Everything You Ever Wanted

by Luiza Sauma

  ‘I haven’t seen her all day. She’s not replying to my messages.’

  ‘Abby wouldn’t do that, would she?’

  ‘Yeah, I think she would.’

  ‘You never know,’ says Stella, ‘she could just be hiding somewhere, like Elizabeth did.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

  Iris and Yuko stand up and carry on cleaning. Iris can hear her own bones creaking, protesting, as she moves.

  ‘If you don’t mind, girls,’ says Stella, ‘I’m going to stay down here a bit longer. I’m so exhausted.’

  ‘Of course we don’t mind,’ says Yuko.

  The hairs in the shower are super-long. With her bare hand Iris swirls a cobweb of different-coloured strands into a little ball. This would disgust her on Earth; here it doesn’t bother her at all. In fact, it feels kind of nice – soft and springy. She stands up and chucks it in the bin.

  ‘What if she doesn’t come back?’ she says. ‘What if she’s gone for good?’

  ‘But where the hell could she have gone?’ says Stella.

  ‘Out there,’ says Iris, pointing at the window. The sun shines, soft and golden, on the pink sand. ‘Do we even know what’s out there?’

  ‘Death,’ says Stella.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But you know what?’ she adds. ‘A quick death is better than a slow one.’

  The three women agree that they have finished for the day, even though the bathroom is only marginally cleaner than it was before. It smells faintly of old piss, but it’s OK – everyone’s used to it. Iris’s eyes droop with fatigue. She would like to take a long, hard nap, to dream about Earth and escape this planet for an hour or two, but first she has to see Vitor.

  As they leave the bathroom, Stella says to her, ‘You’re looking good, Iris. You’re glowing.’ Her blue eyes are clear and bright, but there’s sadness beneath the surface – something that can’t be hidden.

  ‘Thanks.’

  The baby is fattening Iris up with optimism and love, even as she starves. Instinctively, her hand goes to her belly. Stella doesn’t notice.

  Vitor’s consulting room is tiny, with two chairs, a sink and a bed with a thin mattress. There’s no computer, no printer for prescriptions. Medication is doled out from a large plastic box, which Vitor is rifling through when Iris walks in.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, ‘what’s up?’

  He probably thinks I can’t sleep. He probably thinks I’m just feeling sad, I’m missing Earth and I want some pills. He’s probably thinking, How am I going to tell her that we don’t have any left?

  Iris sits on one of the chairs. ‘Weren’t you supposed to go with her?’

  ‘Huh?’ Vitor raises his eyebrows. He’s still standing with his hands in the box.

  ‘With Abby.’

  ‘Oh, shit. You think she’s really gone?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her all day.’

  ‘She never mentioned it to me again.’

  ‘It’s only been a few hours. That’s not why I’m here.’ She shifts in her seat. ‘I have something to show you.’ She lifts her sweatshirt and shows her pale, protruding stomach. ‘It’s been around four months, maybe longer. I’m not sure, to be honest.’

  Vitor opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself.

  ‘It was Elias. If that’s what you were about to ask.’

  ‘You had sex with Elias?’ He almost looks impressed. If Elias weren’t dead, Vitor might have congratulated her. But then his face changes. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. ‘Oh my God, Iris.’

  ‘You didn’t notice?’

  ‘No. I did think you looked different the other day, but … I didn’t think it was anything.’

  ‘Can you give me a test? I mean, I know I am, but I just want to be sure.’

  Vitor finally sits on the other chair, and sighs. ‘You should’ve come to me earlier. It’s too late now.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  He blinks, slowly. ‘This isn’t a good time to have a baby.’

  ‘But I want it, V. I’ve never wanted anything so much.’ She touches her belly. ‘Can I have a test?’

  ‘Of course, but I’ll have to put it on your record.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I don’t want them to know.’

  ‘People will notice.’

  ‘I don’t care. They can notice when they notice.’ She stands up and walks towards the door. ‘You still haven’t heard anything about Norman?’

  ‘No, I –’ He winces a little, rubbing his head.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s nothing, just a headache.’ He stands up – her cue to leave.

  Iris carries the test up her sleeve to the bathroom and pisses on it. As she waits, sitting on the toilet, she notices the best-before date on the packet – four years ago. Oh, well. When the result comes up and confirms what she already knows, she feels the purest joy she has felt in years – the kind she experienced at her birthday parties when she was a child. She doesn’t remember much about the parties themselves, but she remembers the feeling of being special, chosen, the centre of attention. This is mine, all mine.

  Later, she remembers that she, too, was once a cluster of cells, an embryo, a foetus, but more than that, a promise of love, growing inside her mother. Of course she has always known this, but not truly.

  She wishes she could tell her mother, I know how it feels, now.

  33.

  Call Me Maybe

  Iris and Vitor eat lunch, mostly in silence. Rav is elsewhere. Iris takes a photo of her half-eaten fake-cheese sandwich and, beside it, a pale green pear. She doesn’t know how they make the cheese and she doesn’t really care. It looks like the kind you’d get in a cheeseburger on Earth – square and luridly yellow, but with none of the salty, fatty goodness. The sandwich looks even more unappetizing in the photo than in real life. She picks up the pear and photographs it against the window, to capture the pink landscape. Better.

  A Nyx-grown pear – delicious and sweet What are you eating for lunch today? #lifeonnyx #lunchinspace #health #selfcare #iriscohen

  Are people still into ‘self-care’? she thinks. Probably not. She wonders what the commenters are saying.

  you poor souls

  #prayfornyx

  RIP :(

  Something like that. She bites into the pear and almost gags with disappointment. It’s watery and bland, with none of the sweetness of the one she ate a week ago. Did I dream it? she thinks. Does it even matter? She closes her eyes and tries to conjure up the taste of the previous pear: sugary and juicy, with a tang –

  ‘What are you doing?’ says Vitor.

  ‘I’m imagining I’m eating something else.’

  ‘Sounds like torture.’

  ‘It’s the only pleasure I have in life – allow it. Have you noticed,’ she says, pointing towards the corners of the room, ‘that none of the cameras are filming in here?’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ He carries on eating, looking at his food, as if it doesn’t bother him.

  Iris spends a lot of time lying on Abby’s bed, basking in the musty, pickled scent of her absent friend. She sends her countless messages.

  Hey

  Where are you?

  Are you dead?

  It doesn’t feel like you’re dead

  What’s it supposed to feel like, tho?

  I haven’t even cried yet

  Are you living in the sand dunes?

  Or by the lake? It looks nice over there

  I’m having a baby!

  Abby Abby Abby

  Iris tries to remember their last conversation, but she can’t. Since getting pregnant, she often forgets things: words, memories, names. What was the name of her boss at Freedom & Co – Andrea? No. She picks up Abby’s wedding photo and studies it again. The Abby she didn’t know. Earth Abby. She’s freckled and luminous, thinking – no, believing – that she would spend her life with this kind-eyed man; that he was the answer, The One. But no, a person is never enough.


  How does it feel to die? How does it feel to leave your body behind like an empty cardboard box? Did Abby regret it at the last moment? Did it hurt? Iris listens to the faint hum of air conditioning, the oxygen being pumped into the room. She squeezes her eyes together, willing herself to cry, but there’s no one around to see her suffering, so she gives up.

  ‘Same old Iris,’ says a voice from the top bunk – a woman.

  ‘Abby?’

  No reply. Iris slaps herself on the face. Her cheek and palm both tingle. I’m not dreaming, she thinks. This is real. I’ve gone insane.

  ‘Who are you?’ she says. ‘What do you want?’

  The woman doesn’t reply. Iris’s heart pounds so hard she can hear it in her ears and feel it in her fingertips. She wants to hear the voice again, like a child lying in bed at night, terrified of monsters but willing them to exist.

  In the afternoon, Iris cleans some rooms and posts pictures online – smiling selfies with Yuko and Stella, Norma looking extra cute.

  While they’re cleaning a bathroom, Yuko catches her humming a tune and says, ‘What’s that? I recognize it.’

  Iris laughs. She hadn’t realized she was humming.

  ‘It’s “Call Me Maybe” – do you remember it?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ says Yuko.

  They sing the chorus together and shimmy from side to side, doing the phone sign with their hands. It’s OK to sing in the bathroom because there are no cameras or microphones, no royalties accrued. Norma claps her hands with glee and prances around them, showing her small white teeth. Stella doesn’t join in – maybe she doesn’t know the song or can’t muster the energy, since everything is falling apart.

  They clean for five more minutes before giving up out of boredom.

  Iris is walking down a corridor when she hears the voice again.

  ‘Look up,’ it says. ‘Look up, Iris.’ It’s the same voice as before – well spoken, a bit old-fashioned.

  Iris looks up at one of the cameras and notices that its red light has gone out. She carries on walking, studying each camera that she passes. All of them are switched off. Nobody is watching.

  Dinner is quite good – a vegetable curry that tastes more or less like something you would eat on Earth, though the portion would be suitable for a toddler and it’s served with stale bread. Iris, Vitor and Rav eat quickly and retreat to Vitor and Rav’s bedroom, which smells sour and skanky. It reminds her of Elias’s room.

  Tara the AI doesn’t say anything when they walk in.

  ‘Huh?’ says Vitor. ‘That’s weird.’ He lightly punches the loudspeaker with his fist.

  ‘We need to talk about Abby,’ says Iris.

  ‘It’s been a week,’ says Rav.

  How did time pass so quickly? Iris has been working too little and sleeping too much – always in Abby’s bed, where she can smell her.

  ‘We have to report it,’ she says.

  ‘I’m sure they already know,’ says Vitor.

  ‘But there hasn’t been an announcement, there’s been nothing. We can’t just pretend that she’s disappeared into thin air and that we’re OK with it.’

  ‘Why are you both looking at me?’ says Vitor.

  ‘Come on, Vitor, you have special privileges. Get us a meeting in the control room.’

  ‘Norman isn’t there.’

  ‘So what? We’ll speak to whoever’s there.’

  ‘OK.’ He picks up his tab and taps it several times, requesting a meeting. ‘This fucking thing. It barely works any more.’ The tab pings. Vitor looks up at them, surprised. ‘Oh. We can go see them.’

  ‘Now?’ says Iris.

  ‘Yes – right now.’

  The doors to the control room slide open three inches and then pause – a glitch – before someone shouts, from inside the room, ‘You have to push ’em!’ Vitor prises them open with his hands. Iris hasn’t been in the room since the welcome tour, seven years ago. She feels thrilled and intimidated, unsure of how to behave, as if she’s about to meet the Queen. The room looks much the same as it did before, but with a staleness acquired over the years. It’s one of the oldest parts of the Hub. There are dozens of screens, covered in dust. Most of them are switched off. A couple of them are smashed. Four people sit facing the control panel, two men and two women. One of them is Amanda, who led the welcome tour. Iris hasn’t seen her in years. She glances at them, smiles and returns to her work. A man in his forties with red hair spins on his chair to face them. He nods but doesn’t smile. Iris has never seen him before.

  ‘Are you Block G?’ he says. He has an American accent. Iris recognizes his voice from announcements.

  ‘Yes,’ says Rav. ‘Who are you?’

  The other people turn as well, briefly, then continue hitting buttons, twisting knobs and tapping their fingers on their tabs.

  ‘I’m Peter,’ says the man.

  ‘We’ve never met,’ says Vitor.

  ‘I’m the Hub’s chief technician.’

  ‘I know who you are. We’ve just never met.’

  ‘Where’s Norman?’ says Iris.

  Peter turns to her with a jolt, as if she’s suddenly appeared in the room. He stands and walks towards her. His face is so still. It makes him seem imposing, despite his physical slightness.

  ‘Norman is taking a break. Is that why you’re here?’ He stares vacantly into her eyes, as if he’s thinking of something else.

  ‘No, we’re here about Abby,’ says Vitor.

  ‘The one who escaped?’

  ‘Why haven’t you made an announcement?’ says Rav.

  ‘We’re planning to do that later.’

  ‘Why are all these screens switched off?’ says Iris.

  Peter looks at her mildly. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Iris.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. You’re the one who lied about your medical history.’

  ‘I –’

  ‘The screens just need to be fixed. It’s nothing serious.’

  ‘What about the cameras?’ says Rav. ‘How is the show still running if the cameras aren’t working?’

  Peter shakes his head and ignores the question. ‘I’m afraid that your friend is dead. She left the Hub and suffocated in the atmosphere. You can organize a memorial, if you like.’ On the surface he’s still calm, but red patches are blooming on his face and neck.

  ‘Where’s her body?’ says Iris.

  ‘Oh.’ Peter turns to one of his colleagues. ‘Nancy, can you get the, uh?’

  ‘Sure thing,’ she says. Nancy is short and strong, with mousy hair. She looks like a police officer, someone who enjoys following orders. She reaches under the panel and brings over a small black plastic box.

  Iris takes it. It’s heavier than it looks. ‘What is this?’

  ‘Her ashes,’ says Nancy.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with them?’

  Nancy shrugs. ‘Whatever you like.’

  ‘Thanks for calling by,’ says Peter, smiling as if they had popped round for tea. He realizes this and rearranges his features into something more suitably mournful. ‘I’m so sorry about your friend,’ he adds, before turning back to the control panel, ‘but we have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Has the show ended?’ says Rav.

  Peter sits on his chair, facing away from them. ‘Forget about the goddamn show.’

  ‘Are we going to die?’ says Iris.

  He turns back and laughs. His face is red and moist, like raw meat. ‘What did you think you were signing up for? Dancing with the fucking Stars?’

  34.

  A Ghost? A Vision?

  Iris lies on Abby’s bunk, holding her ashes.

  She whispers, ‘We’re going to die, we’re going to die, we’re going to die.’ Then she corrects herself, rubs her belly and says, in a loud voice, ‘Don’t worry, baby. Everything’s going to be just fine.’

  Her skittering heartbeat tells the truth.

  She taps a message on her tab and sends it to everyone in the Hu
b:

  Does anyone know the words to the Kaddish, the Jewish mourning prayer? I’m looking for someone to recite it at Abby’s memorial. I would really appreciate it. Thank you x

  Iris has heard the Kaddish recited just once in her life – not at a synagogue, but at a theatre in London, during the play Angels in America. She didn’t understand a word of Aramaic, a dead language, but somehow her body did. Her hairs stood on end, her hands shook and she began to cry – profoundly, but quietly, so that Kiran wouldn’t hear. She was grateful for the darkness of the theatre.

  She lies back and waits for a response, absent-mindedly sniffing Abby’s blanket, but her friend’s smell has faded, replaced by her own humdrum rankness.

  Jonah responds:

  I can do it. I remember most of it. I’m so sorry about Abby.

  Iris writes back:

  It’s OK if you don’t remember all the words. Thank you x

  As she hits ‘send’, she hears something shift on the top bunk, like a person turning in their sleep. Her skin prickles with fear.

  ‘Hello?’

  The voice begins to sing, from the top bunk, ‘Silent night, holy night …’

  ‘No,’ Iris whispers, ‘no, no, no.’ Her limbs go cold, she begins to sweat and her heart beats hard and fast, like a mad, galloping horse. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘All is calm, all is bright … Oh good, it finally worked. I’m here. I’ll come down.’ Someone moves around on the mattress above Iris’s head. ‘Sorry it took me so long. I was having, uh, technical issues. I haven’t been dead for very long. Ha ha! This is all new to me.’

  Iris closes her eyes and smacks herself on the head. ‘Wake up,’ she says, ‘wake the fuck up.’ When she opens her eyes, a pair of bare feet are walking down the ladder, followed by a body clad in a long white cotton nightgown. Iris pulls the blanket over her head. ‘Please go away. Don’t hurt me.’

  The woman walks around the bed and stands over Iris. Through the blanket, Iris can see her vague, familiar shape.

  ‘Please,’ says Iris, closing her eyes again.

  ‘I know this is all very strange, but of course I’m not going to hurt you, darling. Why would I do such a thing?’