The Core of the Sun (5 page)

MODERN DICTIONARY ENTRY

masco
— A popular unofficial vernacular word for the majority of males. Used to distinguish these men from so-called
minus men
,
a minority of men who, because of their limitations (such as chronic illness or serious physical deficiencies), are designated as outside the mating market.

Dear Manna,

Sometimes, for no reason, just to torture myself, I wonder when it was that things took a wrong turn. If I could turn back time, of course, our parents would never have died. But if I stick to things that I might have been able to influence, I would go back to the spring of 2011.

I had reached the age of coming out, but my debut had been postponed, so there shouldn't have been anything special about that year. The snow had melted; it was time to do the spring sowing, and a new farmhand had to be hired—an April like any other.

Aulikki had asked us to get out some clean sheets for the bed in the barn. Remember how we went out to pick pussy willows from the side of the brook and put them in a vase on the little bedside table? That was your idea. It was exciting that we were going to have a stranger at the house again, and you and I were speculating about what kind of person the new farmhand would be. Would he be grumbly and untalkative, or would he make jokes all the time? Would he be athletic, always doing chin-ups on the birch tree in the yard, or studious, shutting himself up in his room with his textbooks after his day's work was done? Would he like the food we made for him? Would he be as thoughtful as one farmhand we'd had, who would go fishing on his time off and bring Aulikki his catch to add to dinner?

The new hand was seventeen and was studying food science. Aulikki showed him around Neulapää. He would be sleeping in the barn, washing up in the sauna, and eating his meals in the kitchen. Aulikki introduced us, too. We curtsied and said our names. He asked which one of us had put the pussy willows in his room. You giggled and blushed when I told him it was your idea.

There was always a lot of work to do at Neulapää in spring and early summer. So we helped Aulikki as well as we could. She had to save her strength for instructing and supervising the farmhand; she couldn't manage heavy physical labor anymore. Since I was already fourteen I took responsibility for the meals. Your cooking skills still needed a lot of work then, but you helped me peel the vegetables and you knew how to poke the potatoes to see if they were done and set the table and carry the food out. The farmhand couldn't come into the house except at mealtimes, and even then he could come only into the kitchen, because you and I weren't officially of mating age and any fraternizing that could be associated with mating was not allowed.

But a smell like fresh-cut grass started to float around you nevertheless, growing stronger whenever you saw the farmhand. Your cheeks would flush, and you read your
Femigirl
magazine stories more and more greedily.

I mentioned this to Aulikki. She sighed and said that every eloi starts practicing falling in love at some point before she reaches mating age, and that you were obviously directing these feelings at the farmhand. She also said—rather cruelly, I thought—that it was good that your feelings weren't returned because every eloi has to start competing for mascos eventually, and it's better that she have some experience with disappointment from the beginning. But maybe it would be best if you didn't help with serving the meals anymore.

You cried and threw a tantrum at that, but Aulikki wouldn't budge.

Do you remember that day?

I brought the farmhand dinner by myself. He didn't seem to notice that anything was different. He ate, thanked me, and left. I washed the dishes and went to my room. When I got to the doorway, I stopped.

On the floor was one of my favorite books,
Native Plants of the Nordic Countries.
A wonderful picture book. It had been cut up with scissors. I burst into tears. My library was so small and pitiful; I couldn't bear to lose even one of my books. I'd read through them all many times, but they still gave me a lot of happiness, and there wasn't really any way to get anything new to read about subjects that interested me. Aulikki could order books by mail about plant care or sewing, of course—those were things appropriate to her life—but it would have been difficult to explain a sudden interest in natural science or history without arousing suspicion. She was a full citizen, so it wasn't officially forbidden, but she thought you could never be too careful.

I knew, of course, that you were the one who'd cut up my book. But I couldn't understand why. I went to your room. You weren't there, but there were scraps of paper and scissors and pages of the book on your desk. Next to them was a sheet of paper with a clumsy drawing of a bride and groom. The bouquet in the bride's hands was a clump of plants cut from the book and glued to the paper. You'd chosen wild roses, twinflowers, lilies of the valley, and several other lovely spring flowers. Under the bride you'd written “Manna” and underneath the groom it said “Jare.”

I left your room. Maybe you remember that I never mentioned that book, or your picture. I didn't blame you. I understand why you did it.

Sometimes I wish I could find you just so Jare could tell you what really happened. Maybe you would believe him.

I hope you aren't really mad at me.

Missing you, your sister,

Vanna
(
Vera
)

JARE REMEMBERS

July 2011

I cut my hand making stakes for the peas. The cut wasn't that deep and I hoped it wasn't serious, but it bled like hell, dripping on my clothes and onto the ground. I couldn't keep working until I'd put a bandage on it. I didn't have a first aid kit, just some bath things in the sauna. I took off my shirt, found a clean spot on it and wrapped it around my hand to stop the bleeding, then ran over to the main house. I knocked on the living room door, hoping the old woman would be there—and be awake, since she was often napping. There was no answer, so I opened the door a crack and peeked into the room. I grimaced; the blood was already soaking through the shirt. I had to find a bathroom and see if there was something I could use there, maybe a towel I could borrow to use as a bandage—it was an emergency, after all. I pushed open the first door I came to.

The older eloi, Vanna, was sitting in the room alone. It seemed to be her room. There was a bed and a young eloi's clothes—but also a pile of books on the table and on a small shelf on the wall. Vanna looked up and saw me and leaped to her feet, a book falling from her hand. Seeing any kind of book in an eloi's hands was unusual, but this book was titled
Astronomy and the World Today.
She quickly tried to kick it under the chair where I couldn't see it.

An eloi might flip through a book for fun, of course, especially if it has pretty pictures in it. But that didn't seem to be the case here, and the strange part was that she was so afraid that I would see what she was reading. If she had just been innocently looking at the book out of curiosity she wouldn't have panicked.

And then her whole demeanor changed. Her sharp gaze dropped and turned soft and hazy, and she thrust out her breasts, cocked her hips, raised her hand to her chin as if she were embarrassed, her lower lip trying for a sweet little droop. She batted her thick eyelashes. “Oh! You can't come in here. I'll get my grandmother,” she cooed.

Then she noticed the bloody shirt wrapped around my hand and suddenly her eloi mannerisms disappeared again. Her eyes brightened, her posture straightened, the submissive simper went out of her voice. “Yikes. We've gotta do something about that.” She came to the door, took hold of my arm and led me through the living room to the other side of the house. We went through a small passage to the bathroom. She turned on the light, told me to sit on the toilet, and held my hand in the air as she rummaged in the medicine cabinet. She found a bottle of disinfectant and a bag of cotton balls, told me to unwrap the shirt from the cut, and quickly washed the wound. She got out gauze and a roll of bandage tape, deftly wrapped my hand, and secured the bandage with a few strips of the tape. “I'm sure it won't bleed for very long. Do you think you can change the bandage every day if I give you these, or would you rather come to the house and have one of us help you?”

I didn't answer.

Her eyelashes started to flutter again, her lower lip thrust out.

I touched her hand. “Stop that.”

She pulled her hand away. “Now, now, young man,” she cooed, looking up at me with her head cocked to one side. “Just because I was a good girl and fixed up your boo-boo doesn't mean you can start getting fresh.”

I touched her hand again briefly to make her look at me. “It's quite obvious you're not an eloi, or at least not an ordinary eloi, even if you do look like one. But if you want to keep it secret that you're a . . .”

“Morlock.” Her voice had lost all its flirty chirpiness. The word fell between us cold as a stone.

“Right. I won't tell anyone. It's none of my business. Or anybody else's business. What would I gain from it? You and your family haven't done anything to me.”

Vanna bit her lower lip.

“I wonder what Aulikki has to say about it.”

The next moment we were standing in front of the old woman, who had just awakened from her nap. Vanna explained in a few quick sentences what had happened.

I watched their conversation with a fearful amazement. It was like hearing two parrots that I'd thought could only repeat the phrases their master taught them suddenly start exchanging observations on the theory of relativity.

“Should we kill him?” Vanna asked, in the same tone she might have used to discuss changing the drapes.

When the old woman pursed her lips, apparently giving this idea serious consideration, I turned cold. “Hmm. I don't know. What do you think?” she said, and looked me straight in the eye, and it was crystal clear to me that even though I was talking to an old woman and a half-grown . . . something . . . I had reason to fear. They had a lot to lose, and the two of them allied was chilling.

I spread my arms. “I have no way to prove I won't turn you in, but if I did I would lose a good summer job reference. The reward for reporting gender fraud wouldn't be enough to make up for that.”

They looked at each other, the understanding flying like sparks between them.

“It's true that he wouldn't gain anything by it,” Aulikki said. I was admiring her more every moment, the way she didn't seem to take any notice of the fact that the topic of discussion was standing half a meter away, shifting from foot to foot. “And if he tried, you're so good at acting like an eloi that he'd be a laughingstock and get a fine for wasting the authorities' time. We could claim that he had a crush on you and made the story up when he couldn't get anywhere with you.”

Vanna nodded. “On the other hand, what if he keeps it a secret and I get caught later on? Will he get in trouble? Will they think he was in on it?”

“No, not if he claims he didn't notice anything unusual about you.”

As I watched and listened to their conversation, I realized for the first time what it's like to have people talking about you, talking over you, past you. Deciding your fate, chattering about this and that—could he be useful somehow or should we dispose of him?

I thought through my options. Should I run away? But how? On the old girl's-style bike in the yard? And where was I supposed to go?

Maybe the best tactic was to attack. The best defense is a good offense.

No. There were no neighbors close by, they had me outnumbered, and after what I'd seen that day I wouldn't have been surprised if the old woman had a pistol under her mattress. If I suddenly vanished, nobody would suspect an elderly woman and two sweet little elois.

The best thing to do was to not get cocky, and to watch my cards.

“Forgive me for prying, but how is this even possible?”

“I was born this way. Genetic lottery. Like a family where the great-grandfather was white but his descendants reproduced only with black people. Everyone in the family will have African characteristics, but then out of the blue a baby with rosy cheeks and freckles pops into the world.” Vanna dropped this terminology like an educated masco.

“Morlocks have such a small, dark corner reserved for them in this world that an eloi's life—even though it's limited and regulated, too—is positively carefree by comparison,” Aulikki said.

“I don't think Jare wants to mess up our lives,” Vanna said. I could have hugged her when she said that.

Aulikki looked at me for a change.

I nodded. I swallowed. I nodded again.

Aulikki smiled, but her eyes showed only flinty calculation. “Let's work on the assumption that something good could come of this.”

Her expression changed. She was looking at me now, seeing me as a person, an individual, not just weighing me like a chunk of meat. There was even amusement in her eyes.

“Jare, have you ever thought you might like to order a few books to read here over the summer? Just for your own edification and education?”

At first I was perplexed. Then Vanna laughed out loud and slapped her grandmother on the shoulder. They looked at each other and slapped their thighs.

Then I understood.

GENDER FRAUD IN FINNISH LAW

1. § Any person who deliberately misleads state authorities with regard to officially defined sexes by altering an inborn neuterwoman's appearance to resemble that of a femiwoman, whether through surgery or other cosmetic means, shall be charged with aggravated gender fraud and making a mockery of the state. If the neuterwoman herself is guilty of the abovementioned activities, both subject and perpetrator are legally responsible. Punishment for this offense for the subject of the fraud is a term of labor in state rehabilitation facilities and possible confiscation of family property. Punishment for the perpetrator who carries out such a crime is as outlined in applicable Criminal Code on Social Sabotage, § 220, subsection 6.

2. § Any person who deliberately misleads state authorities with regard to officially defined sexes by altering an inborn femiwoman's appearance to resemble that of a neuterwoman, whether through surgery or other cosmetic means, shall be charged with aggravated gender fraud and making a mockery of the state. If the femiwoman herself is guilty of the abovementioned activities, both subject and perpetrator are legally responsible. Punishment for the perpetrator who carries out such a crime is as outlined in applicable Criminal Code on Social Sabotage, § 220, subsection 6. Should a femiwoman be found guilty of gender fraud there is no designated punishment, because of the rarity of the crime. Instead the subject shall be referred to a mental health facility.

Dear Manna,

Jare and I were co-conspirators , that's all. You understand that, don't you? Nothing more.

Although being discovered by Jare may have been an unavoidable accident, one that was exceedingly useful to me, it was also a problem. In your mind it gnawed at the bonds of our sisterhood. It never even occurred to me that anything could cause a break between us. To me you were always the sweet little sister I loved, and you always will be.

Because of our shared secret, Jare and I became closer than we had intended. It happened almost by accident. Although Jare continued to obey the rules—living in the barn, washing up in the sauna, eating in the kitchen—the packages of books sent to him every week were like little Christmases for me. Jare would pick the books up from the postman's truck and leave them on the porch of the house, and as soon as he and I had time, we would admire the books together. Some of them interested Jare, too, especially books on botany and biology, his own subjects. I noticed that every time we looked at the books together a scent that was new to me would hover faintly around him—something like lavender, and rosemary warmed by sunlight, with a tang like pine sap underneath.

Of course you noticed.

Of course you drew conclusions.

Of course you did, even though I tried to be careful. I was cool and neutral toward Jare whenever you were around, but in some things you were very perceptive. Your intelligence was almost entirely social intelligence, quickly recognizing mating rituals and the movements of other people's relationships, skillful at reading nonverbal communication. You added up the laughter and smiles, made note of the quick exchange of looks that hid secrets, observed the simultaneous absences.

I have those typical eloi abilities, too. I can pick up people's unconscious emotional signals, wishes, mental processes. I just do it in a different way from how you do. I might be better at it than you are, even though I'm not a real eloi—or maybe precisely because I'm not, because I can analyze and tabulate my observations, use those vague sensations to create a true sense.

You made careless, quick-tempered, overly general interpretations, followed a false trail. You built a romance between Jare and me.

That happened because in your logic there was nothing else but love, human relationships, and a future marriage. For you there was no such thing
(
why would there be? it would have been an impossible thought to almost anyone
)
as a friendship or spiritual connection between a masco and an eloi.

Your heart was broken for the first time.

When you looked at me there was a sharp stink of resentment floating around you.

My heart was scraped raw.

That was the first time. And how many times after that did I let you down?

I'm sorry.

Your sister,

Vanna
(
Vera
)