The Child Goddess (15 page)

16

WHEN THEY WALKED
into the boardroom at the Seattle World Health offices, Isabel felt tension grip the room, a heart-stopping cessation of sound and movement.

They had decided, she and Simon, that the board of regents should meet Oa.

Simon led the way, looking fresh and well-rested in a smoke-gray suit with pencil lapels and a cheerful green ribbon tie. Isabel wore a fresh clerical collar, and her Magdalene cross on its simple cord. With Jin-Li’s help, they had shopped for Oa. The girl’s slender arms and long, thin legs were exaggerated by the straight lines of her white neosilk jumpsuit, and her dark skin and hair were glorious against the pale fabric. Isabel had braided her hair into two long plaits that hung over her shoulders and across her flat chest, almost reaching her waist. Oa carried the plush teddy bear in her arms. Her eyes were wide with anxiety, and she touched her tongue to her lips, over and over. She clung tightly to Isabel’s hand.

Simon had arranged for small readers to be set up at every chair for the tutorial on Oa’s condition. Water carafes waited in the center of the table, and there was a flexcopy chart at each place. All the regents were present as well as Gretchen Boreson and Paolo Adetti. Cole Markham stood beside the door. Boreson held a silver pen in her right hand, and she tapped it incessantly into her left palm. She didn’t look up when Oa came in, but everyone else in the room did.

Isabel and Simon and Oa sat together at one end of the long table.

Simon began. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think you will have guessed by now that this young lady is Oa of Virimund.”

Isabel nodded to Oa, and Oa said, in an almost inaudible whisper, “Hello.”

The Iranian regent smiled at her. “Hello, Oa.”

Dr. Fujikawa stared at Oa, and then gave Adetti a deliberate frown.

Simon let a silence stretch before he cleared his throat and began.

“Our purpose today,” he said, “is to acquaint the board with the results of our work in the past week. Mother Burke and I will also explain why we think the installation of the Virimund power park should be postponed.”

Boreson’s eyes flashed, and her scarlet lips pursed. Adetti sat as if carved from stone.

Madame Mahmoud said, “I hope you know we’re only here to help, Oa.”

Oa leaned close to Isabel, her cheek almost touching her sleeve. Isabel said gently, “Do you understand Madame Mahmoud, Oa?”

Oa whispered, “Oa understands.”

Isabel smiled at the Iranian woman. “Oa’s English is improving every day. She understands almost everything, but she is often unable to express herself in detail.”

Madame Mahmoud nodded. “Children are very quick in this way.”

Adetti expelled a noisy breath, and shifted in his chair. Boreson shot him a cold look.

“Madame Mahmoud is right, of course,” Isabel said. “And we understand, Dr. Edwards and I, that Dr. Adetti does not regard Oa as a child.”

Beside her, Oa hung her head. Isabel went on. “Chronological age, as every medical practitioner knows, is not the same as biological age. And in this unique circumstance, we must also take into consideration emotional and mental age. It’s true that Oa has lived many years—” She squeezed the child’s fingers to reassure her. She had already explained what she would be saying, and why, but Oa’s unease radiated through her very bones, filling Isabel’s hand with a prickly discomfort. “Oa is, by every other criterion, a child. A healthy, intelligent, and often charming child.”

Simon gave Adetti his practiced cold smile. “Dr. Adetti does not agree with our assessment,” he said. “But that’s not the crux of our discussion today.” He flicked on the small reader before him, and the regents followed his example. As he had with Isabel, he led them through the explanation about osteon counts in cortical bone. He spoke of the stability of Oa’s hormone levels, and of the enzyme that the medicator had not been able to identify. He showed the scan of the small tumor on her pituitary gland, and described it.

As Simon moved on to his conclusions, Isabel watched Adetti across the table. She didn’t need to touch him to feel his dismay and resentment. The regents gathered around the conference table were, without exception, quick-minded people. Although there was no hint of triumph or scorn in Simon’s demeanor, the implication of Adetti’s failure was unavoidable. And there was no time to waste on diplomacy.

“We need to discover what caused the tumor, to know if the hydrogen workers on Virimund are at risk,” Simon said finally. “Oa is unable to tell us. Mother Burke has learned a lot from her, which she will share with you in a moment. But as World Health’s advisory physician. I’m categorically opposed to kidnapping more ‘subjects,’ as Dr. Adetti and Administrator Boreson have proposed. What is needed is research on the planet itself, to discover the source of Oa’s condition, and that, presumably, of any other surviving children.”

Dr. Fujikawa leaned forward. “Dr. Edwards, we thank you for your presentation. Please clarify to me that there is still no sign of an adult population on Virimund?”

Beside Isabel, Oa drew a sharp breath. Isabel felt the fresh wave of fear that surged through her, but there was no time to wonder at it.

Simon glanced at Boreson. She said coolly, “Offworld Port Forceon Virimund was instructed to cease any exploration, and they have of course complied. I spoke with the Port Administrator by r-wave yesterday, and he assured me this was the case.”

Madame Mahmoud asked, “Do we know, yet, how old the girl actually is?”

And Isabel said, “We think we do.”

*

OA COULDN’T LOOK
at Doctor when she came into the big room behind Isabel and Doctor Simon. She saw him at the table next to Gretchen, but she averted her eyes. She clutched the fuzzy toy with one hand, and clung to Isabel with the other. She tried to keep her shoulders straight like Isabel’s, but she trembled.

The room was cold. Oa was glad of her new clothes, the warm socks and shoes Jin-Li Chung had found for her. It was a strange place, with blank walls and no windows. The people sat around a long plain table, and their eyes burned her with their curiosity.

Doctor Simon talked a long time, and pictures flashed on the little reader set before Isabel. Oa watched the pictures, knowing they were about her, and she listened to Doctor Simon. It was hard to follow, but Isabel had explained it slowly to her the night before. Doctor Simon knew she was an anchen, and he was telling these strangers about her. And she knew what was coming when Isabel turned to her.

It wasn’t as if she had a choice. She was, after all, an anchen, despite Isabel’s kindness. She was still an anchen, even though Doctor Simon liked talking to her, and even though Jin-Li Chung brought her clothes that fit and shoes that were comfortable. She was still an anchen, though Matty Phipps didn’t mind eating meals with her and standing by while she worked with Isabel. She could straighten her shoulders, and hold her head up like Isabel, but it didn’t change anything. She was an anchen, but she would be a brave one. She had prayed to Raimu-ke, this morning, kneeling with Isabel before her crucifix, asking Raimu-ke to make her brave.

Oa remembered her last tatwaj. She had tried to pretend she didn’t know what was coming. She felt like a person. She loved her papi and her mamah, she had fears and hopes and dreams. Surely, something would save her, she thought. She had prayed to the ancestors, along with everyone else, prayed for her menarche. But of course, if she had no soul, the ancestors would not hear her. Her prayers would mean nothing.

The roar of the bonfire filled her ears. Its heat burned her cheeks. Above her the stars twinkled menacingly, colder than she had ever seen them. Her menarche had not come. It was the tatwaj, and it had not come. She closed her eyes as the elder picked out her tattoo with the needle, as the ink stung her skin. When she opened her eyes, she saw her mother staring at her.

Why, Mamah, she wanted to cry. Why? You saw my tattoos, you counted them, one, two, three, you said them to yourself. Why are you shocked?

She turned to Papi. He had turned his face away, and would not look at her. The fire blazed, and the people chanted the old song, and one by one, the children went forward to be counted. One, two, three, four, and then the rising ululation, the celebratory wail. One, two three, four, five, six, another joyous cry. One, two, three, all the way to twelve, but still the acclamation. And then it was Oa’s turn.

Oa stood to roll up the long sleeves of her jumpsuit. The fabric was soft and stretchy, and it folded easily up to her shoulders. She heard the little intake of breath around the table, and her fingers shook. Isabel stood with her, helping her, pulling her braids out of the way, pulling down her collar. The air chilled her exposed skin. At her shiver, Isabel touched her cheek with her fingers, just a quick caress, but it was calming. Oa looked up into Isabel’s clear eyes, and then down at her own thin dark arms, covered with columns of tattoos.

She could see, without a mirror, the last one made by the elder of the people. It was inked into her right forearm, just above the elbow, a distinct ♦, four points to show the four seasons of the year, the seasons that rolled relentlessly by, leading from tatwaj to tatwaj. She had learned no word in English for the tatwaj. These people had no tatwaj. The children of this cold world did not have to fear the counting.

Isabel spoke in a clear voice, keeping a steady hand on Oa’s shoulder. “As you can see, Oa bears ritual markings on her arms and shoulders.” Gently, she turned Oa so that her neck, exposed by the braiding of her hair, would be visible to the observers. Just as gently, she turned her back to face them all. “There are two kinds of tattoos. These on Oa’s shoulders—” She touched Oa’s left shoulder with a finger. “These are neatly done, with a good deal of skill, even artistry.” She lifted Oa’s wrist. “You can see that the others are rougher, unevenly executed.”

Isabel smiled down at her, as calm and assured as if they were alone. “Would you like to sit down, Oa?” she murmured. Isabel held out the chair for her, and waited until she was seated and had rolled down her sleeves again.

“The difference between the markings is important,” Isabel said. “There are fourteen of the first type, the ones that seem to have been, shall we say, professionally done. Of the second type, there are eighty-eight.”

Oa listened to Isabel saying the numbers. She had learned numbers on the ship, and could count in English all the way to a thousand. One number was missing. Surely all four seasons had passed since she left Virimund, and perhaps more. And before that? How long since the anchens had seen the white smoke, the sign of the tatwaj from the three islands? Oa squeezed the teddy bear anxiously.

“It was clear to me that these meant something essential to Oa. Before her English improved, she couldn’t explain them to me, but in the past week, I think I have arrived at their meaning.” Isabel’s hand caressed Oa’s hair. “Oa uses a word, tatwaj, for which there is apparently no English equivalent. The pronunciation makes it difficult to understand, and of course, she has no way to spell it. It doesn’t mean the tattoos, I believe, but the ceremony when the markings are applied. The adults of her people are responsible for the first of Oa’s tattoos, the fourteen.”

Oa watched the reactions of these strange people to the revelation that was coming. Doctor Simon, on Isabel’s left, had put his fingertips together and was gazing at them. Doctor, who Oa now understood was called Doctor Adetti, was glaring across the table. At first Oa thought he was glaring at her, and she wanted to look away, but then she realized his hard black gaze was fixed on Isabel.

“The other eighty-eight markings,” Isabel went on, “were made by the other children. The anchens, Oa calls them, as she calls herself an anchen. Oa herself will try to explain the significance of these ritual markings to you.”

A little stir rolled around the long table.

Isabel pulled out her chair and sat down. The room was utterly silent except for the mechanical sounds in the background, air moving, power humming. Oa touched her lips with her tongue. It was frightening, looking around at these strange faces, these curious eyes, pale Gretchen’s hungry look. Doctor Adetti’s fury. But she would be strong, for Isabel.

She had practiced the words, and Isabel had written them on her computer. It looked strange, seeing her own words spelled out like the words in books.

“Oa?” Isabel prompted softly. “Can you tell the regents about the tatwaj?”

“Yes,” Oa said. She decided she would just talk to Isabel, and the others, the “regents,” could listen. Doctor and Gretchen could listen, and Matty and Doctor Simon. But she would talk to Isabel. “Yes,” she said again. “Oa is telling about the tatwaj.”

Isabel gave her a private smile.

Oa anchored herself in Isabel’s crystal gaze, and began.

“Tatwaj comes in dry time,” she said. Her voice sounded thin in the big room, a thread of sound, easily torn. As she spoke, she could hear the breathing of those around her, the faint gurgle of someone’s stomach. She swallowed, and tried to speak louder. “First comes singing time, when nuchi are ripe and fish are much coming. Then comes sleeping time, and comes much rain. The people stay in shahto. And forest spiders come in sleeping time.” She stumbled over “forest spiders,” remembering how hard she had searched for the words in English. Isabel had shown her many pictures before they found one that fit, but they had to put two different words together to make a word close enough.

Someone coughed, and Oa looked in his direction. Isabel said softly, “Continue when you’re ready, Oa.”

“After sleeping time comes time of—” She faltered, forgetting the word. Isabel’s gaze was steady, patient. “Birth time,” Oa remembered. “The people are fishing, are cleaning shahto and making mats. Babies are coming.”

Across the table. Doctor Adetti shifted suddenly in his chair, making it squeak. Oa looked at him, and saw Gretchen lift a finger in his direction. Doctor’s jaw clenched. No one else moved. Oa turned back to Isabel, trying to remember where she had been in her recitation.