World Of Shell And Bone Read online

  “Physical testing? But why?”

  My mother shakes her head and swipes at her mouth with her fingers. Her hand trembles slightly. I am more intrigued by this than the news on the radio. “They haven’t said why. That message is on a loop; there’s no more information. It’s another requirement, another hurdle to help with the rising numbers of those hoping to get away.”

  “Well, how rigorous is the testing? Maybe it’s just to weed out any Défectueux who might slip through.”

  “They wouldn’t need to do a physical fitness test. They could find that out with a simple physical exam. This is something different.” She looks at me. “Vika… I’m afraid it might be an attempt to keep the older population behind.”

  All her life, she’s been the chosen one. The golden girl, the woman who gets pregnant on the first try. And now, she might be left behind because she’s too old. I see the strain in the lines that cup her mouth, the slight tremble of her chin. “You don’t know that, Mother. I’m sure they wouldn’t—”

  “Wouldn’t they?” She goes to the window and looks out. “This process is bottlenecking. It’s what they’ve been warning us of since the start of the emigration laws fifty years ago. China only wants our fittest and most able citizens. I’m neither.”

  “But you’re the head of—”

  “There are younger women who could be trained for my job. I’m not essential.” She rubs her face and squares her shoulders in an attempt to regain some dignity. “I was wondering if you’d heard anything I hadn’t, but I suppose not. Keep me apprised, would you?”

  And she lets herself out.

  Shale comes out of the kitchen and hands me the warm compress. I hold it to my head and gesture to the door. “What do you think of this?”

  “It’s certainly something new.” He frowns. “I’ve only ever heard of physical fitness testing for men who request to be Maintenance workers.”

  “It worries me that they won’t say what it’s for,” I reply, relieved that he doesn’t seem upset. I’m not sure I have the strength to comfort a hysterical Husband at the moment. “But I suppose we’ll find out at our next Match Clinic visit. We could ask the obstetrician.”

  “Maybe you’ll be exempt when you get pregnant,” he says. “They’d want the baby in China’s relatively cleaner environment to prevent birth defects.”

  “Perhaps.” But I know better than to rely on this nugget of hopeful logic.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  My head revolts against me the rest of the day and into the night. Shooting pains along fault lines around my brain flare until I consider going in to an emergency clinic. But when I wake up the next morning, the pain is completely gone, vanished like fog in the sun. I heave a sigh of relief, but then everything comes crashing down on me.

  Haumea’s suicide. Naiad’s child being left motherless. Mica’s disappearance. The new physical fitness requirement, which to me, speaks of something ominous. I get dressed for work and head out the door, wishing I could sleep for a year instead. I’d wake up when things had turned out the way they will, with no action required on my part. I’d simply have to accept my lot in life.

  Shale is sleeping deeply, as usual, on the sofa.

  Time begins to stop and stutter, looping back on itself until I can’t remember whether it’s today, yesterday, or the year before last.

  At work, Moon turns to me. I watch her lips move, the tattooed tulip on her chin rise and fall with every word. Every other second, terminals across the hive of workers beep. The sounds hang in the air, then twist and scramble together until it is a cacophony I cannot bear.

  I turn to my terminal and, with a quick tap, delete my code sheet. Then I push my chair back and make my way out of the room, my palms beginning to get damp. What are you doing Vika? I think. Are you mad? Do you wish to be gassed like Naiad? But my legs do not stop their descent. Before I’m ready, I arrive at the Code Agency.

  I hope for the same worker from before, but there is another woman in her place today. Her nose is long and pointy, her eyes narrow. She doesn’t smile.

  After a long pause during which we stare at each other, I realize she is waiting for me to state my business.

  “I’m from BoTA, on the third floor,” I say, trying on a smile. It is not returned. “Could I please have a look at the code sheet? The one on my computer isn’t working.”

  The woman tilts her head back and looks down the length of her nose at me. “Is that right? What a shame.” She picks up a phone on her desk and pushes a button. “Let me get my boss to come talk to you, shall I?”

  Her boss wears a uniform much too tight, and even though she must be my mother’s age, her face is unsettlingly devoid of lines or wrinkles. She comes up to me with a raised eyebrow, and my back starts to sweat. I’ve made a mistake, I think. They know.

  She grabs the visitors’ log from the front desk and flips through it. I try not to let my relief show on my face—the woman yesterday didn’t ask me to sign in, so there’s no record of me visiting. Putting the log back, the woman frowns. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “The code sheet on my terminal isn’t working. I was wondering if I could borrow the one you have here.” In spite of my best intentions, my voice wavers. I wonder if she can smell my dishonesty.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’d like you to take me to your terminal so I can check for myself.”

  “Of course.” I wish I had stayed in my chair. As it is, I am sure this incident is going to find its way to my permanent record.

  Everyone looks up as we walk into my office, and I flush under the scrutiny. Moon is especially interested in the goings-on. I want to slap her, claw the curiosity off her face with my nails. But instead, I turn my terminal on and point to the empty space where the code document used to be.

  “I’m not sure where it went,” I say in my best baffled tone.

  The woman—for the life of me, I cannot remember her name or if she even gave me one—frowns and clicks around rapidly. “Odd indeed,” she says, finally. Her tone is bereft of any emotion. “I will have someone send you the copy you’re supposed to have.” With that, she gets up and leaves without a backward look at any of us.

  I sink into my chair, staring blankly at my screen. What have I done? What will they do now? Have I been marked as a suspected terrorist, a Radical?

  “What was all that about?” Moon asks me.

  “I couldn’t find a file.” I try to sound nonchalant, but am not sure I succeed.

  “But why would you go to the Code Agency when it’s so discouraged? They’ll likely be watching you now.”

  I keep my eyes on the computer. “I suppose I wasn’t thinking.”

  I wasn’t.

  When I get home, I head to the kitchen to talk to Shale. I am not certain why, but I feel the need to tell him about what has just happened at work.

  But the kitchen is empty. I walk back into the living room—perhaps he is napping and I missed him—but no, he’s not there either. I head into my bedroom and I can hear him in the washroom. He is singing, his deep, confident voice echoing off the tile and metal. It is a ditty I’m unfamiliar with, about raindrops falling on his head.

  Trying not to laugh, I back out.

  My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. There isn’t enough meat on my bones for reserve. I stand in the middle of the floor for a moment, at a loss for what I should do. And then I pick up a pot. Hefting it in my hand, I smile.

  When Shale comes out of the washroom, he stops mid-stride, his mouth falling open at the sight of me in the kitchen. I follow his gaze to the bubbling pot of potato stew.

  “Y—You’re cooking?”

  I smile at his incredulity. “I told you before I could.”

  “But you should’ve told me you were home. I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

  “That’s alright.” I think about mentioning his song, but decide it’s not worth the embarrassment it might cause. “Yo
u deserved a reprieve. Besides, I like cooking.”

  “You do?” He runs a hand through his wet hair, and something in my chest stutters a bit.

  I nod and look away. “It’s one of my favorite things to do, actually.”

  “Then… why don’t you do it more often?”

  I think about this as I stir the stew. “The government discourages us from taking up hobbies that were historically assigned to women on matter of principle. It’s no reason to antagonize them.” I think again about my gaffe at work today and hope it is not followed up.

  Shale stands with his hands by his sides. “Can I help?”

  It’s plain to see that he’s desperate to do something because standing here with me is painfully awkward. I feel a sting of hurt at the realization; it’s quickly crowded out by perplexity. What do I care if he’s awkward? Husbands often feel that way around their females. The relationship we’re forced into is strictly procedural, and besides it, Husbands and females have little in common.

  “You can set the table,” I reply, turning away to tend the stew.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On Thursday I wake up and lie staring out the window at the flat grey sky. Something about today feels exciting and scary, but I cannot remember why. My hand drifts to my stomach and, with a jolt, it comes to me. It’s my two-week check. And I am not menstruating.

  I head to the washroom for a shower, trying not to get too worked up. I have been a few days late on my cycle before. Such fluctuations are normal, I know. If I really am pregnant, the doctor will tell me when she does the test.

  When I emerge from the bedroom, Shale is sitting on the sofa, a tense smile on his face. “So?”

  I shake my head slightly and smile back. “Still no sign of it.”

  “Excellent.” He gets up and squeezes my upper arm. “I’m going to make you a big breakfast today so you can keep your strength up. Yours and the ba—”

  “Don’t say it. We don’t know for certain yet. There’s no point in getting our hopes up simply to have them dashed.”

  Shale suppresses a smile, but his eyes twinkle at me. I stare into them, momentarily dumbfounded. “Are you always so optimistic?”

  “I’m always realistic. In the seas of life, when the weather is bad, the optimist says the boat will be fine and the pessimist says we’re all going to die. But the realist—she adjusts the sails.” I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.

  “Quite wise.” Still suppressing a smile, Shale sets the tea to boil.

  The Match Clinic is surprisingly crowded. We wait our turn for ninety minutes before we are finally called.

  The doctor looks at me. “On the form you say you haven’t begun your cycle yet. Is this still true?”

  I want to ask her if she thinks something might have changed because of the inordinate amount of time she made me wait. I stifle a laugh, wondering what on earth has come over me.

  “Yes, it is,” I say instead.

  “Let’s administer a test in that case. See what we can determine.” She rummages in a drawer and pulls out a cup. “Urinate in this, please.”

  I go to the bathroom, and after a few pulse-pounding seconds during which I’m sure I won’t be able to, I do. I bring the cup back and see that Shale is down to his underwear.

  “What’s this?” I ask the doctor.

  “The new physical test,” she says. “While you are both here, I’d like to test you. You’re exempt if you’re pregnant, Vika.” She gestures to a chair. “Would you like to watch Shale do his part?”

  I sit.

  After the doctor puts a strip of plastic in my cup of urine and sets a timer, she turns to Shale. “Let’s go ahead and start, shall we? I would like you to begin by jogging in place. I will then measure your heart rate. Are you ready?”

  Shale nods.

  “Go.”

  Shale jogs, his muscular legs pumping up and down with no effort. They swallow up seconds instead of miles as he remains in place, going nowhere. My chest tightens with an uneasy anger. Must we always run in place, trying to prove ourselves good enough to escape the death sentence that is our country? Must we cross one hurdle only to have another one thrown at us, senseless boulders in our path to a destination that never arrives?

  When the timer beeps, the doctor waves at him. “You may stop now.” She lets the timer keep beeping and measures his heart rate. “Excellent.”

  I feel a rush of relief smother down my simmering rage as I realize he has passed this part of the physical. And then it occurs to me that I am about to find out if I’ve passed the biggest test I will ever have to take.

  The doctor plucks the strip from the cup of urine after turning off the beeping timer. She stares at it for a long minute and then looks at me.

  The moment seems to stretch out, yawning, until all I can see is its oily black throat. Finally she says, “Not pregnant.”

  My stomach lurches and my old friend, the headache, begins to dance a nasty beat behind my eyes. I look at Shale, and his face is pale.

  “That’s alright,” he says. “We get four more chances.”

  “Sorry, that’s not the case any longer. They made an announcement on the NNB just this morning.” The doctor looks at me, a trace of cold pity across her features. “You only get three attempts. There just isn’t enough time for everyone to get their six months in like before. Resources are being depleted as we speak, and they’ve been talking about cutting back the number of attempts for over a year now.” She consults my chart. “So you have one more chance next month. Or you can try your hand at the fitness test while you’re here. If you pass it, you won’t have to worry about getting pregnant. Your choice.”

  I look at Shale. Every part of my body is trembling.

  “The test was easy,” he says.

  “Will I have to do the same thing as him?” I walk several flights of stairs in the course of a day. I should be able to jog the short time Shale did.

  But the doctor shakes her head. “The tests are randomized. I pull them from a list of pre-approved exercises. There are three parts to each test, and each part evaluates a different aspect of physical fitness. Shale passed the first section, but he hasn’t attempted the other two yet. And there’s no guarantee you’ll get the same three as him.”

  I close my eyes and rub my temples. “Do I have to take the test now, or can I wait until next time to see if I’m pregnant?”

  “You can choose to wait. Of course, the bottleneck situation is only getting worse.” She says this without inflection. It isn’t meant to panic me; she is simply stating the facts. And she’s right. I won’t be much fitter next time around, even if I take to exercising after work every day. I still won’t know what exercises I’ll pull. My headaches might be worse; I might be in a stupor like I’ve been before when things were dark.

  Perhaps I’ll get lucky like Shale did and draw an easy test.

  “I’d like to take it now,” I say.

  The doctor leads us to the fitness room, which has been set up in one of the Clinic’s supply rooms. There is a blue mat on the floor, a pair of large ancient dumbbells, and parallel bars.

  “This will be your room, Vika. Shale, if you want to take the rest of your test now, I can lead you to our other fitness room.”

  Shale turns and squeezes my shoulder briefly. “You’re going to be alright.” Then he looks at the doctor. “I’m ready.”

  I watch him walk out the door, wondering what will happen if he passes and I don’t. What if I don’t get pregnant on my last try?

  What do you think will happen? I ask myself. Shale will go to China and you will wave to him from the shore. You and Mother.

  I can see him now, at a job that pays hardly enough to keep him clothed, perhaps in a grim factory. But at least he’ll have clean air to breathe. He’ll live in a community of people from New Amana, so even though the Chinese may be hostile, he won’t have to be with them when he’s home. And in a few months, or a year after New Amana’s b
een cleaned, he’ll be back. By then I won’t be anything more than a memory, just a collection of bones in the earth.

  A few minutes later, the doctor comes back with a sheet of paper in her hand. “I’ve set Shale up with the nurse. Now, the first task you’ve been assigned is to do seventy push-ups in one minute. Get on the mat, please.”

  I stare at her. Seventy push-ups? I have never done a push-up in my life, let alone in a single minute. “Can I place my knees on the floor?” I remember from somewhere that this is supposed to make the process easier.

  “No, I’m afraid not.” She scribbles something in my chart.

  Well, perhaps this will be the one part of the test I do not pass. I still have two other parts. “Do I have to pass all three parts of the test?” I ask the doctor, holding my breath.

  “Yes.” She barely glances at me. I wonder how many people have asked her this exact question over the past day.

  There’s no point in dawdling any longer. This is it. I have to do this; there is simply no other option. “Alright.” My hands sweat as I take my spot on the mat. My uniform skirt tangles around my knees. Why didn’t they let me wear a grey Saturday outfit?

  And then I realize. They want me to fail. The less people they have competing for a space on the ships out, the better. I am not pregnant, and if I am weak as well, they have no use for me. I am detritus, to be tossed overboard.

  I begin.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  At push-up twenty-nine, I begin to waver. My arms are shot through with fire, and my feet slide on the mat. I will myself to keep going even as my muscles begin to shake with the effort of holding my body up. The mat nears my face at an alarming rate. I realize I’m falling a split second before my body hits the mat.

  I hear the timer beep as it is stopped. There’s silence for a long time. Sweat drips down my nose and falls off the end. I lay my cheek on the cool plastic.