We are led into a room across from Elara's office. Dr. Phoebe has Ceres lie on the floor and she starts off by looking in her eyes and mouth. "Tooth decay," she says. "She might need to have some teeth pulled by a dentist before it becomes more of a problem." She continues the exam, but Ceres will not allow her to touch her breasts. Dr. Phoebe continues on as if there is nothing the matter, feeling around in Ceres's abdomen. She has her bend her knees, and she touches her feet and asks if Ceres can feel her doing so. Ceres nods, her face small and intent.
Finally, Dr. Phoebe has her sit on a chair and she sits beside her. "How have you been doing since you were rescued? Are you sleeping well at night?"
Ceres hesitates for a moment, but then she nods.
"Have there been nightmares?" the doctor asks, her voice soft.
Ceres nods again. I feel guilt clutching at my heart. I knew, of course, that Ceres has been having nightmares—she used to whimper almost every night on the ship. But I was under the impression she'd been too exhausted lately, that she’d been falling asleep quickly after all the physical labor in the fields. I realize now that it is probably just me who has been falling asleep while Ceres suffers her nightmares alone. I swallow to keep the tears at bay.
"That's normal," Dr. Phoebe says. "If you can, talking about it with your sister might help. Or someone else you trust. It can help to say those things out loud instead of keeping them all inside."
They continue to talk, and, as I watch in wonder, Ceres begins to unfurl. She gets more animated as she speaks, telling the doctor things about the Asylum I have never heard before. “There w-was...a guard,” she says softly, her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere on the floor. “H-he wasn’t n-nice.”
My blood boils and I want to demand to know his name and everything he did. But Dr. Phoebe is much gentler. She nods sympathetically and says, “It sounds like it must have been terrifying. Especially since you had no one to protect you.”
Ceres nods, her chin trembling.
“But you’re safe now. You have your sister, who loves you more than anything in the world. Isn’t that right?”
And Ceres looks up, a small smile on her face. She nods again and speaks of being home with me and Shale and the baby. She speaks of how much she's looking forward to the birth of her niece or nephew.
As I watch them, my heart begins to get heavier and heavier, until I feel I cannot bear its weight in my chest anymore. I can see quite clearly that if Ceres continues to speak with Dr. Phoebe, she will get better. The doctor has something I don't; she is able to reach my sister in one meeting in a way I couldn't over several weeks and with all our history.
Dr. Phoebe turns to me when there is a lull in their conversation. “Why was Ceres taken to the Asylum?”
“She had fits. Her eyes would roll back in her head. She’d stare off into space, make smacking sounds.”
She nods. “Sounds like epilepsy. Has she had any episodes since you’ve been reunited?”
“No, thank goodness.”
“They have medication available for epilepsy, should Ceres need it. But it sometimes resolves itself; perhaps that is what hers has done. In any case, it’s vital that you live somewhere she can get adequate care, especially to deal with unresolved psychological trauma from her years at the Asylum.” She smiles kindly at Ceres. “Sometimes stress can bring on these episodes, so it’s important she has a safe place to talk about these things.”
I nod, my mind going in a million different directions. Dr. Phoebe continues, "I can do an exam on you as well if you'd like. They have much more sophisticated equipment at the compound, as well as an obstetrician. But I'm able to check quickly for anything obviously wrong."
I let her feel my abdomen, and she uses a measuring tape to measure my stomach. "It seems you're measuring ahead for just nine weeks. How have you been feeling?"
"Tired. But well."
She nods. "Might just be you’re carrying a big baby. It's important you get your vitamins and folic acid. We can provide you with that on the compound as well." It seems she expects me to be staying at the compound. What has Elara told her?
Finally, she gets up and I do, too. "Shall we go back in to Elara's room?"
Elara smiles when she sees us enter. "Thank you, Phoebe."
The doctor nods and leaves.
Ceres and I take a seat.
"Thank you," I say softly. "I asked at the compound about getting her a doctor, but..."
"It's only for emergencies when it comes to immigrants, and sometimes not even then." Elara takes a drink and then looks at me. "I know what it's like, to have a baby you love more than anything. To want to protect your family and make sure they’re safe."
I glance at Ceres. She does not know about Elara's offer and I don't want to tell her. Elara sees my gaze and smiles at my sister. "Would you mind waiting with Shale while I speak to your sister?"
Ceres squeezes my hand and then leaves.
I sit back, playing with the string on my mask as my eyes fill and overflow, fill and overflow. If I say the words, I feel my heart will break. It is already like a shard of glass, a splinter, a knife in my chest.
"I can see you're torn," Elara says. "But it's easy, isn't it, if you think only of your family?"
She is asking me to be selfless. I know she is right. I must be selfless for Ceres and for the baby. But when I think of Shale, of those brown eyes, of his smile, I wonder what would be the point of living at all if I didn't get to see him.
There is an edge of impatience to Elara's voice when she speaks again, a full minute later. "What is your answer?"
I look up. Through the haze of my tears it seems there are three of her. I blink until she is two, then one. "Yes." My voice breaks. "Yes. I'll go with you."
Elara walks forward, her lips curled upward in a smile. Against the dark crimson of her lips, her teeth are sparkling pearls. She reaches her hand out to me and I stand. We are mere inches apart. I think she is quite beautiful. I think she is revolting. She puts her face close to mine; I smell sweet wine on her breath. The red rhinestones are nothing but plastic, I see from so close.
"You've made the right decision," she says. "Your baby thanks you." She puts her hand on my stomach. The baby flutters. She laughs.
◊ ◊ ◊
I make my way back out into the hallway, my legs like rubber. I keep my hand on the wall so I won't stumble. The faint thump of the music out in the yez barely permeates here, into the deep recesses of the building. I wonder faintly about insulation in the walls keeping out the sound—only to keep from thinking about what I have just said. What I have just done. What wheels have I set in motion? What now? What is to become of Shale, of me, of us? What is to become of the words he said to me just last night: I love you? Are they to just dissipate into the air, like steam shimmering into nothingness? I shuffle forward, bit by bit, toward the curtain and the doorway that will lead me back into the yez. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to admit this is reality.
At first I think the sound I'm hearing is my imagination, but then I realize it's coming from down the hallway, in the opposite direction of the yez. It's a husky sort of crooning and, as I turn to make my way toward it, I realize it is someone singing in Chinese. The door on my left is open just a crack; I push it open wider. Inside, in a small lamp-lit room, is the older woman I'd spoken to last week, the one who’d claimed to see a life within me. She is sitting on the floor, surrounded by books.
She looks up when I enter and smiles; her lips are painted a bright, vivid red. The skirt of her blue dress is pooled on the floor around her legs. It gives her an ethereal quality, as if she is a mystical creature rising from the ocean. "Míngqín. Did my song draw you?"
“Yes.”
"Come in." She waves me forward and a big ring on her finger twinkles. "Close the door."
I do. When I turn around, I take a closer look at her books. They are old and yellowed, but their covers are colorful and bright, pictures of women in clothes I have heard people speak about from the time before the War. Some have pictures of flowers or dogs, others have pictures of buildings. The array is dizzying. "What are you doing?"
She caresses the page like it's her lover. "Reading."
I stare at her. Reading? In New Amana, reading served only an educational purpose. In my grandmother's time, it used to be a recreation. This woman, older than my mother but not quite old enough to be my grandmother, clearly uses it for the latter. "You read in English?”
She laughs, the sound throaty and rich. “Yes. The Chinese have been speaking English for decades, since before the War of the Nations. It’s trickled through generations. I always had a knack for languages myself, and I’ve been able to hone it working with New Amanians.”
I don’t ask her what work she does; I have an innate sense that it is something illegal, something I shouldn’t know about. Something about this woman—her loud laugh, the way she approached me so carelessly though I am New Amanian and she is Chinese—speaks to a deep-seated defiance of authority. “Where did you get them all?"
"The black market," she responds. "I get the drink and the drugs for this place, and Elara is kind enough to look the other way when I get myself the occasional book."
I hadn't even realized that the black market here sold old books. I point to one with a drawing of a girl with yellow hair and a white rabbit on the cover. "Is that a children's book?" The idea is so foreign to me. What could a book talk about that a child would be interested in? That her mother or teachers couldn't tell her?
"Alice in Wonderland." The old woman holds the book out to me. After a pause, I go to sit by her and take the book. I flip it open, the musty smell of the yellowing pages making my nose tingle. I read the words on the first page. "It's fantasy. The author wrote it for a friend of his, a child."
"Alice in Wonderland." The words feel like I'm speaking a foreign language. "What is 'Wonderland'? Was it a city from before the War?"
"No." The woman smiles. "Why don't you read it? It's one of my favorites."
I turn the book over in my hands. Maybe I can read it to the baby. The thought is dark, delicious because it is forbidden. I wonder if Elara will object, if I will be able to keep it from her. I realize I have no idea what my life will be like on her compound. I think about how I’d once promised to teach Shale to read, that I haven’t yet had a chance. Then I push the thought from my mind. "Thank you." Suddenly, having this book feels important, vital. "What is your name?"
"They call me the Madam."
I frown. "Why do they call you that?" Madam means boss, does it not? It’s what we’re told to call the Monitors.
"I supply them with men and women for their pleasure. Not to mention the best quality drugs and drink. Anything they want, really. Everything is for sale or barter here." Her eyes are serious, assessing. She is wondering if I will run away, disgusted. Hedonism is looked down on everywhere; it doesn’t matter that we are in China.
I nod. "But what is your name, really? What did your mother name you?"
She smiles. "Marisa."
Surprised, I ask, “Marisa? Isn’t that a Western name?”
She laughs that throaty chuckle. “Yes. I got it from a book. But it’s my name at this yez, in this part of my life. I imagine you have a new one, too.”
So she knows about the Rad fugitives. Elara must trust her quite a lot. I smile. "Yes. I’m Kalliope. It's nice to meet you, Marisa." I stand. "I must go now."
"Come back and see me," Marisa says. "And I'll give you another book."
"Okay. I'd like that." I retreat from the room, my heart and mind somewhat quieter, if only for the moment.