Gabriela Lee

A Small Hope

THERE ARE ONLY six of us left.

Mattie, the eldest, has survived both the Cataclysm and the Fall, and the arrival of the undead. The rest of them only remember the undead: the shuffling walk of the virus, reanimating the dead flesh that was washed out into the ocean after the ruin of the world. The undead came in waves, moaning and groaning as they searched for fresh meat to satisfy the needs of the virus. But even that did not last – the undead did not manage to find the eternal life we all craved. Mattie says that they do not deserve it.

I do not remember any of this. I only remember the world we live in now.

We live on the edge of a small, abandoned village, eighty paces down a dirt road overgrown with tall grass. There are low huts built from salvaged wood and corrugated metal, arranged in a semicircle around a roughly-hewn fire pit. We have dug a well next to it, and draw water once a day for boiling. We are surrounded by layers of chicken wire and wood, the thick knots of metal-studded fencing meant to keep the undead out and ourselves in. There is a single gate that swings only a single way. I have never known if it is for us to stay inside or for one to go outside.

We have a small vegetable garden and some goats. These are tended by Pol and her daughter, Yolly. Yolly is ten years older than me, and does not speak. Pol says this is because she is mute. I know it is because Yolly has decided that she has nothing important to say.

Girlie tends the armory, which consists of a single gun with six bullets, several blades that she keeps sharpened daily, and an old motorcycle that only she knows how to ride. Girlie sometimes goes on scouting missions for Mattie, but we never know when she leaves and when she returns. Sometimes, she carries her knife. She always leaves her gun behind.

Sister Francisca joined us after I was born. She taught me my letters and words and numbers, and how to tell the stars apart. We found her outside the fence, praying. Mattie took her in because she was a nurse before she became a sister, and we needed someone who could take care of our sick and dying. Sister Francisca was the one who took care of my mother before she died. She takes care of everyone, including me.

But more often than not, I wish to be free from her watchful eye. Sometimes, after my chores are done, I stand in front of the fence and watch the world beyond the wires that prevent me from going out. It is green and growing outside. I can see a turret in the distance, a pale white tower that juts against the mountainous horizon. It catches the dying rays of the sunlight and reflects it back to me. What could be beyond the soft hilly rise to our east? How would the wind feel on my face? What could be in the mountains? Is the sea finally free of the undead?

Sometimes, I imagine what it would feel like to stand atop that tower, to see the world from that vantage point. To see where the water finally meets the land. To feel the air on my skin, instead of filtered through the masks we all wear. To be finally looking down at the world, instead of always looking up.

THERE IS A seventh member of our community. It lives at the farthest edge of the circle, nearest to the gate. It only speaks to Mattie. Only Mattie is older than it. Sister Francisca, brushing my hair one evening, tells me that it is the Stud.

Who is the Stud? I ask her.

All communities in the world keep a Stud, she says. After the Fall, it was discovered that only a third of the male population survived. And when the undead arrived, they seemed to be more drawn to males than to females. So in the interest of continuing the human race, many communities decided to save the males. We traded with them, promising them safety and shelter and food, and in return, they would father children for the community.

I look at myself in the stained mirror in front of me – one of the things we salvaged from the world outside the fence – and count the brushstrokes on my hair. And what is a male, Sister?

Sister Francisca’s rhythm never falters. Males are the other half of the human race, Evelyn. They are the ones who contribute to the creation of new life. For instance, have you seen how Pol and Yolly care for their garden?

Yes.

Can you remember what they do?

I think back to the afternoons when I assist them in planting their garden. First, says Pol, there are seeds. The seeds come from the plants that have left them behind, in the hope of living once more. The seeds are planted into the soil and covered, so that they slumber beneath the ground. Then Pol and Yolly water the ground. Sometimes, they add goat shit to it, fertilizer to make the soil healthier and more conducive for the seeds. And then, one glorious morning, the seeds awaken, and new leaves unfurl from the ground. The cycle begins anew.

Sister Francisca nods in satisfaction. You also have seeds within you.

What? I am suddenly frightened – did I accidentally swallow the seeds that Pol and Yolly use for the garden? Will I also bear fruit?

All women carry seeds inside our bodies. But they do not grow, simply because there is no one to water them. Only Studs can water our seeds, and help us grow them into new people.

Is that how I came to be?

Sister Francisca nodded. This is how we all came to be.

So if we have a Stud, then why are we so few? I ask.

Sister Francisca does not answer. Instead, she begins to braid my hair silently, her head bowed, her lips pressed together into a tight line.

That night, I wonder if the Stud feels even more trapped than me.

MATTIE CALLS ME to her hut one afternoon. I have just finished my chores, and my gloves are filthy. My hair is braided and coiled around my head, and hidden beneath my mask. You asked for me?

Take off your mask, Evelyn, she says, reaching up to do the same.

I do not tell her, but this surprises me. Still, I reach behind my head and undo the clasps that bind the protective goggles and coverings that hide my face from view. I blink in the unfiltered light, as Mattie’s face, dark and lined like the markings on a tree, comes into view.

“There,” she says. “This is much more comfortable, don’t you think?”

I nod quietly, as my lungs try and get used to the stale, recycled air in Mattie’s room. My tongue reaches out to wet my lips, to try and form words with my mouth.

Mattie walks over to me. I flinch under her gaze. Nobody has ever stared at me this way, as though I was being weighed and found wanting.

“You are seventeen this month, yes?” she says.

I nod.

“Use your words, Evelyn.”

I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say. My voice sounds alien to my ears. I long to wear my mask once more.

“Good, good.” Mattie walks around me, her hands clasped behind her back, her white hair a halo around her head. “Francisca tells me you’ve been asking some questions lately.”

I shiver. I do not tell her that, sometimes, this is all I think about. “I only wanted to know where we come from.”

Mattie completes her circle around me, and returns to her seat.

I stare at my boots.

“That’s a fine question, Evelyn. Ever since our creation, we have always asked where we come from. And now that we are so few – well, we need to find more.” Mattie steeples her fingers in front of her, balancing her elbows on the armrests of her chair. “Girlie tells me that we are the only ones left in this valley. None of the other communities have survived.”

“There’s more? How come we never visited them?”

Mattie ignores me. “There were fourteen settlements here, about fifty years ago. Four of us had Studs. The Stud before this one – your father – was a good man. He took care of us, and there were many of us then. I think that was why we lasted so long.” She cocks her head to one side, watching me, as I absorb this new information. “This new one – well, we call him ‘new’, but he’s been with us for sixteen years now. But we don’t have anyone to offer him anymore. Not since Yolly.”

I start trembling in earnest. I can see where the thread of the conversation is unraveling.

Mattie stands up and takes my hands in hers. I can feel the rough calluses on her palms. She has done so much to build our lives, and now there are only so few of us left. Without the mask, I can see every line etched on her face. Her eyes are dark. When she speaks, her words are touched with ritual. “Evelyn, will you be our Gift?”

INSTEAD OF BEING able to leave, I can feel the noose of expectations wrapping around my neck. But how can I say no? Nobody has ever been able to leave without Mattie or Girlie knowing about it. And what if the undead are still out there, waiting to devour us?

The other women treat me gently. Kindly. On my seventeenth birthday, they take me to the bath house and wash my hair with lavender, the last of our stores. They uncoil my braids and brush the strands, until they shine like moonlight. They present me with new clothes: a dress of white, cinched at the waist, the buttons climbing from hem to collar. The edges of the skirt are trimmed with lace.

Only Yolly does not participate in this activity. She squats by the gardens, her hands scrabbling against the dirt, her mask hiding her face.

Mattie explains to me: to be the Gift means to give yourself over to the needs of the body, in the hope of being born anew. To be the Gift means to find a way to awaken the seeds inside the body. To be the Gift means to hope.

And we have not had hope in such a long time.

I can feel the heaviness of this hope on my shoulders. I stand at the wire, my eyes on the turret in the distance, a finger pointing toward a freedom I cannot grasp.

The night before the ceremony, Sister Francisca comes to my room. The only light comes from the candle beside my bed. Her face is drawn and shadowed beneath her fraying veil. Her mask is nowhere in sight.

She hands me a long, delicate object wrapped in cloth. “I will not let you go in there unarmed.”

Her gift is a knife. The edge is sharp and keen, and can perhaps slice through the very air we breathe.

Before I can ask why she is giving me this, she has already disappeared. A second later, my door clicks shut.

I AM LED to the door of the house at the edge of the fence at high noon. Mattie stands with me. We both wear our masks.

The door opens a crack, and I cannot see anything but shadows.

Is this the one?

Yes, says Mattie. She is the one.

Fetch her at the usual day, then.

I feel Mattie push me forward, toward the open gap. I stumble and pitch forward. A pair of strong arms catches me, as the door shuts behind me. For the second time in as many days, I am asked to take my mask off.

The air is cool and fresh, and does not smell stale, unlike in our rooms. The room is paneled in a sumptuous wood grain, and the floors are littered with carpets that are soft beneath my feet. Unlike our bare walls, these ones are filled with shelves, full of books and strange artifacts.

I turn to him, my hair framing my face, the knife pressed against the bare flesh of my thigh.

He is older than me, his dark hair dusted with white. He is taller than even Pol, who is the tallest member of the community. He looks like me and yet unlike me. His hands are like shovels, and his chest is like a broad door. He stands with his legs apart and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks at me warily, as though I am a skittish animal, and he is waiting for me to move.

“My name is Evelyn,” I say, testing each word out with my lips. “May I know what to call you?”

“Arthur,” he says. His voice is like thunder in the distance. He takes a step closer, and I feel the air between us vibrate. “I have watched you.”

“Watched me?”

“Grow up.” He stops right in front of me. We are not touching, not yet. He towers over me. It is only now that I realize that the windows are not open, and the entire room is lit only by candles. “Did they tell you who I am?”

“You are supposed to provide us with a child,” I say. “We are so few now, and there is nobody else to…” I falter. “We need your help.”

There are two glasses on the table next to Arthur. They are filled with liquid, dark and heady. He gives one to me. It smells of ripeness, the ground after the rain. I take a deep drink and feel the world spin.

“Did Yolanda tell you –?”

“Tell me what?”

Arthur raises his arms, and his hands ghost over my arms. I drop the glass and feel the liquid splash at my bare feet. I have never felt anyone touch me like this, and I feel like I am running both cold and hot at the same time. There is a fire in my belly, and my head feels like it is about to explode.

“You are so young.”

“I am the youngest in our group.”

“I know.”

“There is nobody else.”

He leans down, and his lips touch mine, and I instantly ignite.

THERE ARE ONLY the two of us left.

I am sitting at the tower. The land is spread out like a patchwork quilt, down at my feet. A cool wind blows from the sea, smelling of cleanliness and salt. I am the size of a heavy fruit, round and heavy and ripe. I run my hands across my belly, which is curved like the moon. I can feel the babe in my body swim up and down, breathing in time with the beating of my heart. My arms cradle the world.

I close my eyes.

I open them again, and now I know that I am lying down on the floor. My dress is no longer on my body – it lies in tatters, on the ground beside me. Arthur is nowhere to be seen. I search for the knife strapped onto my thigh, but it is not there. I glance down at my body, but there is nothing there. My stomach is flat and hollow.

There is nothing there.

Then Arthur is above me. Fear runs through my body. The knife is in his hands, and he is pointing the blade straight at me. “Get up,” he says.

I get to my feet, shivering. I can feel something wet and sticky run down my legs. He throws me some rags – the remains of my dress – and tells me to wipe myself off. I wince at the sight of a scarlet stain on the cloth. I am conscious of the knife, and how it tracks every movement of my body.

Once I let go of the rags, Arthur throws a bundle of things at me – clothes, my normal clothes. My mask. He makes me put them on.

There is something comforting about putting on familiar things again. I feel like I am back inside my own skin. As soon as the mask clicks into place, and I am plugged back in, I am myself.

Arthur raises his hand to his ear and I hear his voice – how is he doing this? He wears no mask! – in my head. Can you hear me?

Yes.

Good.

And with a swift motion, he throws the knife at me.

Instinctively, I catch the haft with one hand. My mind tumbles in different directions: was he trying to kill me? Did he do something to me to make me see visions?

Francisca gave you the knife, says Arthur. She has always been trying to help me, even when I was first captured.

Captured?

Have you never wondered why Girlie keeps on going outside, but none of you are even allowed to step beyond the fence? She is looking for new Studs. They know that I am old, that you will live beyond me. They need you to be with child, else you will go the same way as the other communities in this valley.

I step back, my hand steady as I point the knife directly at his chest. Why can’t you give me a child?

Arthur’s face changes. I’m infertile. I cannot give you a child, even if I wanted to.

Then why are you here?

He raises his hands, gestures to the room. Everyone has to survive. I thought this was my only choice. Francisca came with me, so that I would not be alone.

I slowly lower my arm. Is this why she gave me a weapon?

She would not want you to come here unarmed.

Against who?

Against Mattie.

So you are not my enemy?

No. And I am sorry if I hurt you. It’s just that – you are so beautiful, and I could not help myself.

I wipe the knife on the cloth of my pants, and slip it back into my belt. I would have given it to you, had you asked.

I am sorry.

He breathes, and tells me: You have a choice. Mattie will be here soon. You can either be here or be gone.

What do you mean?

Arthur bends down on one knee and taps against the floor of the room. A trap door opens up, and I can smell a draft coming from the drop. There is fresh air coming from somewhere.

I am giving you the same choice that I gave the last girl. Yolanda. You can leave this place, or stay here, trapped with me, until I die. Because I can never give you a child.

I step closer to the hole. It is packed tight with brick and stone. This must have been here for centuries. This must be why Arthur chose the farthest home. Did they even know it was here, when they built this enclave?

Yolly made a third choice. I accuse him.

Yes. She cut out her tongue with the knife Francisca gave her. She wanted to keep my secret, but she did not want to leave her mother. You are not bound to this community like she is. Arthur shook his head, gesturing to the too-small room, the barred windows. There is more to life than this. You are not living, Evelyn. You are just existing. There is a wider world out there, and you have a chance to get out.

Why don’t you leave instead?

What makes you think I haven’t tried?

The pieces fall into place. Girlie tracks you down.

He pulls up his pant leg, and I see a thin ring of metal around his ankle. A blinking green light is embedded in the metal. I am a prisoner, and you are not. You have a choice, but I gave up my choice a long time ago.

I hear a knock on the door. Three sharp taps. Mattie is here.

The undead? Are they still out there?

Arthur shakes his head. None has been sighted for five years. He points to the radio hanging at my belt. I will guide you when I can, if I am not yet dead. I still remember enough.

I look at him, then at the door. He can only keep her out for so long. But it is long enough – his face is shining with hope.

I make my choice.

 

 

Gabriela Lee received a Master of Arts in Literary Studies from the National University of Singapore. Her poetry and fiction has been published in the Philippines, Singapore, and the US, including the anthologies Fast Food Fiction Delivery and Kaleidoscope: Diverse YA Science Fiction and Fantasy Stories. Her latest work is slated to appear in the anthologies Science Fiction: Filipino Fiction for Young Adults, and New Voices: An Anthology of Fiction. She’s an assistant professor at the Department of English and Comparative Literature at UP Diliman, and can be found online at http://about.me/gabrielalee, or on various social media platforms as @sundialgirl.