Anomaly (9 page)
I have read about ancient rituals like that. The Scientists tell us those types of gatherings were for people who were incapable of sustained rational thought. They needed superstition in order to function in their society. The need for such ideas has been eliminated with the evolutionary advances made by the Scientists and their predecessors. It is odd seeing someone from this era, someone for whom this superstition is so real. It is fascinating, though.
“So you had a wedding in a church?”
“Yes, we did. I stood at the front of the church and my Amy entered from the back. She was wearing the most beautiful white dress.” John can’t speak for a moment. I am uncomfortable with so much emotion, but I am also intrigued by it.
“When she walked toward me, a string quartet played ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.’ Amy’s mother played violin, like you, so Amy grew up with classical music. Bach was her mother’s favorite composer.”
“There were four instruments playing this song?” How I would love to play alongside other musicians. I can imagine the richness of the sound, the harmonies and countermelodies that would afford.
“Yes. I can’t hear that music without seeing Amy in her dress walking toward me, that beautiful smile aimed right at me, promising a lifetime of love.”
A lifetime of love. Superstitious, maybe. Primitive, certainly. But since I am malformed anyway, I suppose I am allowed to long for this. Perhaps I would have thrived in John’s time, before the war, when emotions were seemingly encouraged.
Would I have been like Amy and John? The thought fills me with feelings I can’t define. “But what does it mean?”
“The music?”
“Yes.” I ask him the questions I have had since I first played this song, since I was taken away for the emotion it stirred within me. “I can hear answers in this music. But I don’t know the questions. What is it saying?”
John closes his eyes and sighs. “Thank you, Lord.” When he opens them, his face seems younger, replaced with a glow I cannot describe. “My mother-in-law, Amy’s mother, used to say that the Designer speaks through music. He reveals himself to his people through the notes on the page. She would say that when certain music is played, it is like hearing from the Designer himself. I thought she was crazy.” John laughs. “My
favorite kind of music was rock-and-roll. I didn’t care much for classical music. It had no words to sing along to. But now I see how right Judy was.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Have you ever wondered if there is more than what the Scientists are telling you?”
This is dangerous talk. Even among the condemned.
“It’s all right.” John senses my fear. “Let’s pretend you have had those thoughts. I believe they are not symptoms of a disease. They are placed in you by a Designer far more intelligent and far more caring than the Scientists.”
“But the Scientists do care for us.” I repeat what I have always been taught. “They give us everything we need and ensure this world is a better place than the one into which they were born.”
“I know.” John nods. “My James has always had a good heart. And I do believe most of the Scientists have the noblest of intentions.”
John is speaking like he knows better than the Scientists. But he cannot. No one knows better than them.
“But in trying to eradicate the Designer from this State, they have committed a grievous wrong. One the Designer will not allow to continue.”
My eyes widen. What is he saying?
“I am saying too much, too soon.” John folds his hands in his lap. “It’s just . . . I can tell you are—no. I need to wait. Let me return to the music. The Designer is speaking to you through that music. It is him that you hear. And he promises that those who seek him will find him.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is tight. I am either as crazy
as John, as unevolved as he is, or everything I have ever been taught about life is a lie. Seeing John, hearing him, I have trouble believing he is crazy. But it is just as hard to believe the Scientists are flawed.
John stands. “I have given you much to consider.”
I blink. I am not sure I can even speak. I have never felt so conflicted in my life.
John stands and walks me to his door. “When you have questions, I will be waiting. In the meantime, I will pray the Designer speaks to you in ways you cannot deny.”
A
week has passed. Berk must be concerned about the Scientists watching us because he has been very clinical with me. Despite his earlier reassurances, I am beginning to feel like a lab rat. More like a science experiment and less like a friend. I am run through a different series of tests every day. Sometimes I am back in the cube. Other times I am put to sleep with electrodes recording my brain activity. Berk and his Assistants record everything, asking me about my reactions, checking my heart rate and blood pressure. I suppose they are trying to determine where, exactly, the malfunction in my design stems from so my particular error won’t be repeated.
I have not visited John again. I haven’t even played my violin. And I definitely don’t ask the questions that are burning in my consciousness.
“Thalli?” Berk is in my room. Dr. Berk. The Scientist. As much as I try to resist, my heart always beats faster when he is around. “We are taking a short trip.”
“But it is evening.”
“I know.” Berk releases a slight smile. Just enough for me to see. “You have not seen the moon in several weeks. This is your pod’s night. You, of course, cannot join them. But studies continue to affirm that glimpses of the sky are beneficial to the mind and body.”
I want to jump up and hold Berk. But I control myself, willing my stomach to calm, suppressing a squeal of delight. A trip to the moon with Berk. What a wonderful thought.
“And bring your violin.” Berk motions toward the couch, where my instrument has sat since my last visit with John. “It has been noted that you haven’t played in a week.”
I place my violin in its case and follow Berk outside. He is silent, so I am too. I’m sure this is just another one of my many flaws, but sometimes I feel like we can communicate even without words, that I know what Berk is thinking. Right now, I am sure he is saying we need to behave as if this were just a Scientist/patient outing, with no hint of friendship so no one will be required to come along with us.
We walk down the hall and turn down a corridor. More empty rooms. Then we come to a large metal door. Berk places his finger on a pad on the wall and the door slides open. We are in what looks like a stairwell, but it has no stairs. A blue bag is against the wall, and Berk hefts it onto his shoulders. He keeps
walking and reaches another door, with another pad. This door slides open and we are out in the open.
This is different from the area outside my pod. We have a small garden with grass and flowers, as well as a greenhouse with vegetables and fruits that is used by the Culinary Specialist to make our meals. But this just has patches of grass, remnants of flowers. No greenhouse. No pod nearby. It looks like I feel—missing important pieces. I love it.
“This is the end of the State,” Berk tells me as we walk farther away from the door, where the grass disappears and is replaced first by dirt and then with concrete. Looming above the concrete are massive structures.
“The water tanks.” I recall seeing pictures of the water tanks on my learning pad, but nothing could prepare me for the reality. Enormous couldn’t even begin to describe the size of these tanks. They are so wide that I can’t see around them, so tall that I can’t see where they end. I look at Berk. “Is this part of a test?”
Berk takes the bag off his back and opens it. He pulls out a bedcovering and spreads it out on the ground. He sets containers of food on top of the covering and sits. “This is a picnic.”
“What?”
“It is something the ancients used to do.” He motions for me to sit.
I am sure this is something the Scientists would not approve of. “Are we allowed—?”
“We are looking at the moon because you need the boost from that.” Berk points to a panel right above one of the tanks. “And we are coming here because you need to be isolated from the other pods. We wouldn’t want anyone to see you, you know.”
“Of course.” I smile. Berk is having fun with me. It is a
wonderful feeling. It reminds me of when we were younger, carefree.
“Sadly, though”—Berk holds out a slice of bread with cheese and a slice of tomato on it—“no cameras were installed out here. It was pointless. There are no pods out here, no citizens.”
“But we are permitted to be here?”
“Dr. Spires was out here almost every day so he could check on the tanks.” I take the bread from Berk. His fingers brush mine. “Since he is gone, that duty is shared by several of us younger Scientists. Today is my turn. And since you were also in need of some time outside, I requested that I complete both tasks at the same time.”
“How very convenient.”
“Productive.” Berk lowers his voice. “And completely private.”
“No cameras?” My heart lightens. I am alone with Berk. Outside of the Scientists’ quarters. Beneath a distant glimpse of a full moon. Music plays in my mind, and I don’t stop it.
We eat in silence. Once the initial excitement of being alone with Berk wears off, I find myself uncomfortable. I don’t know how to behave alone with him. When we can speak with complete freedom, what do we say? Can I tell him about John, or will his training and design as a Scientist rebel against the ideas John has planted in my mind? Will he think that my even considering John’s ideas confirms my hopeless status in the State?
Berk looks at me. The gold specks in his eyes seem to be dancing. He does not appear uncomfortable at all.
“Will you play?” Berk points to my violin case. “For me?”
He says it quietly, the words soaking deep into my being. Will I play for him?
I open the case and pull out the violin. I look at Berk and I know he is not thinking like a Scientist. He isn’t just looking at me, he is looking into me. Into my mind and my heart, into the secret places where I dream and question and hope. We are more alike than I ever imagined. I tear my eyes from his. I cannot look at him and play, so I close my eyes, position my bow, and begin.
I forget about the testing, I forget my fears. I forget that my life could soon be over. I forget everything but this moment. And I play. I play everything I feel, everything I hope. I play love and a wedding and a world where those things aren’t primitive. A place where a Scientist and a Musician can be together, forever, the way John described. My bow glides over the strings of my violin, bringing to the surface everything I have hidden.
When I am finished, I am gulping air. Frightened, excited, completely transparent. I have laid bare everything that is in my heart.
Berk stands. He takes the violin from my hands and places it carefully back in the case. He faces me, his green eyes just inches from mine. He touches my face, tracing my jaw with his finger. Then he pulls me closer and wraps his strong arms around me. His face is buried in my hair, his breath is a whisper in my ear. I fall into him, my head on his chest, my ear listening to his heartbeat. We don’t move, we don’t speak. But I know what he is saying. And I say it back.
Y
our dinner.” An Assistant comes in with a tray and sets it on my dresser. She leaves just as she came—silently, methodically.
She doesn’t see that I am not the same person I was yesterday. I am sure my skin has changed hues. I feel every nerve tingle. I just think of Berk and my heart rate increases, my stomach feels as if it were floating inside me.
I don’t need food. I don’t want food. I want to go back to the sleeping platform and close my eyes and think of Berk. I want to remember every moment of our picnic, every word that he said. I want to recall the feel of his arms around me, his warm
breath in my ear. I think if I tried, I could fly around the room. I want to shout. I want to play. A violin is too soft for how I feel. I need a trumpet to declare these feelings, to fully express what is in my heart.
I do not want food, but the Scientists will be suspicious if I don’t eat. I am sure the Assistant records how much I eat and drink and reports that information back to her superiors. I am, after all, simply an experiment.
I walk to the dresser and take a sip of the orange juice. It tastes different from my usual orange juice. Or perhaps my nerves aren’t the only things affected by these feelings I have for Berk. Perhaps even my taste buds are altered. Everything in me is different, more alert.
Why would the Scientists want to keep feelings like this from us? This is wonderful.
I am hungrier than I thought. The fruit is not enough. I eat a second slice of the toast. I think of last night. Again. Will I ever stop thinking of it? I hope not.
I get dressed, still thinking of Berk. I wish we could run away—to that patch of concrete and grass—and be there together. Forever. No Scientists, no tests, no annihilation chamber. Just Berk and me.
But, of course, that cannot happen.
The door opens and Berk walks in. I want to rush to him, but I remain where I am. I greet him like a patient would greet her doctor. At least, I hope that is what it sounds like.
Berk nods and holds the door open as I walk out. He is alone. No Assistants with him. Instead of turning toward the laboratory, he turns right. Toward our stairwell. He doesn’t speak, but he does walk faster. I have to jog to keep up with his long legs.
