After (4 page)

* * * *

Toward the end of the morning shift, as he hacks into stubborn earth with his spade, John stops and straightens as Smith's aid comes toward him.

"Smith wants to speak with you." Quenlin speaks curtly to the man panting, sweating, towering over him.

"Sure." John sounds guarded. "I'll see him before dinner."

"He wants you now."

John stares a moment at the clerk before finally answering. "All right."

They go together. Smith is sitting at his desk, and coolly regards John as he enters.

“Sit down, John.” To the aid, “Shut my door, Quenlin.” Then, in a quiet voice,

“What are you playing at, John?”

John sits silently, his voice and face quiet.

“We had an agreement. I thought you understood the risk I was taking for the sake of my magnanimous impulse.”

Smith leans across his desk, and whispers, “I rigged that lottery so you would get her, because I was convinced that leaving her fate to chance, condemning her to the clutches of any one of those brutes, was inhuman. And it eased my conscience to think that I could maintain order here without completely sacrificing the girl, knowing that you would treat her decently. But you know, you know damn well that if the men realize you haven’t consummated your union…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t fuck me around, John.”

“What makes you think I didn’t do it?”

Smith brings forth a small cassette. “From the security system,” he says, then pops the tape into a player on the credenza behind his desk and hits a button. There's a small clicking sound as the internal mechanisms go into motion, then a faint hiss of tape noise.

Then, “The other night, when you...when you had me pinned down. You didn't.

Did you?”

“No.”

John's and Eva's voices squeak and hiss into the room on ancient media.

“I did the least I could. But I had to make the men think it was real...”

Smith taps the button again and the clicking and hissing and unintended confessions end.

“You said the cameras were off. That you're not spying on her every fucking second.”

“Yes, well. I meant it. But after we spoke, it occurred to me I'd better keep the room monitored. Not for prurient reasons, but to ensure neither of you do anything foolish, putting yourselves, or each other, in unnecessary danger.”

“Smith, you are a master of rationalization. Your self delusion—“

“What if she tries to kill herself?”

John is silent.

“Now listen to me, John. I was happy with the arrangement we’d made. I still think it can work. Of everyone here, after me, the men fear and trust you. She’s safer with you than with anyone, and her safety is the safety, the future of the community. But the men have to believe. We can’t jeopardize everything because you’re afraid to pop some girl’s cherry.”

“Don’t trivialize it. I caught that poor girl out in the woods and dragged her in here like some fucking POW. What I’m afraid of is raping her.” John’s chest is heaving. “I’m a fucking coward. I should have just let her go while I had the chance.”

“John, she would have died out there. Who knows how she survived for so long, but you saw how weak she was with exhaustion and hunger.”

“Maybe she’d have been better off.”

“It’s for the survival of the group, John. Maybe even the survival of the species.”

“Smith, all I’m asking for is time. Time to let her know me. Like me a little. Fear me less.”

“No. It’s too big a risk. Now listen carefully. The poor girl has been through hell.

And despite my precautions, and yours, I'm sure the other night was traumatic. So I'll give her a little time. But the night after tomorrow I intend to give the men a show, via the cameras. If you don’t do it, really do it, I’ll make a new arrangement.”

John is glaring. His fury is a frightening sight. Smith is cool and firm.

“When the monitors come on, I want her stripped naked; I want the men to see your hands on her, your mouth on her. I want them to see penetration. You understand?

Give them the real thing, not the R rated version.”

CHAPTER THREE

By now Eva understands that 'her room' is a prison cell. Locked and guarded.

The glass removed from the windows, replaced with heavy wire screening. When it's cold she has to close the shutters. Opening closets and cupboards and drawers, she has failed to turn up anything sharp, or even a glass that could be shattered. Nothing she could use to defend herself. Or hurt herself.

As he has before, when John comes to Eva, he asks permission before he enters. The same guard gives John the same look as he knocks. He hesitates before putting key to lock and slowly opening the door. He steps through and closes the door softly behind him and the deadbolts slide into their locks.

“In the orchard,” is how she greets him, “when you beat those men off of me, I watched you look at me, look at them. I saw that you were considering something. At the time,” her voice goes hard, “I thought you were about to rape me, that them watching stopped you. But that wasn’t it. What were you deciding?”

“Whether I could let you go.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do.”

“It was just a few seconds. A lot of thoughts went through my head. I don’t know what made me decide. I thought you would die out there if I let you go. I thought if the men saw me let you go that I’d be turned out. And I thought…I thought…”

“What?”

“That maybe you were the last chance for a new beginning.” The implications of that statement echo off the walls. “I promise you, Eva, I won't ever do that again.

Choose for you.”

“I think I know. What I want to do.” She draws a breath. “When...”

“Night after tomorrow.”

“If I...if we...I’m scared. I don't want to get pregnant. Is there something we can do? Do you have anything?” John stays silent. Eva looks at him. He still doesn't say anything. “What?” she presses.

“Smith didn't tell you.”

”What?”

John takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a huff. Then he speaks very softly, very gravely. “We have six months. If you’re not pregnant in six months, Smith will hold another lottery.”

Pale, silent, shaking, she hovers there, just looking at him. Finally she speaks.

“Next, I suppose, someone will tell me you’ve all decided to harvest my organs.

That it’s for the good of the community.”

“I’ll go along with you, Eva, if you want to avoid it. I can manage it, I think. But I’d like you to listen to the reasoning.”

“An excerpt from Smith’s manifesto on post-apocalyptic communal living?”

“I know his zealotry is hard to take. But if he weren’t here the men would become a mob. At least this way there’s hope.”

“Hope for what?”

“That we’ll survive. And now that you’re here…”

“What? We can people the earth with a fresh strain of humanity, born here in this militarized Eden?”

“Don’t you want us to survive? As a species?”

“Why?”

“Why?” He sounds as though her question has hurt him. But then he comes back, his voice soft and quiet again. “If we do this thing, two nights from now, and after, it’s up to you. There aren’t any condoms—I’ve looked. But I can be careful not to,” he draws a breath with obvious effort, visibly steels himself, “not to come inside of you.”

A little tremor ripples over her. Her jaw flexes and her mouth goes tense.

“Come back tomorrow sometime. Not when you’ll have to be back to work.”

“All right.”

* * * *

She is standing by the escape-proof, suicide-proof window, almost in the same spot where he'd found her the previous afternoon. Now the evening sun paints her nightgown a dusky orange. She stiffens before his eyes, shaking visibly, her already red eyes glistening with fresh tears. Her symptoms seem to pass to him, his body begins to tremble, his eyes grow pink and shimmery.

Slowly, very slowly, he begins to move toward her. She doesn't step back, though maybe her rigid body stiffens even more, maybe her panicked breath quickens. He takes another tentative step or two, until he is near enough to whisper and be heard.

"You didn't have to wear that."

"I thought…" she tries and gives up on a smile, "…if I wore this, you wouldn't have to ask what I'd decided. This way, I don't have to say it." He gives her a sad smile.

She looks away, out the window. “I don't know how to do this,” she says, looking out the window.

“How to do what?” he asks cautiously.

She looks at him. Her body is rigid.

“I can't say it.”

Her eyes are bright and wet and her chin is quivery.

“We have time,” he says in his low, soft voice. “For this evening, for tonight, we can just get used to each other. You can get used to me...getting close.” his statements come out as questions.

“I don't want...”

“What, Eva?”

“When they're all watching, I don't want it to be the first time.”

He comes close. She is still, for the most part, but flinches away a little when he moves his hand like he might touch her. “You're afraid of me.”

She doesn't deny it.

“I'll be gentle with you,” he says, then laughs. “God, what a line. I don't mean...that. I mean always. We encountered each other under some crazy circumstances. But, believe it or not, I'm basically a gentle person. I wasn't stomping around with a blackjack two years ago. And I don't enjoy doing it now. I don't expect you to trust me. The things I say. Or to deal fairly with you. Not until you've had time to see.

To know me. For now, I'll just do my best to make this easier on you. And you can tell me, any time, the best way for me to do that.”

“I think...”

He waits patiently until she starts again.

“I can't get out of my head, for even a second, what's going to happen. So please, let's just start it.”

He reaches forward a few inches and touches her hand with just his index finger, and she sucks in her breath audibly.

“Have you had a lot of lovers?” she blurts out in a shaky voice.

“A few. Not so many,” he answers quietly.

“How old are you?” she asks next, putting off what she asked to begin. The tip of John's index finger is slowly exploring the contours of her hand.

“Twenty nine.” She nods her head. “You're sixteen,” he says, his voice a little sad.

“Smith told me.”

”No,” she says after a few seconds. “I told him that, I thought maybe if he thought I was that young, he wouldn't... I'm eighteen.”

John nods, looking relieved. Grateful. “It's kind of you to tell me that.” She doesn't smile or say anything. “Can I ask you something, Eva? Something personal?”

“Okay.”

“Have you had sex before?”

“Please,” she says like he's the dumbest person alive. “I was in fucking tenth grade when the world dried up.”

Her chin dimples and her eyes go bright and wet. Tentatively he touches her shoulder, then draws her to him. Puts his arms around her. She stays stiff at first. Then she softens, presses herself against him. In the circle of his arms, her body heaves with silent sobs.

“I'm sorry. It's bad enough, the whole situation. But I'm sorry this is how your first time has to go.”

“It's not such a big deal,” she says with a forced smile he can't see, and a sour laugh. “Nothing adolescent girls haven't been going through for centuries, right? Being given to complete strangers. Just a little virgin bride syndrome.”

She lets him hold her for another minute or so, then breaks out of the circle of his arms. She wipes at her tears with the back of her hand.

“Really. John,” she tries using his name. “I can't take this. Chatting and hugging, knowing what has to happen. So I'll quit weeping. And you...”

He gives her a small smile of understanding. “All right, Eva.”

Then he moves closer.

"I know it's a small thing, compared with…everything else,” he says. “But…we can do this however you want."

She doesn't laugh. Or yell.

Very slowly he moves close to her, brings his hands lightly to her shoulders. He looks at her a moment, then leans in, kisses her hair, just above her ear. He pulls back, gazes at her before he places one soft kiss at her temple. Then her cheek. Then, just at the corner of her mouth. Then, one small, uncertain kiss on the lips.

"Would you rather I not kiss you?" he whispers at her ear, then draws back to hear or see her reply. She stays still. Quiet. He draws his hands in from her shoulders, to her neck, gently cradles her jaw. He gives her soft warm mouth a soft warm kiss. "I promise, I'm not assuming…but I can't guess what you want. I'll just…do it this way, my way, unless you tell me differently.”

“Okay,” she manages, sounding low on air.

Slow, slow, he moves in again, brings his mouth to hers, barely brushing his lips over hers, then pressing them more warmly, until she brings a hand up and curves it at the back of his arm, holding him near. Little by little he makes his kiss more ardent, touching her only innocently—trailing fingertips through hair, tracing her jaw with his thumb as he draws her bottom lip between his, lets it go, then sucks it gently in again, then finally, tentatively, lets the tip of his tongue gloss the pretty, curving underside of her top lip, then her bottom lip, then teases its way into her mouth.

At first she is still and stiff, and the only sound she makes is the strained in and out of her breathing. But as his lips touch and press and part hers, her breaths get heavier, little by little, with shy, quiet sighs.

John stops. Draws a few inches back. Looks at her. Her eyes have that slightly unfocused look of arousal, and he gives her a small smile. Then she glances down.

When she looks at him again she seems...startled.

“I can't help that,” he says, frank and calm. “But I'm in no rush.”

Holding her gaze he combs her hair back with his fingers, away from her face, off her neck and shoulders, then dips down, nuzzling her cheek, kissing the delicate golden crescent of her ear, then the tawny, velveteen flesh of her neck. First with just soft, warm presses of his lips before rousing her with wet, hot, sucking kisses, teasing her with his teeth and tongue. Now she's panting and wiggling a little in his arms. Making soft little noises. When he brings his mouth back to hers she seems eager. Hungry. Her hands move to the back of his head, fingers sinking into his thick, dark hair, and she presses her body against his, almost writhing.