By
Brad R. Torgersen
Do the mothers always know best?
The trog’s body was both pale and stiff, as he lay at the base of the southwestern wall. He’d fallen a long way, onto the boulders and debris heaped in either direction. Dinah had never seen a dead person before. The mothers talked of death as if it were a disease, long since vanquished by medicine. The oldest of the mothers was said to have lived for hundreds of years. Dinah herself was just a lyte—in the latter half of her second decade. She and her classmates were on a rare field trip skirting the wall’s perimeter. It was only her second time seeing the outside. In the distance was the vast, green bulwark of endless forest, extending up to the foothills of the far mountains. Also in the distance—in the opposite direction—was the shattered hulk of one of the dead cities. The mothers knew about those too. The dead cities had been made by people, long ago. Before the war that ruined the world—so that the Earth could be made whole again.
Dinah turned her eyes from the poor trog, and gazed up the hundred-meter face of the wall proper. There were several balconies two-thirds of the way to the top. Only the mothers were allowed to visit those perches. The trog must have been called to perform some chore for a mother in need of manual work. How or why he’d gone over the edge... well, it didn’t matter. According to Mother Eilan, a trog’s life wasn’t worth much. Dogs and cats possessed more value. They at least provided pleasant company. Trogs were boorish, and kept apart from lytes and mothers alike. When they were seen, it was only for short periods. Either lugging furniture and hardware, or trooping in a tidy column to their next task—with a watchful beta standing over them, its punishment flail at the ready.
“Do you think he jumped?” asked a voice to Dinah’s left.
“Why would any creature do that!?” Dinah exclaimed.
Shervet—also a lyte, and Dinah’s best friend—was still looking at the trog’s body.
“It’s unlikely he tripped,” Shervet said. “The railing on each balcony is at least a meter or more high. The trog would have had to climb up on top, and push off. Look how far the body is from the wall. He was moving forward as he dropped.”
“So many broken bones,” Dinah said, shuddering—her eyes still averted. “I hope his end was quick.”
“Sympathy for a trog?” Shervet chided.
“Even a trog deserves at least a modicum of compassion,” Dinah replied.
“Don’t let the mothers hear that,” Shervet said, turning and walking to Dinah’s side. “You know what they say about trogs.”
“Short-tempered, short-sighted, short-lived,” Dinah said, in a somewhat mocking tone—repeating the line from the hymn which had been taught to them since Dinah had been old enough to grasp the meaning of words. Until this unpleasant discovery, it had never occurred to her what that particular hymn really meant. The trogs were almost always out of sight, and out of mind. But now? Now, one of them lay smashed and lifeless at her feet. Even he had been a child once, albeit following in the footsteps of his elders—from the moment he was deemed capable of using tools.
“We should tell the others,” Dinah said.
“What for?” Shervet asked. “Not like it’ll do him any good at this point. Besides, a trog ground crew will be around eventually. They can collect the body, and put it through the crematorium. Come on, let’s keep walking. We’ve only got two hours left in the morning. Mother Eilan will be upset with us if we’re late returning to the rendezvous point.”
Dinah took a final look over her shoulder, her mouth turned down in a slight frown, then nodded her head in acquiescence. She and Shervet slowly resumed picking their way through the rocks.
It was a relief, stepping back inside the wall. Everything was clean, and in its designated place. Trees, green lawns, walking boulevards, the various sculpture-like buildings that the mothers had created over the centuries. All of it intimately familiar. Dinah and twenty other lytes all moved in a relaxed, orderly formation, with Mother Eilan gliding at their side. It was said that Eilan was over two hundred years old. She possessed the stately grace of one who had long ago become accustomed to authority. Her movements were fluid, yet strong. On her shoulders were the straps of her day pack—a somewhat more robust version of the smaller packs each of the lytes had carried outside. Presently, Eilan steered the formation into one of the circular vestibules that accessed their school house. While Shervet and the others went to store their packs in the cubbyholes that lined the vestibule’s walls, Mother Eilan approached Dinah and bade the young woman to have a seat at Eilan’s side.
The polished, symmetrical stone bench was cold to the touch. A huge, transparent skylight allowed the sun’s rays to flood down into the vestibule, where the white marble floor reflected that light to every part of the space.
“Your brow is creased,” Mother Eilan said quietly. “I would know your thoughts, Lyte Dinah.”
Dinah shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just good to be back in,” she said.
“Does the outer world disturb you?”
“Yes,” Dinah admitted. “More than I thought it would—even having been outside before.”
“You saw something unusual this time?”
Dinah hesitated. Neither she nor Shervet had told anyone about the dead trog.
“I saw... I saw enough, to know that the outer world is dangerous.”
“Indeed,” Mother Eilan said, patting a hand on Dinah’s thigh. “That’s why the wall exists. It was the first thing the original mothers created, when the great rebuilding commenced—after fighting had stopped, and many decades of silence passed. You also saw the dead city?”
“Yes.”
“It’s nowhere visible from inside the wall—for a reason. We don’t need a corpse from the past reminding us of the terribleness from before true civilization was born. Occasionally, I voice the opinion that we should make the effort to go and tear down the dead city. Completely. But then I am reminded by my seniors that time will do the work, as surely as anything else. Besides, we don’t have enough trogs for the job. And that’s a good thing.”
“Trogs... ” Dinah said, and swallowed hard, remembering the body. One thing suddenly occurred to her. Why had the trog been naked? All trogs wore the customary, dull coveralls of their kind. The one outside the wall hadn’t had so much as a napkin to cover himself with, nor boots on his feet. Only the silvery collar of obedience around his neck.
“You’re not giving me the full truth,” Mother Eilan suddenly said, in a sharp tone. “Out with it, girl. Now.”
“Yes ma’am,” Dinah said dutifully, and swallowed hard a second time; before continuing. “When we paired off to explore outside, Shervet and myself wound up finding... well, we found... I’m so sorry, Mother Eilan. It was a trog!”
“A trog? Beyond the wall? Did the trog molest you in any way!?”
“He was dead,” Dinah quickly blurted. “And no, this wasn’t one of the wild trogs rumored to still be living outside. I know, because all he had on, was the collar. Nothing else.”
Mother Eilan suddenly stiffened, her gaze turning from Dinah’s eyes—to stare into space just in front of their feet.
“You’re sure it was dead?”
“Lifeless as a stick in winter,” Dinah replied. “And so broken from the fall, I doubt even a strong beta could have survived a similar accident. We came across the body under one of the balconies.”
“Yes,” Eilan said, “I imagine you did.”
“What does it mean?” Dinah asked, suddenly sensing that it was Mother Eilan who wasn’t divulging the full truth.
“It means nothing,” Mother Eilan snapped. Then, seeming to remember herself, her posture softened, and she placed a comforting hand on Dinah’s shoulder. “Or at least, it means nothing of concern to you. Trogs are, as you know, a necessary component of our society. But their uses are limited. My seniors would be alarmed to learn of a feral trog from the subterranean stables, wandering around outside. But a deceased trog? That seems to be the kind of problem which has neatly solved itself.”
Dinah looked into Mother Eilan’s eyes—bright with purpose and intelligence—but dared not probe with further questions. Dinah had learned, as all lytes must learn, that knowledge was not the same thing as wisdom. Wisdom would come with time, and patience. All would be revealed, so that by the year Dinah herself was of age to ascend to motherhood, much that now seemed opaque, would be clear.
If any of the other lytes had been paying attention to Mother Eilan’s sidebar, the lytes didn’t show it. Eavesdropping was a punishable offense. When a mother pulled a lyte aside for one-on-one counseling, this was for that specific lyte, and her alone.
“Now, we have more classwork for today,” Mother Eilan said, quickly standing. “Was there anything else you needed to tell me, before you walk to your desk?”
“No, ma’am,” Dinah said.
“Good. Put the poor trog out of your mind. Its time on this Earth was going to be quick, regardless. Like fallen snow melting in a spring afternoon.”
Dinah nodded, and trailed the rest of the lytes flowing out of the vestibule. The comforting blanket of routine would do much to soothe her nerves. But the image of the dead trog—face down, on the stones, his body twisted—could not be easily banished from Dinah’s mind.
The opening hymn of class now concluded, Mother Qez was at the lightboard, using her fingertips to call up imagery from the school computer. All of the lytes in Dinah’s age bracket were now receiving weekly inservices on motherhood—the life soon to be—since they were just a few years shy of achieving true maturity. At twenty, every person would take up the mantle of adulthood. To include participating in the procreation lottery.
“As you can see,” Mother Qez said in an academic tone, “the total number of lottery selections is, annually, very small. This is one of the most important aspects of our society, and I cannot stress it enough. We will not grow our nation beyond the confines of the wall. It is an artifact erected to protect us, yes—to ensure that our country is now, and always will be, a safe space. But it’s also a reminder, that procreation without limits was one of the reasons the old war occurred. We now limit ourselves, so that our footprint on the surface of the Earth remains modest. People will never again spread over the land, consuming everything in sight—like a plague of crickets.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Dinah could see Mother Eilan nodding her head—an affirmation of Mother Qez’s statement. Doubtless Mother Eilan knew the rote texts of history as well as any school instructor, but this particular aspect of a lyte’s education was always reserved for Mother Qez. Who was rumored to be over three centuries in age; though her body had achieved that timeless quality all senior mothers seemed to have. Not young, but also not old. She was seasoned. Polished. Like the use-worn wooden handle on an artist’s paint brush.
The question light over Shervet’s desk flicked on.
“Yes, Lyte Shervet?” Mother Qez asked.
“Knowing what the lottery is, and why we need it, is one thing, ma’am. What I’d like to know is, just how are babies made?”
A hushed bubbling of giggles quickly went through the lytes—Shervet had put words to what they’d all been thinking, but had been too sheepish to ask. A pregnant mother was a rare thing indeed, and pregnancy brought with it a tremendous amount of deference, as well as veneration. But the pregnant mothers never talked about how they became pregnant. And once a child was born, she was immediately placed into the communal nursery, where all mothers would function as one—to rear the next generation of lytes.
Mother Qez’s ordinarily small mouth, cinched itself up into a tight knot. She absently rapped a knuckle on the lightboard, considering Shervet’s pertinent question.
“You know that menstruation is the body’s monthly way of cycling,” Mother Qez said. “You’ve also been taught that pregnancy is impossible, through much of that cycle. And that, for a short time every thirty days—give or take—there is a window during which a mother can conceive. What’s not shared with you until you actually achieve maturity, is the precise process whereby the eggs each of you carry, are fertilized. It is not secret, so much as it is sacrosanct. A lesson you will each have to wait to learn, in the fullness of time. Suffice to say that, once you have given birth—as a selectee of the lottery—you will then receive your companion; to keep with you for the rest of your life.”
Mother Qez tapped the small, metallic disc resting on the skin below and behind her left ear. All of the mothers had them—at least the ones old enough to have won the procreation lottery. Once your birth was completed, at whatever age you happened to be when your number came up, the companion was surgically implanted. And seeming immortality attained.
Or, at least, as close to immortality as could be achieved through science.
How the companion worked, was also something the senior mothers kept to themselves. Additional knowledge to be gained—by the lytes—when enough years had elapsed. An aspect of society Dinah found endlessly frustrating. But it was the way of things.
Dinah’s glance at Shervet told her that Shervet wasn’t satisfied, but also wasn’t going to argue with Mother Qez, either. There were many rumors forever circulating among the lytes—about the how and the why of the universe. Surely the mothers knew, for they themselves had once been lytes. But the mothers kept quiet, and knowledge was dispensed to the younger generation over an achingly gradual schedule.
“It is a mistake to know too much, too soon!” Mother Eilan had once shouted, banging her palm on the very same lightboard that Mother Qez now used. The lessons of the dead world from before the war, seemed to inhabit many conclusions of many lyte-inspired conversations. “Capability, without responsibility!”
Hesitantly, Dinah pushed the desk button to illuminate her own question light.
“Yes, Lyte Dinah?”
“Ummm,” Dinah said, working up the nerve to complete her thought; if Shervet could do it, Dinah could.
Now it was Mother Eilan who was also looking at Dinah, in addition to Mother Qez.
Dinah’s face suddenly felt very hot, so she released the button.
“Never mind,” Dinah said.
“Oh no,” Mother Qez said, her eyebrow arched. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily. I know your file, Lyte Dinah. I know the kinds of thoughts that knock around inside your head. Ask your question—I’ll let you know if it can be answered.”
“Shervet wants to know how babies happen,” Dinah said haltingly, “but what I want to know is, how do trogs happen?”
Mother Eilan practically leapt from her chair at the back of the class, while Mother Qez stepped to the rear several paces, and bumped her elbows against the lightboard.
The entire class had fallen silent. Now here was a matter few truly dared broach.
“Also a question that must wait, until you are selected—and made ready,” Mother Qez said.
“Do we give birth to trogs, as well as lytes?” Dinah asked, pushing through her embarrassment. The picture of the dead trog was foremost in her mind now. He’d been as fragile as any lyte. What were his feelings, up to and directly before the end? What had been his hates? His fears? His loves? Had he even known love at all? Dinah opened her mouth to speak again, but was suddenly cut off.
“Of course not!” Mother Eilan practically shouted from the back of the room. “The trogs are inhuman!”
Mother Qez held up her hand, looking to her junior mother—as if to request calmness.
“Your mind seems to be following a dangerous path,” Mother Qez said, turning her head and eyes to look at Dinah. “I admire the boldness of your curiosity. That is the mark of a lyte who will do much good for our country. But only if your mind is disciplined. On the origins of the trogs, I can speak no further. Not because the truth is not known, but because the truth—at this time, and in this class—would be harmful to you. Suffice to say that you will know eventually. You will all know. Now, let’s continue. I want to discuss the mechanics of the lottery proper, before going into more detail about the communal nursery.”
Mother Qez’s fingers began to manipulate the lightboard, but Dinah’s mind was very far away from the lecture. It stayed far away until Mother Qez called for a break. The various lytes stood up from their desks—to stretch, and use the lavatory. Dinah herself absently got out of her seat, and joined several other lytes as they sauntered out of the room and down a hallway to where the toilets and wash basins would be.
A yellow sign blocked their path, guarded by a towering beta.
“No entry,” the beta’s voice stated firmly. Despite the beta’s size, its voice was high-pitched. Like every other inch of the beta’s pink skin, the beta’s scalp was smooth. It didn’t blink as it stared down at the lytes, who fidgeted with physical discomfort.
“Is there a problem?” asked Mother Eilan’s voice from behind. She was walking toward the growing collection of lytes, all trying to look past or around the beta guarding the lavatory entrance.
The beta’s manner turned from stern, to gentle—almost obsequious. “Yes, Mother, there is a problem—for which I deeply and profoundly apologize. One of your kindred instructors alerted the maintenance center to the fact that this particular lavatory is experiencing mechanical problems. I immediately brought a work crew over to deal with it. I do want to apologize again for this extreme inconvenience.”
Mother Eilan seemed to accept this at face value, then clapped her hands three times.
“You heard what it said, now, quickly—over to the east lavatory. Before someone makes a mess!”
The lytes collectively moaned a complaint, then hurriedly shuffled off to the far lavatory in a different part of the building. Dinah was last in, and had to wait for a clear toilet stall. She felt like bursting, before she got a chance to sit down, and relieve herself. Then she allowed herself the luxury of remaining, and waiting. She was on the far side of the lavatory, away from the wash basin. When the other lytes had vacated, Dinah was alone—and in her solitude, able to think. The matter of the dead trog continued to bother her. The fact that Mother Qez was tight-lipped about the origin of the trogs, bothered Dinah more. Surely they weren’t pulled—alive and whole—out of the ground. Somebody had to give birth to them. Even if they weren’t people. Cats made kittens and dogs made puppies. The trogs—
Suddenly, footsteps proceeded into the lavatory. Two pairs of feet. Adult, by the quality of the sound. The two mothers were in mid-conversation, their tone hushed. Dinah thought it sounded like Mother Eilan and Mother Qez, but could not be sure.
Dinah held her breath, as the two mothers conducted their personal business just a few stalls away. Had they seen Dinah’s feet? She deftly pulled them up off the floor, clutching her knees to her chin.
“... she’s too inquisitive to hold back with the others.”
“... it’s the damned field trip outside the wall, she saw one of them.”
“... a trog? Let me guess, that was Ouphon’s toy who jumped last night.”
“... Ouphon shouldn’t be violating the law!”
“... Ouphon isn’t the first, and won’t be the last.”
“... How can you just say it like that? As if it doesn’t mean anything?”
“... Of course it means something. It means Lyte Dinah may have to be placed on an accelerated learning track, and taken out of the ordinary school environment. Her dormitory partner, too. Shervet? They both saw the body. Unfortunate, that Ouphon didn’t think to tell anyone before it was too late.”
“... Ouphon clearly didn’t want to get caught, nor admit what she’d been doing with that trog!”
“... Nor should she. I’d have probably kept my mouth shut too. Anyway, if confronted, she’ll deny it, regardless. And so what? It’s not like a dead trog is a crime. Ouphon will just have to get over not getting any more ‘service’ in her auxiliary suite—inside the wall. You have to admit, that’s a clever place to do it. Isolated. Far from the busy buildings. Trogs are not an uncommon sight, performing wall maintenance.”
“... You almost sound like you want to try it yourself.”
“... Any woman who hasn’t thought about trying it with the trogs—”
“... Disgusting!”
“... Yes, well, maybe.”
Eventually the voices were drowned out by the sound of running water, and then the adult footsteps receded.
Dinah breathlessly lowered her feet back to the floor. After a bit of cleaning up, she was out the lavatory door, and heading back to class. Doubtless Mother Qez had resumed instructing, but Dinah couldn’t be dinged for lateness—the lavatory closest to the classroom had been out of order. What really terrified Dinah, was the conversation she’d overheard. Too many unanswered and unanswerable questions, pushing at the front of her consciousness.
Ten meters before making the classroom door, Dinah stopped short. The beta she’d seen earlier, was leading three trogs out the way they’d originally come in. One of the trogs was pushing a cart on wheels. Another was carrying a large box with a handle on the top. Both of them were stooped, and had long hair that sprouted from both their heads and their faces—silver in color, and dirty by the smell of it. The third trog was different, though. Young. Black haired. Perhaps as young as Dinah herself? Unlike the older trogs—who simply stared ahead, and shuffled, without speaking—the young trog noticed Dinah, and made eye contact with her.
There was an instant of connection—of one mind, acknowledging another. The young trog, whose eyes—as bright as Mother Eilan’s—were both warm, and suggesting of intellect. He hesitated for a moment, the mop handle in his hands temporarily forgotten. Dinah suddenly thought him beautiful.
That was all it took, and the beta was coming down on the young trog like a lightning storm.
“Eyes front, you waste of skin! Eyes front!”
The pain flail lashed, and a current-charged cascade of agony caused the young trog to scream.
“No! No!” Dinah found herself yelling, trying to step between the beta, and the trog who convulsed on the floor.
Almost instantly, the door to the classroom popped open, and Mother Eilan was standing at the doorway, her voice bellowing commands.
“Stop that, this instant! Get out of here with your crew! Lyte Dinah, you will report to my learning chamber at once! MOVE!”
The beta lowered its flail, and smiled a smile filled with yellow, crooked teeth.
“Oh, most assuredly, Mother, and I do profoundly and deeply apologize for the interruption! I will ensure that this young one is properly disciplined and dealt with, away from the campus. Do please pass my apology to the rest of the staff. I am so very sorry for this. Terribly, terribly inappropriate.”
The beta’s eyes promised murder at the young trog—who was shakily climbing to his feet.
Dinah tried to look into the young trog’s face—to see again, what she had so briefly seen—but the trog’s eyes remained fully forward, and his head was bent low, as he hurriedly kept after the other trogs; even going so far as to mimic their age-worn shuffling.
Shervet joined Dinah at their dormitory window. It was dark. Dinah should have been asleep. Or at least in her bunk. The faint light from a half moon, filtered in through the window’s transparent material. Outside, the tops of trees and buildings could be seen, all shadowy and silvered at the edges.
Dinah quietly hummed a bit of music, to try to calm herself. It was from one of the nursery hymns they all learned, as small girls. About how there was harmony in all things, when all things knew their places. A sensible enough hymn, for the communal nursery—where mothers worked around the clock to keep toddlers and youngsters in line. The hymn had always brought Dinah comfort. It spoke of finding refuge and support in structure. But now? Now, the words seemed empty.
“Today was just bad luck,” Shervet said, placing a hand on Dinah’s shoulder.
“Bad luck for us both,” Dinah replied. “I’m not the only one being pulled out of class.”
“Punished for being nosy,” Shervet said. “Figures.”
“I wonder if they’ll move us out of the dormitory too?” Dinah asked. “I think we’re being taken out of class, more to protect the other lytes from our ‘nosiness’ than anything else.”
“Probably,” Shervet replied.
A short silence elapsed, as the two lytes stared out into the night.
Then, Shervet’s hand slowly slid across Dinah’s triceps, to the opposite shoulder, where Shervet’s fingers began to trace little circles.
Dinah stiffened.
“Is now not a good time for the touch?” Shervet said, freezing her movement.
“I’m sorry,” Dinah said. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that... I can’t... Maybe some other night.”
Shervet’s arm dropped, and she turned to go crawl into her bunk. It was a two-person room. With narrow beds to either side of the window, and shelving above the bunks. A mere two meters separated them. But suddenly Shervet felt very far away.
“Wait,” Dinah said. “Don’t be cross. It’s not you. It’s me.”
“You never didn’t like the touch before,” Shervet said, a hint of petulance in her voice. “Maybe it would take your mind off the trogs? That’s all you’ve been thinking about, ever since this morning.”
“I can’t stop,” Dinah said, making fists in her short hair—as if to pull it out at the roots.
“I can’t either,” Shervet admitted. “I was hoping the touch would take both our minds off of it.”
“But it’s not just what we saw,” Dinah said. “It’s what I heard. You weren’t there when I listened to the mothers talking in the lavatory. You were right, about how he died. He jumped. But that’s not the most shocking part. The mothers talked as if a different mother were... well... you can infer a lot from the way people talk about a thing, without really talking about it.”
“What are you getting at?” Dinah Shervet said, her feet dangling over the side of her bed.
“Did you notice, how the dead trog was naked?”
“Now that you mention it, sure.”
“It didn’t make sense, until I heard the mothers talking about Mother Ouphon. They referred to the naked trog as Ouphon’s ‘toy’ and how Mother Ouphon would just have to ‘get by’ without him.”
“Okay... ” Shervet said hesitantly, still not getting what Dinah was driving at.
“Ouphon and the trog... Shervet, Ouphon and the trog were doing the touch!”
“That’s gross. But why would the trog jump?”
“I don’t know. If it had been Mother Eilan doing the touch with a trog, she would have jumped—to spare herself the shame.”
“Maybe the trog was ashamed too?”
“Maybe. Shervet, we’ve discovered something. Something we’ve not yet been told about, but also something that’s not supposed to happen. Not among the mothers, anyway. But I think it’s happened before. Maybe it’s still happening now? Something the mothers don’t want to admit, or at least don’t want to talk about openly with each other.”
“Doing the touch with a trog, sounds disgusting,” Shervet said. “They’re stupid, smelly, and filthy.”
“Yes they are,” Dinah said. “But the dead one outside the wall, he wasn’t smelly or filthy. He was as clean as you or me—ignoring the blood.”
Dinah watched her friend’s features, in the dim light from the window. Shervet’s mouth frowned, as she seemed to be trying to puzzle something out.
“What if... what if the question I asked in class today, and the question you asked... have the same answer?” Shervet finally said.
Dinah felt a prickle run up her spine.
The next morning, Dinah and Shervet were ordered to pack their belongings. Two large, plastic chests were brought by two young trogs, and their requisite beta master. It wasn’t the same beta as Dinah had encountered the day before, but she was certain that one of the two trogs was the same one who’d been hit with the punishment flail, for daring to meet her gaze. The trogs stood outside the dorm room door, speechless, heads hung low and eyes on the floor, while Dinah and Shervet gathered their clothing and belongings, and carefully deposited it all into the chests. The trogs were ordered in, to pick up and carry the chests—each one far heavier than most lytes would care to handle—and then the trogs trailed along behind Dinah and Shervet as one of the dorm mothers led them through a service corridor ordinarily not accessible to lytes. Halfway down a connecting hallway, Shervet began muttering to herself. When the dorm mother called for a halt, Shervet confessed to having forgotten something back in their old room.
The dorm mother sighed in annoyance, then bade the beta to have the trogs rest their burdens on the floor.
“What could you have possibly left behind?” the dorm mother asked.
“It’s a smaller chest. Mother Wyo gave it to me a long time ago, and said not to open it until my ascension to motherhood. I keep it under my bunk, so that it’s out of the way.”
“Is it heavy enough to require a trog’s muscles?” the dorm mother asked.
“Probably,” Shervet said, her face now bright red.
The dorm mother looked around for a moment, then threw up her hands in exasperation, and snapped her fingers at the beta.
“Come. Bring one of the two. The other stays here, with Lyte Dinah.”
“Mother,” the beta said—its voice high-pitched, like that of its kindred, “I do not believe it would not be wise to leave a trog unsupervised. They can be troublesome if left out of the watchful eye of a responsible master.”
“Are you saying you were foolish enough to bring a known problem trog into a dorm?” the dorm mother said sharply.
The beta almost choked. Then rushed to explain himself.
“Oh, no, ma’am, no, no, it’s not that. It’s just... well, if something were to happen—”
“I am sure it will be fine,” Shervet interrupted, her face still red. “It was my fault for leaving the second chest. The sooner we retrieve it, the sooner we can be on our way. I apologize for the inconvenience and interruption.”
The beta seemed to want to argue its point further, but decided against the idea, bowing its head once, then clapping one of the two young trogs on the butt. The young trog began to hurry off, with Shervet and the dorm mother in the lead, and the beta following watchfully behind.
Suddenly, Dinah found herself alone with the trog who seemed very much like the one from the day before. He kept his eyes on the ground, his posture stiff. Afraid.
“I’m sorry the beta hurt you yesterday,” Dinah said.
The trog in front of her, kept silent. He didn’t so much as alter his breathing.
“It is you, isn’t it?” Dinah asked, aware of the fact that this was very much against protocol—to directly interrogate a trog, without first going through a beta—but she was intensely curious, and there might not ever be another opportunity to talk to a trog without any adult supervision present.
“Please,” Dinah said. “Just let me know that it’s you, or not. If you can’t look me in the eye, at least show me somehow. I know, let’s try this—if you remember me from the school, and were unfortunately punished for looking at me, stamp your right foot on the ground two times.”
At first, there was nothing. Then, hesitantly, the trog lifted his right foot, and gently tapped the sole of his boot on the cement floor twice in succession.
“It is you!” Dinah exclaimed, suddenly delighted.
Then she remembered herself.
“Please,” she said. “It’s important to me that you understand what I am saying, and that you believe me when I tell you that I did not want you to get into trouble. Certainly I didn’t want that beast of a beta taking out its anger on you. I know lytes aren’t supposed to care. We’re not even supposed to spend much time in contact with trogs. But I’m not like that. I think there’s a case to be made for courtesy, as well as kindness. Especially when—”
The young trog raised his face, and Dinah stopped short. Yes, this was the one. His eyes—the same intelligence, the same warmth—could not be mistaken for another’s. Her heart skipped a beat, when he said just a single word.
“Gebbel.”
Dinah was shocked at the deepness of the trog’s voice. In truth, it was the first time she’d ever heard a trog form a word at all.
“What?” Dinah blurted, surprised.
“Do not forget. My name, is Gebbel.”
Then the trog’s face aimed back down to the floor, and footsteps in the distance told Dinah that the dorm mother was coming. Very quickly, the beta, Shervet, and the trog carrying Shervet’s second chest, returned. Gebbel stooped and hefted Dinah’s chest, then he and the other trog—who now carried Shervet’s two chests, one atop the other; with obvious strain and discomfort—began to walk behind Dinah and Shervet, as the dorm mother led them through two more connecting hallways, and finally out into a large plaza.
Dinah wasn’t familiar with this place. It was one of the areas reserved strictly for the mothers. Paving bricks formed pathways in between or around variously-shaped fountains. Trees grew tall, providing shade from the sun as it approached midday. On the other side of the plaza, a large, multi-storied building awaited. The dorm mother pointed to it and said, “Go there. Mother Uroz is waiting for you. You do not know her, but she will know the both of you. She will show you to your new place of residence, and give you further direction.”
“Will we be able to see any of our friends, or old teachers?” Shervet asked nervously.
“In time, yes. But Mother Uroz will be able to tell you more. I bid you goodbye, and wish you well.”
The outer door—somewhere on the flank of the dorm—snapped shut, and Dinah walked woodenly next to Shervet, as they crossed the plaza to their new home.
Things weren’t much different from before. The hours and schedule were almost exactly the same. Dinah and Shervet even shared a room, built for two. But this room was much larger, and actually had a lavatory of its own. Incredibly small, compared to the communal dorm lavatories Dinah was used to. But the exclusivity of the tiny two-person lavatory seemed almost obscenely luxurious. Neither Dinah nor Shervet could get over it. For a full week, they took turns simply relishing the quiet privacy of the thing.
Class was more exclusive too. Dinah and Shervet took lessons with only four other lytes, all of varying age. Mother Uroz seemed to have the same timeless quality that Mother Qez possessed, and a dignified manner of speech and movement that suggested great age. Their school subjects were the same, the opening hymns the same, but the material concerning motherhood was greatly enhanced and expanded. Including details on the companion, about which almost nothing had been said by any of the mothers before.
“Your companion is the key,” said Mother Uroz. “It will be with you from the first day, after your one and only birth. Once implanted, the companion monitors all of your body’s life functions. It also runs the army of microbe-sized machines which will be introduced into your bodies—to ward you against diseases, cancers, sclerotic arteries, and other problems. Without the companion, each of you would die in a matter of decades. With your companion intact and fully functioning, life can be extended dramatically.”
“How dramatically?” Dinah asked, after turning on her question light.
“Nobody really knows,” Mother Uroz admitted. “We’ve had the companions for as long as I’ve been alive. To my knowledge, no woman ever given the companion implant has ever died of old age. They have died of other things—usually accidents and injuries—but old age? No. Not yet. Perhaps, not ever.”
“What’s it like,” Shervet said, leaning forward into the illuminating halo of her own question light.
“What’s what like?” Mother Uroz asked.
“To live so long,” Shervet said. “Years upon decades upon... centuries. Do you ever get bored?”
Mother Uroz’s brow creased, and she seemed about to dismiss the question, then she closed her mouth and considered further. Before responding, she drew up a stool in front of the lectern from which she ordinarily orated, and sat down; her hands folded.
“In the regular schools, we’d not be obliged to answer such an audacious question. But as you’re all aware, this is not a regular school. Each of you has been, in different ways, deemed precocious. This is a blessing, and a curse. Your minds may be ready to accept knowledge at an uneven or accelerated pace, but your hearts may not be. When a lyte is brought to me, it’s because her imagination is adventuring into territory well beyond her ken. My job is to try to guide you all down the correct paths, without stunting or discouraging your intellect. Our nation needs powerful minds. It’s how we managed to re-forge a better world for ourselves. Here, inside the wall. When all else surrounding us was ash.”
“Are you old enough to remember the war?” one of the other lytes asked.
“No,” Mother Uroz responded. “That was long before my time. But I was like you, once. And when my questions threatened to explode out of my skull, I was brought here. The senior mothers helped me to understand. Eventually, I attained motherhood, experienced my one birth, gained a companion, and when I’d lived many, many decades beyond the years of a lyte, I returned here. To help ones such as I had been find their places in our society.”
Shervet still leaned forward at her desk, the question light not yet darkened.
“Which,” Mother Uroz said, chuckling at herself, “does not address the original point, Lyte Shervet. Let me put it this way. I have lived three hundred and forty six years. During that time I have seen our nation inside the wall create many wonderful things. We have grown. But not without balance. There are many more of us now, and we’re capable of doing many things. But our progress is restrained. Sensible. To include long journeys beyond the wall—into the wilderness.”
Now, all the question lights on all the desks illuminated.
Mother Uroz chuckled again.
“Yes, I know. You’ve not been told—until now—of the expeditions. Doubtless when some of you are ascended to motherhood, you will have an opportunity to venture out on some future quest for knowledge. Depending on your professions. Going outside for days, weeks, even months, is not for the delicate. There are things you will see out there—places you will visit and experience—which will change you forever. And it’s the change which keeps life interesting. I am not now, who I was one hundred years in the past. And I was not then, who I was one hundred years prior. And so on, and so forth. If there was no opportunity for change, then long life would seem like a prison.”
“Like with the trogs,” Dinah said under her breath.
Mother Uroz’s back straightened.
“What about them?” she said, and suddenly Dinah’s face was turning bright red—Mother Uroz had keen ears.
“Short life would seem to be as much of a potential prison, as long life,” Dinah said quickly. Then shrank into her seat, hoping she could stop being the sudden center of attention.
“We’re pretending that a trog has the capacity to grasp what it would mean—to live a short life, versus a long life,” Mother Uroz said confidently. “I’ve had more than my fair share of experience with their kind. In a sense, the trogs are one of nature’s truly unfortunate cases. Almost smart enough, to be civilized. Almost long-lived enough, to attain the kind of wisdom one needs to be a productive member of society. But not quite. Always... not quite. Like a stunted child just intelligent enough to be aware of how she doesn’t measure up to everyone else. We do the trogs a favor, by employing their strength for practical projects that require muscle.”
“And what about the betas?” Shervet asked.
“A beta is merely a trog we—the mothers—have chosen to elevate to a higher grade of awareness.”
“How?”
“The same medical science that gives us the companion, gives us the ability to make a trog into something more than what it is.”
“Then why not all the way?” Dinah asked—her question light staying off. She’d forgotten all about pushing the button. And Mother Uroz didn’t seem to care.
“All the way to what?” Mother Uroz responded.
“If we can take a trog and make him into a beta, why not take a beta and make the beta into something more like us?”
Mother Uroz smiled, and shook her head.
“Do not mistake the limits of our medicine, for lack of compassion. We have tried. Oh yes, our country has tried. The first mothers worked endlessly to uplift the trogs. It’s in the records, which some of you will see eventually, if you yourselves decide to practice medicine. We tried so hard to improve the trogs’ existence—to make them like we are. But it never worked. The closest we could come, was the betas. So, we did what we could with both species. We gave them roles in our world. Roles for which they are most aptly suited. Which is a far, far better thing, than banishing them to the outside. There is no hope beyond the wall. I’ve been out there to see it for myself. No creature would ever want to be condemned to a life outside. Here, on the inside, the betas and the trogs at least have some form of civilization. Clothing. Food. Sanitation. None of you understand precisely how valuable things like clothing, food, and sanitation can be; until you’re forced to do without them.”
“Can trogs make baby trogs, the way a mother makes a baby lyte?”
Dinah’s last question—asked of Mother Quez, earlier—stopped Mother Uroz short.
“What?” she blurted.
“It makes sense,” Dinah pressed. “Lytes come from mothers, and eventually turn into mothers. The trogs must also come from other trogs. But we’ve never seen a trog be pregnant. What little we see of them at all. Can trogs even get pregnant?”
“No,” Mother Uroz snapped, and then wiped a hand along the side of her face with exasperation. “I mean, it’s more complicated than you suspect, Lyte Dinah. I was briefed on your specific precociousness, before your arrival here. I know what you saw, that morning, during the field trip. Doubtless the dead trog was a horrible thing to discover, and when you’ve seen something horrible—believe me, I have, more than once—the image sticks in your brain. It fascinates you. So now the trog takes up space within your soul. You cannot get rid of him. You need to understand him. To know what happened, and why.”
“Yes!” Dinah practically shouted, realizing Mother Uroz understood her predicament.
“But,” Mother Uroz said—with the mothers, there was always a caveat, “the specifics of procreation—trogs, betas, lytes, mothers—is something not even I can discuss freely, until all of you have had more time with me. To properly prepare you. Some of you might be ready now. Others might not be ready ever. We’re striking a happy medium, and hoping that even with an accelerated learning curve, we’re not exposing you all to too much, too soon. If we did that, we’d be destroying exactly what we’re desiring to build in you. A proper education.”
A little sigh of disappointment passed through all the lytes. Except for Dinah. Dinah felt a kernel of anger burning in her stomach. Once again, the mothers were being deliberately opaque. It wasn’t fair to Dinah, or Shervet, or any of their new classmates. More than that, Dinah was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t fair to the trogs either.
Occasionally, Dinah caught sight of her trog—Gebbel—while she was walking the plaza. Funny, she thought, that she’d come to regard him as hers. Almost always, Gebbel was part of a work crew, engaged in some aspect of plaza maintenance. Trimming the verge, or re-laying the pavers into a new configuration. He never looked up at her, whether Dinah was near or far. But she sensed that he was aware of her presence, and deliberately trying to not let it be known. The betas would notice, and make their displeasure felt with their pain flails.
There were other trogs with whom Dinah began to acquaint herself, too. Some of them were regulars inside the school, performing some aspect of building maintenance, or carrying equipment at the behest of an instructor. Most of the trogs were obviously old. But a few of them were young, and it was one of the young ones—who seemed to always be helping Mother Evlun—who showed up mysteriously in the school hallways one night.
Dinah only saw him, because she was out of her bed, trying to pace off her insomnia. She’d not slept well since departing the old school. Many nights, she lay in her bunk and stared up into the dark, unable to quiet her mind. Until literal exhaustion swept her off to oblivion. On this particular night, she’d decided to actively attack the problem, and slipped out of her bed with a mouse’s care, so as not to disturb Shervet, who softly snored.
If trying to lay still wasn’t doing her any good, Dinah was going to burn off her anxious energy. A stroll ought to do the trick. But lytes were forbidden in the plaza after dark. So the interior of the school—that section portioned off for quarters—was all she had to work with.
Dinah didn’t get a close look at the young trog. She spied yellow light coming from the end of one of the many corridors—usually, at this hour, lit simply by the moon’s pale energy; passing through windows in the walls—and peered around the corner just in time to see the trog being beckoned through an adult’s apartment door.
Mother Evlun’s to be precise. No beta in sight.
When the door closed, Dinah could not contain her curiosity. So she soft-footed her way toward the door, and waited at the archway for over a minute—looking as shadows moved around in the thin band of yellow light that projected beneath the edge of the door itself.
Then, the light went out. And as Dinah stood there, motionless and listening, the most unusual sounds began to come from inside. Muffled, of course—the doors here were as thick as they’d been at the old school. But the intensity of the sounds escalated, until a rhythmic thumping against furniture could be heard, along with skin slapping skin.
For a moment, Dinah almost screamed in alarm—because it sounded like Mother Evlun was being hurt.
Dinah kept quiet, though, when Evlun’s voice distinctly cried out the words “More!” and “Yes!” in repetitive, breathless, interpolated succession.
These were not the sounds of harm being done. In fact, as Dinah listened intently—her head practically pressed to the door proper—she realized that what she was hearing was something similar to the touch. But much more energetic and feral than anything Dinah had ever done with Shervet. It seemed as if Mother Evlun and the young trog might shake the apartment apart. Then both Mother Evlun and the Trog engaged in a drawn out, mutual groan—that seemed to last for many seconds—and silence returned.
Eventually, light returned beneath the door. Dinah’s heart leapt into her throat, and she scurried back down the corridor the way she’d come, until she was hidden again behind the corner. She watched from a safe distance as the door opened, and the young trog reappeared—adjusting and buttoning his dirty coveralls. Mother Evlun’s head appeared, as did her shoulders, which were bare. She and the trog both looked to the left, and then to the right, waiting and listening. Then came the most astonishing thing of all. Mother Evlun pushed her head forward and pressed her mouth to the trog’s mouth. He pushed back. And for several seconds, the two of them seemed to be rubbing faces. Then contact was broken quickly, Mother Evlun shut the door, and the young trog disappeared in the opposite direction—seemingly navigating in the dark with the swiftness of a cat.
Dinah slipped back into her room, and laid down on her bed. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest. What had she just witnessed? Everything about it seemed obscene. No, worse than obscene. It was an abomination. And yet, the remembered sounds of Mother Evlun exclaiming “Yes!” and “More!” could not be wiped from Dinah’s mind. Those had been the sounds of joy, uttered with uncaring abandon. Is that what it would be like, to do the touch with Gebbel?
Dinah spent the rest of the night wondering.
Weeks passed into months. The shock of discovering the dead trog, had faded. But Dinah’s curiosity about live trogs, was greater than ever before. Twice more, Dinah observed the same young trog visiting Mother Evlun’s apartment in the middle of the night. Each time, Dinah told Shervet all about it—the following morning—but Shervet didn’t seem to care.
“Bad dream,” Shervet said, in annoyance. “Why let it bother you?”
At the behest of Shervet, Dinah did not persist in taking late night walks. If Dinah got into serious trouble, it was said that a second relocation would be in order—this time, not to a school for lytes who were precocious, but to a penal farm for lytes who were truly mischievous. Those lytes would be denied motherhood, as well as a companion. They would become short-lived workers like the trogs themselves. Kept away from the rest of the country, in a kind of exile for women who did not or would not behave. Something Shervet feared greatly, because she knew that she and Dinah were treated as an informal unit. If Dinah were to be punished, it was likely Shervet would pay the price too—as an accessory.
Occasionally, Dinah and Shervet would indulge in the touch. Or rather, Shervet would visit Dinah’s bed, and initiate—with Dinah going along to get along.
But there was an unsatisfying quality to the act, now. Something was most definitely missing, though Dinah couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Which simply frustrated Shervet, who seemed to have no such problem enjoying the moment. Until it became clear that Dinah could not reciprocate.
A distance grew between them, which words alone could not close. No matter how much Dinah apologized.
Then one day, after Shervet had demurred to attend class—on account of not feeling well—Dinah returned to their room, to discover that Shervet and all of her things were gone. Even the small chest kept under Shervet’s bunk.
When Dinah rushed to tell Mother Uroz, the older woman simply wrapped an arm around Dinah and guided Dinah into Uroz’s learning chamber, at the back of the now-empty classroom. Uroz slowly shut the learning chamber’s door, and then sat down at her large instructor’s desk. An aquarium filled with brightly-colored fish, sat at one corner of the surface, while ancient-looking bound-paper books were arranged between bookends on the opposite corner.
Dinah’s chair—across from Mother Uroz—felt uncomfortable, despite padding.
“I don’t understand,” Dinah said, sniffling at a piece of tissue which Mother Uroz had offered.
“I could see it coming,” Mother Uroz said. “Even before your arrival here. We don’t often get paired lytes, but when we do, it almost never lasts. Sooner or later, one of the two tires of the relationship, and requests to be separated. The pain will be something you have to deal with in your own time, and in your own way. I would tell you not to take it personally, but that’s impossible. I know for a fact.”
“How?” Dinah asked.
“Within a year of coming here, when I myself was a lyte, Mother Cedra—then Lyte Cedra—moved out of our room. And she didn’t even tell me why. I just... came back to the room, and she was gone. Moved to a new class with a new instructor, too. We seldom talked after that. I seldom talk to her, even now. It’s just something I’ve learned to live with. You will too.”
Dinah drew her knees up to her chin, and hugged them tight.
“It hurts,” she said. “Everything hurts.”
“And it will keep hurting,” Mother Uroz said. “Even many, many years from now. You just... learn to live and be happy, despite the hurt.”
“But it’s not just about Shervet,” Dinah said hotly, staring across the desk with watery eyes.
“I know,” Mother Uroz said.
“How?!” Dinah barked, surprised at her temerity in addressing a mother without using the expected manners and deference. But given the rawness of her heart, Dinah did not, in that moment, particularly care about being well-behaved. She wanted answers.
Mother Uroz steepled her fingers. “So much like I was,” she said softly, as if to no one in particular.
The older woman reached a hand under her desk, and there was a slight snapping sound—as if a switch had been thrown. The bubbles in the aquarium suddenly grew in number, until their noise was practically an irritant. There was something else, too. A kind of low, electronic pitch. Just loud enough to be detectable, but underlying the frenetic burbling of the aquarium.
“A necessary distraction,” Mother Uroz said. “To mask our conversation. Because what I am about to tell you, cannot leave this room. There are more ears here, than ours. Will you swear to me now, on your own life, that what is divulged between us, stays between us?”
“I swear it,” Dinah said.
“Do you promise it by your very blood?”
“By my blood, I swear it!” Dinah said, leaping out of her chair and extending her hands across the table.
Mother Uroz took them—the older woman’s grip reassuringly strong—and then she released Dinah’s fingers, and told the lyte to sit back down. And listen carefully.
“We travel the same path, you and I,” Mother Uroz said. “Many of the questions that now crowd inside your skull, once crowded inside mine as well. I was not an easy student for the senior mothers to deal with. It seemed like I was always half a step from exile. But I managed to stay just this side of their expectations. Eventually they sent me here, and here is where I learned the truth.”
Dinah had forgotten all about the tissue in her hand. She barely breathed, as Mother Uroz continued to speak.
“There was a time, long ago, when trogs and lytes lived amongst each other. Before the war which ended all wars. Before the companion, and our longevity as mothers. The trogs were in charge of the world, then. Yes, I see the shock in your eyes. It’s historical fact, nonetheless. Hundreds of countries across the Earth, were all run by trogs—with very few exceptions. They could never stop fighting with each other. They still can’t keep from fighting. That’s why we created the betas. To keep order and discipline. But there were no betas then, nor mothers. We lived with the trogs, and they lived with us. We did the touch—trogs and lytes with each other—and made billions of babies.”
“Shervet was right,” Dinah said, almost gasping.
“Oh, you both more or less figured it out. All you needed was confirmation. Yes, to this day, we still need the trogs—to make lytes. And they need us to make trogs. When a mother gives birth—her one and only child—the female babies are put into the communal nurseries, to become lytes. The male babies are turned over to the betas, who make them into trogs. Which are kept separate, so that they can be properly harnessed and controlled—and their violence can never again rule the world.”
Dinah’s face expressed her horror at what she’d been told.
Mother Uroz quickly continued.
“Or at least, that’s the logic our society has relied upon since the wall was erected many long years ago. It’s the fable we tell ourselves, to justify maintaining the status quo.”
“But how can we call ourselves superior?” Dinah demanded. “We treat them as animals, but trogs are... they are people too!”
“Not all of us agree with the law,” Mother Uroz said. “Which is why I do the work that I do. So as to identify and shepherd lytes who will bring sorrow to themselves, by knowing and asking too much—then expecting things to change.”
“But they should change!” Dinah said emphatically. “I mean, Mother Evlun has been doing the touch with a trog, right under your noses! A law isn’t a law, if it’s conveniently broken by people who should know better!”
“Mother Evlun? Really? I didn’t know that.”
“I’ve heard them several times.”
“You’ve been busy paying attention to other womens’ personal business. If I were one of the other instructors, I’d have you punished for it. But I won’t. What got you curious about Mother Evlun, anyway?”
“Because nobody tells lytes anything. You give us half-truths, and expect us to wait for the rest of the story—and you act like we’re just supposed to accept this.”
“That’s because most lytes do. Most. Which again, brings us to this conversation in this room. You’re right. A law isn’t a law, if it’s broken without consequence. I can’t expect you to understand yet, because you’re not a mother. When you’re of age, one of the secrets that is finally shared with you, is that doing the touch with trogs is not only allowed, it’s expected.”
Dinah’s mouth hung half-open.
“How else do you think the egg is fertilized,” Mother Uroz said. “By magic? With another egg from another mother? No. The trogs complete the procreation puzzle. We provide the eggs, but the trogs provide the sperm. You are offered a choice: artificial insemination, or direct mating with a trog. Some women try the latter, don’t like it, and resort to the former, until pregnant. Other women try the latter, like it, and become pregnant in the ancient way. And out of those women, a few cannot let it go. They enjoy it too much. So that, long after the birth is over, and long after gaining a companion, these women yearn again for the experience. Enough to risk violating the law. So they make arrangements. Yes, it’s against the code of our country, but are we going to throw every mother—who secretly has a trog on the side—into exile? No. It’s a tolerated violation. We don’t openly talk about it.”
“Even when something goes wrong?” Dinah said.
“Like what?”
“Like when a mother becomes pregnant for the second time.”
Mother Uroz tapped the metal disc below and behind her ear.
“The companion sees to it that no mother, so quipped, need ever worry about becoming pregnant again.“
“But what about when a life is in peril?”
Mother Uroz opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to catch Dinah’s drift, and frowned for several seconds—before continuing.
“I don’t know the specific reason why you found a dead trog outside the wall. But I can guess. Liaisons with trogs are supposed to be short-lived, like the trogs themselves. I am wagering whichever mother was partaking of the trog who jumped to his death, she’d let it go on too long. Allowed herself to become attached. Or, worse yet, allowed the trog to become attached. When she tried to break it off, the trog despaired. So he ended his life.”
“I can’t imagine anyone—trog or no—choosing suicide, simply because he’s losing the touch with some mother,” Dinah said. “But I can imagine choosing suicide, if the trog has fallen in love; and gets hurt.”
“A trog can feel in such a sophisticated way?” Mother Uroz said, raising an eyebrow.
“You tell me!” Dinah said loudly. “You have all the answers!”
Suddenly, Dinah began to weep again. But this time, it wasn’t just sniffling. It was a hard, unrelenting ache in her stomach, that caused her to lean forward and wail openly. For Shervet. And, in a sense, for Gebbel too. Because it was Gebbel—the picture in her mind, of his lovely face, of imagining his hands on her skin, his lips on her lips—which had distracted Dinah enough to ultimately drive Shervet away. One relationship, carelessly shattered. Another relationship, unfortunately impossible.
In the space of a single year, the whole world had stopped making sense.
Mother Uroz waited patiently. When Dinah collected herself—more tissue being offered from Uroz’s hand—the older woman reached for one of the books on the corner of her desk. She opened it, and removed a piece of paper. She slid it across her desk, and Dinah took it.
There were words arranged on the single page. Lyrics.
“You know all the hymns officially sung in school,” Mother Uroz said. “But this is one of the forbidden hymns.”
“Forbidden? Why?”
“This hymn tells of the time before the wall. Before trogs, and lytes, and betas. When there were simply boys and girls, and women and men. The hymn hints at a legend—about another nation, which survived the war, very far away from our own. Where men and women live and work together still. As equals. I’ve been on expeditions which were sent to find this country. We were never successful. But some of us still believe it exists. Maybe you will be the one to find it?”
Dinah stared into the fish tank, watching the colorful creatures dart to and fro—disturbed by the increased turbulence from the bubbles.
“Finding such a place,” Dinah said, after a long pause, “would not change anything inside the wall.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But we have to hope. Meanwhile, you must learn to have two lives. There is the life that you live, for the outer world. Where you show the other mothers that you are a good, proper member of our society. Then there is the life you live for you. That you share only with similar minds. There are not many of us, but we do exist. And we work together to prepare for a time when there may be a real opportunity for change. Without it needing to be a war.”
“You expect me to be happy living and speaking a lie?”
“No,” Mother Uroz said, matter-of-fact. “But none of this is about your happiness, Lyte Dinah. It’s about your survival—preparing you for the reality of the universe in which you live. I could just let you go, and see you eaten alive in exile. Or I can offer you the outstretched hand of camaraderie. It’s not an easy way, this thing I am offering you. But it is a way. And in time, you will help others to also find the way. Perhaps, beyond anything either one of us can now expect. Are you willing to walk that road?”
Dinah held the piece of paper in her hand, and silently read the words to herself. As Mother Uroz had promised, the hymn spoke of a far-away land, where males and females built a new nation—together. A place where some of the learning and artifacts of the time before the war, had been preserved. Of a life utterly unlike the one Dinah knew inside the wall.
Her hand began to tremble. Could it be? Was there such a country? She imagined walking down a boulevard, with Gebbel at her side—no need for ducking and fearing any armed betas. Dinah pictured Gebbel with a smile on his face. Perhaps, even a child at his feet? No, more than one. Several children. Theirs. Made with the touch.
“Show me,” Dinah said finally, and reverently placed the paper back onto the desk. “Show me everything, Mother Uroz. I am ready to learn.”
The older woman smiled broadly—the first time Dinah had ever seen such an expression on her instructor’s face—and clapped her hands together with satisfaction.