The next morning I sit with my aching back pressed against the rocking chair in my bedroom. The window showcases a world at war with itself, the gray sky spewing, the trees and brown grass pelted with needles of rain. I feel it in my own heart, something bleak and dark brewing. Elara has given us safety from being discovered...but it isn’t safe here. She betrayed me once and she can do it again. How much longer until she breaks? What if, once the baby comes, she decides to take the baby and turn me and Ceres in to the Chinese?
I grip the arms of the rocker, fear seeping in quick and churning. Last night I thought about being with Shale privately, about having a relationship with him while I lived with Elara for Ceres and the baby. But now, with a night’s sleep, I see we have to leave. Elara cannot be trusted. But if we do leave, there is a good chance that we will be caught. And not just us, but Shale, too. What do you do in such a circumstance? There is nothing to do, I realize, but talk to Shale. He wants exactly what I want. We can plan together what to do next.
I rush to Elara’s library and grab a pen and paper. I’ll write a note asking Shale to meet me at the black market. He can’t read, but Ananke can. I am sure she will help.
I grip the pen hard, struggling with how to word things. I take a deep breath and begin the note. As soon as I begin, the words smear. I can’t stop the tears.
I think of you every moment of every day. I want to see you at the black market one night this week—when? Send word through A. I love you.
I do not sign my name; there is no need. Now I must convince Marisa to help me get this to Shale through Ananke. As if she’s read my mind, there is a knock on the door. My heart races as I make my way to the living room to open it.
Marisa waits in the sheeting rain, a bright red raincoat on over her gray clothes. When she sees my expression, her smile fades. “Míngqín. Is everything all right?”
I try to smile, to reassure her, but I can’t. It feels like my bone marrow has been replaced with lead. “Come in.”
Once the door is closed behind her, she takes off the hood of the raincoat. Rivulets of water slither down the plastic of the red coat like bloody snakes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I place one hand on my stomach. “I’m fine, I promise. Just feeling a little...”
“Out of sorts?”
I nod, deciding I will wait to ask her my favor. I’ve lost my nerve and feel I must bide my time. Though we are friends, I am not sure how far the bonds of Marisa’s friendship really extend.
She smiles kindly and places one hand on my arm. In spite of her having just come in from the rain, it feels warm and solid. “That’s not so uncommon in pregnancy. I think I know what might help. How about we get you out of here?”
I wonder if I’ve misheard. “Out of here? Where will we go?”
“This compound is quite large. We can drive around. There aren’t too many rules to be followed since so many high-ranking dignitaries live here. Besides, I’m well known and the few Monitors scattered about won’t stop us.”
“But if they did...they’d see that I’m pregnant. And they’d probably know I was new. They might put two and two together—a new fugitive, pregnant. And Elara...she won’t be happy about this. She’s told me not to leave until the baby’s born.” But even as I’m saying no, my brain’s screaming yes. It craves the freedom. My body craves the fresh air, the smell of rain, an extended exposure to the elements. And not just that, but I feel the pull of hope. If Marisa is willing to bend the rules for me with this, does that mean she’ll be willing to get the note to Shale?
Marisa seems to notice the dichotomy between my words and my wishes. “Come on.” She smiles, her eyes warm and bright. “I promise Elara won’t find out.”
And so, in spite of fear having its hold on me, I decide to go with her.
The drive in the van is incredible. The rain pelts the metal roof, the glass windshield and windows. The sound is hypnotic, the kind of music I know will play in my ears even as I sleep tonight. I am wet and cold from the brief walk to the van—I insisted that I didn’t want an umbrella, simply so I could feel fresh rain on me for the first time—but it is so worth it. I marvel at the fact that my skin doesn’t sting. There is no acid in this rain, unlike the rain in New Amana. I am amazed that such a thing is even possible.
As we drive, I finger the letter in my pocket. The page is soft now, and I worry that the ink will have smudged even more, rendering the message unreadable. I look at Marisa out of the corner of my eye. Can I really ask her to deliver this message? She has contacts, people who can get them to Ananke, and by extension to Shale, but it might be too great a favor to ask. She seems to sense my gaze on her and looks at me. “Cold?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just...thank you. For bringing me outside.”
We’re speeding through puddles, the water spraying in wide arcs as we go. “You’re welcome,” Marisa says. “Staying cooped up inside a house for weeks on end isn’t good for a pregnant woman. When I was pregnant, I went for a walk every day, even when the weather was bad. I’d just put on a raincoat and boots and keep going.”
This is the first time she’s spoken of a pregnancy. “You have children?” At her age it should come as no surprise that she does. But I didn’t really think about that before. Marisa seems to exist only here, in this part of my world. It is easy to forget that she has a history of her own.
“Yes, one grown daughter about your age. She works in Beijing. She’s quite dedicated to the laws of righteous living.” She smiles, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. “I’d hoped she’d turn out more like you. Willing to take a risk, break the rules.”
I turn to look at her, touched at this compliment. But Marisa looks resolutely out at the road. I look back out the window. We’re on a route that leads us to the outskirts of the compound. There are a group of shops here, from what I can see; a grocer, cleaners, a clothing and shoe shop, and one that sells fresh flowers.
I marvel at the existence of a flower shop. And then I marvel that people here would buy flowers simply to beautify their houses. It seems an extravagance I can’t even fathom.
Marisa pulls into the parking lot of the small plaza. “How about some shopping?”
Shopping. Recreational shopping was one of those activities expressly forbidden in New Amana, looked down upon as an activity expected of women in the past. It was an activity—like cooking or sewing—that was used to falsely showcase how women were only capable of domestic activities or those that didn’t require much intellect.
“All right.” I’m coming to think that maybe I should be in charge of deciding which activities I can and can’t do. It is as if living as a fugitive here has opened doorways to me I never even saw before. I get out of the van.