xi is completely different. It will leave a sore, but it kills long before you could get more than one."

  "Do you know dark Xi?" Dill's voice was edged with awe and fear. "Have you touched it? What's it like?"

  "I've dealt with it. "Pilla shrugged. "It's spun hell. "She touched my shoulder gently. "I'm sorry about your dad. But pure Xi isn't what hurt him. Pure is an extraordinary painkiller. It's a dreamer. If you don't want to try it, that's calm, but you know what I think? I think you should just touch it and know what it is. It seems like you don't know much about him."

  "Almost nothing. He disappeared for nine years and then just showed up one day with that rash all over his arms and chest."

  "Xi shirts… Xi sweaters… Xi jackets. They're most popular." She pursed her mouth. "He must have been burning to take away some pain." She undid a button at the front of her green saleswarrior outfit. She had a sore across her left clavicle. "If you do it a lot… it causes lesions, but they don't hurt, and if you stop they heal quickly." She whispered, "I burn a lot… so watch me." She then closed her eyes and wrapped the cardigan around her neck. The others crowded in.

  After several moments, red patches, like continents of emotion, appeared across Pilla's neck and face. A sheen of perspiration glazed her forehead. She parted her lips and moaned softly. Her expression reminded me of Kira's face when I sewed her buttonholes. Pilla let her head roll back and let out a loud wounded cry. I felt like I shouldn't watch, but I couldn't stop staring. And when she finally opened her eyes, she smiled at me. Tugging the sweater from around her neck, she held it out for me.

  It was a simple rib knit in low-twist wool. Up close, I could see that it was a mix of white, gray, and jade. I took it from her. Most in the room were watching me. I put it around my neck like Pilla had done, ready to fling it off the moment something went wrong.

  Some in the room started chanting, but Pilla shushed them. "Burn a little flame," she whispered.

  I stared at her, waiting. The thing felt warm and a little itchy. That couldn't be all there was to it, but I didn't feel anything else. It was just like a woolen scarf.

  "Is he getting warm?" someone asked.

  "Maybe," answered someone else.

  Was it me? Was it because I was a slubber? I pressed the sweater to my skin and closed my eyes, but still nothing happened. I was just about to give up, take it off, and open my eyes when suddenly an expanding warmth started around my neck. The warmth soon turned hot, and just as I began to panic, ready to fling the thing off me, the heat turned liquid and sunk into my flesh, into my blood. It seemed to circulate though my head and body and felt sleepy and comforting. Was this what my father had felt? This was okay. It was soothing and relaxing.

  And then it seemed like the yarn began to melt, as if fusing with my skin. It wasn't bad; it didn't hurt, but I knew something else was coming. I don't think I opened my eyes, but I could see the room again. The others seemed far back, but Pilla's face was as large as the harvest moon. She smiled. Her lips moved but instead of sounds, colored fabric filled the air. Chestnut organdie. Burnt yellow needlecord. Orange tulle.

  She reached out a hand and touched my face. Instead of skin-instead of the slight roughness of the swirls on the ends of her fingers-I felt crepe.

  I tried to tell her what was happening, that the world was turning into fabric, but when I spoke, folds of dark merino came from my mouth. It was shocking but also funny. I laughed in white chenille.

  She came closer. She smelled of cotton and starch. I put my arms around her, and understood that she wasn't flesh and blood anymore, but layers of intricate woodblock printed chintz, red velvet, white horsehair, and black swanskin. I squeezed her close to me, as I had never held anyone before. I loved who she was and what she had become.

  The others in the room were smiling. Some congratulated me as the sweater was passed around. I touched them and they too were stitched together from layers of fabric, lace, and bone.

  If this is what my father had experienced, if this is what he saw and felt… then I understood why he had returned to me covered with sores.

  SEATTLEHAMA: SEAMS RIPPED OPEN

  I woke in the largest bed I had ever seen. The sheets and pillows were Hunter green satin that felt slick and cool. Sitting up I faced floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the city atrium. It was night and the costumed shoppers were in full force. When I called out, "Hello?" my voice sounded small and weak.

  Pilla came through the doorway, a pink plasticott cuisine court mug in her hand. "You're up!"

  "Where am I?"

  She smiled. "My bedroom."

  "What happened?"
r />   "You burned Xi. Don't you remember?"

  For a panicked moment, I checked my neck and shoulders for sores, but didn't see or feel any.

  She shook her head. "You'd have to burn more than that to get a sore."

  I remembered when I had hugged her to me. "Everything was made of fabric. You were chintz, velvet, and swanskin."

  Pilla smiled. "You were hard dreaming."

  "But it was like the dreams I used to have as a boy back in the slubs. I would dream of stuff like that… about how the world was made of patterns. Last night was just deeper and more real."

  "That's calm." She sat on the side of the bed and smiled at me. She looked fresher than usual and her hair was neatly arranged.

  "That's very calm."

  "You don't see cloth?"

  "For me it's more of a feeling. It's like I'm connected to the universe. If I see anything it's vast purple clouds and fields of stars." She sipped her coffee. "You talked about your dad, but you weren't making too much sense."

  "What did I say?"

  "You kept saying you understood. It was as if you were seeing the meaning of the cosmos. That's not unusual. There's something vast about Xi. It's supposed to connect the nonverbal part of the brain." She eyed me. "So, it was good to try Xi, wasn't it?"

  "Yeah." I exhaled. "But why was my dad doing it? You said Xi is a painkiller. Do you think he was in pain?"

  Pilla shrugged. "Financial, emotional, psychological, physical… there are millions of reasons to burn. Was he successful?"

  "I don't know. When I was a boy, he was an M-Bunny rep. He seemed so strong. But when he left, I figured he must have done something terrible. I thought he had ruined the crop somehow, but I don't know if I'll ever learn much else."

  Pilla was silent for a beat. "Sometimes it's better not to know."

  I recalled that bag of M-Bunny coins. I never spent one. I threw a handful into the corn, some kind of angry offering. The rest I gave away. "I didn't have a choice."

  "It's possible he was protecting you. Maybe there was someone who wanted to do you harm and he wanted to keep you from that. That would be a good thing."

  Like I had many times before, I felt guilty that I had not switched brands as my father wished. Bestke was a strong Europa brandclan, but it didn't control land near Seattlehama. One night I even snuck away from my corn-tending duties and started walking south. Somewhere in the middle of the night, cold, tired, and hungry, I turned back. From what I'd heard, I would need to somehow walk for five days straight to make it to a small Bestke enclave. The journey itself seemed impossible.

  Pilla interrupted my thoughts. "You hungry?"

  I dressed, and we headed out. My arms were tired, my legs, sore. And maybe it was the lingering effect of the Xi, but the colors and sounds of the city seemed magnified. As we passed shoppers, I couldn't help but thread count their pants and jackets. Every conversation and spill of music from distant doorways bloomed in front of me.

  After we ate at a dingy little place, I headed to YeOld#1 and took my place beside Dill. We didn't have time to speak, as the hordes and their costumes descended on us, but he winked at me.

  "I just can't decide," said a pouting t'up girl with the caped AngerFrog costume draped over her arm. "Last time, I was Charcoal NirvanaBitch, but that got repetitious. I went for this because it's cutting, but not too hook. But is this material all ventilated? I don't want to get all sweaty when I bustle!"

  "It's good," I told her.

  Before she even slipped on the suit, I had hemmed the legs. And prior to zipping it up, I reached in with my Juki Magni-Needle 66-11 Handseamer and made two quick darts over her kidneys.

  "Oh," she admired in the mirror, "that's splattered! I look hot-hot!"

  Next, a young man held an Envoy Duvet and a BallerinaHead Girl. "I credited both, and they said I can combine them!" he screamed. "It has to be done instantly. I'm already late!"

  I'd been told not to mix the costumes, but this t'up seemed like he was about to rage. "Of course," I told him. Ballerina and Envoy had similar constructions, so I knew I could do it quickly. Besides I could try the seam-ripping mode on the Juki. Dill had showed me how it worked when a t'up came in with a defective Choky Bear.

  Engaging the ripper, I opened the seams on the arms and legs as easily as slicing white bread. Switching the Juki back to sew, I married the gold-embossed sleeves of the Envoy with the torso of Ballerina. Envoy's hat, I tacked cockeyed on the man's head, and on his legs, I used her stockings and the envoy's floppy white boots.

  "Not too bad," he muttered, before he dashed off.

  Seven hours later when the shift was over, I was exhausted. When we headed into the barracks to wash up, the owner, Kastle, stood waiting for us.

  "Someone down here mixed a costume!" he growled. "We charge extra for refinements, adaptations, and any character redesign! That's custom work! That's not your jobs down here! Now who was it?"

  At first, no one moved. Finally, I raised my hand. "He seemed like he was in a hurry."

  Kastle stepped before me. "We have rules, soldier. You broke them."

  I feared he was going to ask for my papers. But in a flash, he yanked the Juki from my hand, tearing it from the power cord. "Return all your YeOld#1 articles to the company exchange. You're court-martialed!" With that he turned and left.

  I couldn't believe how crazy he'd acted. Glancing at the frayed wires in my hand, I asked Dill, "What was that?"

  His face was white. "You're fired."

  I looked where Kastle had gone and wanted to shout, No!

  "When I saw that BallerinaHead and Envoy mix walk out, I had a bad feeling. I wish I saw you and could have stopped you, but I was deluged with a bunch of fat Fairies."

  "They credited him both costumes. He said it was okay."

  Dill shook his head. "You can't trust our customers."

  "I was just trying to help." I stared at the floor and worried what Pilla was going to think.

  "Don't fret." Dill patted my arm. "You'll find other costume tailoring work. You're really good. I thought your mod was real calm!"

  Dill invited me to dinner and Xi burning. Thanking him, I said I would catch up later, but figured I had better deliver the bad news and headed to the Xi boutique.

  Pilla looked at me as if she couldn't fathom what I'd told her. "Wait. What'd you do?"

  "I mixed two costumes. I know they told me not to, but this customer was shouting, and I just thought it would be better just to help him." I waited for her to go rot like Kastle.

  Instead, her nonchalance surprised me. "We'll find you something better. That was a waste of time anyway."

  "I loved using the Juki."

  Shaking her head thoughtfully, she said, "You're not labor. You're design."

  I thought about catching up with the others from YeOld#1, but decided against it. I didn't want to wallow in my firing with Dill, nor was I in the mood to hear their usual complaints.

  Idly winding my way down several sets of showstairs, I passed singers and snake dancers and then slowed and stopped. Vada's face flashed in my head, so I headed to an entervator port to look for the Europa Showhouse.

  The port was crowded with trippers and consumers, and as I made my way to the info desk, I came to a group all dressed in Blackwitch Breath costumes.

  "Ye Old Number One," I said, knowingly.

  "Anger's my super shake. Suck thee down!" sneered one with an affected accent.

  They laughed and headed off to a waiting entervator. For a moment I hated them and their warTalk curses, but then I noticed the crooked hems, ill-fitting shoulders, and sagging bodices of the cheap rented costumes and I felt two small satisfactions: my alterations would have been better, and most t'ups wouldn't know the difference.

  The Europa Showhouse came, but I saw that it was heading up to the 800th floor in Parfum Spaceship where the drap-de-Berry rip occurred, so I waited for it to come back down before boarding, raced on, and got a seat in the front. When we started d
own, the stage lights came on and Vada appeared in a red bobbin lace dress and brass-colored boots.

  Shielding her eyes from the spots, she peered out at us. "I need the brave assistance of one of the fair shoppers in the audience. I will read the humors and veins of your mind and assist you in divining your heart and your steed. I see hands… thank you. Among you, do we have someone from out of town? Good! And maybe not just out of town, but someone who doesn't truly belong, but someone who wants to…" She ran a gloved hand seductively over her crotch. "…fit in." The crowd laughed.

  A man came forward and stood beside her. Closing her eyes, she touched his neck and around his ears as the man squirmed. As she guessed his name, where he came from, and his age, I imagined how the caustic dimity of her gloved hands would feel against my skin.

  While she sang a quiet song accompanied by water-harp music, she stood in front of me for several moments. Unlike Tinyko, who had been disappointing, up-close, Vada was more beautiful, powerful, vulnerable.

  SEATTLEHAMA: TORN AND MENDED

  "We're going up to meet a designer," said Pilla the next evening as we walked to the entervator port. "I'd like you to apprentice with him. We'll see what could happen from there. "She smiled wistfully. "It's a long shot, but I would so love to see Withor's face if it happened."

  I didn't like the idea of taunting him. Didn't he already hate me?

  An entervator soon came. We ascended to the 700s in the Shangtung and then walked along a balcony that overlooked the immense near mile drop to the atrium. I slowed for a moment as I tried to locate the Velour Building, where Kira had been, and the Parfum Spaceship, where I had ripped yarn from Tinyko.

  I caught up to Pilla as she headed into a dinnershow. The dark room was studded with tables made of black lava and the waitresswarriors wore nothing but black pearl lamé masks. Pilla ordered drinks for both of us.

  "Are we meeting the designer here?" I asked.

  She peered toward the entrance. "He should be here in a few minutes. Listen, he used to be huge in Europa. He's fallen, but he's very bright… if a little eccentric. Maybe that's typical of a top designer… or a former top designer. Have you ever heard of Zanella?"