Wonders of a Godless World (22 page)

It was what everyone had been waiting for, the orphan knew. The old doctor, the nurses—day after day they had tested the foreigner for signs of life. They had prodded the soles of his feet, they had shone lights in his eyes. They had been looking for exactly this kind of movement. And now it had come.

You must not tell them. If they found out, they’d only take me away to study. No one else must know about this
.

The orphan pried her hand loose from his at last, and his arm flopped back onto the mattress. Loathing made her skin creep. Somehow she had never seen anything so obscene as those writhing fingers.

Don’t you want me to get better? Isn’t it good that my nerves and muscles are finally starting to connect, and to function?

Yes, yes. But her mind was full of horror still. The roar of the water, the lights of the houses vanishing under the black flood…

You imagined it.

No, there was a town.

It was an abandoned village, that’s all. There were no people. No lights. Engineers decided years ago that the dam was too unstable to be trusted. They evacuated human settlement from the valley as a precaution. No one lives there anymore.

But she’d heard the cries. The screams.

In all that chaos? You don’t know what you heard.

An abandoned village. Was it possible? It had been dark, after all, and the noise unspeakable. But she had been so sure…

Be sure of our strength instead. Do you appreciate what we’ve done? And what it means for us?

But the orphan didn’t want to hear any of that now. She needed to be alone in her head, she needed time to think.

Time is what we don’t have. Those crowds will be gathering in front of the hospital again today. And the old doctor is—

No! She pushed back from the bed, her mind clamping shut. Not now. She turned and strode away through the dayroom. For a few moments she could feel him pressing against her skull, trying to gain entry. But then, mercifully, he was gone.

She emerged into the compound to find the sky pale with sunrise. So, another whole night had flown by. Time. It seemed to move so fast lately. She would slip into the foreigner’s world, and the hours would vanish. She stared up at the pink clouds and breathed in the warm air—this was home, this was reality. But it didn’t help. In her memory she saw only a frozen valley, and black water crashing…

She simply hadn’t thought, as they pushed against the dam, that there would be such consequences. That people might die. But what about the foreigner? It was his valley. He must have known that there was a town so close downstream. Had he forgotten? Did he just not care? Or was it true what he said—had
she really only imagined the lights, and the sounds of an entire population drowning?

But oh, what if it was real?

And how could she know for
certain
?

She could go back to the valley, perhaps, and see. But no…she couldn’t fly on her own, and would not know how to find the valley in any case, not without him as her guide. The world was too big, and she knew too little.

Some other way then.

She went to her room and sat hunched on the bed, her brow furrowed. Her glance fell upon her radio. Ah…

She switched it on and listened. The device mumbled at her, and the meaning of the sound seemed so close, just a fraction beyond her grasp. But even if she could comprehend—was it likely she would learn anything useful? She understood, at least partly, that normal people sometimes learned of important events in this manner. But would an event so far away, in such a strange land, be talked about here?

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Nor would it do any good to run to the main dayroom and gaze at the television in the cage. The disaster might be portrayed there on the screen—surely, if a whole town had actually died, someone would pay attention—but even if it was, she would never know it.

Proof, disproof, they were equally impossible.

And it wasn’t over. The foreigner might have avenged himself upon the landslide, but she sensed it was only a beginning. The destruction of the dam had been but a test—that was the very word he’d used. Not an end in itself, but practice, a measurement of what they were capable of together.

Now that he had made that measurement…

Suddenly, someone was knocking on her door.

The orphan shook herself. Had she dropped off to sleep? The light through her window had changed, it was late morning already.

The door opened. It was only the old doctor, his lined face smiling kindly. But he was carrying a tray on which a bowl steamed. She glared at him, and at the bowl. A terrific rage arose in her. Hadn’t she made this clear to him yet? She shook her head. And when he proffered the tray anyway, her temper finally snapped. She shoved it away, upending the bowl upon the floor. Soup went everywhere. They both stared at the mess for a long moment. Then the old doctor sighed, and called out.

Two male nurses came bustling in. The orphan goggled at them. They were from the locked ward. She was so shocked she didn’t move, even as they grabbed her legs and arms and forced her down on the bed. It was only when the old doctor loomed behind them with a needle in his hand, his expression infinitely regretful, that she started to struggle and scream, and by then it was too late.

Wake up, little orphan.

The voice was a prickle on her skin.

Wake up.

Oh, but she wanted to keep on sleeping. So dark, so deep. She had never known a sleep like it, her limbs had sunk right into the bed.

But the voice wouldn’t go away, as irritating as an itch.
You must wake up. Now.

It was the foreigner. She tried to shrug him off, to roll over and return to the depths, but there was a strange resistance from her hands and feet. The lovely darkness was beginning to fragment.
Ugly blurs of light glared through. Her eyes were blinking open. But everything was wrong, everything was—

They’ve moved you. You’re not in your hut anymore.

She saw white walls, and a white ceiling, its cracks thrown into relief by the bar of a harsh fluorescent light. Where was she? She could think of nowhere in the back wards where the walls and the ceilings looked like this.

You’re in a room in the locked ward.

What?! But that couldn’t be! What was happening? Her memory seemed to reach no further back than the opening of her eyes. But wait…there had been the old doctor, with a needle, and she had been fighting…

They drugged you.

It all came back. The nurses, the injection. She tried to lift her arm to see the puncture wound, but the limb wouldn’t move. It was held, somehow. She raised her head. The room swum dizzily, but she saw. She was tied down, hand and foot, restrained by straps attached to the bed. She tugged at them in disbelief.

Then she saw that a drip had been inserted into her arm.

They’re force-feeding you, giving you nutrients through the drip. No one has seen you eat or drink voluntarily in many days now. They think that you’re starving yourself. They think that by doing this they’re saving your life.

Frustration washed away the last of the orphan’s sleepiness. She tugged again at the straps. How dare they!
Nutrients!
She could feel the liquid clogging her veins like slime. It was an invasion. They hadn’t even asked her!

They don’t feel they are obliged to ask. To them, you aren’t capable of granting, or denying, permission.

But that wasn’t true! Not anymore. After all she had done, after all she had proven, to be treated like this—it was outrageous.

I know. But your recent behaviour has disturbed them. You don’t eat or drink, you’ve stopped working in the wards, you no longer seem to communicate with anyone else. They think something is very wrong with you.

Nothing was wrong with her! She was becoming something far better than she had ever been. Why couldn’t they see that?

They don’t have the eyes to see…

There was a sound, she noticed. A murmuring. It had been there since she’d woken. She turned her head, and saw her radio. It was sitting on a chair in the corner. Someone had thought to bring it to her, even in the locked ward.

Her anger cooled a little. After all, they weren’t monsters, she should not forget that. The old doctor had always been her friend, had always protected her. The nurses too. They would never intend her harm, not even now. They had made a wretched mistake, that was all…But then, how could she blame them for not understanding what she was going through? She didn’t completely understand it herself.

You mean, it isn’t clear to you yet?

Clear? Nothing was clear. Why
didn’t
she need food anymore? Why had the lack of it only refined her, and made her stronger?

I’ve already given you the answer, from my own lives.

His own lives? What did he mean? But then a key rattled in the lock, and hinges groaned as the door swung open. The orphan lifted her head, and saw the old doctor enter. He wasn’t alone. A male nurse was with him, and another man too, the sight of whom alarmed the orphan even further. It was the young doctor. What was
he
doing here? He didn’t deal with the mad. He was the surgeon, the man who cut people open.

She stared at the old doctor while he checked on her drip, trying to read a message, any message, in his eyes. But he was avoiding
her gaze. He turned to the others and began to speak. She couldn’t understand a word.

He’s talking about you. About how much weight you’ve lost. But he’s satisfied that they’ve intervened in good time. The idiot…

The young doctor was speaking now. Then the old doctor replied. The conversation grew earnest, their voices rising.

Now they’re discussing what the night nurse told them. About you and me. About catching you, naked. They’re not happy
.

Her anger returned. That was none of their business!

They believe it is. They’re commenting that you have never exhibited such sexual behaviour before. They think it must be part of whatever else is wrong with you. They think it could lead to dangerous complications.

Complications? What sort of complications?

Pregnancy, among other things
.

Pregnancy?! The thought was so astonishing the orphan forgot her outrage. A baby? A mother—her? But that had never been her intention at all.

Nor mine, even if I was capable. But it’s not me they’re worried about. They’re concerned you might interact with the more virile male patients
.

The orphan could have laughed, if not for her residual fear of the young doctor. He was gesticulating forcefully now, and the nurse was nodding in agreement. Only the old doctor, it seemed, was doubtful about the discussion.

And suddenly, the foreigner’s steady voice was faltering.
My orphan—they are proposing an awful thing.

Her fear roared back. What was it? What thing?

They—they wish to prevent the possibility of a pregnancy. They don’t think you could cope. They think it would be better if you
were incapable of conceiving. They say that mere birth control won’t suffice. They—

He broke off. The argument between the three men had reached its height. Then, reluctantly it appeared, the old doctor was nodding with the rest, and they all turned to regard the orphan with grave eyes.

—they’re going to sterilise you.

Terror took her. She didn’t know what the word meant, but she could hear in the foreigner’s tone that it was something dreadful. It must be an operation, it must mean that they would slice into her with knives. The doctors and the nurse were talking again, not arguing now, merely discussing.

The foreigner sounded far away.
It will be an operation, yes, but they haven’t decided what sort. They’re wondering if they should give you a full hysterectomy. They know it isn’t strictly necessary—a ligation would do for sterilisation. But they see advantages in removing your womb. They think it might be simpler if you did not have to bother with periods from now on.

The orphan grasped nothing of this, there was only the fear, and a terrible sense of helplessness, and her anger surging. She did not want to be cut open. She was healthy. She was more than healthy. And it would hurt. How could the old doctor—her lifelong friend and guardian—want to cause her such pain?

It wouldn’t hurt; you’d be anaesthetised. But pain isn’t the point. You don’t understand—there’s more at stake here.

Worse than pain?

Do you remember what we talked about? About your physical maturity as a woman, about your powers, about how mind and body are interconnected? These men want to take part of that away, to remove a piece of you…

But perhaps it was only a little piece they wanted. Maybe a piece so little that it wouldn’t matter if it was gone…

If it was a finger, or an appendix, maybe. But this is no little piece. This is part of what defines you, part of what makes you female. You must have felt it yourself, how your instincts, your connection with the natural world, are based in your gut as much as in your head. Perhaps that’s why your strength and your abilities are denied to me—perhaps they are a uniquely female thing. I don’t know. All I know is that if they do this, if they interfere with you on such a vital level, you will not be the same.

Not the same? Not herself anymore?

On the outside you would seem no different. But inside…you might lose your special awareness. The world might become closed to you. And I might become closed to you as well. You might become someone who can’t hear me.

Someone who can’t fly.

Oh no. Not that. Tears welled up in the orphan’s eyes. That was too unfair. They couldn’t take that away. That was all she had. She was struggling against the bonds again, and the doctors and the nurse turned to watch her.

They’ll make you as blind as they are themselves, that’s what I fear
.

Yes, they were blind, they were wicked fools, they should not be allowed to touch her. The old doctor was at her side, his hand gently stroking her hair, his voice soft and soothing, but all the orphan felt now was an uncontrollable rage. Her thrashing became frenzied, and the old doctor drew back, perturbed.