Donor 23 (10 page)

Down the hall, she saw the pink-haired nurse handing a sealed manila folder to someone behind a counter. Joan walked over to her to ask her for directions, coming up to stand right behind her.

“Just see this gets to Dr. Oxman. It’s important,” the pink-haired nurse instructed.

“Right,” Oxman’s receptionist said, rolling her eyes.

“No kidding. This’s important. It has to do with Our Governor.”

At the mention of the Governor, the receptionist perked up. Joan, standing behind the nurse, heard everything.

“Well, really it’s about his daughter.”

The receptionist looked interested now.

“Yeah,” the nurse continued, “they’re gonna want Oxman to operate on Tegan Gates. A heart and lung tax from some donor.”

Joan’s legs almost gave out from under her.

“Exciting, huh?” the pink-haired nurse continued, as she began to walk away from the counter with her back still toward Joan. “I’m going to request to assist at the operation. Cool, huh?”

Joan stood there, a few feet away from the counter, speechless.

The receptionist looked at her questioningly, “Can I help you? What a pretty flower!”

Moments later, Joan burst out the medical center doors—the same doors she had admired hours earlier. She ran, not knowing where she was going. The tests had taken hours, and it was early dusk. She ended up at the Fitness Center, a place she felt safe. Hurrying to the field, she went into the stands and curled up under the seats. She realized she didn’t have the rose. The last of the sun was setting. She watched it move slowly behind the earth, the glowing orb growing redder and angrier, as if fighting to remain and reluctant to give up. She went into the Center, found a massage room, and lay on a bed. At some point she fell asleep, only to be awakened again by her nightmare.

When morning came, Joan got up. With the sunrise also came a realization for Joan. She knew what she had to do. Rather, she knew nothing could be done, and she had to
accept it. First, she scripted to their phone at home, telling her father she was OK and had spent the night at the Center. She made her way into the Center’s cafeteria, where she got hot chocolate, eggs, and toast. She greedily ate the food, not realizing how hungry she was.

As she ate, she spied two citizen athletes finishing their meals at a table near her. They left most of their food, a few breakfast rolls, bacon, and sausage patties. She flashed to a memory of her father admonishing her at the dinner table, “Waste not, want not.” That maxim did not apply here, not to citizens.

As the busboy—a donor—cleared their table, he unobtrusively slipped the food into his pocket. His family would have a treat. This was considered a lucky job for a donor, as it offered easy access to extra food for one’s family. She thought of the waitress, the one with the violet-colored eyes. Glancing around the cafeteria, Joan didn’t see her.

Later that morning, she climbed the rock wall. Her hand slipped from a hold, and she grasped vainly with her other hand. Her shoulder muscles strained—all her muscles ached from the medical tests the day before. She concentrated on relaxing. Don’t use your arms, Jack had taught her. A climber shouldn’t rely on arms for rock climbing—it’s the leg muscles one should employ. She took a breath and used her legs for the climb. Another trainer, not Jack, aided her. She didn’t want to see Jack. He must have known about the tests—about the donation—yet he said nothing. She ascended the wall, with no problems. She had a knack for rock climbing. While she belayed down, Captain Nox walked into the gym.

As she landed on the ground, the trainer said, “Perfect climb. You were able to discern the changes in the face to make it up the quickest route.”

She didn’t hear him. Her focus rested on Nox. He was making his way across the gym toward her. Joan fumbled with the carabineers, trying to get unhooked. She desperately wanted
to get out of the gym before he reached her. She looked up. Nox paused as gymnasts blocked his path.

“Here. Let me help you,” the trainer said, reaching for the carabineers.

But he only got in the way, and Nox was getting closer.

“No, I got it,” Joan said, as she finally managed to unhook the device.

She turned to leave.

As she did, Nox grabbed her arm. “23, let’s talk.”

They went into one of the massage rooms. Nox, as was his custom, began pacing in front of her.

“You didn’t go home to the ghetto last night. You never checked in at the gate.”

Although exhausted, Joan summoned more courage today than in their initial meeting, “I spent the night here at the Center.”

He moved close to her face. Joan backed away.

“Don’t move away from me.”

Joan stepped back to where she had been.

“You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?”

Joan shook her head.

“You weren’t at any illegal gatherings?”

Joan continued shaking her head, “I swear. I worked out late and missed the last bus. So I slept here. Sir,” she added at the last minute. Under his glare, she began to lose her confidence.

“Because if you knew of any illegal gatherings—so-called underground meetings—I’d expect you to tell me.”

“I don’t know of anything like that. I spent the night here. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Sir.”

Nox paused to evaluate the situation—evaluate the donor. He changed tack. Like any good interrogator, he used information about his subject as leverage—power over the subject, a weak spot waiting to be pried open.

“I’ve heard the rumors in the ghetto. About the day your mother was arrested. You’re quite the hero for trying to hide that donor. Or so people think.”

“I never said anything about that…day, sir. I don’t know how or why people think that, Captain.”

“23, you should be proud of what you did. You did your duty. Of course…there are donors who wouldn’t agree. Do you want everyone to know the truth about what happened that day?”

Joan couldn’t talk. Her voice froze in her throat. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. A feeble shaking of her head gave him her answer, as she stared at the ground.

“As I said, if you know of any illegal acts, you should tell me. Do your duty to the Alliance. I have suspicions about some of your friends. That number 42 in particular ...”

Kaleb.
She swallowed.
Kaleb is number 42.
Glancing up to face Nox, she faltered. Her gaze was drawn to a photo of the Governor on the wall. She stared at it a moment, then squeezed her eyes shut, as if forcing something out of them. She opened her mouth to speak, and this time she had control of her voice. Like her mother before her, she met Nox’s glare and stated unequivocally, “No. I don’t know anything about any illegal meetings. My friends aren’t involved in that.”

Nox wasn’t sure. He narrowed his eyes at her. He could break her as before. “You are aware—”

The door opened, and Jack walked in.

“What’s going on?” Jack demanded authoritatively.

“I’m questioning this—”

Interrupting him, Jack commanded, “Why?”

“She didn’t return or check in at the ghetto last night. I am—”

Jack interrupted him again. “You mean to tell me you follow up personally with every donor who skips out for a night?” Jack saw his ranking on his sleeve, “A captain in the TEO has nothing better to do?”

Jack towered over him.

Nox tried to recover the upper hand, saying testily, “For a donor as important as she is, yes.”

“You’re right. She is important. I’m her personal trainer. And you’re interrupting her exercise schedule, which is very strict per the instructions of her benefactor. Would you like me to inform her benefactor about that?”

“No,” Nox said quickly, “If you can vouch for her whereabouts last night…”

Jack paused. Joan held her breath. Jack wasn’t aware of what Joan had told Nox.

Finally he replied, appearing exasperated by the whole affair, “Of course. She spent the night here, on my instructions.”

After Nox left them, Jack said kindly, “Here, sit up on the table. You look exhausted.”

Minutes passed. Then he said, “You don’t need to tell me where you were last night.”

Joan sat quietly.

“I guess you found out why you had all those tests yesterday?”

She still said nothing.

“Joan,” he used her given name, “nothing is certain. They haven’t made any decision and aren’t expected to for a month or two.” He gathered his thoughts. “Listen, I’ve thought about this all night.”

Joan looked up at him.

“Yes,” Jack continued, “we’ve both had a sleepless night. I think our plan should be for you to keep working out. I made a new schedule. It concentrates on certain sports. And most likely nothing will happen. They won’t go through with it. But… well, Joan, I want you to be ready and prepared for…whatever you decide to do.”

“What do you mean: ‘whatever I decide to do’?” she asked incredulously. “I can’t
do
anything. Are you suggesting…?” Her voice trailed off. She had trouble saying the word. “Become an evader?”

All her life the Alliance drilled into her how terrible it was to evade and how evaders were the lowest of the low, to be viewed with derision.

She shook her head, “I can’t do that. I’ve thought about it all night, too. This is the way things are. If something’s wrong with Tegan’s heart, and she needs mine…this’s the way the System works. She’s my benefactor. This is what I’m supposed to do. Evade?! I have a lot of money saved up. It was for my citizenship, for my dad and me. But this way my dad can inherit it, and maybe some day…”

Donors used to be prohibited from leaving money to their heirs. Years ago, there had been a minor revolt in one of the ghettos, which spread to other ghettos. Recognizing the danger and wanting to placate the donor population, the Alliance changed some laws, giving more civil rights to donors. Kaleb criticized the changes, complaining they were minor and served to maintain the status quo. Joan’s mother calmly reminded Kaleb that the Alliance had slowly chipped away at their rights, and perhaps they could be returned the same way. Now, donors could leave their money to their immediate family members. But if Joan became a tax evader, all her money would be forfeited to the Alliance.

“Joan,” he said, as he took a deep breath, “Tegan doesn’t need your heart. Nothing’s wrong with hers.”

“What?!” she exclaimed, not comprehending but trying. She jumped off the table and paced around the room.

Jack reached for her arm, and she pulled away.

“No,” she was confident now, “it doesn’t matter. This is the way it works. This is the law—the System. An evader?! You want me to become an evader?!”

Jack studied her. They didn’t have to discuss this now.

“I never said anything about evading, Joan,” he kept using her name. “Let’s take one day at a time, shall we, Joan?”

10

J
oan did not tell her father. She didn’t want him to worry. Nor did she tell Reck or Kaleb, which wasn’t easy. The three of them were so close. She did her best to avoid them, but she had to tell Kaleb that Nox was watching him.

A couple days after the medical tests, she made her way down the street to Kaleb’s apartment. Looking up at his apartment window, she saw a hand hanging out the window. The weathered, dark brown hand extended over the sill and held a small, thin, wooden pipe. Smoke slowly curled up out of the pipe, dissipating quickly. The hand disappeared back in the room and momentarily reappeared. Joan could just make out a flash of Zenobia’s wispy, dull hair as the old woman leaned over the sill, blew smoke and leaned back. Joan smiled. She knew Kaleb good-naturedly complained to his grandmother about the smell of her pipe in their home.

“Hey,” Joan yelled up to her.

The woman looked out, squinting but not seeing Joan.

Joan waved. “Here! Down here.”

Recognition flashed on her wrinkled visage, and a smile brightened her watery eyes. “My girl,” she called, her voice cracking.

“Is Kaleb home?”

“What?”

Joan cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled louder, “Kaleb—is he there?”

Zenobia nodded, seemed about to say something but was wracked by a coughing fit. After regaining her breath, she motioned at Joan indicating Kaleb was on his way down.

Minutes later, he strolled out the front door.

“Hey Joanie! What’s up?” Kaleb smiled.

“Nothing. Just wanted to say hi.” She glanced nervously around.

“Well . . . Hi. Don’t you have to work out today?”

She paused. “Yeah.”

“It’s a little late, isn’t it? Are you slacking off?” he joked.

Without smiling, she motioned him towards the alley and spoke quietly, “Just wanted to give you some information. The TEO is watching you.”

His placid demeanor turned serious.

Nodding, she continued, “I heard Captain Nox is looking into the meetings you go to.”

Kaleb breathed deeply and stared at the ground. “How did you—”

Joan sighed, “It’s a long story. Just be careful.”

“I thought I was.” He ran his hand thoughtfully through his hair. “You’re always looking out for me, aren’t you?”

Joan shook her head.

He chuckled and nudged her with his shoulder. “Hey, remember that time I let the air out of a tire on that snatcher’s
van? How old were we? Around nine. . . ten? The snatcher caught me.
He had me
. Then you ran up and grabbed his hat right off his head! He forgot about me and went after you. You led him on a great chase.”

Beaming, she exclaimed, “I remember! He was so inept. I’d let him catch up near me, and then I’d burst ahead of him. I made sure I stayed close enough but just out of his reach. Finally, I jumped a fence. He couldn’t climb it.”

Joan flashed to the day. That was just before her first donation, before she knew anything about the necessity of being submissive and compliant—about the importance of following the rules of the System. Her smile faded and a darkness descended over her face.

Kaleb noticed her change. “Well, the point is, you’re helping me again. Thanks.” When she didn’t reply, “When we first met it had to do with a tire, too. Remember that?”

That memory returned the grin to her face, which was Kaleb’s intention. “How could I forget?”