Hungry (40 page)

“That so?”

“Yes. I mean it. I’d like to hear more about life here when my grandparents lived nearby. If you ever have free time…”

He laughs. “Girlie, all I have is time.”

I shake his hand again, then hop down the steps and call, “See you soon!”

*   *   *

The next evening when we return to the encampment after collecting kudzu all afternoon, I’ve lost my patience with the monotony of it all. I’m hot, tired, grouchy, and I’d like a shower—a real shower with warm water and decent soap. Plus, I want to take Basil to meet Mr. Clemens. My hope is that the old guy will be able to talk some sense into him.

I dump the contents of my basket onto the growing mountain of cut vines in the collection house then rub my back against the rough wall, trying to ease the itching. Sweating inside a dirty, scratchy dress should qualify as a form of torture. The other girls in my group add their vines to the pile, complimenting one another on how much they’ve collected.

I drop my knife in my basket and stack it in the corner with the others then hurry to the dining hall, hoping to overlap with Basil for a least a few minutes so I can convince him to slip off together later. My heart speeds up in anticipation as I scan the lines of people filing out of the hall, but as hard as I look, I can’t find him and I feel like I might cry. Finally, I have to give up and go inside before all the broth is gone.

I grab a bowl and spoon from the level-one trough. There’s a complicated system called a food chain, which determines who can eat what since people are in different stages of gastro-intestinal development. Level-one people, like me and everyone on my squad, only get clear kudzu broth and the strange sweet tea. Even though we can go back as many times as we want, my stomach still growls, and I feel hungry most of the day. The only difference here is that nobody will send me to rehab for it. I’ve seen what level-two people eat, and it doesn’t seem all that great, either. Creamy kudzu stew with small chunks of mushy vegetables grown in the gardens and gathered from the woods, plus something they call cheese. The higher up the food chain you go, the more solid and varied the dishes become. I find an empty seat with my squad. Nobody looks up at me when I sit. Nobody talks. Eating here is nothing like the dinners my grandmother has described. It’s just shoveling nutrients in like we did in the Loops, only here we use bowls and spoons instead of bottles.

Soon, Gaia rises from her place on a dais and lifts her plate. She’s the only person who doesn’t go through the food chain lines. Every other night she eats with our shift, and one of the domestic workers, like Ella or Bex, brings her a full plate from the kitchen. Tonight it’s Leeda sitting on the chair behind Gaia, ready to jump up at her beck and call.

“Let us give thanks to Mother Nature!” Gaia booms and we all bow our heads. “Mother of the Earth, giver of life, thank you for the sustenance that you provide for us tonight. Mother, you have brought me a bounty from the forest and the fields! I dine on cooked kudzu leaves, mushrooms, corn, berries, flatbread, and cheese! What a feast of your delights. Please bless these workers. Keep them healthy and in your care so they too may someday join me in these delicacies. Blessed be are we.”

Everyone around me repeats the final line, “‘Blessed be are we!’” Then we all dig in.

I slurp through my soup, miserably wishing that by some miracle Basil will walk through the door, even though I know that’s not going to happen. Finally, about the time everyone is done eating, Gaia gets to her feet for her nightly remarks. I’m so preoccupied with thoughts of Basil that I barely listen to her rant about the evils of One World versus the utopia of the Farm. A few of her favorite catchphrases float by as she paces the dais, blue robe swirling “One World, the corporate enemy” and “when the others shall perish, we shall prosper” and “the answer to humankind’s dilemma,” but mostly I’m consumed by my sadness over not seeing Basil for yet another day.

When Gaia’s done ranting and the applause die down, she doesn’t dismount the stage like most nights. Instead, she moves to the middle of the dais and says, “As you all know, tomorrow is the full moon.” She points to the giant wheel tracking the stages of the moon that hangs in the front of the dining hall. Each day someone turns it to reveal the moon’s position that night. “Which means the dear doctor will arrive for our monthly harvest!”

For the first time, I cheer along with everyone else. I don’t know what they’re all so excited about. (How thrilling can it be to pick corn or whatever we’ll do for the harvest?) But I realize the doctor might be my only chance to get a message to my family. If he’s coming from a population center, he might have a Gizmo, and if he does, then I intend to use it.

“This month the dear doctor will bring a new member,” Gaia says, which sends a murmur through the crowd.

“I know you’ll welcome the new one with open arms and loving hearts. And, I’m certain that our newest member will soon know how very, very lucky she is to be here where we can live freely, loving whomever we choose, growing our family, being part of this new, better society that I have created on the Farm. Nowhere else in the world would this be possible.”

I have to look into my bowl so no one will catch me rolling my eyes. She must give the exact same speech to every person who stumbles out of the kudzu. Be nice if it were true.

“As we all know,” Gaia continues, “Mother Nature is a powerful force! She gives us life and snatches it away!”

I think this might be one of the only honest things she’s ever said.

“But make no mistake,” she goes on. “Our Mother is not capricious. She always has a plan, and she knows what’s in our hearts. When our intentions are less than pure and when we question her, we anger her.”

I wonder if she’s talking about Mother Nature or herself.

“So you can imagine,” Gaia says, stopping in the center of the dais, “how shocked I was to learn that there is someone in our midst, someone I have taken in and cared for like my own child, who does not agree.”

Bile creeps into the back of my throat, and I have to swallow hard. I’m sure she’s talking about me. But who would have told her about my misgivings? A wave of nausea rolls over me. Surely not Basil. I feel woozy and have to grip the edge of the table to keep myself steady.

“Who among you has questioned our Mother?” Gaia demands, suddenly fierce and unforgiving.

Nearly in unison every person in the room looks down and mumbles, “We have.”

“And who has been less than grateful for the gifts she bestows?”

The room gets deathly quiet. No one will look at anyone else.

“Who among us has been so brash as to doubt the wisdom of our Mother? Who would dare to complain about the miracle of being a vessel?”

I let my breath go. It can’t be me. She can call me a lot of things, but a vessel isn’t one of them.

From the other side of the room, a tiny voice says, “It was me.” I crane my neck and see poor Bex, standing in the kitchen door with an empty pot in her hand. “I did, Gaia. I questioned Mother Nature’s wisdom. I complained about my pregnancy.” I whip around and glare at Leeda who sits smugly with her hands folded in her lap as Bex walks toward Gaia on shaky legs with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You?” says Gaia, as if she’s shocked. “A person so exalted and blessed to be a vessel for our cause? How could you?”

Bex hangs her head in shame.

“Is it not enough that we clothe you, we feed you, we care for you and your child? Is it not enough that we are creating a new world for you and future generations so no one will ever again be persecuted for normal human urges to eat and procreate? Is it not enough that we protect you from imprisonment or institutionalization? What else could you possibly want from us? How selfish could you possibly be?”

All this because Bex said her back hurt and she had to pee? I narrow my eyes at Leeda, wishing I could smack her.

“You took this gift for granted.” Gaia points to Bex’s swollen belly. “And you angered Mother Nature.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bex wails. “Please forgive me!”

Gaia stands up tall and looks down on Bex, cowering at the foot of the stage. “If this harvest does not go well, we will all know why.”

*   *   *

When dinner is over, I walk through the throngs of toddlers in the main clearing on my way to my squad’s evening job—turning kudzu into usable goods. It’s impossible to tell which kids are boys and which ones are girls since they all wear loose fitting brown shirts down to their knees and have the same short choppy haircuts. Not that they mind, though. They seem as happy as can be playing in the dirt. Especially one little kid, no older than two, who runs in circles, making buzzing noises for the little wooden airplane in his chubby fist. I stop and watch, certain that the toy he has was made by Noam. I almost feel jealous then. Although, I suppose I should be troubled that no one ever seems to be watching these kids since all their mothers head over to the pump house after meals. I don’t know why it takes so many women to get the water, with or without their shirts on.

Inside the weaving house, I join my squad who sit in a circle on low stools, making baskets and talking about the cycle that’s going to start tomorrow. I notice Ella is serving the sweet tea today. She walks from person to person with a tray. Most of the girls don’t even look at her or thank her when she brings them a cup. I find a place between Wren and Reba, but nobody acknowledges my presence. When Ella gets to me, I smile at her and say, “Thanks.” For the first time she looks at me and the corners of her mouth turn up, just a little, before she takes her empty tray and heads out the door without a word.

“That girl thinks she’s something special because she works for Gaia,” Reba says as soon as Ella’s gone.

“I heard she never even had to go out in the kudzu,” says Kiki.

“The dear doctor brought her here when she was nine,” Jance explains.

“And she went straight from Gaia’s kitchen to carrying,” Kiki says.

“This is her second time,” Lu adds, slurping her tea.

“Girl’s been sneaking off like the rest of us,” Reba says with a snort.

“With who?” the others shriek, tantalized by this detail.

“Nobody knows,” Reba tells them.

As I struggle to figure out what they’re talking about, Wren clears her throat and says, “This will be my first harvest.”

The others congratulate her.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, nervously.

“Not really,” Reba tells her. “Just a little poke. And since you’ve been plowing fields with Billet you already know what a little poke feels like.” She laughs and smacks Wren’s arm.

Wren turns bright red as the others crack up. “He’s nice!” she protests. “Not like Carrick anyway.”

Reba shrugs her off. “Well, if I’m chosen, this’ll be my sixth gift so…”

“Unless you’re carrying,” Shiloh says with a smirk.

“That boy Carrick creeps like the kudzu, spreading his seed,” says Lu. “Who knows how many roots he’s laid down. Maybe he got to Ella, too.”

This time everyone laughs but Reba, who scowls. “He’s got no interest in that scrawny little thing,” she says. “And it doesn’t matter anyway because I wouldn’t be back in the fields after this cycle so Carrick will have to find another garden to till.”

Normally, I stay out of their conversations, but what she’s said surprises me, so I blurt out, “Why won’t you be back?”

Reba looks up at me and blinks. “Once you’ve given six monthly gifts or you’re carrying, you move on.”

“Where do you go?” I ask eagerly. Maybe this whole bestowing your gift thing isn’t so bad.

“Up the food chain,” Reba says. “New job. New food. New bunkhouse.”

“Oh,” I say disappointed, “so that’s how the system works.”

Enid sniffs loudly.

“Here we go again,” Reba mutters. “Every single time someone moves up, you just can’t be happy for her, can you Enid? It all has to be about you, doesn’t it?”

Enid stares at the strips of kudzu in her hands. Tears roll down her sunken cheeks. She clears her throat and says quietly, “I am happy for you, Reba.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Reba snorts.

“But I’ve been here the longest and…” Enid starts to cry.

“Gaia says it’s your own damn fault,” Kiki tells her. The others nod.

“Gaia says, ‘If we truly give ourselves over to Mother Nature we will bestow our gifts,’” Lu adds.

“Wait,” I say, “what are the gifts?” As usual, everyone ignores me and they continue to berate poor Enid, who shrinks with every accusation that she doesn’t work hard enough, doesn’t try hard enough, doesn’t love Mother Nature enough, so of course she can’t progress to the next level.

“You’re always napping on the breaks!” Kiki says.

“And complaining about your back,” Jance snarls.

“As if you’re the only one with aches and pains!” says Wren.

Finally, Enid can’t take it anymore. She jumps off her stool and runs for the door, crying, “I do everything I’m supposed to but it never works.”

“Drama queen,” Reba says and the others snicker. “She just needs one of them farm boys to take her out in the weeds and give her a good plow!” The others stomp their feet and laugh, but I’ve had enough.

“What’s wrong with all of you?” I ask. Half of me thinks I should shut up and mind my own business. What’s it matter to me how they treat each other? I have no intention of being here much longer. But I don’t like seeing anyone picked on like that. “You’re awful,” I tell them. No doubt they’ll snitch about Enid’s transgression, then she’ll have her butt handed to her in front of everyone. Well, they can add me to the list of people for Gaia to berate in public because I’m sick of this. I stand up and follow Enid out of the room.

The main clearing is nearly empty as I trail ten feet behind Enid. Only a few stragglers are out, including Ella who kneels beside the little kid with the airplane. She looks up at me and offers a cautious wave. I lift my hand then follow Enid into the latrines, where I hear her sobbing inside a toilet stall.

“Hey,” I say gently and lean against the sink. “It’s Thalia.” She doesn’t say anything so I keep talking. “Seems like I knew someone named Enid once. It’s an unusual name. So pretty and old-fashioned.” She continues to cry. “You know they’re all a bunch of jerks, right?” I tell her. “They only gang up on you because they feel so powerless here. And of course all that crap they were spouting about giving yourself over to Mother Nature…”