Agenda 21

by Glenn Beck

The Authority Figures droned out the Pledges of Pairing. I saw their boots, shiny and black with heavy metal eyelets and thick laces. David’s shoes were not as sturdy, not as shiny. The hems of their uniforms, the heavy black fabric folded up into crisp cuffs, carried bits of dirt along the bottoms.

  And still they droned on.

  “Praise be to the Republic.”

  I almost dropped one of the nourishment cubes while making the circle sign.

  “Praise be to the Republic.”

  With that the Authority Figures turned as one and stepped in stiff unison back to the bus-box. The Transport Team jerked away from the gate, and the Gatekeeper made a notation on his clipboard. The wooden side rails of the bus-box rattled and clattered and then faded out of earshot.

  David and I went into the space that was now ours. We stood there in the eating area. He was still holding his extra uniform. We stood there not knowing what to do next. Finally I held out one of the nourishment cubes.

  “Later,” he said. “Later.” His voice was thick and deep. He dropped his extra uniform, put both of the cubes on the eating counter, and held his hands out to me.

  “First this,” he said, as he pulled me closer to him. I felt the heat of his hands, of his arms around me, of his face next to mine. He kissed me and I felt the softness of his lips.

  “And now this,” he said, picking up his sleeping mat and unrolling it next to mine. I watched him undress, watched him toss his clothes onto my energy board. I undressed slowly, methodically, folding my clothes, my hands shaking.

  “You are such a beautiful woman. I had no idea how beautiful. Yes, praise be. But not to the Republic.”

  We spent the evening on his new sleeping mat, twined around each other like vines on trees.

  Later, much later, we ate our nourishment cubes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I woke up first, just as the sun rose enough to let pale light through the window slits. I had never slept naked before. My skin felt smooth and vulnerable. I pushed the sheet away and looked at my body. David had said I was a beautiful woman. No one had ever called me beautiful. I ran my hands down my sides, feeling the inward dip of my waist and the gentle flare of my hips.

  I watched him as he slept, curled on his side. The firm muscles of his arms. The way his hair curled just a little against his neck. How long his legs were. Long and straight and strong. I leaned near him and took a deep breath. The smell of his skin was warm and earthy.

  He turned toward me and opened his eyes.

  “Hello there, my beautiful wife.” Wife. What an amazing word. The way your lips have to move when you say it. Wife. I smiled at him.

  I sat up and pulled the sheet around me.

  He pushed the sheet off my shoulders. “Don’t cover yourself. Not just yet.” He smiled and touched the hollow of my throat.

  I heard the tinny clinking of the nourishment box lid. The Gatekeeper was making rounds, delivering morning cubes. I pulled the sheet back up and across my chest.

  “We better get dressed,” I whispered. He nodded and reached for his rumpled pile of clothes. He dressed quickly, putting on his dull gray Gatekeeper uniform, then handed me my clothes from the energy board.

  The scuffling sound of the Gatekeeper’s footsteps faded, and David retrieved our nourishment cubes.

  “Not many people say wife. Or husband. They mostly just say paired or partnered.”

  “I guess you could call them before-time words, words we used, back then.”

  I dressed quickly. “Mother used to talk about back then. But then she would get really quiet and wouldn’t talk anymore.”

  He gave a little sigh and put his cube down.

  “Here’s another before-time word. House. Nobody says house. They say Living Space.”

  “Mother told me about our house. Our back-then house. That always made her sad.”

  “I used to hear Mom and Dad talking about your mother. They said they saw changes in her. They said that long before the relocation. They saw it when she was still teaching. I was too young to notice. She was a teacher, you know.”

  “I knew that.”

  “Well, then. What else do you know?”

  I thought back to the day Father and I walked around the Compound. “She was George’s teacher. Father told me that. And some things I didn’t understand. Things about laws changing.”

  The sun was higher now. I could see dust motes floating and twirling in the light streaming through the window slits. I should be on my energy board by now.

  “What else?”

  “Laws about animals. Laws about who owned the farms. Laws about energy.”

  I felt a dull headache, a heavy pressure in my forehead that increased as I tried to remember what Father had told me. I went to my energy board. I had to get my board, get my meter all the way to finish.

  “What are you doing?” David put his hand on its metal sidebar.

  “I have to walk my meter.”

  “Why? Aren’t you working tonight at the Children’s Village? Why do you have to walk your board today?”

  “The Authority Figures said I had to. Today is my last day on the board. At least I think it is.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “No. Yesterday was your last day on the board. I’ll walk it for you today.”

  “Why would you do that? You have duty tonight, too, don’t you?”

  He tugged on my arm and held my hand as I stepped off the board.

  “Why? Because you’re my wife, that’s why.”

  There was that word again. Wife. That lovely before-time word.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I sat cross-legged on the sleeping mat and watched as David walked the board. How much faster he was than me. And so much faster than Mother had ever been. He made the black mat rotate so quickly that it seemed to blur. I admired how tall and strong he was, admired the dark hair that dipped across his forehead. Dark eyebrows curved just so above his eyes. Lips full, soft; chin firm, square.

  And valuable to me. I thought of the gifts of flowers, the eggs, and felt a melting sensation in my chest as though the sun were shining inside me, somewhere under my skin.

  I wanted to learn everything about him and everything he could teach me.

  “Was my mother ever your teacher like she was George’s?” I asked him.

  “No, she taught high school history. I was in elementary school before the relocation.”

  “Yes, history. George told me that.” The memory of George had blurred around the edges. Not much was left of him except Elsa. Elsa and some special moments. How he called me teapot. Little teapot. Never wife. And then I remembered Father telling Mother that George’s wife had been taken away and the Authority was pairing him with me. That word, wife, had slipped past without my even thinking about it. So much had slipped past me without my notice. Now I notice everything; now I hear words and learn what they mean.

  “But she was my Sunday school teacher,” he said, as if I knew what that meant. “She brought us cookies every week. And then things changed. She changed.”

  “Sunday school?”

  “Another before-time word.” He smiled at me. I only nodded. He frowned and slowed down his pace on the board. His knuckles were white from gripping the sidebars. “Time for a break,” he said, and went into the washing-up area. He must have splashed sanitizing solution on his face because, when he came out, his dark hair was damp against his forehead. He sat down facing me on the sleeping mat.

  “Sunday school. Hmm. Well, then, let me try to explain. Remember, I was just a kid. I don’t have all the answers.”

  “Just try. Just tell me what you remember.” I pushed his hair back from his forehead. He took my hand and pressed my fingers to his lips for a brief, warm second.

  “There used to be churches.”

  “I know. Father told me.”

  “Well, Sunday school was where kids went to learn about God. But the new Central Authority didn’t approve of churches or of Sunday school.”
He was quiet for a moment. Outside, beyond the Compound fence, I heard birds twittering. I went to the window slit and watched them flying freely from one tree to another. The smell from Re-Cy was faint today. David asked, “Did you know your father sang in the church choir?”

  I stared at him. “Father? I never once heard him sing.”

  “That’s too bad. He had a big, deep voice that could fill a room. He played the guitar, too. Sometimes he and your mother would have picnics at the farm, and all the neighbors would come. The grownups sat around eating and singing. Us kids ran around playing and stuff.”

  “I don’t remember any of that.”

  “Of course you don’t,” he said, smiling at me. “You were only a baby. I was about ten when you were born. And I thought you were a nuisance, the way everybody fussed over you. Like you were something special.” He leaned toward me and kissed my forehead. “Turns out they were right.”

  He went back to the board. I walked over and looked at the meter. It was far past halfway and the sun wasn’t even overhead yet.

  “Do you want me to walk for a while?” I asked. “Will they know it’s not me walking?”

  He shook his head. “No. Only the meter matters. You need to rest today. You’ll be up all night at the Children’s Village.”

  “What’s it like, being up all night?”

  “You get used to it. You learn to sleep through the daylight and work in the dark. An upside-down kind of world.”

  Outside, I heard the wooden clatter of the bus-box near our gate. The Gatekeeper was walking our new neighbor, the pregnant one, toward it. She was clutching her belly and I heard a low moan. Her partner was probably working. She would be as alone as I was when Elsa was born.

  David came and stood beside me in our doorway. He put his arm behind my back, resting his hand on my hip.

  “Maybe you’ll have a newborn to take care of tonight.”

  John was on the Transport Team. He didn’t look over as they pulled away, but I saw him give us a little wave by pretending to swat a fly in front of his face.

  “He works so hard,” David said.

  “So did Father,” I answered.

  “So do all of us,” David said. “And I’d better get back to the board.”

  “Let me walk for a while. You’re going to be up all night, too. You should rest.”

  He shook his head. “I’m used to being up all night; you’re not. Let me do this for you.”

  I sat back down on the mat and watched as he walked, the board turning, the energy hissing through the hose. “Where were you the night before last?” I asked him.

  “What?”

  “Night before last. I was worried. Some other night-shift Gatekeeper was mumbling outside. Saying ‘I wonder where David is.’ That scared me.”

  “Sorry. I had no way to get a message to you. The Authority wanted me to, you know, rest. They wanted me to rest before we were paired.”

  I squirmed a little. I didn’t want to think about the Authority planning our pairing, imagining us pairing.

  “So they assigned Randall. He usually works the Children’s Village.”

  “Why did he say, ‘I wonder where David is’? It really did scare me.”

  “That’s Randall. He’s odd. I don’t like him. Steer clear of him at the Village. But,” he added, with a crooked little grin, “he’s probably just jealous. And I can understand why.” He smiled at me and got off the board. “All done. Now we can rest.”

  We curled together like puppies on his sleeping mat. It seemed strange lying down to sleep while there was still daylight. But we didn’t go to sleep right away. We slowly rocked together in rhythm until our bodies melted into one.

  Later, just as I was falling asleep, I heard John’s voice at the window slit.

  “Emmeline,” John whispered, “see Joan tomorrow morning before you leave. Let her know how your first shift goes.” With that, he was gone.

  Before I drifted off, I asked David what his father might have meant about any problems I might have on my shift. And I wanted to ask him why my mother had changed so much.

  But he was already asleep.

  * * *

  David kissed my shoulder to wake me up when the sun was still above the treetops.

  “Look what I found in our nourishment box.” He was holding my new uniform, a pink top and matching pants. The seam stitches were of typically poor quality. “The Gatekeeper left it with our cubes.”

  I clutched the uniform to my shoulders, measuring it against my body. The material was smooth and cool and had no odor of a previous worker. I went into the washing-up area to sanitize myself before I put it on. No more green Re-Cy uniforms for me. No more board walking. I felt like I was sanitizing my world, not just my body.

  “Well, just look at you,” David said, with his eyebrows raised and a happy look on his face. “That’s a good color for you.” He had already put on his Gatekeeper uniform and it looked good with his dark hair and eyes. He handed me my cube.

  “Eat something. It’s almost time for you to leave. You have to be there by dusk for the change of shift.”

  “I’ve never gone there on my own. I went in the bus-box for my interview. Maybe I’ll get lost or be late.” My stomach churned. What if I threw up when I got there? I clenched my hands so that I didn’t chew on my nails. Even so, I caught myself a moment later twirling a lock of hair around and around my finger until it tugged my scalp.

  David took my hand, gently freed it from my hair, and cradled it to his chest. “You can’t get lost.”

  “But I’ve only ever been in the Transport and Re-Cy Compounds. And I’ve always been with someone else.”

  He squeezed my shoulder. “You can’t get lost. Let me show you.” He wet his finger and drew a damp circle on the eating counter. “All the Compounds are arranged to make a big circle. See?”

  I nodded.

  “Each Compound backs up against the fence. Just like we do.” He motioned to the back window slit and the trees beyond.

  He wet his finger again. Inside the big circle, he drew a smaller circle. “That’s the circular road. It goes past each Compound. No matter which way you go on the circular road, you eventually end up going past every Compound. See?”

  I nodded again.

  He made some marks between the big circle and the road circle. “Say this is our Compound, Re-Cy.” He pointed to one of the marks. “And this is the Children’s Village.” He pointed to the opposite side of the circles. Then he made wet straight lines from each Compound to the center of the circles. “All these lines are the paths to the middle. You know, where they hold the Social Update Meetings. But you can’t go straight through the center to get to another Compound. You have to go on the circular road. The only time Citizens can be in the middle is when the Authority holds Social Update Meetings.”

  He wet his finger again and drew some squares behind the Children’s Village and in some of the Compounds. “These are the work centers. Re-Cy, Nourishment, Clothing, Sanitation, Gatekeepers’ barracks, the Authority’s supply storage, all kinds of places outside the living spaces but still inside the compounds. They’re all surrounded by fences.”

  He made it look so simple. I felt a little better about finding my way. We ate our cubes quickly. I felt like I had to hurry. I wanted to hold Elsa.

  “So I won’t get lost?”

  “No, you’ll be fine. You can go left or right out of our Compound, it doesn’t matter. The Children’s Village is about halfway around, either way you go. Oh, but one other thing: the Gatekeeper at each Compound you pass will make a notation of you.”

  “Why?” I finished my cube and wiped the crumbs from the corners of my mouth.

  “Because. It’s just the rules. The Authority wants to track all Citizens at all times and have records of their activities. So, if you are passing a Compound and the Gatekeeper holds up his hand, that means he wants you to stop. So, just stop.” He rubbed his hand on the counter, blurring the wet lines and c
ircles he had drawn. “He may ask you to identify yourself and your destination.”

  “What should I say?”

  “Just answer the questions. Don’t say any more than you have to. Some of the Gatekeepers will just wave you on without stopping you. Trust me, they all know who you are and where you are going. Remember, all the Gatekeepers live in the barracks behind the Children’s Village. Just like I did until we were paired. And Gatekeepers who live together talk.”

  “And the ones who don’t wave me on will try to stop me? Oh, David, I hate this.”

  He touched my cheek with his finger and gave me a crooked smile. “Some like the power. The power of the clipboard. The power of being able to stop people. Some think they are part of the Authority.”

  “Are they? Are they part of the Authority? Would they have any reason to report me?”

  He pinched my cheek. “One question at a time!”

  “Sorry.” I smiled, too. There was so much I wanted to know.

  “Okay,” he said, “the only true power is held by the Authority Figures. And the ultimate power is in the Central Authority. The clipboards are just an illusion of power. I guess you could call them a symbol, just like the nightsticks, the flags, the fences.” He helped me tie my headscarf, adjusting it so my hair was hidden, then he kissed the side of my neck above the curve of my shoulder.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He put his hands on my shoulders; his face was just inches from mine. How clear and smooth his skin was, how dark his eyelashes and eyebrows. He put his mouth near my ear and whispered, “There’s just one more thing I need to tell you.” His voice was low. “It’s been a wonderful first day with you.”

  “The first of many,” I whispered back.

  The Gatekeeper rang the bell. The half-hour-till-dusk warning bell. David helped me disconnect my energy bicycle from the download bar. The bicycle was wobbly at first, but soon I was on my way, passing through the gate, under the flag, past the Gatekeeper, who made a notation on his clipboard.

  * * *

  I wish I could say that everything went well once David and I were paired. I wish I could say that spring slid into summer on a soft breeze, and our world was just the two of us and Elsa when I was able to cuddle her. I wish I could say that and make it the truth.