The Letting (3 page)

“In the New World…” I barely speak the last word when there is a hurried but faint knock on the cabin door. One of the girls shrieks and I can see those who are awake cower, climbing into their sleeping bags despite the stifling heat.

Without thinking, I am up and at the door. My lanky legs get me there within a second. Gretchen stands at the door. She is breathing heavily and drenched in perspiration. It looks and sounds as if she has just gone for a mile swim in the lake—something Gretchen would never have the strength or stamina to do.

“Gretchen?” I ask, confused. She almost always is asleep by this time. She’s out at nine at night, but up at four, so she can take a walk and meditate before we start our day. I have known her for the past five years, and we are as close as two friends can be.

“I need to come in,” she whispers.

She pushes past me and into the cabin. “Why are you here?” she asks, trying to make out the shapes in the dark.

“Nerves. They were nervous about the Letting.”

Gretchen nods, as if her thoughts are miles away.

“Ronnie, listen, you need to get back to the cabin, fast. When I went to the mess hall tonight to help clean, Margaret was on the walkie. I overheard her saying she wanted to tell you something ‘herself’ and ‘in person.’ She seemed really jumpy, Ron. Agitated. I don’t think she’ll wait ’til morning.”

I feel my stomach drop. I don’t know what this is, but I’m certain it’s not good.

“Do you have any guess?” I whisper. I hear my breath, hurried and shallow.

“None.” Gretchen shakes her head. “But this is Margaret. She’s had it in for you for…well, forever.”

She is right, and obviously, I wasn’t the only one to notice it.

“You’d better get back to the cabin.”

I nod, turning to the door. Then I remember my girls. “I need to say good-night,” I tell Gretchen.

“Forget it,” she snaps. “You’ll see them in the morning.”

“No,” I insist, with more force than I intend. “I’m not going to let them think I forgot them.” I turn and storm away from Gretchen.

I love Gretchen, but sometimes I think she really misses the point. She never seems to grasp what’s right there in front of her eyes. Even though we live together and work together, there’s something about her that remains a mystery to me—like those nights she is sound asleep calling out someone’s name.
Günter
, I think she murmurs in her garbled, sleepy voice. He must be someone left behind, as most boys are, to work the factories. I asked her about it once, but she refused to speak about it. I can’t blame her. Remembering things from the past can be too painful sometimes. Or maybe the mysterious aura that surrounds her is her illness, eclipsing her beauty, eclipsing, her. I feel for Gretchen, but there’s little I can do for her. Here, in cabin O, at least I can ease their fears. I go over to my sleeping dolls and stare down at them.

“Ladies,” I whisper. “You can come out.” Two little bodies wriggle their way out of their sleeping bags, trusting me implicitly. I wish I trusted myself that completely. “Good night, girls.” I bend down and touch each one briefly on the head for just a second. Even if they’re sleeping, I know they can feel the connection. Although we are a civilization that has survived the complete depletion of human connection, and should know better, we have such little of it here. If it’s all I can give them, at least I can give them this.

****

Gretchen is waiting for me, and in the darkness we walk side by side, quietly. She has no idea what this is about either, but I can tell by her quick pace and her stolen glances up at me, she is concerned. I find this even more unsettling. We are walking much too quickly for the heat, and both of us are sweated through by the time we are halfway to our cabin. Neither of us slows our pace, and I know Gretchen must be struggling to keep up. I look down at Gretchen, and in the faint moonlight, I can see her blonde hair shining. She is beautiful, and at sixteen, she is so very delicate, like a tiny ghost-girl with pale skin and deep violet rings under her large blue eyes. With her petite frame and soft voice, she doesn’t look or sound much older than the girls in cabin O. I think even if Gretchen was well and had been able to attend Lettings, they still would have kept her here at camp, rather than sending her directly to the New World. The girls are supposed to feel comfortable and bond with her because she looks like one of them. But for the most part, I haven’t seen that happen. I think it’s because poor Gretchen always seems worried, and it frightens the girls. I’ve just never ascertained what she’s worried about.

Through the darkness, our cabin magically appears before us. It’s still many yards away, but there’s no light on, which means Margaret isn’t there, yet. Margaret is terrified of the dark. I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for her here in the woods at night.

Gretchen and I let out a sigh at the same time. Without a word, I switch on the lamp in the corner and the fan in the window, and Gretchen and I make our way to our cots. We each sit, Gretchen, ladylike, on the edge of the cot, legs crossed at her ankles; me, cross-legged in the middle of my bed. We sit in silence for a few moments listening to each other breathe.

“Oh, all right,” I say finally, uncrossing my legs and standing. “Whatever it’s going to be, worrying won’t help.”

“I know.” Gretchen looks at me, and through the dim light, I can see the tears welling in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Oh Ronnie.” Gretchen falls forward, burying her face in her pillow. She lifts her head to speak. “It’s so selfish of me…but I can’t help but think they’re going to send you on to the New World. And what will I do here without you?”

The New World? The words sit heavily in the room. Of course, we talk about the New World nearly every day, but it’s always with the campers. Never each other. The thought of one of us heading to the New World…well, we always hoped we would someday. But now? Have I served my time? It’s almost too much to imagine. What will the New World be like? I mean, really like? I’m too old to believe in candy trees and toys, so what will be waiting for me? Then I let myself think the thought I try never to think. Will my mother be there, waiting for me? Or has she forgotten all about me?

My thoughts are interrupted by Gretchen’s small hand squeezing mine. “Ron? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. Who knows what’s really going on? It could be some change in protocol, or something.”

I nod and we are startled by a knock on the door. Neither Gretchen nor I move. Neither of us speaks. We sit there, the silence palpable. The knock comes again, louder this time. The door rattles.

“Ronnie?” Gretchen whispers. I nod my head and cross to the door.

I pull the door open as if I’m yanking off a plastic bandage. The action startles Margaret who steps back as soon as she sees me. I have to admit I enjoy the moment of power over her. Although she is only one year older than me, at eighteen, Margaret runs the camp. Of course, she has orders and superiors, but I’ve never met them. Here, at this camp deep in the woods, Margaret is the law. And unfortunately, the law doesn’t much like me. I never really understood why. Margaret pulls herself together, visibly smoothing her shirt over her waistline. With long sleeves and long pants, she must be sweltering. She looks up at me. “May I come in?” she asks.

I step aside to let her pass.

Once she is inside the cabin, I see the eagerness in her eyes. Her eyes are a muddy green, and she is so happy about something, she is nearly giddy. She looks around for a place to sit but there isn’t one. And neither Gretchen nor I are going to offer up a cot, that’s for sure.

“Oh out with it, Margaret,” I snap, realizing how bossy I must sound. “Whatever you came for, I can tell you’re beside yourself with excitement. Just tell us.” I am careful to say “us,” not to tip my hand.

“I have wonderful news.” Margaret has a huge plastic smile growing wider on her face.

Outside, the world is quiet except for the cicadas. Their cries grow louder and louder until the sound has morphed into a cyclone inside my brain. I wish I could rip open the top of my head and force them out. I am heady, and dizzy. I reach my hand out to steady myself, but I grab only air. Behind me, I hear Gretchen’s shallow, hurried breathing.

“What is it?” I ask, breathless.

I pray Margaret is moving on to another camp. I know they must exist out here, somewhere. The woods are too vast for it to be only us. Or maybe she’s been given a higher rank, or a bigger command. Maybe she’s moving on to headquarters in the New World. If that’s the case then maybe…just maybe…maybe someone has noticed me? Maybe someone will leave me in charge of the camp? Margaret interrupts my thoughts when she wheels around on her ballet flats, facing me directly. Her hands fly up, unable to contain her mirth.

“You have been summoned to the next Letting!”

Chapter Two

The room goes black.

The next thing I know I am being roused, my head in Gretchen’s lap. She is trying to get me to drink a glass of water.

“You need to hydrate,” she tells me.

I look into her eyes, but there is no fear there, no worry. This relaxes me a bit.

“To have a successful Letting, your veins must be plump.” Her hands busily stroke my hair and hold the glass. She looks at me then away, over and over as she speaks. “At least four quarts of water tonight and tomorrow eight quarts minimum. You’ll have to pee like the devil,” she smiles, “but it will make the draw easier.”

I reach for the water, but instead of taking the glass, I grab Gretchen’s arm. My action surprises her, and for just a moment, I see a spark of something deep inside those blue eyes. Then as quickly as it appears, it fades again.

“You need water,” she repeats, calmly.

“No.” I shake my head. “I need to know what’s going on.”

She nods delicately, and I catch the smallest tear escape the corner of her eye, betraying her carefully controlled emotions. So she is scared, after all.

Unlike me, the Lettings terrify Gretchen. The Gretchen she was showing me a moment ago, the efficient, soft, yet confident Gretchen. This is the girl she shows our campers—this is the front she wears. She is always warm and caring to the girls, but she’s somewhat standoffish. She never bonds with any of them. I’m sure she’s concerned she’ll betray her fears and terrify them.

I let go of my grasp on her arm and sit up, next to her. I take her hand in mine. “You don’t have to be afraid,” I whisper.

“I’m not.” She is clearly trying to be brave. This time her lie is so transparent even she doesn’t believe it.

“This is what we do,” I assure Gretchen, trying to allay her concerns. She nods again. “This is what I do.” Saying these words calms me as well. This is what I do. I am a Leader. After the Harvester has brought the ripe girls to me, I prepare them, and I lead the girls to the Letting.

But why have I been summoned? I blossomed early and haven’t been ripe for nearly six years. In those early days, when I was ripe and they first checked my blood there was something they didn’t like. Something didn’t fit. But they kept me on at camp because I always looked so much older than the others, and I was a natural Leader. I needed to pay my debt to society in some way. So that someway was to stay here. In my early days, I was a Leader-in-Training, but as I’ve grown and the older Leaders have moved on to the New World, I have become Head Leader of our camp. No one has brought more girls to the Lettings and subsequently, the New World, than me. And there is no one above me, except Margaret.

Margaret. As I sit here in the dark staring at Gretchen, both of us scared to move for fear we’ll have to act, my mind races with questions. Why is Margaret happy for me? She has never made it a secret she dislikes me. But why she dislikes me is a mystery. Gretchen thinks Margaret is jealous because I have a better rapport with the campers and I’m well liked. She thinks Margaret fears for her job. I have a wall full of awards from the government, and I would be the next in line to take over running the camp. But even if that were true, Margaret would move on to the New World, and her life would be wonderful. Maybe she’s scared of change. Or maybe she loves her career. Or maybe Gretchen’s not right. I look up at Gretchen, and her hands are trembling.

“Why are you so scared?” I ask. “The needles? The machines? The Caretakers?” She only nods. I would imagine all of this would seem unfathomable to a girl who can’t run a quarter of a mile without running out of breath. Then Gretchen stands, seeming suddenly powerful and competent. She looks much bigger than her petite five-foot-tall frame. She looks me dead in the eyes.

“You need to drink.” She pushes the glass of water into my hands. “Tonight and tomorrow. Then you must eat. The real food, not the food bars we eat to survive. You need to eat red meat and spinach and drink gallons of the algae drink they force on those girls. You must do this because if they have summoned you, they must be in desperate need of an O. And you must offer them enough so you…” She seems to be choosing her words carefully. “…so you are healthy enough to be summoned another day.”

****

I toss and turn for hours. Partly because it’s much too early for me to be in bed, and part of it’s the heat and my concern over having been summoned myself. I see the silhouette of Gretchen, her chest rising and falling. Occasionally, her small body convulses slightly as she fights for a breath. Her hands clench and then relax when her breathing is restored to its nice, easy flow. I squeeze my eyes shut but all I see are images of machines, the size of my cabin, attached to me, sucking the very life from my body. When the girls come back to me, exhausted and anemic, it’s easy for me to carry them off the truck and into their beds where Gretchen is waiting with a warm nettle soup to rebuild their blood. But who will carry me? And more importantly, how will I help my girls if I’m too exhausted to help myself? I can’t take it anymore. I rise from my bed and silently steal across the room and out our door.

Once I feel the warmth of the night, I remember that with all the craziness that happened tonight, I never picked my mushroom. Somehow, just realizing this makes me feel better. Now my wandering has a purpose.