World Of Shell And Bone (17 page)

Since I’ve pledged my help to Nurse Carina, she asks me to devise a plan to appease the children, who are restless as we wait.

The idea hits me the next morning—Ceres’s birthday is in only a month and a half. We decide to throw her a special birthday party and dance, to which all the children are invited. When I ask her what she thinks of this idea, Ceres squeals and twirls in the grass, the pants and belly area of her too-big coveralls expanding with air. Her hair glides through the air around her, and I laugh at her naked delight. I can see, for a fleeting moment, the five-year-old we lost forever.

I want to help Nurse Carina set up the tent for the party, but she shoos me away and insists she can get everything ready by herself. I wander around aimlessly for a bit, and then decide that I will dress Ceres up. It is not usually my nature to dress up—after all, such things have always been expressly forbidden by our government as being too anti-feminist—but it comes easily enough.

First I have to corral Ceres to sit down in front of me in the shade of the tent. The sun beats down on us mercilessly today, making the tent only a few degrees cooler than an oven, but she is caught up in the excitement of the dance and does not mind.

“I’m going to braid your hair, okay?” I say, finger-combing her silken strands.

“Okay, okay, okay.” She claps her hands.

Lynx plops down next to me on the grass and watches my fingers glide through Ceres’s hair. After a moment, she gets up and saunters away.

I begin to crisscross sections of my sister’s raven locks, weaving them in the way my mother taught me. During my school years, braids kept my hair out of my face, but I think having her hair styled will be good for Ceres in other ways. Perhaps it will help her feel like a normal teen. Perhaps she will dance tonight.

As the thought flits through my mind, I find my heart clenching with the need to see Ceres do something childish—just let go and dance. I hope the children won’t laugh at her, or that, if they do, she pretends she can’t hear them. I want her to feel beautiful, if even for just a few minutes.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t realize Lynx has arrived back, her hands full of purple wildflowers.

“For Ceres’s hair,” she says. “Won’t it be beautiful?”

I smile. “Absolutely. What a lovely idea.”

I watch as the girl lovingly adorns my sister’s black hair with the brilliant violent blooms. Then, I ask, “Would you like me to do your hair, too? For the dance?”

She looks at me as if she cannot believe her ears. “My hair? But it’s not nearly as beautiful as Ceres’s. The flowers would be wasted in it.”

I grab her around the shoulders and swivel so the spot in front of me is clear. Then I push her down and begin to work on her hair. “Nonsense,” I say casually. “Your hair is just as beautiful.”

She sits still and quiet the entire time I work on her braid. When Ceres returns with a handful of white flowers for me to twist into Lynx’s hair, I notice Lynx swiping at her cheeks. When she sees me watching she turns around quickly so her back is to me once again.

“Thank you,” she mutters. “Thank you, Vika.”

I smile and hum one of Ceres’s nursery rhymes as I work on Lynx’s braid.

A line forms around me as I finish. Two more Asylum girls shyly ask if I will braid their hair. Soon I am braiding a whole group of girls’ hair. After that, I decide to work on their clothes. Yellow coveralls aren’t very becoming, we decide, so I loop some twine around their belt loops on either side of their waists and string it tight to cinch in the waist. Some of the girls make flower cuffs out of wildflowers and grass. Others grind red and pink flowers into a paste and use it to stain their cheeks and lips. I watch in wonder as they are transformed from lost little girls to graceful young women.

While Ceres talks to Lynx, I slip away. I have an idea, although I am not sure it will work. I want Ceres to feel as normal as she can tonight, but I also want the other kids to have fun like they’ve never had. And when I really think about it, the Asylum kids are not the only ones who’ve never had fun. There’s another group like that, too.

I stop outside the Nukehead women’s tent and call for them.

The flap opens, and the mother of the little boy sticks her head out. When she sees me, she smiles. “Hello. Got more Stevia for Alexander?”

I laugh and show her my empty hands. “Not this time, sorry. I actually came to talk to you about something. Do you know all the teenagers in your part of the compound?”

She steps outside, puts her hand on her chin. “Most of them, I think, and if not, I know their parents. Why do you ask?”

“We’re having a party and a dance tonight, in honor of my sister’s fourteenth birthday. I was hoping some of your older children would want to come. It’s going to be a great time.” I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on Nurse Carina’s pants, and then cringe because they might stain from all the grass and wildflowers I’ve handled. But when I glance down, they are still pristine.

The woman smiles. “That’s a great idea,” she says. “By the way, my name is Sara.”

“Sara. A name from Before. It’s beautiful.”

She goes around me and stands in the middle of a little clearing, tents on every side of her. “Lucas! Estefan! Maria! Ida!”

Four or five teens emerge from the tents. They are all misshapen, all bent and broken in some way or another. They look at me unsurely, and then toward Sara for direction. She explains why I am here.

“It would please my sister Ceres very much if you could all come,” I say. “She’s about your age, and just got out of the Asylum in Toronto.”

The kids all look at each other, as if assessing what their response should be.

I try a tactic that would appeal to a teenager from anywhere in the world. “They are busy braiding flowers into their hair and dressing up. It’s going to be grand.”

Shy smiles cross their faces. “Okay,” one of the boys says. “We’ll come.”

“Thank you. We will look for you as the sun sets in the sky.” I smile at them, wave at Sara, and go back to my part of the camp.

As the sun sets, the hills turn to fiery gold, and the valleys are inky with shadow. I hear the crunch of footsteps and look up from the cot where I am sitting. A whole group of Nukeheads is approaching us, with the bigger boys and men carrying covered boxes.

I stand up and go to Sara. She is walking with the little Alexander clinging to her hand. When she sees me, she smiles.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she says. “When word of the dance spread, it seemed everyone wanted to come watch the children. But we brought presents to make our presence easier to tolerate.” She laughs to show she is half-joking.

The men uncover the boxes and I see a veritable cornucopia of le marché noir gifts: chocolates, sweet wine, mead, grape juice, candles shaped like flowers, jewelry for the girls, and a few pairs of shoes for the boys. The Nukeheads point to it in a “help yourself” gesture, and the Asylum kids swarm the boxes, taking what they like, but also generously sharing when someone else reaches for what they want.

I watch with a smile on my face, and then turn to Sara. “Thank you. You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

She waves a hand. “It’s no trouble. We’ve never been to anything like this. After we board that ship to Asia, all of this will go to waste anyway.”

Heartened to hear that Sara and sweet Alexander will make the journey with us, I smile and tickle the little boy’s chin. He giggles uproariously.

Nurse Carina has arranged the tents beautifully, with mats and cots scattered around so the children can sit when they’re tired of dancing. On the cots, we arrange the food and drinks, and then a few of the children go around lighting the candles so the entire area glows like a drop of liquid gold.

Ceres comes up to me, a necklace glinting at her throat. “No…music,” she says, her eyes sad. Nursery rhymes and ditties were a big part of Ceres’ life when we lived together. And judging from the way she’s been humming and singing these past few days, she must’ve learned more from the other, older children at the Asylum. Perhaps it’s one of the things that carried them through those dark days.

“You don’t need music,” I say. “Just dance!” I begin to sway, but she is not convinced.

None of the other children are dancing, either. They all look to us, the adults, to rectify the situation.

“It’s not a real party without music,” Lynx says, and she looks like she’s about to cry.

I look at Nurse Carina in alarm, but she shrugs.

Sara goes to Reyes and some of the other men and whispers to them. When they turn around, they are smiling.

“Okay,” Sara says. “You asked for music, so you’re going to get music—Nukehead style.” She pats out a beat with her hands, and then the men begin to sing.

Their song is captivating, hypnotizing. Some of them hit the high notes while others sing low in their throats. The tune echoes in my chest and my head, and slowly, the children begin to pair off and dance.

Ceres is standing by me, holding the pants of her coveralls and swaying gently, when a Nukehead boy without any hair and a malformed nose comes up to her.

“Will you dance with me?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper.

She looks at me, and I shrug.
It’s up to you.

Haltingly, she reaches for his hands, and then they walk away to the shadows to dance.

The men continue to sing for a very long time, and the children continue to dance. After a while, I retreat to the shelter of the tent from where I can still watch the festivities. I sit at a makeshift cot-table and nibble some of the treats while I chat with Sara and Nurse Carina.

“Alexander looks much better,” Nurse Carina says, stroking Sara’s boy’s cheek. “I’m so glad Vika thought of Stevia. I’m not sure what we would’ve done without her.”

I smile. “I’m sure you could’ve gotten some sweet food from le marché noir for a while.”

Sara shakes her head. “It’s not dependable. Some days you can get sweets and others you can’t. Even le marché noir resources are dwindling, you know. Besides, most of the food isn’t nutritious enough to sustain children.”

I take a round chocolate and pop it in my mouth. “Nutritious or not, it’s delicious,” I say. “I can’t seem to get full nowadays.”

Nurse Carina raises her eyebrow, her gentle brown eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “I think I know why that is. Eating for two, aren’t you?”

From beside me, Sara gasps. “You don’t say?” She puts her hand on my stomach. “You’re not very far along now, are you?”

I shake my head. “About six weeks or so, no more.”

She smiles at me. “This time next year, you’ll have a baby just a little younger than Rosa’s baby. Have you seen him?”

“No. I don’t think I have.”

“Wait a minute.”

She sets Alexander down and goes off into the crowded tent. A moment later she’s back with a plump, smiling baby. It waves its chubby fists at me and I laugh. I barely even notice the fact that it doesn’t have a lower lip. I’m beginning to see past the deficiencies.

“Here you are,” Sara says, plopping the child down on my lap. “Meet Raul.”

On cue, Raul coos at me and reaches for a lock of my hair. I chuckle.

“Aren’t you precious?” I say, then marvel at the high pitch my voice has taken on.

Ceres comes skipping up to me then, her face flushed and glistening with sweat. Her smile freezes in place as she sees me playing with Raul. Slowly, she reaches a finger toward him. He grasps it and begins to chew, baby slobber dripping down her knuckle.

“This is Raul,” I say, waving a chubby arm at her.

An odd, strangled noise escapes from Ceres’s throat and she pulls her finger back. She backs away from me, then turns and runs out the tent.

I hand Raul to Sara and jog after her.

I find Ceres at the foot of the next hill over, doubled over and panting.

“Ceres?” I walk up to her slowly, so that I don’t startle her. “Ceres, are you alright?”

She straightens up, but remains with her back toward me, looking out into the distance in the dark. At a distance, I hear the perimeter Nukehead guards talking in low voices.

Ceres looks at me, a tear rolling down her cheek. The breeze blows a strand of her braid free, and I tuck it behind her ear.

“Are you okay, sweet?”

“Vikki…” she begins, more tears joining the first. “Vikki…”

I grab her hands, wait for more.

“My baby,” she whimpers, closing her eyes and sinking to her knees. “My baby, Vikki, the man hurt me, he hurt, he hurt—”

“Shhh.” I kneel next to her and pull her head to my chest as I cradle her in my arms. “Shh, I know, heart. I know. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

And with my heart in pieces, I hold my sister in the darkness.

After Ceres is finished crying, we sit in the same spot for a long time, just listening to the strains of music and people shouting, talking, and laughing as they enjoy her party.

“I have something for you,” I say. When she turns to look at me, I fish in the pockets of Nurse Carina’s pants for the conch shell I bought at le marché noir. I press it into Ceres’ hand and watch her turn it over, agog. When she sniffs it, I laugh. “It’s a conch. Some people say if you put it to your ear, you can hear the ocean. Do you want to try?”

Hesitantly, my little sister puts the conch up to her ear. As I watch, her face transforms. Delight shines from her eyes, lighting up the darkness. “Ocean!” she says, grinning.

“It’s the sound of freedom. We’re going to have a brand new life soon.” I drape my arm around her shoulders and sit with her while she listens to the future.

Finally, we hear Nurse Carina calling for Ceres. “Birthday wish time!” she sings.

We get up wordlessly. I wipe her face for her, and she wipes mine. Then, hand in hand, we head back toward the tent.

In the middle of one of the cot-tables, Nurse Carina has arranged candles of different lengths. They are all ablaze, creating a hypnotic flickering light. Around the candles, she’s written
Happy Birthday Ceres
using wildflowers of different colors. I read the message to Ceres, and she smiles, eyes shining.

“You have to make a wish,” Nurse Carina says. “Out loud, so we can all wish right along with you. The more people that wish a wish, the likelier it is to come true.”

Ceres looks at me, and I nod encouragingly. She walks to the table, and before she blows out the candles, she says, “Freedom.” And then we’re plunged into darkness.

Everyone claps and cheers, and I quickly wipe the tears cascading from my eyes before the candles are lit again. I hug Ceres and kiss her on the forehead. She puts her hand on my stomach and beams at me. For the moment, it seems like everything will work out.

Not long after the birthday wishing, the younger children begin to drift to sleep, so the Nukeheads decide to head back to their part of camp. I hug Sara, kiss little Alexander on the cheek, and tickle baby Raul before Rosa takes him back to their tent. Ceres is still deep in conversation with Lucas, so I decide to take a washroom break.

We have a portable washroom set up against the perimeter fence, so I let the guards know I’ll be using it so they can give me some privacy. After I finish, I come back out and stretch in the cool night air. After being amid the thick crowd in the soupy heat, the fresh breeze feels good in my lungs. I’m still stretching when an arm snakes around my waist, pulling me snug against a man’s tall body. A hand clamps down over my mouth before I can scream.

“Now, now. You don’t wanna ruin a good party, do you? Better you just come quietly with me.” Drew’s breath is fetid, as if he has been consuming rotten meat. With his arm so tight against my stomach, I don’t dare try to fight him.

He drags me backward and out of sight into the brush bordering our camp.

Drew straightens me up and lets me walk forward once we’re a few dozen yards past the camp. He holds a gun to my head, so he knows I won’t risk screaming. He’ll have my head in pieces before it’s ever finished leaving my throat.

“What do you want?” I ask, fighting the panic lapping at my brain.

Drew chuckles, the sound full of malice and madness. “I wasn’t done with you, you know that. And then you had the nerve to run off with that bastard, after how good I was to you? It ain’t right, Vika.”

“Let me go.” I have now done what I’ve always wondered why kidnapping victims do. Why plead with your captor? Have they ever had a change of heart because of a pleading victim? “Please, Drew.”

I hear the whooshing of displaced air as he jabs me in my temple with the muzzle of the rifle. Vermilion stars explode in my vision before all goes dark again. We continue to shuffle through the darkness, me occasionally stumbling and falling on rocks and roots, Drew prodding me in the back until I get up.

After what feels like an hour, when my legs are aching and the bottom of my stomach has a sharp pain that won’t abate, I step on something sharp, cry out at the pain in my foot where my old wound has split open, and fall in a heap. I lie there, half-crying and half-willing myself to get up.

Drew prods me with the rifle and huffs an impatient, “Get the fuck up.” But I cannot, I simply cannot. I have absolutely no stock reserves of energy and my foot throbs with every beat of my heart. I can feel the inside of my boot, wet with blood.

“It’s my foot,” I gasp, trying to pry my boot off. It comes off after a mighty tug, and I feel a splatter of something warm on my hand. “I hurt it before, and I think I just ripped it open on something.”

“Hey, do you think I give two shits? Get up, we’re almost there.”

I look up where I hear his voice, but I can’t see anything in the darkness. The moon is hiding behind a film of clouds or haze or both. I am utterly alone.

I hear Drew sigh, and then he grabs my arm and begins to pull me. I am too exhausted to fight—I doubt I would even if I thought I had a chance at winning. I took off my knife and pistol for the party, and am utterly defenseless. I wonder if I’ve come this far only to be killed by Drew. I follow him, trying not to scream from the agony in my foot, trying to put most of my weight on my good one.

When he lets go of my arm and pushes me down, I look around, my eyes half-lidded. We are back in the big tent, and I am on Drew’s cot. I struggle to sit up, but he grabs my wrists and my ankles, and before I can even register what he’s doing, he has me in a four-point restraint.

“Take a few minutes to rest.” A smile laps across his face. “And then you’ll need to apologize.”