Agenda 21

by Glenn Beck

  The only variation in Social Update Meetings occurred once a year, when the army—or whatever part of it we were privy to seeing—marched in a parade past the Central Stage. Young men passed in lockstep, heads turned toward the Authority Figures, their boots creating little puffs of dust in unison. They carried black guns that rested against their right shoulders. The first time I saw a gun, Father had to explain to me what it was. That was the only time any of the army was actually visible to the Citizens.

  * * *

  The Gatekeeper rang the bell. It was meeting time. As I started out of my space, I saw the man from Living Space 2 sitting on the ground in front of his door. He wasn’t really all that old, just worn-out. The Gatekeeper checked my name off his list. I walked slowly, glancing over my shoulder every few minutes. After everyone from the Compound was checked off, the Gatekeeper went back to the man sitting in the dirt. The man said something, then the Gatekeeper said something. But the man didn’t get up. The Gatekeeper hit the man across the face and, even at a distance, I could hear the dull thud of his nightstick against skin. Everyone else was walking forward; no one seemed to notice or care about the man from Living Space 2. He was lying down on the dirt, curled up on his side, his hands in front of his face. The Gatekeeper took ropes out of his pockets and tied them to the man’s wrists. I stopped looking back. I had to hurry. They had told me to stand near the front. But there were so many people in front of me, too many for me to move forward.

  As I walked, I had the cold realization that something in me was hoping they would take the old man away so he could never be a potential partner. I knew decisions made by the Authority could be changed at the last minute, and they might pair me with him since his wife was gone. They might keep David in the barracks.

  Thinking like that made me no better than them, and I flushed with shame.

  We converged into a mass as the Authority Figures mounted their elevated platform.

  How many of these meetings had I attended over the years? Fifty? Hundreds? As a child with my parents, not understanding the speeches but learning the pledges. Praise be to the Republic. Mother never said the words out loud. She just made her lips move. Then I came as a young adult with George. Dear George, who never knew Elsa. I came to only one meeting with Jeremy. Childlike, poisonous Jeremy. If he had reported Mother for not walking her board, then he was the reason they took her away.

  And now, for the first time, I was alone in the middle of this mass of Citizens. People were still gathering, rushing past one another. No one wanted to be the first one or the last one in. No one wanted to be noticed. Someone brushed against me and whispered: “There’s been a change of plans.” John’s voice. I turned, but he had already melted into the group.

  A change of plans?

  Not enough oxygen. Not enough air. Breathing too fast, hands sweating, faces swirling around me, a ringing in my ears, folding upon myself, falling. People backed away from me. Faint murmurs. And then nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  At first the voices were far away and blurred, then closer and clearer. The Authority Figures, speaking in their great big outdoor voices. I opened my eyes and realized I was lying on the ground. I could feel dirt on my face and grit on my lips. Slowly, I pushed myself up to a sitting position. No one came to help me. No one would even look at me. They had shifted and moved away, so as not to be noticed. I was far enough away from the platform that the Authority Figures probably couldn’t see me. I sat for a minute until the spinning in my head stopped, then stood and faced the platform.

  I hadn’t eaten today. Maybe that’s why I fainted. Maybe John had not said “a change of plans” after all.

  Corn production exceeds last year’s crop by ten percent. Praise be to the Republic.

  I looked at the Transport Team area, but couldn’t see John.

  We have not met our quota of healthy births this month. Reproductive-ability testing is ongoing. Babies born today will be our workers in fourteen years. Babies born today will be producers of our energy in fourteen years. Healthy babies born today will be protectors of this Republic and of the Earth. Praise be to the Republic.

  There was a woman in white in the transport area. That had to be Joan, but I couldn’t see her face. I was desperate to see someone I knew, someone I trusted. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to see over the heads of people in front of me, but I couldn’t. All the people around me were Compound 18 people and yet there were no friendly smiles, no friendly glances or nods hello. We were all strangers, isolated in the same Compound.

  There is news of conflict south of the Republic. Our army is on full alert. The conflict to the north has subsided for the time being.

  “Wars and rumors of wars,” Mother used to mutter when they announced the news regarding conflicts. She would mumble and end it with a little humph sound. Father would nudge her when she did that. And so I, standing alone, muttered, “Wars and rumors of wars.”

  The sky was growing darker and the wind began blowing through the trees on the other side of the fence. They bent and fluttered, first this way, then that. Birds stopped flitting from branch to branch and instead huddled on the biggest branches. As the wind grew louder, the Authorities spoke louder, trying to sound more powerful than the wind.

  Energy production remains consistent with the needs of the Republic. There will be no increase in requirements of energy production this month. Praise be to the Republic.

  Praise be the Republic came the reply from the Citizens. This time, they sounded like they meant it.

  Rain began, slowly, hitting against the leaves, hitting the dirt, leaving little dents in the packed surface, hitting my headscarf, flecking my arms. Harder and faster, and rain ran down my face and down the faces of those around me. We weren’t permitted to leave the Social Update Meeting just because of rain.

  Praise be to the Earth. Praise be to the rain. Praise be to the Republic.

  Circle sign with wet fingers.

  A tarp covering was pulled over the elevated platform. The Authority Figures and Enforcers would stay dry.

  Thunder began to roll in from a distance, coming closer and louder. One sharp crack of lightning, bright and shining and flashing like white fire from the skies. The Authority Figures said once more, Praise be to the Republic, and we responded once more in unison. The Authority Figures climbed into their special bus-box, and that’s how we knew we were dismissed.

  Everyone turned and headed back to their Compounds. All but me. I stood there in the rain, in the thunder, in the lightning, looking for someone, anyone, I could trust.

  At last, I turned and started walking alone back to Re-Cy. Back to my space.

  The day-shift Gatekeeper checked my name off his list as I passed through the gate.

  “Rather late, aren’t we?” he asked, pointing his pencil at me.

  I just kept walking. Let him write down that I was late. I didn’t care.

  Alone, I removed my wet headscarf and hung it on the bar of the energy bicycle to dry. Then I went to the washing-up area to dry my face and arms. Bits of dried flowers were still in my hair, little flecks here and there. I shook my head and some of the bits drifted down like snowflakes. I started to take off my Re-Cy uniform when I heard a familiar voice at the back window slit. John.

  I rushed to him, almost tripping over the corner of my sleeping mat.

  “John, John,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “What’s going on? Where’s David?” I put my hand through the window slit and he held it, his fingers wet and cold with rain. He was holding the map and it was getting soaked. He passed it through the slit to me and I wiped it on my clothes to dry it off.

  “It’s okay, little one,” he said. “David’s okay. Don’t worry.”

  Another jagged white finger of lightning, followed by a roaring rumble of thunder came. In the distance, we both heard what sounded like a tree falling.

  “I can only stay a minute.” He still held my hand. “I ran here after the Update Meeting be
cause I knew you’d be worried. The Authority Figure who told you there would be a special ceremony at the Social Update Meeting overreached his power. He was a low-level Authority and didn’t have the power to make that decision. He’ll never make that mistake again.”

  More thunder. More lightning. “David will explain everything when you see him tomorrow.” With that John was gone, into the trees, but I felt like he was still holding my hand. He had said when you see him tomorrow. But where was David tonight?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Morning. Bright sunlight. A new day. A new beginning. John had said everything was going to be all right. Funny how I believed those simple words from a friend more than news and rumors of war spoken by Authority Figures.

  The storm had stopped and the raindrops on the leaves beyond the fence sparkled like crystals in the early morning light.

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” I said out loud to myself as I got my nourishment cube out of my storage box. “Everything’s going to be all right.” I changed into my Re-Cy uniform.

  The map had dried overnight but now was crinkly harder to fold. I did the best I could and then pushed it back deep into the mat. There, in the mat’s far corner, a place where you’d never lay your head, I felt a smooth, firm lump. Mother had placed something deep in the mat between the layers of padding. I pulled and ripped until I felt an object. Looking around, making sure no one could see me, I pulled it out.

  A strange little book. Red leather, cracked with age, its cover lettered in faded gold. The New Testament. The pages were thin, the print tiny, the wording different from anything I had seen before. Inside the front cover Mother had written a note in her beautiful, flowery writing, full of loops and curlicues: For Emmeline, my beloved daughter. May she read and understand. The m’s in Emmeline and May swirled like the petals of a wildflower. I kissed her handwriting, then wondered where she was. Was she somewhere thinking of me just as I was thinking of her? Was she lonely? I swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of tears building in my eyes. I let a few minutes pass, then began to glance through the book. It seemed to be made up of different stories told by different people: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John. No last names? Some pictures. A man on some kind of wooden thing. Nailed to it. How strange. Mother taught me how to read. I’d do my best to understand.

  I slipped the book back into the mat, far into the corner, and felt something else. Hard and cold. This, too, had been buried between layers of padding. I pulled it out. It was a strange object, oblong in shape, only about three inches long, and made of metal.

  I pushed a small button on one side and a blade snapped out.

  I dropped the knife on the mat and stepped back. Like a snake, it seemed to threaten me from the floor. A knife! Citizens were not permitted to have knives! The only Citizens allowed to handle blades were those who worked in the uniform Compound. And Father told me a long time ago that they were counted at the end of each shift and locked up. What was Mother thinking? And why had I never felt something so hard and firm in my sleeping mat before? I pulled the cover off that far corner of the mat. She had actually cut away some of the padding on the bottom and moved it to the top, over the knife. She put it in a place where, even if the mat were rolled up, it would not be discovered.

  I tried to figure out why she saved what she did. The things I had found earlier. The photograph of her and me as a child. A favorite book of my childhood. A map of the United States of America. Recipes. Then the round gold thing. Now this book. And this little magic knife with its snap-out blade. Nothing seemed connected. Nothing.

  I picked up the knife and tested the tip of it against my finger. A bubble of blood appeared, slick, wet, red. I put my finger in my mouth. If Mother were here I would wrap my arms around her and cry against her shoulder. I’d whisper against her ear that I would protect her forever. And she’d smile and say, “Get your fingers out of your mouth.” If Mother were here, I could have asked her why she wanted me to have these things. I wished I had asked her more questions when I was growing up. I wished she hadn’t recoiled and withdrawn from questions. I tried to fold the knife blade back into the holder but it wouldn’t move. I glanced out the door, wondering if the Gatekeeper was making rounds.

  Sweating, I took the knife into the washing-up area and tried again to close it. It remained rigid and lethal. Finally I tried pushing the button and the blade at the same time. It snapped shut like the jaws of a wild animal. Quickly I returned it to the far corner of the mat under some padding. I felt strangely proud that I had figured out how something worked, something new to me, something from Mother. As I pulled my hand out, I felt something else. Something small, square, smooth. Retrieving it, I saw it was a cardboard box with a little slide-out drawer. Inside, small, smooth wooden sticks with red tips. The label said: SAFETY MATCHES. Back into the mat it went, over on the side by the wall, right below the knife. My buried treasure.

  Time now to walk my board. Time now to do what could be monitored. Hands on the metal sidebars, feet slapping against the rotating black mat. Everything’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right. Think, make a poem. Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll be with David tonight. Walk, think, hope. El-sa. El-sa.

  When my needle hit the halfway mark, I stopped for a break and stepped outside. The air was warm and soft, and the breeze was blowing toward Re-Cy, so it had a sweet smell. I took a deep breath and turned my face to the sun. As I was standing there, I heard a bus-box at the gate. A young man, thin, with dark hair flopping over his forehead, got off the bus and held his hand out to help an even younger woman off the bus. She was obviously pregnant, her belly pushing against what looked like a brand new Re-Cy uniform. Her black-trimmed headscarf covered her hair and most of her forehead. She looked pale, tired, and swollen. They both carried rolled-up sleeping mats. The Gatekeeper walked them to Living Space 2, made some notations on his clipboard, and walked away.

  I felt an impulse to greet them, even though socializing is forbidden by the Central Authority. I walked quickly to their Living Space and stopped at their doorway. They were standing there silently, holding their mats as though they didn’t know what to do next.

  “Hello,” I said.

  Startled, they edged back a step.

  “Hello and welcome. My name is Emmeline.”

  The man nodded without expression and said, “We don’t want trouble.”

  “I’m not here to make trouble. Just saying hello, that’s all. How are you feeling?” I asked her. “When are you due?”

  She didn’t answer but just rested her hands on her belly and looked down at the floor.

  “Where were you before? I mean, before you were relocated here?”

  “Farm co-op,” he said. He spoke so quietly that I could hardly hear him. “They put us there. They didn’t think we were reproductive.” He smiled. His teeth were small, too small for his face, like baby teeth in a grown-up. “But they were wrong. Praise be to the Republic,” he said. They both made the circle sign.

  Automatically, I raised my fingers to my forehead. Their discomfort was like a wall between us. I felt stupid and awkward and realized that the Authority no longer needed to frown upon socializing—their Citizens made it almost impossible. Getting too friendly, too close with anybody, and they might turn out to be the kind of Citizen who might report you to the Authority. Trust is risky business.

  “Well, good-bye then. I have to finish my board.” I left them standing there, still holding their sleeping mats, and walked away with the secret knowledge that I, not they, would hold their baby and comfort it in the Children’s Village.

  I walked my board until the needle hit the peg and I had done what could be monitored. Then thoughts, like buzzing flies, swarmed into my head. Why did I have to walk the board? Why did anyone have to walk a board? Just because the Authority said so? And where did the energy go? Who used it? Certainly not me. For my effort, I got a nourishment cube and a cement cell to live in. That didn�
�t seem like a fair or equal trade. The breeze had shifted direction and the putrid smell of Re-Cy drifted through my window slits.

  I heard the Gatekeeper making his rounds to distribute the evening cubes. Lids opened with a little, tinny screech and then plopped closed. I waited until he moved on before I went to my box. Inside were two nourishment cubes. The Gatekeeper must have made a mistake. Back when Father told me about the scissors being counted and locked up, he told me that the nourishment cubes were also counted. “Rationed” is what he had called it. At the end of the day, the Gatekeepers had to turn in a tally. “And the count had to be right,” he added, shaking his head. “Sad state of affairs.”

  Mother had almost hissed the word back at him. “Sad? Sad? Despicable and controlling,” she had said. “Control the food and you control the people. Control the food and the energy and you control everything.”

  I started to call out to the Gatekeeper, to ask him to take away the extra cube, but before I could get his attention, a bus-box pulled up and David got off with two Authority Figures. They were walking toward me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  David stood before me, a thin line of sweat shining above his lip. Two Authority Figures, looking stiff as the nightsticks the Gatekeepers carried, stood on either side of him. He had a clean spare uniform and his mat rolled under his arm. I lowered my eyes and waited for the Authority Figures to speak.

  There in the dirt by my shoe was a ladybug, lying motionless on her back. I focused on her, afraid to look up. If I looked up, I might smile. I might look happy. I might ruin everything. The ladybug didn’t move. I didn’t move. It hurt my chest to breathe.