Текст книги "The Woodlands"

Автор книги: Lauren Nicolle Taylor

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

The decision I had to make was simple. Leave now or wait a few months and leave then. So why hadn’t I got there yet? Why was it so hard?

I sat in the abandoned factory, my refuge. It used to be a thriving shoe factory, employing over a hundred workers, until they shut it down. Funny now, when I think about it, that this was where everything went wrong for me. This was Paulo’s factory. He became so successful, so quickly, that they took it away. The Superiors ordered him to triple his workload so the shoes could be issued to Police and Guardians. He refused. He had many loyal employees and what the Superiors were asking would mean they would have to work twenty-hour shifts to get it done in time. So maybe he was a good man, once. Of course, his arrogance at thinking he had any control over what happened in his own business was his downfall. They quickly shut it down, dispersed the workers to another town that had a similar factory, and sent him to work at a distillery that made exclusive alcohol for the Superiors.

When I was old enough to make it to Ring Five, I wanted to go there. I wanted to stand in the place that broke him. Revel in his failure. Instead, what I found was a beautiful old building, a castle. It was falling down around the edges but the structure was stunning. The windows were imposing, carved wooden arches. The big double doors were heavy wood with big, ornate, iron hinges. I climbed through a broken window and found riches for a fourteen year old—pieces of colored leather, wooden feet, old sewing machines, and colored buttons. I made myself a small space to sit or sleep, pulling together some large pieces of leather and some fleece lining. It was comfortable and warm. I felt more at peace there than anywhere else. It wasn’t a home but it was the closest thing I had ever experienced.

I said he could come in this time but I was already regretting my decision. My once quiet space was filled with his booming voice. Joseph hadn’t come into the factory before. He had asked but I told him he couldn’t. He didn’t worry about it too much, other than to tease me about what I was doing in there.

“I know, you’ve made a life-sized Joseph doll and you’re trying to figure out how to tell me that you’re choosing him over me!”

“You are ridiculous,” I yelled at him as I closed the door behind me. And he was. He was too happy. He was too trusting. He pried and made statements like he knew me really well. I did like him. But I couldn’t let go of the fact that he was leaving, and I was leaving. It made no sense to be making new friends, or to have any friends at all.

“So two days ‘til the big day.” He sounded nervous, his voice higher and crackly. It was unlike him.

“Don’t worry; I’m sure you will get into Intelligence.”

“Yeah maybe, probably, oh I don’t know. I’m not too worried about that.” He was leaning on the door, his head so close I could feel his warm breath on my face.

He hovered over me, the heat coming off his body invited me to come closer, so I took a step back. “Do you want to come in?” I said, sweeping my arm open like a servant.

“You sure?” he asked. I shot him an eye roll. “Ok, ok, in I go!” he said, stepping through the door and into my private world. I bowed and shut the door behind him.

“So this is it? It’s just dust and old bits of leather.” He winked at me, a flutter in my chest made me feel like I was choking. I gave him a tour, showing him the old sewing machines, the rusty old conveyor belts. He seemed bored but he suffered on until we got to the place where I spent most of my time. We sat down on the seat I had made all those years ago.

“So what are you going to do?” His voice was a loud echo, out of place amongst the dust and stillness.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. All this soul searching and I had come no closer to a solution. Distracted by how close he was sitting, I was startled when he put his arm around me. It reminded me of the first time we met; I sighed and tried not to cry. Despite his annoying behavior, his loud voice, and disarming attitude, I was going to miss him. He was my first and only friend. I put my head on his shoulder.

“It’s ok; I know you’re going to miss me. You don’t have to say it. I know you can’t. I am going to miss you too. More than I want to,” he admitted, words pouring out of his mouth, each one floating down, nestling in my lap, behind my ears. His arms were so warm around me. Right here I felt safe, if only for a second. Who knew what might happen in the next few days? I let myself be in the moment, just this once. I leaned into the warmth and absorbed it. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I pulled my face back and stared at him blankly. I hadn’t realized up until now, but I was expecting something else. My whole body was agitated, buzzing. I was craving more of his touch.

He smiled at me sweetly, but there was a sad edge to it. I looked at his face, studying the line of his brow, the wonky line of his nose. I put my finger to his lip and pulled it down a little, turning my head sideways, squinting. He shook his head and I let go.

“What? What are you looking at?” he said, confused. His normally cool face looked flushed, bothered.

“What happened to your tooth?”

Joseph had a perfect smile, shiny white teeth, straight and lined up in a row, but on the bottom row, just to the side of the middle, one tooth was cracked and grey.

“Oh, nothing really. It was my dad…”

I felt an odd sense of protectiveness. It flaked off my skin, revealing a red-hot anger at the idea that someone would hurt him.

“What? Did he hit you?” My voice sounded shrill. I told myself to take a breath. I was getting too worked up.

“No,” he laughed, “nothing like that. One day we were playing in the backyard. He was getting me to catch a ball. I wasn’t watching what I was doing and I ran straight into the fence. I broke my nose,” he touched it lightly, “here. And I broke my tooth. The nerve is dead inside it.”

I laughed too. The idea of Joseph being uncoordinated enough to run into a fence was hilarious to me. He was so physically capable and athletic. I laughed until I realized how different we were. I mean, I knew we were different in personality and looks, but we also came from such different places. He had parents who loved him, who actually played with him. What a different life that must have been. I felt an overwhelming sadness for what he was going to lose.

It was stupid, but I took his head in my hands impulsively and kissed him. He didn’t move at first, but then he pulled me closer and kissed me back. He held me so tight I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t care. If I could have got closer to him, I would have. My body flooded with warmth, liquid gold running from the tips of my toes to the ends of my fingers. His chest pressed up against me, my heart punching through mine. But it only lasted for a moment before he pulled away.

“You don’t want this, Rosa,” he said, sensibly shuffling away from me subtly. I let out a short sigh. I was surprised that he was being the voice of reason here. The roles were reversed.

“I don’t understand, I thought...” I don’t know what I thought. I knew he was right. This was only going to create more heartache for the both us. But a big part of me didn’t care at all. It was too late. That kiss was going to derail me. I felt it changing me from the inside out, causing pain and warmth at the same time.

His blonde hair flopped in his face as he bowed his head and exhaled deeply, like he was sorting through something in his head. He lifted both his hands in exasperation, pulling his hair back and looking at me with searching eyes. I bit my lip and held my breath. I knew I wasn’t going to like what he said.

“I think you should stay. Spend some time with your mother. Talk to your stepfather. It’s painful, I know, but it’s good to have a family. It’s good to have people in your life that care about you.”

“You care about me. That can be enough,” I said, sounding like a spoiled child.

“I’ll be gone soon; I don’t want you to be alone.” His anguish was clear but his words made no sense. Whatever he did, whatever I chose to do, we would both be alone. Be apart. That was certain.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He turned and walked away, crashing into things in his haste to escape me. I stood there like an idiot waiting for him to turn around, for him to change his mind. But he never did. He walked out, closing the door behind him.

Kissing Joseph was by far the stupidest thing I had ever done. Worse than gluing the teacher’s butt to her chair. Stupider than putting laxatives in the teacher’s lounge coffee machine. I just wish that I could have stopped myself from taking it too far. But I never could. I resolved to talk to him the next day. He was right. Being friends was best. I could hold the memory of a friend in my heart without it tearing in two.

It was a naive thought that things could so simply go back to the way they were.

The next day I went to the gate, same as always. I waited, but Joseph never showed.

He was gone.

I went back to the factory hoping he would be there, which was ridiculous, but in the back of my mind a little spark kept flashing. He kissed me back, even if it was only for a second, he definitely kissed me back.

I sat there waiting all day, feeling frantic. Disliking myself more and more. I didn’t want to feel this way.

I started to get angry, imagining somehow Joseph had tricked me into feeling like this. It wasn’t like me and I tried to pull it out of me like a choked-on strand of spaghetti. I went to bed thinking—I’ll find him. I’ll yell at him. I’ll push him into the gate and tell him exactly what I think of him.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I waited at the gate the next morning, fuming, but he was a no show again.

I went straight home and slammed the papers on the kitchen table in front my mother, disturbing her pile of mending.

“I want to go now. Today.”

She was rattled, skittish, big brown eyes blinking repeatedly like she didn’t believe what she was hearing. Bobbing her head as if she could shake the news out of her brain like loose wax. I didn’t realize she was so certain I would stay. I didn’t realize it mattered to her one way or the other.

Due to the tight control in Pau Brasil, our wrist tattoos contained almost all the pertinent information needed to send me off. I looked down at the neatly printed barcode. I was canned goods. Scan me and you knew my value. I remember being held down on my twelfth birthday as they put it on—the burning pain of the needle and the foreign buzzing sound. My mother was holding my arms down but I was flailing and screaming. She told me it was a good thing; it meant I would have more freedom. I remember thinking quite the opposite. I was being branded. The frustrated tattooist gruffly gestured with his hairy, bare arm for Paulo to hold me still. He stormed over and held down my legs, telling me not embarrass myself. ‘Be stronger’ he had said. He wasn’t quick enough to stop me from kicking him in the face, a small drip of blood appearing on his lower lip. I remember him smiling, licking it away with his tongue, and squeezing my legs so tight I couldn’t budge. Disgusting. And exactly the kind of thing he would do. When I got home and changed for bed, I had finger-shaped bruises on both my calves.

To leave Pau all that was needed from Mother was a signature and a small bag containing a change of clothes and letter writing materials, but she was panicking. Her fragile state gave me a pang of guilt for making her do this but she was the one who was forcing me to leave eventually anyway. What difference was a few months going to make?

“I can’t find a pen, Rosa. Where are all the pens?” She sounded out of her mind with worry, her voice taking on a high-pitched, hysterical edge.

“Mother, come here and sit down.” I was going to have to be the calm one. Words came back to me, but not in Paulo’s voice, it was my own, level and heavy. ‘Be stronger’.

“It’s ok, I’m sure they will give me one if I ask.”

She followed me into the kitchen, back to place where all this started. She looked so frail, her tiny, dark frame teetering on the edge of the chair.

“I know you’re upset but I think it’s best to go now. If I stayed, I think I would only start to resent you and that baby.” As the words came out, I knew they were true. “I love you. I don’t want that to change. Just promise me you’ll look after yourself.”

I reached across the table to hold her hand. She withdrew, always a thin, cold pane of glass between us. She regarded me for a second, tears in her eyes. Then she stood up.

“There’s probably a pen in Paulo’s office,” she muttered, mostly to herself. That was it. She walked off talking to herself and I went to my room to change.

I stood in the doorway for a while. Taking in the home I was leaving—the standard, grey-green walls that were in every home, my small bed and yellow bedspread. I wasn’t really going to miss this place. To miss it, I would have had to have some enjoyable moments here. There were none I could think of. Not here. Not since Paulo came to live here. I put on my school uniform, grey-green again with a silhouette of the Pau Brasil tree on the front. Its tiny trunk completely out of proportion to its vast foliage, looking like a stick with a puffy cloud jammed on top. I looked in the mirror. A calm girl stared back at me, her brown and blue eyes steeled and determined. I had to make this work. I had to make a better life for myself. Anything would better than this. I combed my long, brown hair back into a ponytail and tied the allowable silver ribbon around it. A memory of strong hands straightening my uniform and tightening my ribbon swaddled my consciousness. Not now.

I looked tired, dark circles under my eyes. I wondered if Joseph would be there, feeling a sharp punch to my chest. I decided I wouldn’t care if he was there or not. Hilarious that I thought I could decide such a thing. We weren’t going to be in the same class so it didn’t matter. But it did. It mattered so much more than I could ever admit to myself, bringing with it a crippling, doubling-over feeling of pain. No, I wouldn’t care. I couldn’t.

When I walked out to the living area, my mother had composed herself. She had put on her best coat and also tied her hair back tightly into a bun, tiny slivers of silver showing through her dark brown mane. My bag sat open by the door, packed with clean clothes, with about five pens poking out of one of the pockets.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to sound normal, unruffled, but my voice was quivering. I wanted to pat her arm but my hand was shaking so I left it where it was, by my side, as hers were. We stood looking at each other. Mother went to say something but the sound of the door being unlatched stopped her.

“I forgot my jacket.” An oily voice slipped through the crack in the door.

Paulo arrived and surveyed the room. His eyes landed on the bag and he quickly put it together. “Well,” he said, exultant. “We’d better get you to Ring One.” He swiftly picked up my bag, zipped it up, and threw it over his shoulder. I put my shoes on and had to run to catch up with him as he energetically strode down the front path. He almost looked like he was skipping. I suppressed a giggle. My mother locked the door and walked briskly behind us, hugging the papers to her chest. I looked behind me at the rows of grey houses—each one identical. I wouldn’t miss this bleak, nothing of a town. Our neighbor eyed us curiously as my mother and I struggled to keep up with Paulo’s cracking pace, watering the pavement instead of his lawn.

We passed through the gates to Ring Two in silence. As we approached the gate for Ring One, Paulo spoke.

“Rosa, you need to line up at the Class administration building. Esther, you can get her bags checked, and I will talk to the transports and see if they will have any room.” Paulo’s hatred was actually proving useful to me that day as he quickly and efficiently guided us through the steps we needed to take to get me on that transport and out of his life forever.

I don’t think Paulo really needed to worry. There were two helicopters and only about ten scuttly teenagers getting ready to go. They were dressed in their school uniforms. All looked very nervous—fiddling with their jumpers, chewing on their fingernails. One girl bawled hysterically as her parents held and tried to console her. Everyone was staring at them. It was not normal to show emotion like this in public. Others were shaking hands with their fathers and giving their mothers light pecks on the cheeks. I scanned the area. There were two tables set up, one where they were checking identification and taking paperwork, and the other with twelve small bags with oversized, yellow stickers on them piled underneath. The stickers carried ID numbers. I walked to the first table and handed in my paperwork. They scanned my wrist.

“You’re sixteen,” the man said, raising his eyebrow dubiously as he looked me up and down.

“My mother, Esther Amos, is pregnant, so I am entitled to leave with this intake,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. He was young, mid-twenties maybe, muscular and stiff, with a pudgy face that looked odd atop his fit body.

Unsettled by my attitude, he muttered, irritated, “You’re not on the list. Move aside,” using his arm to ‘guide’ me out of the way.

Changing tack, I looked down at my feet, trying to appear humble, tugging on my ponytail, saying quietly, “I’m being surrendered.” It didn’t work.

Paulo expertly took control of the situation. He introduced himself and shook the man’s hand. Paulo called my mother over and asked the man to scan her. The Guardian called up her information on his portable reader. It would all be there—her pregnancy, her due date, everything. Our lives were a transcript, a series of dot points and dates. I felt violated that someone could reach into our lives and take little pieces, but this was life in Pau Brasil. Nothing really belonged to us, not even our pain.

After staring at the reader for some time, the man stood, straightening his uniform. “Very well, here’s your ID sticker,” he said, not even looking up as he scrawled my number across the yellow sticker in big, black numbers. “Put it on your bag and check it with the others.” He closed down his reader and left the station. I must have been the last one.

As I put my bag down and made my way to the middle where everyone was standing, Paulo stopped. “Wait!” he said to the Guardian we had just spoken to. I was confused—was he having second thoughts? I had a sudden fear that he may have changed his mind. That he was going to make me stay. A tiny part of me flickered like the blue flame on a gas burner, not warmth, just the inkling of the idea of heat. Did he actually care about me?

Paulo spoke to the man for a few seconds. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but the Guardian nodded and handed him an envelope. The flame was snuffed out in an instant, leaving a blackened, cold ring. The money. He was securing his payment for my early surrender. I returned my eyes to the center circle.

There were only a few of us milling around. The circle’s large, paved sandstone ground and elaborate design was so out of place amongst the rest of Pau, which was concrete, plastic, and air conditioning. The center podium was darker than the rest of the stonework. Too much blood they could never quite get rid of, no matter how hard they scrubbed. I think, now, they put plastic sheeting down to protect it. Dark and light stones alternated from the center circle, like the circle was the sun and dotted stone lines radiated out from it like rays of light.

Everyone else had taken his or her place near the helicopters. I couldn’t see Joseph but I knew he must be there. No matter how hard I tried he was always there, in the back of my mind, threatening to unhinge me. I needed strength at this point, not the heart-skipping vulnerability that kept creeping into my head.

The helicopters were stationed at the rim of Ring One, just inside the low, sandy-colored wall that surrounded the center podium. They were waiting, crouching like black angels ready to lift us from this place, this hell, into an unknown world. A Guardian in black uniform with gold trim walked to the front of the choppers and signaled for us to come forward. Another one threw the bags in the cargo hold as he read from his list. Three girls and eight boys. Joseph’s name was not on the list. I felt a flood of relief that was washed away by panic. I was barely holding myself together as it was, seeing him was liable to make me fall to pieces. But he was supposed to be here.

Paulo’s hand was on my back, pushing me towards the helicopter like I was an uncooperative apple on the conveyor belt. I was trying so hard to muster up some courage. Today I was leaving the only home I had ever known. I would never see my mother again. I felt the anxiety rising, the crushing pain of the separation I was about to suffer. Suddenly the grey-washed town didn’t look so horrible. It was home after all, I guess. I told myself it was fear that was making me feel this way. It didn’t help.

My mother, who had been quietly following us around like a dazed puppy, pulled me to her in a tight embrace. She whispered, “Sorry,” in my ear before stepping back, fists clenched, showing the appropriate restraint. Some other mothers were crying and holding their children as the Guardian wrenched them away and led them onto the aircraft.

My mother’s face was my own, the way she moved mirrored my own movements and mannerisms, but that’s where the similarities ended. Although raised by this woman, I was nothing like her. For the first time, I saw things from her perspective. Getting into trouble all the time, never showing Paulo anything other than contempt. I must have been such a frustration to her.

They called my name. Paulo put his hands firmly on my shoulders, holding me in my place. His intense stare was impossible to look away from. “Don’t shame your family,” he spat at me. And with that, he made it easy to leave. I could feel the blades starting to move, my hair whipping around my face. I stripped away the fear and anxiety, leaving a girl that was fierce, empowered by his hatred.

“Don’t worry, Paulo, I’ll stir it up, make a little noise!” I shouted through the wind. The Guardian that let me sign up was watching me, probably regretting his decision. My mother was standing rigidly, her handmade skirt billowing as the air churned around her, her hand outstretched, pleading. I could see it in her eyes—please Rosa, don’t cause more trouble. She couldn’t stop me, no one ever could. Paulo was already walking away, his back to me. Behind my mother stood a man, one blue eye, one brown, smiling. He lifted his hand to wave. I raised my hand, confused. The chopper lurched awkwardly and I was knocked back into the cargo hold.

“Sit down!” the Guardian snapped at me. I quickly found a spot and strapped myself in. The others were staring at me, eyes wide. The Guardian tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “Wait, there’s one more.”

He bounded in, bag in hand, and casually threw it on the pile and scanned the seats. There was plenty of room on the other side but he squeezed his bulky form between me and the boy I was sitting next to.

Suddenly we were in the air. When the Guardian wasn’t looking, Joseph slipped his hand over mine. Warmth calmed the agitation I felt, like pouring gold over lead, glowing. We stayed that way the entire ride. Eyes forward. Impossibly trying to anticipate what may lie ahead.

Soon we would be at the Classes. A new life awaited us. We must sit the Test and then we would be allocated an occupation to train for. It was excitement dredged in terror. If I could get into something decent, I could change my fate, to a degree anyway, but if I messed up, the principal would be right about me. The Superiors would still decide which town I would be sent to, but what I would do, once I was there, was yet to be determined.

The air was freezing cold up here but I found it exhilarating, like plunging into ice water. The door was open and we could look down to the world below. I could tell Joseph was taking it in too. The vastness of the Woodlands was surprising. From up here, the Rings looked like beautiful ancient structures, somewhat alien given the surroundings, as though they were dropped there from outer space. I could see all eight of them. Pau Brasil, Banyan, Casuarina, Bagassa, Iroko, Palma, Birchton and Radiata. Each named after common trees from the four countries or continents from which we all originated: India, Brasil, Russia, and Africa. They were evenly spaced out with the Superiors’ dwellings in their own town in the center.

I was not prepared for two things. We were always taught every citizen of the Woodlands was treated the equally, that all the towns were the same, including the Superior dwellings. What we could see from the air was that the Superiors’ town had only one ring. It had hills and fields, pockets of water, and randomly scattered around this huge, open space were the compounds of the Superiors.

The other thing that came as a surprise was the Wilderness itself. I couldn’t believe the sheer density of it. The forest was pressed up against the sides of every town, threatening to break down the walls and swallow it in green. It was strange, considering there was very little plant life within the walls—only one type of tree and some grass.

There were no roads, no cleared space between one town and the next. No wonder they airlifted us out. I was peering through the tiny spaces in the foliage, my eyes finding a river, white rocks glistening in the sun, when I saw a Guardian slap the helmet of the pilot, quite hard. I don’t think we were supposed to see all that. The helicopter veered away from the concrete rings sharply. The Classes were located away from the towns. I took Joseph’s hand in mine, curling my fingers between his, and squeezed. He squeezed back, his blonde hair sweeping back and forth in front of his eyes as he stared out across the sky. I know he didn’t want to show it, but I’m sure he was as nervous as I was.