Sundry Days (7 page)

Chapter 11

Susannah

The Women’s Conference

I can’t believe I let my mother talk me into this.  With all that’s going on, with all I’ve got to worry about, and grieve about, she convinces me to go with her to the Women’s Conference in Chicago.

And if that’s not bad enough, we’re accompanied by her all-brawn, no-brains trio of late-model husbands.

Jeff, Matt and Lars are supposedly with us for protection.  They take turns driving the rover, staring wide-eyed at the passing scenery, and telling each other jokes they recall from their childhoods.

“Do you know why birds fly south in the winter?” says one of them upon observing a flock in the sky, not bothering to pause before the punchline. “Because it’s too far to walk.”

They get a big charge out of that, before one of my stepfathers sagely remarks:

“Yeah.  I couldn’t walk that far.”

Lars, Matt and Jeff have had all the aggression bred out of them. And they sure do look good. But together they have the combined sharpness of a butter knife.

“Anna, my darling,” says Lars, after a rest stop—I know it’s Lars because he’s very blond; the other two have dark hair and I have trouble telling them apart. “I wish every day could be Women’s Conference Day, because we get to be alone with you for a whole week, when you’re not with other people.”

Mama dotes on them.

It’s no mystery why they were deemed unsuitable matches for fertile women when they were evaluated at 25.  No one would want Matt, Jeff or Lars to contribute anything to the next generation.  But they’re perfectly happy with Mama, who’s no doubt older than their mothers.

What a strange world we live in.  And it gets nothing but stranger, and more frightening.

Mama thinks the Women’s Conference will help take my mind off David and Rebekah. At least for a while. Well, there’s no chance of that.

I blame myself. I should have followed my instincts and refused to let John and Rebekah join our family. But I wanted John. I really wanted him. And I figured the others would behave themselves, and I could control Rebekah in a motherly way.

I didn’t see what was right before my eyes. I didn’t understand that David and Rebekah would be uncontrollable. It’s all my fault.

David has loved, not just lusted after, Rebekah right from the beginning. Even when he was too young to know what lust is.  Or love. And by the time I realized, it was too late.

She loves him, too.

And now they’re gone. They’re too young and stupid to understand there’s no hope for them.  None. They’re criminals. There’s no place for them to go. They’ll be caught. And if they’re caught, they’ll be punished. The Designer, help me. I hope they’re not caught. I know what the authorities will do with them, will do to David, if they’re caught.

But maybe being caught would be better than the alternative. They could be attacked by one of the roving bands of Lost Boys. The Lost Boys are very dangerous, a serious threat, and no one knows what to do about them. They’d likely beat David to death, and then rape Rebekah, over and over and over.

I can’t keep dwelling on this. I’ll lose my mind. I’m beside myself with worry and grief, and there’s nothing I can do.

Mama has insisted that we not report them to the authorities. I agree with her, but not for the same reason. She’s afraid of the scandal that would result if people knew that the grandson of one of the most powerful members of Parliament has committed one of the most grievous crimes there is in the Coalition.

I’m afraid that if the authorities were alerted, they’d be more likely to find them. They’d take them into custody, and justice would be meted out. If you can call what the lawmakers have decreed justice. Rebekah would undergo severe rehabilitation. She’s needed. David would be castrated.

Mama was one of the lawmakers who pushed to make castration the punishment for crimes against society, which means crimes against women. It’s the punishment for rape. It’s the punishment any of the Lost Boys would receive if they were ever caught. It’s the punishment that would be inflicted upon my handsome, headstrong, kindhearted, loving son, for absconding with the young woman he loves and removing her from the marriage pool.

“It’s best if we don’t think about this,” says Mama.

I could kill her. I could strangle her.

But instead, here I am heading to a Women’s Conference as if nothing has happened.

Chicago is the largest city in the Coalition.  I don’t know how many thousands of people, but a lot. In ancient times, before The Great Flood, there were millions. I can’t imagine millions of people.

The conference hotel is plush. For the duration, there will be only women in this building, aside from the elderly men—deemed harmless—who do all the serving, cooking, cleaning, administration and other work that needs to be done. Mama has made special arrangements for Matt, Jeff and Lars to stay in her suite, as long as they remain behind closed doors and don’t show themselves.  She gets away with everything.

Because it’s assumed women are safe here, we’re not required to wear our robes. Women of all ages now are required to wear all-encompassing hooded robes whenever we’re in public.

It was a very controversial ordinance.  But for our own good, we’re told. Mama was for it. I can’t say that it bothers me too much.

It bothered Rebekah, though.

“I’m going to keep getting haircuts and dressing like a boy,” she said.

“No, Beks, you won’t,” John told her. “Everyone knows you’re not a boy. The barber knows. He’s always known. I saw him leering at you the last time he cut your hair. You’re not fooling anyone. So from now on, you wear the robe when you go out. It’s time that you became what you are.”

He was right, of course. But it only made her more rebellious. She refused to go out at all.

John is as sick with worry as I am. We all are. There’s nothing we can do.

As soon as Rebekah turned 18, she withdrew all the funds in the savings account John and Danny set up for her.  We only found out after she and David left. She had the right. It will be enough, I hope, to keep them safe and out of sight for a while.

We haven’t told Danny yet. I suppose we should. Why shouldn’t he worry, too?

Most of the seminars at the Women’s Conference are about how dire things have become. It’s a totally different atmosphere than the one in our town several years ago.

The birth rate for girls continues to diminish. No one knows what to do about the Lost Boys. There’s talk about the monogamous cults in the northwest, beyond the Coalition’s boundaries.

Some claim the monogamists are stealing our girls, doing terrible things with their excess boys. Even if that’s true, there’s not much we can do about them. Except declare them a shocking abomination.

On the way home, I alternate between praying silently to The Designer, and sobbing as quietly as I can. I think of David when he was a baby. I wish I could clutch him to my breast again and keep him safe.

Lars is sitting in the back with Mama and me. He sees my tears.

“I’m sorry you’re so sad, Susannah,” he says. “I wish I could make you feel better.”

He’s really very sweet. Maybe it would have been better, I think, for David to have been born dull-witted. But what I think doesn’t matter.

The world is as it is.

I pray again to The Designer.  It’s all I can do.

Chapter 12

David

On the Road

Rebekah doesn’t complain. She’s never before been on a sun-cycle, and she’s scared at first.  I can tell.  She holds me tight, her front pushed up against my back, her head nestling on my shoulder blade. We’re not wearing helmets. It’s too hot.

She’s trusting me to take us somewhere.  But all I know is that we have to keep going west and stay away from populated areas. We have to get beyond the Coalition’s western boundary. It’ll probably take a long time to get somewhere safe, anywhere safe, if such a place even exists. But there’s got to be more to the continent than just the Great Lakes Coalition. We’ve talked about this. That’s what we’re counting on. If we go far enough, maybe we’ll find a place where we aren’t criminals.  There’s a limit to how far we can get on the sun-cycle. It’ll need to be recharged eventually. We’ll have to figure something out. But for now, it’s all we’ve got.

I’ve studied maps.  I know approximately where we are now. We’re not near any towns, which is good. But I have no idea where we can stop for the night.  We’ve got food and water with us. We raided the kitchen before we left, and have enough so that we won’t go hungry for maybe three days. We’ve got packs with extra clothes, soap, toothbrushes, stuff like that. I made bedrolls for us, and also brought along some waterproof tarps. The cycle has pretty big storage compartments, and I tied what wouldn’t fit onto Rebekah’s backrest.

She’s not used to being out in the hot summer sun, or on dusty back roads in the middle of nowhere. To tell the truth, I’m not either. But here we are.

“David,” she says as the sun starts to set, “we’ve got to stop. I have to go to the bathroom.”

There are no bathrooms. But I pull off the road when I see a clearing by a small creek.  We haven’t come across anyone for the past several hours. I think we’ll be okay here.

Rebekah climbs off, looks around, and starts going through one of the storage compartments.

“I need my pack,” she says.  Then she takes it, and walks stiffly behind a tree.

When she comes back, she looks really mad.

“Rebekah,” I say. “I’m really sorry I got you into this.  We can still go back if you want to.”

“No. Why would I want to go back?  It wasn’t just your idea, if you’ll recall.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“I got my period. Shit, shit, shit,” she says. “You have no idea what a bother it is to be female.”

That’s true enough. I know very little about periods except that they involve bleeding and girls get them once a month.  Don’t want to know any more than that, really. But I’m sorry Rebekah has to deal with it now. And I try to be sympathetic.

“Bad timing, I guess.”

“Yeah. I knew it was coming, but I didn’t think it would be today. I brought sponges. But my underwear is already stained. And it was about to come through my pants. Yuk. I’m sorry, David.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because periods are messy, and smelly, and embarrassing. Not very romantic.”

“Oh.”  What am I supposed to say? I don’t care if she’s got her period. Except that it’s making her unhappy.

“So you brought sponges?”

“Yeah. Sea sponges. I brought a lot of them. They’re good for contraception, too, you know.”

Now she’s lost me.  I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Contraception?”

“Yeah, women use them so they won’t get pregnant. Your mother told me. Men aren’t supposed to know. But I don’t care if you know. I’m not ever going to keep secrets from you.”

“So you use the sponges to absorb the blood when you’ve got your period, and to stop the semen from getting through the rest of the time?”

“Yeah. Something like that. I’ve never used them for anything but my period. But when we start having sex, we should probably be careful not to get me pregnant.”

Start having sex.  We’re going to start having sex.  Not until her period is done, I take it. But I can wait. I’ve waited this long.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“I don’t want to have sex until I feel good about doing it. You know? It should be special. I don’t want us to be sweaty and dirty from the road. I want to smell good for you. I don’t want to be bleeding. But I guess I will bleed the first time. Women bleed the first time, and it hurts. But I don’t care about it hurting. I just want it to be beautiful. The way I think about it in my imagination. I want it to be the culmination of our love. You know?”

“All I know is I love you, Rebekah. I love you with everything that’s in me. I’ll love you forever. I’ll always love you no matter what, and I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

But Holy Designer, what am I going to do?  She leans against me.  We sit on the tarp I’ve spread on the ground, and I put my arm around her. I kiss the top of her head.  That’s safe, I guess. And we eat some of the food we’ve brought.

I’m quite a bit bigger than she is, and I’ve still got some growing to do. She seems small and fragile to me now. After we eat, she lies down and puts her head on my thigh. I lean back on one elbow, and stroke her short red-brown hair. It’s shorter than mine, and dust and sweat make it seem more brown than red tonight.  We’ve been riding all day. She’s tired. Her face is streaked with dirt, but it’s a beautiful face. The most beautiful I’ve ever seen, sunburned nose and freckles included. I want her. I don’t care about her period, or about blood, or mess, or how dirty we both are. Thinking about that isn’t stopping me from thinking about being naked with her.  I want to touch her all over. I want to put my hard, stupid, throbbing penis where it wants to go.

She turns her head toward the part of me that’s totally beyond my control, and she notices.  How can she not?

“Oh, David. My poor David. You want to have sex with me now, don’t you? You can’t help it.”

“I can help it. We’ll have sex like you said, when your period is over and we get cleaned up.”

“Does it hurt, being so big and stiff like that?”

“It’s okay, Rebekah. Let’s not talk about it.”

“I’ve never seen a penis. Well, I’ve seen little Ethan’s when I’ve changed him. Can I touch you there?”

“Holy Designer, Rebekah, you’re going to kill me. If you touch me, I’ll spurt out all over you, and it’ll be a lot worse and more embarrassing than your period. I can tell you that.”

“I’m sorry, David. I should know better. I’ve had instructions on penises in pre-marital counseling. I know how they work. But knowing and being with you now are two different things.”

She sits up. I lie back, and turn my head away.

“David,” she says, “pull off your pants.”

“No. Are you crazy? This is hard enough, no pun intended.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I can tell.”

There’s nothing funny about our situation.  But we look at each other, and we can’t help it. We start laughing.”

“Pull off your pants,” she says when the laughter subsides. And this time I do.

“Your shirt, too.”

I comply.

“Look at you,” she says.  And she just stares at me for a while.

Then she pulls off her shirt and unwraps the scarf she’s got tied around her breasts. But she leaves on her pants.

I look up at that always hidden part of her, and I want, more than anything, to lose myself inside of this girl—this woman—who is my Rebekah.  That’s not going to happen. Not now. I know that, and I try, without success, to get the message from my brain to my penis. Rebekah doesn’t understand that she’s torturing me. It’s not her fault.

I try to focus on the deep red marks where the edges of the scarf had flattened her. They look almost like scars running across the fullest part of her.  But all I see is how beautiful she is. More beautiful than I can bear.

I can’t swallow. I can’t do anything but lie there, staring up at her, as she sits on her haunches, naked from the waist up, staring down at me.

She begins to trace my shoulders and my collarbone lightly with her fingertips, then my chest, and down to my hip bones—but not my penis.

“What if you touch me, just my breasts,” she says softly and seriously, “and I’ll touch your penis. Maybe that can be enough for now.”

Without waiting for an answer, she takes one of my hands and puts it over her breast. I feel the softness of it. I touch the hard, dark little bud that’s her nipple.  And I think I’ll die if I don’t have her. 

But before I can die, she leans into me, and we kiss—a deep, tender kiss—while she puts one of her hands over my penis.

Now I’m going to explode.

But not yet.  Please, not yet.

Rebekah lies next to me on the tarp, and we writhe around with our hands on each other and our mouths joined.

Then she rolls on top of me, squirms down a bit, and now her lips are on my neck. It’s as if she has me pinned down, except that she’s small compared to me. I could push her off in an instant, if I could move.

She holds my penis as if it were some strange woodland creature she’s just discovered, and strokes it, studies it, fascinated. And before I can beg her to stop, before I can salvage any shred of dignity, she puts it between her breasts, and I come immediately.

Arrgh. I spurt out all over her, all over me. Her chest and mine are now covered with my wet and sticky mess, and her eyes get very wide as she looks up at me.

I’m mortified. But then Rebekah slides up my chest and finds my mouth, covers it with hers, and kisses me as if she’s hungry for me. It’s the most glorious kiss in the history of humans.

“I love you, David,” she says, when we come apart. And I feel as if I’m going to cry with joy. But I don’t. I just tell her I love her too.

After we clean ourselves up, we try to get comfortable on our bedrolls.  We kiss some more, and then settle down under the blankets, fitting ourselves together for the night. Rebekah finally falls asleep on her side, with the back of her head tucked up against my chest and one of my arms around her.

This is the first time for us sleeping together. It’s not romantic. Not like she wanted it to be. But it’s good. Very good. I look up at the stars and think to myself that we’ve done the right thing, running away. It’s the only thing we could possibly have done. We’re together and that’s all that matters right now.

I’m a dumb-ass boy. Not a man. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.  But I’m filled to the brim with loving Rebekah. I’ll protect her with my life. She is my life. And whatever happens, at least we’ll have each other.