I Live With You (17 page)

know with whom. And to only have it just often enough to make sure we replace ourselves
.

We won’t take in orphans as some sects did. Those children may have been spoiled for us before we get to them. Also it didn’t keep those other sects alive. We’ll grow our own
.

I’m to be the first. I don’t know why. Our leader has decided which of the men will combine with me to make the most eugenically perfect baby. I’m to go to the mating hut tomorrow night. They don’t want us to have time to think about it but I need to think. I’m not sure I want this. Especially not
now
.

We live empty of desire. All pleasure is too much. It ties one to this world so that leaving it is a calamity
.

I run away. Not down to civilization, where all is evil and dangerous—people shoot each other, people fight, the air is polluted, it’s noisy, the streets are full of beggars—but farther up, into the wilds—the safe, soft wilds.

When I get far enough away I hum—as loud as I wish. How good it is not to be working in the kitchen. How good to be able to look out at the view, to listen to the birds. At the banks of a little river I stop and sit and do that, just listen. I sit so still a bird comes right to me. A little gray bird with a black head. Almost as dull as all of us are. Yet he’s bright and chipper. One can be chipper even if one is nothing but gray and black.

Eyes and hands…. I can bring back the vision of the moments we looked at each other. He was holding the edge of the pail with one hand and the dipper in the other. His hands were scarred and rough, as all ours are. His had little black hairs on the knuckles. He raised the dipper slowly. As if as stunned by the view of me as I was of him. I saw something of his gaunt face, the crow’s-feet at the edges of his eyes, his beard, streaked with white.

I spend the night lying against a fallen tree trunk. I didn’t bring a blanket or a sweater. I didn’t plan. I ran off too fast to think of anything even though I’m not to be mated until tomorrow night.

Then I realize I can sneak back at meal times. Who’s to know? The way we live, one more black bundle gone off to sleep in the woods won’t be missed. Why didn’t I think of this a long time ago? I’m going back to find those eyes. I’ll go where the men work.

First thing in the morning, I find a bright blue feather. I think that’s a good sign. I pin it on my tunic. I must remember to take it off before I go back, though would anyone notice? And what would happen if they did?

Life without words is peaceful. There are no disagreements. One is not led astray. No one mishears or misinterprets. And words can make one unhappy as well as happy. Also there are many words that should never be said
.

I practice talking just to make sure I still can. I don’t know why, there may never be anybody to talk to. I must be thinking I’ll talk to that man.

I haven’t talked in so long I’d hardly know what in the world to talk about. There hasn’t been anything to say since… I can’t remember when.

At first nothing comes out at all. Then it comes out suddenly, as a shout. No and then yes. After that a whisper. Yes, yes, yes. Finally I get it right. I say: Listen, look, see. Then I remember nursery rhymes. Deedle deedle dumpling; Higgledy piggledy; One a penny, two a penny, three a penny, four.

Perhaps I would like a child. Perhaps, instead of staying up here, I will go to the mating hut tomorrow night. The male they chose for me has got to be for the best child possible. Probably better than anyone I’d choose for myself.

Going back, I look down on our whole compound as if at a map. The people look like busy black ants from here. I can see good hiding places.

When I sneak back for supper, I leave the blue feather on my tunic.

Pins instead of buttons. Knives and spoons but no forks. Water but no tea or coffee. Oatmeal, corn… bread, but no butter. Butter is too blissful on the tongue
.

At supper I think how different the world is when one looks out at it. All these bent heads. I watch hands. A few have black hairs just as his did. I look out the window where the wind is blowing the bushes. Everybody leans over their trenchers. My blue feather is safe.

Which of the men was meant for me tonight? I’m not to see him. We’re to be as anonymous to each other as we always are.

What will they do when they find me gone? Come after me or forget about me? Not much to forget—one less silent black bundle, one empty pallet, one less trencher.

After supper I walk towards my hut as I’m supposed to, but I go right past, on up the hill where there’s my fallen tree. This time I bring a blanket.

Life has been given to each of us. Life at all is life enough
.

Giving life. I think about a baby. There’s still time to change my mind. I can go back down, but I fall asleep and don’t.

Let us lie at night as empty of desire and hope and terror as in the daylight of our lives. Let our dreams be neither sweet nor fearful. Never the cold sweat of the fear of death, nor, on the other hand, the hot sweat of desire
.

As far as I can tell, I have not dreamt such dreams. Not even now.

I wake with the birds. I’m far enough away that I don’t hear the rooster down below. The little birds up here don’t say: Get up and get to work. They say: Listen. Look.

Either I haven’t been looking out beyond my bonnet for so long that I forgot what weather is like, or this morning is unusually beautiful. Fog—below, hiding the village, but not up here. Snowy peaks behind me, pink in the sunrise. It was fitting that it was eyes that set me off on this course.

About me not mating, how will they know? Are there conferences? How long will it take them to find out it didn’t happen? I’ll sneak back later and see what’s happening, but there’s plenty of time.

Time is our enemy. It leads to thoughts. Do not think
.

I see why. I’m thinking all sorts of things and every single one of them I shouldn’t.

But I don’t know what I want. I only know what I don’t want. All our shoulds. All our promises. Our vows. Swearing to this and swearing to that. They don’t add up to any wants.

The city below, while called democratic and while people vote for their leaders, is full of poverty, drugs, murders, muggings, greed, spending… and spending to no purpose but to spend. Leave all that behind and come to us. Once and for all climb away from all those others and their self-congratulation
—
from their boasting of their rights of man
.

Live as we do here
.

Do I live?
Did
I live? Now, waking to the birds, watching the sunrise with nothing to do but watch…. My hand on my stomach feels the worn cloth of my tunic. Such softness—soft tunic on top of soft stomach. How have I not noticed that softness until now? Even with my promise not to? And how have I not noticed the tops of trees? And haven’t we had these same little birds down where we live? Don’t we have a stream?

Do not raise your right hand. Sit in a neutral position. Neither kneel nor prostrate yourself. Make a simple promise to do your duty. A promise in any position should be a promise as good as any other
.

Give thanks that we have but little, and for what little we have. For shoes that hold. For a warm sweater. For a blanket. For firewood. Most of all for having been born at all and for this short time on earth
.

Time is exactly what I have the most of. Yesterday I didn’t know how to use it. Now I pick berries. Nibble at spearmint. And the smell! I’m mostly used to kitchen smells. Now there’s a piney, tree smell.

We always bathe in big pans and in our (black) bathing dresses so as never to be naked. I take my clothes off and bathe in the stream. I look at myself. I wonder about my age. Am I too old? For yearning?

I’ve renewed my vows every first snow without wondering. I’ve promised over and over to be one of us, pure as mountain snow, and yet, even so, and though I’ve kept my eyes on the floorboards, I’ve noticed things: the knots in the wood, the different sizes of feet. I’ve thought I could tell male from female by the ankles. All this time I’ve appreciated life more than I should.

I was so young. Now I’m… a woman who doesn’t even know her age. Still of childbearing age or I’d not have been chosen. Though you’d think by now we’d all be a little old for childbearing. (Do they somehow keep track of those of us still menstruating? I suppose they do.) Maybe this is a last chance. A sudden decision by our leader. Perhaps some of us have died. How would we know? We’re kept from pain as well as joy.

No weeping no love no hate no sorrow…. Being here right now in a single moment. What can ever hurt? We have done away with yearning and desire. No one is eager for more of anything or for what they don’t have. There’s neither anger nor anxiety nor greed nor hope
.

I
am
greedy. I want to see those eyes again. I want to see those long fingered battered hands. When I see them I’ll want to see them yet again… and again. They’re right, there’s no end to it.

I come back down for lunch and then hide and watch—the black bundles at their busyness. They don’t look up. Easy to hide. I can even do a job here and there and nobody knows. I head over to where the men work at men’s work. There I have to hide because of my bonnet. I wonder if I can find a hat somewhere. I watch from behind the lilacs.

The men are building a new outhouse. It will have four sections. Two for men and two for women.

A black figure in a black bonnet comes with water. They stop to drink. They take their hats off and put water on their hair. They pour it down the backs of their tunics. I leave my bonnet in my hiding place, sneak out and grab a hat. But one of the men isn’t watching his feet as he should. He sees me and grunts. It’s a grunt of surprise. They all look up.

Will they find out about all the forbidden things I’ve done? Will they see in my naked face that I fell in love with eyes? That I spent two days and nights doing nothing but listening and looking? Even that I bathed naked? And here’s my blue feather, right in front.

They don’t say anything, they just stare. Of course. How can a person talk after so much silence? Even I… and even after I practiced on the mountain…. Good that I did or I’d be as they are, but I
can
speak though it comes out too loud again. I say, “I speak. I have wished and hoped and felt yearning. I don’t deserve to be among you.”

I peer into faces. I look for gray-green eyes. For a beard with white streaks. But I embarrass them. They all look down again.

A single moment is calm. All single moments are peaceful. Time will hold still
.

I see that this is true. There’s time to breathe. Time for the heart to beat. Time for a bird to sing. For a bumblebee to buzz. Leaves catch the breeze.

Here, in this long, long, long moment, I think I can move about as I wish. Run away. Nobody will see. But one man is watching. Is he our leader? Or one of our leaders? I’ve no idea how many there might be.

He’s memorizing me. I think about my face. I seem to remember I used to have a birthmark on my cheek. That’ll be easy for him to remember.

His eyes are not green-grey.

He comes towards me. Nobody else moves. They’re all still looking down. They don’t want to see what might happen. It might lead to pain and thoughts.

I see his clenched teeth. He’s reaching as though to grab my throat.

I grab the nearest tool. It’s a saw. All I do is hold it out, the rough edge facing him. He runs right into it. His tunic sleeves hook on it. There’s blood on his arms. Even so he keeps coming, pushing his arms yet farther into the saw. Blood pours out. That stops him. The others look. They see a hurtful thing. They’ve tried all this time to avoid just such as this.

Keep each other safe. You are each other’s keepers. Do no harm
.

I didn’t mean to. But he looked so angry.

They all go to help the man. I pick up the hat and put it on. It’s too big, but all the better. I run.

Nobody follows. After a minute I walk at the usual pace, as if busy. I’m as good as invisible. I loop back to see what happened to the man. I hope I didn’t kill him. All I did was stand there. He did it to himself, coming after me like that.

The other men are binding his cuts. I didn’t kill. At least that.

There’s a nursing hut for accidents or sick people (though out here in the wilds we have hardly any flu or colds). I stayed there when I broke my ankle. Four men carry him there. Others go back to work on the outhouse. I follow with the men but I stay well back.

The lunch bell clangs.

We all go except the four men at the nursing hut and the hurt man.

Later there’s a message on the nursing hut door. It says what has been said before.

Life is dangerous and deadly. Unforeseen things will happen, but know that all is well until a later time when all that is, will end, even in the very next moment
.

I go back to work with the men. It’s much more interesting than women’s work. Perhaps because it’s different. And then you get taken care of. People bring water and later in the afternoon, women come with a snack.

There are new things to like. The smell of fresh cut wood.

Once I admit it to myself, I did enjoy things. The floor boards, the earth and its weeds, the gruel, the smell of rain. I didn’t mean to. It’s as if one has a need to enjoy whatever there is to enjoy.

I don’t know if I’ll get to see those eyes again or not but I’m watching for them and I’m happy.

Focus. There is no moment but this empty moment right now. This moment is enough. It is all you have
.

Such a full moment. Man sweat. We don’t smell like that. They could find me out by sweat alone. And I keep looking out at everybody.

In the evening after work, the men go down to the river to bathe. I go back and pick up my bonnet from behind the lilacs and put it in a safer spot. With both a hat and a bonnet I’ll have more freedom than ever before.

All are equal here, and all equally neutral. All neither happy nor unhappy. Our minds are on what’s in front of us. Purity. Harmony. Utility. The only proper life
.