DESPITE ALL my playing around on the Internet, exploring the feeding system, I still had to guess where we should start. Last night’s collection had been random. We’d tried out the signals as we passed Frankie’s Dairy, because I’d recalled the name from the computer, but apart from tossing me the pie, they’d given no hint of where to go next.
I was going on a hunch, checking out this Asian shop. Dad had made contact with Mr Wong recently and his family had delayed citizenship when they learned they could avoid Endorsement that way.
But now I had to pretend I knew nothing about Mr Wong. Within the five minutes straddling high tide we had to stroll past his shop. We each had to touch our face so anyone looking out could see it, but without making it obvious. We practised as we went: casual flicks, brushes, rubbings.
‘Should we let Disco come with us?’ said Marti. ‘In case they’re tracking him.’
‘I don’t know.’ My stomach rumbled. ‘We need food for three so I vote we all go past.’
Two-oh-four. I’d checked my watch against the chimes of the town hall clock and it had been right on.
‘Go, Marti.’
We watched her saunter past the door, then she stopped and bent over, peering at something low in the window, finger to her chin, thoughtful. As soon as she went on we followed. Passing the shop, I took out a hanky and blew, while Disco swept back his hair. We caught up with Marti at the next corner.
‘Now what, after that little charade?’ said Disco.
‘One of us goes back in ten minutes to collect,’ I said.
‘What about adult abstainers?’ Marti asked. ‘Do they have to run around the streets looking for food like this?’
‘They will eventually if Endorsement isn’t stopped. Most people have stocked up on food for now.’
‘So where are those adults now? Why aren’t they making a big fuss about Endorsement?’
‘It’s hard for them to protest. All media discussion of Endorsement has to be screened by a government committee.’
There was a rumour our government was scared of getting in trouble if the experiment went wrong — when these foreign citizens could still complain to their own governments.
‘Man, the feeding network must be complicated,’ Disco looked again at his wrist.
‘It is. But Mum got this computer geek at her work to make the framework, then she and Dad and their friends found people willing to feed. Even though all feeding’s on high or low tide, it had to be coordinated so you don’t get lots of people turning up somewhere at the same time.’
‘They’d have to be careful, eh?’ Marti hoisted herself onto a concrete wall. ‘Not to let the wrong people know what they were doing.’
I nodded. Dad had always emphasised that when feeding got under way, abstainers need know only the first feeding station. They’d get the next bit of information with the food. I was kicking myself, trying to recall the half-coded dinner table discussions — realising now how little I’d listened, how much more I could have picked up if I’d been tuned in. But then, most people only knew what the propaganda told them.
‘Hey,’ Disco was looking back up the hill. ‘Someone’s head popped out of the shop. You going up, Dek?’
Mrs Wong was in the doorway holding a fat paper bag on the flat of her hands. She looked hard at me as I reached for it. ‘First time look up dub-dub-dub dot vinegarandbrownpaper. You tell any others? Not to come straight here. We didn’t expect you.’
‘Sure, okay, sorry,’ I said, and pulled the packet to my chest. It was heavy and steaming. ‘Thanks a lot. This smells fantastic.’
She nodded and went inside. A little bell tinkled as the door closed.
Disco was rubbing his hands together. ‘Man, that’s a cool system. Touch your head and here comes the food. My mum’d like that one. Tired of cooking so Dad took over — before they split up — but he treats it like chemistry experiments. Horrible.’ He shuddered and laid his hand on the package. ‘Hot. What is it?’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘I vote we open it somewhere private.’ Marti stroked the paper bag as if it was a cat.
‘There’re steps up off the next street. Trees. You want to hug this baby?’
Marti took the food and stuffed it up under her jacket.
We climbed halfway up the long concrete flight and sat down.
‘Moon balls! Oh wow. You guys tried these before?’
I loved the way Marti got locked onto things, no holding back just because we were living on the street. She tickled out one of the white balls and tossed it, hand to hand.
‘Are they cooked?’ I said. ‘They look like raw dough.’
‘They steam them,’ she said, putting her teeth to the shiny skin.
‘We should say thanks first.’ Disco was blushing.
‘I did. I told you, we’ll pay them back later.’
Disco grew redder. ‘I mean, to God.’
‘Sure,’ said Marti while I just stared. ‘Good idea. You do it, Disco.’ She dropped her head over her bun.
When Disco shut his eyes, I copied Marti, cradling the moon ball in my palms.
‘Thanks, God, for this food and that people are willing to take risks for us, and for friends. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ said Marti.
Disco nodded and flashed me a look.
‘That’s good. I like that,’ said Marti, getting a proper bite of her bun.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I added, cautious. ‘You be in charge of that, eh, Disco?’ I dug a finger into the bun, let out a spicy gust. There was something dark at the centre.
‘Anyone can pray, y’know, Dek,’ said Disco, mouth half full.
‘Anyone religious.’
‘Anyone.’
We turned quiet then, sinking our teeth through fluffy, melting dough to the pocket of hot mince and vegetables. We groaned, half-shut our eyes, licked our fingers and reached for more.
‘Three each,’ I said.
Disco gave me a hurt look.
Time for me to shut up and stop trying to keep everything sorted.
Afterwards, Disco wiped his fingers on the bag and offered it to Marti. She folded it and wiped. ‘Oh no.’ She opened it back out. ‘Aren’t we supposed to find a message here?’
I took the bag and looked inside. Tore it round the seams. ‘They must’ve had a stubby pencil.’ Someone had reached in and scrawled right at the end of the bag, www.vinegarandbrownpaper.
‘Just what you said she said.’ Disco was rubbing his hands like he was ready for the next snack. ‘So when do we eat again?’ he asked.
‘Must be about nine tomorrow. We’ll have to find a paper and copy out the times.’
‘I’m stuffed. I don’t know how you guys can even think about food already.’ Marti was pulling her bottle from her backpack.
I watched the water glugging down. Those moon balls had been salty and my bottle was empty. ‘Have some if you don’t touch it with your mouth,’ she offered.
‘I’ll find some in town.’
Disco took it though and poured into his open jaws.
‘You two watch no-one comes while I go to the toilet?’ Marti stood and rustled off into the trees.
‘How’d you meet her?’ Disco asked when she was out of sight.
‘About like we met you. Prowling round.’
‘Not bad, eh?’
Any other guy and I might’ve wanted to thump him but Disco seemed genuinely admiring. Like me. I sighed and wiped round my mouth with the back of my hand.
‘What now?’ Marti was back, peeling a spider web off her shoulder. ‘Library, to get more tides? You know that community newspaper? It has the whole week’s worth at once.’
‘Let’s go then.’ Food to Disco was like high octane fuel. He took the shallow steps four at a jump, double-footed. It was horrible to watch, the way his arms flung out, and his legs in mid-flight, but they always came back together and he didn’t miss once. Down on the street, Marti danced along beside him, leaping to keep up. Tagging behind, I noticed her slip something into a kerbside bin. I wish I’d skipped the nosy gene, but no, I had to look. And nearly gagged again. It was one of those crass rags, rolled up, but bled right through. How long did menstruation last? I couldn’t remember. But it didn’t seem fair that Marti should have to use car-cleaning, floor-wiping rags. Imagine walking around with those stuffed in your undies.
At the library I split. I even handed over an Internet card so they could chase sites. ‘Meet you back here in fifteen,’ I said.
I pulled my hood up, kept my eyes down. But I still felt like a worm sneaking across a lawn, waiting to be thrush-stabbed by anyone who knew me. George Street was really quiet though. Only ‘essential services’ were operating during Endorsement, but J-Mart was allowed to stay open. From the elevator I looked around. There was an old couple down there, and three teenagers comparing nu-skin, but it looked as if the security guards were keeping people moving. Most of the mall was shut behind iron grills. Just the chemist and the postal part of the bookshop were open.
In J-mart no-one was wandering aimlessly because there was a woman at the entrance asking what you wanted, telling you exactly where to find it and to be quick please. ‘First aisle on the right, just past the buckets,’ she said to the man ahead of me.
I had to think fast. My heart was already banging like a meat mallet.
‘Face stuff for my mother.’ My thirsty mouth was paper-dry.
‘Stuff? Like cream you mean?’
‘That’s it.’ I showed her my teeth. It was meant to be a smile.
All the woman things were really near the entrance. I scanned the hair dye, false eyelashes, sunscreens.
‘The other side of that row.’ The commandant’s eyes burned my face.
I sidled round and picked up this pot and that. I was so scared I couldn’t make sense of the labels: Eye Food, Nutrigessence … Exfoliate … wasn’t that what trees did? I kept my eyes sliding along the shelves. But I couldn’t see what I was looking for.
‘Do you know what brand?’ My ‘helper’ was at my side. Her face was thick pink powder. What did women think that stuff did for them?
I thought of the name. It was time to play it straight. ‘I really wanted sanitary products.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’ She tossed her head. ‘Boys. See the sign? Women’s Hygiene.’ She trotted back to her post.
Phew. I had the aisle to myself but it wasn’t that simple to choose out of Maxi-Pads, Mini-Shields, Safe on a G-String, Big Day Out, All-Night with Wings. Yikes. And I still hadn’t figured how to hide them.
I snatched a middle-sized package, without looking at the name, and slid it over my shoulder into the hood. Hoped my neck was wide enough to hide it. I pulled the drawstring tight.
‘Found what you wanted?’
‘Yeah, but I just remembered — I haven’t got Endorsed yet so I can’t have them, can I?’ It didn’t make sense, this compulsion to tell the truth while I was busy stealing. But all along, I figured I’d tell my parents later. Then they could pay — somehow — for what I’d taken. Call it borrowing in the meantime.
‘What do you think you’re doing here then? Empty your pockets, please.’ She pressed the pager on her belt.
I pulled out a couple of long, flat stones, a green acorn, bunch of toilet paper, my old two cent piece, and started groping in my trousers. Oh no, the bread was still in my back pocket. I dangled that bag at her. It quivered. All this I did, trying to keep my head straight so the ‘sanitary products’ wouldn’t rustle.
The commandant kept looking round for whoever she’d paged but after half a minute, watching me stuff everything back in and smooth my hands down my front, she ran her own over the top of my pants at the back and said, ‘You’re a pest, now get yourself down to the town hall and stop wasting my time.’
‘Yeah, I should.’ I walked carefully away, keeping my head tilted back. I ran down the elevator and into the toilets where I drank about a litre of water and refilled my bottle. Safe as Houses Panty-pads, said the packet I tore open so I could spread the things through my pockets. Shivers. Was Marti going to thank me for this?
I found her and Disco hunched over a screen. I didn’t like the way Marti’s elbow was hanging off his shoulder. ‘Watcha found?’ I asked.
Marti turned round, pulling a face. ‘Checking our e-mails. But it says from the end of this week e-mail’s going to be available only to endorsed people. They’re going through every server, every address to check who they belong to. Under-eighteens have to use their parents’ addresses.’
She should have just sluiced me with a cold hose. My parents. I hadn’t heard from them yet. I pulled out the other card and sat at the adjacent computer. I jabbed my way into my mailbox.
‘Yes!’ There was one. From lovedoves@readygo.net.nz.
‘Lovedoves? That’s cute.’ Marti was standing behind me. ‘Sorry, I kind of saw it without meaning to.’
I blushed. ‘It’s our surname. Love.’
‘True? That’s neat.’
Neat for a girl maybe. I always deepened my voice when I had to say my full name.
Marti wandered off. Subject: Guten Tag. I double-clicked.
Darling Love, fishing so early in the season? We heard it had started. Are they feeding you all right? And the others? I hope Pops takes well to his new medication. Are the girls behaving? We heard The Flight of the Bumblebee the other day. You should listen to it again. Your cardboard cut-out sounds novel but do you keep it in a safe place?
We are doing WELL. We find everyone is fascinated with New Zealand.
I’m going to come home early, before Dad. Tell you when next time.
Send word while you can.
Your Loving parents.
I leaned in and touched the screen. The words were so small and brittle.
But at least they were still out there somewhere. I pressed Reply. I had to make it snappy or we’d have to pinch another card. I’d done enough stealing for one day.
Dear Mum and Dad, plenty of food for three of us now. Maybe I’ll visit G and P.
What did she mean about The Bumblebee? My piano teacher had played it at his end-of-year concert. I’d never seen anyone’s fingers flying so fast over the keys. All of us were gaping. Did Mum mean there was some message in the music? Or did she just mean I should go and visit Mr Nemeyeva — as well as my grandparents, to check on the girls? Mum was scared her parents would lose the plot once calibration started.
I wrote, Hope you can come home soon. Like a little kid I wanted to add, Hurry, hurry, I can’t wait. But instead I said I was doing fine and not to worry.
Marti was looking at me sympathetically. ‘Okay?’
I scraped the chair back and nodded. Sometimes it’s easier when people don’t show their concern. ‘Couple of things I have to do. Visit my grandparents. Except it’s a long way to walk, Mosgiel.’
Disco tapped his teeth with a pen, then made a wide grimace and ran it over them like a stick along a paling fence. ‘Give me half an hour,’ he said. ‘I’ll figure something out.’
‘Meanwhile let’s get that thing out of your arm,’ said Marti, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder.
‘What about the tide chart?’ I asked.
‘Right here.’ Disco patted the backpack. ‘The bad news is there’s no feed-out till eight fifty-one tomorrow.’
We walked three-abreast down the library steps. ‘I’ve got sausages for tonight,’ I said. ‘We can make a fire once it’s dark.’
It was hot walking back up to the school. The wind had dropped and the afternoon sun was full in our faces. When we’d checked the playground was empty, Marti made Disco go in the bike shed. ‘Sit on the carrier here and rest your arm up on the seat.’
There was one old bike that looked like it’d been parked there for a hundred years, locked with a huge rusted chain, tyres squashed and split.
‘I’m gonna wash your tools in my earring solution,’ Marti said, matter-of-factly. ‘I got one done last week.’ She lifted the hair over the ear with the ruby stud at the top.
‘I’ll watch Dek entertaining me,’ said Disco, ‘else I’ll probably flake out, or scream. Do me a handstand, Derik.’
‘Uh-uh,’ said Marti. ‘I’ll need him.’
When she’d cleaned everything and tied the hair back off her face and washed her hands in the drinking fountain, Marti braced her foot in the V of the bike frame.
I got to hang over the handlebars and hold Disco’s hand so he couldn’t flinch.
‘Hey, Derik, lean away. You’re blocking the light.’ Marti hunched over Disco’s wrist and began to peel back the loose flap of skin. I didn’t want to look but I couldn’t help it.
‘Derik, you’ll have to hold the corner back,’ she said.
She’d peeled back a triangle so it lay like a folded napkin. I went to put the tip of my finger on the corner.
‘Uh! Don’t. Your hand’s filthy.’ She pressed a folded piece of toilet paper onto the corner and let me put my finger on that.
Disco was humming, not a tune, more a grinding chant to help keep his mind up in the trees where he was staring.
Up close, I heard the sickening tiny click of metal on something hard: Marti touching the tweezers to the wand. Sweat sprang like dew on her lip and nose.
‘It’s really tough,’ she muttered. ‘Quite long, I think.’
‘Just pull it hard,’ said Disco.
‘I’m scared it’ll snap. I might have to cut a bit more old — I mean real — skin away.’
‘If you have to, just do it.’
Marti wiped her forearm over her face and picked up the Stanley knife from the sheet of toilet paper.
Blood, black as tar, sprang where she cut. Disco didn’t budge but our clenched hands were suddenly slippery. My back turned clammy.
Marti wiped her face again. ‘I don’t like mopping with this toilet paper. Leaves fibres.’ She dabbed at the trickle running off Disco’s skin. ‘But I have to mop right in the cut or I can’t see what I’m doing.’
‘I know.’ I felt my face turn fiery as I fished from my sweatshirt pocket one individually wrapped Safe as Houses Panty-pad.
‘Omigawd. You’re a loony, Dek.’ Disco sucked in through his teeth and fixed his eyes back in the sky.
Marti looked at me hard and made a tiny shake of her head. ‘Okay, so it’s perfect. Just don’t tell me where you got it.’ She shucked off the plastic wrapper with her teeth and I watched the miracle of blood being smooched up out of the wound, leaving, just for a moment, pink flesh. Then the black plum colour welled back in.
‘Derik, you’ll have to dab every couple of seconds.’
So with one hand clutching Disco’s sweaty hand, the other one behaving like a terrified nurse’s, I watched that incredible girl called Marti make a couple more nicks, grasp the wand and ease out the long fibre that connected Disco to the National Monitor.
That was the moment Disco and I fell in love. And I don’t mean with each other.
Disco also fainted and fell off the bike, pulling me after him, flecking me and Marti with blood in a long red streak across our trousers.
‘Yeah, I got it.’ Disco’s eyes snapped open. I’d done the wetrag, face-slap, wake up, man routine while Marti pressed another Panty-pad to Disco’s wrist and tied it with a couple of shredded rags.
‘Got what?’ I asked.
‘Ah, take that thing off my face! I figured how we get to Mosgiel.’ He lurched up to a sit. ‘We turn the operating table into a triple tandem.’
I kicked at the tyre and made it crunch like no rubber ever crunched.
‘Nah, kidding. But my uncle does a bakery run out there twice a day. Pies, around four o’clock. I know it’s a bit of a cliché, stowing away …’ Disco looked at his wrist, at the pile of bloody wadding on the asphalt. He sank back down.
‘Man, he’s out cold again.’ I touched his face with the wet cloth. No response.
‘Let’s roll him on his side and stick a jacket under his head. He’s had a shock.’ While we watched him, Marti nodded at the pile of Panty-pads I’d put on her backpack. She blushed. ‘Where’d these come from?’
I couldn’t look at her. ‘Pinched.’
She shook her head. ‘Interfering.’ She thrust them into the bag. ‘But they’ll help. I didn’t know it’d be this … icky. Or sore. Have you got any more pills?’ She squatted to ease Disco’s string of treasures back over his head.
Disco woke a second time, groggy as, but keen to try his uncle’s truck. Marti told us she wanted to stay while we went to Mosgiel. ‘I’ll hang out here, get a fire going, just up near the food tree, okay?’
So Disco and I set out again. The streets were still quiet and I was alert, checking around constantly for officials looking for a chance to swoop on kids like us.
Disco was pretty quiet on the half hour walk, touching his wrist, checking for blood, but he’d figured out exactly what we needed to do. ‘Great timing,’ he said, pointing out the Longlands Bakery sign ahead. ‘That’s our van, the red one. Soon as they’ve loaded the first stack, we leap in and get behind it.’ He jumped a chain-link fence and led us in a crouch through the used-car yard, pausing to stare through shiny windows at the adjacent bakery.
‘Couldn’t you just ask for a ride?’ I said. Today had been about a year long already. Everything had felt so tricky, it’d be so nice just to sit up in a warm cab and switch off. On the other hand, being half-buried by pies and bread couldn’t be all bad.
‘Uncle Bob’s not actually the boss. He used to drive this trip but he’s in the office now. They’re not supposed to take passengers and he’s the sort of guy who takes it seriously. You can bet if he sees me he’ll want to know exactly what I’m up to.’
‘Won’t your parents be wondering the same thing?’
‘Dad. Not yet. I told him I’d go home with Jarrod after Endorsement. You know him? But he didn’t even turn up.’ Disco bobbed down to check in the mirror of a red Saab. He spat on his fingers and tugged at his cowlick. ‘Dek, I thought we were mates. You never told me I was this ugly.’ He stood up with his lopsided grin, then he looked towards the bakery and his face set. ‘Now! Go-go-go!’
We sprinted. Leaped the chain fence, ran, dodged, leaped again and there we were, inside the van.
‘Hey, these are frozen.’ Lying flat on the boards, heart squeezing hard, as if the blood was all banked up, I could feel the cold coming in waves off the boxes beside me. I rolled hard against them while Disco reached to re-stack the pile we’d clambered over.
‘Maybe they couldn’t make fresh ones today. Most people had to stay home, even bakers.’ He squashed in beside me and scrunched down low.
The van suddenly bounced as someone stepped into it. A shadow fell over us. ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake. Call that hiding?’
We couldn’t bring ourselves to look at the voice. A young man’s. There was silence for about fifteen seconds then he said, ‘I haven’t seen you but when we get to Mosgiel there’s something I have to do so you can unload this lot double quick — before I get back. Soon as we pull up. Then scram. Got it?’
‘Good plan, Disco,’ I said as boxes and red plastic crates shot across the floor at us, and were piled high, blocking the light. The doors slammed and we were off.