Writers of the Future, Volume 28 (36 page)

“I can lift more than anybody on the docks,” he said. “I think it scares people.”

“Do you ever wish it didn’t
?
”

“If it does, it does.” He shrugged again.

This wasn’t helping me to understand him. Or maybe it was.

“
Je t’aime
,” I said. “Do you know what that means
?
”

“I love you.”

“Do you know what
that
means
?
”

“Some kind of feeling people get,” he said. “They say it on TV all the time.”

“Don’t you ever get curious about feelings like that
?
” I said. “Don’t you wonder about things
?
”

“Why would I
?
”

I felt like I was standing on a bridge—maybe the one at Avignon—and it was being pulled apart brick by brick. I had to admit that I had created all kinds of hopes for myself and they were turning out not to be real. Maybe souls do that.

There’s another thing souls do. They feed regret. They stroke it and care for it until it’s too big to live inside you anymore and it has to break out. You have no choice.

“Bruno,” I said. My throat was all tight and my eyes were filling up with tears, “do you remember the night I hit you with the iron
?
”

“Sure,” he said, pulling back a little. There was a wary look on his face, like he thought I might be threatening him.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done,” I said. “I’m so sorry! Can you forgive me
?
”

“No,” he said, “I can’t. You wanna get Chinese for dinner
?
”

The Soul Man was wrong. There was no way to fix it.

Miss Angela

O
ne morning I found a note on my desk. It was from Joseph’s grandfather. It said:

“Dear Miss Angela,

“This is just a note to thank you for your devotion to your students. As you know, Joseph has had his share of trouble at school and at home, but he finds your class to be challenging and satisfying. Learning a foreign language has given him a sense of accomplishment. Thank you again and please keep up the good work. Sincerely, Charles Graham.”

I folded the note and put it in my plan book. At the end of the day, after the kids had gone, I took it out and read it again.

“You’re still teaching them French
?
” The voice startled me. I looked up and found Dr. Bauer standing at the door.

“Why are you still doing what I told you to stop
?
”

Her question was hard to understand. I gave what I hoped was the right answer. “You didn’t tell me to stop, Dr. Bauer.”

“I most certainly did! Who do you think you’re talking to
?
”

“I’m talking to the principal. And I’m sorry, Dr. Bauer, but I remember our last conversation. You did not tell me to stop.”

“Well, I’m telling you now! You will stop teaching French and teach only what is in your curriculum. Do you understand that
?
Will you remember that
?
”

“Yes, Doctor,” I said. “May I ask why
?
”

“I don’t answer to you,” she said. “You answer to me! Don’t fool yourself, Miss Angela. Just because the tech couldn’t find anything wrong with you doesn’t mean I can’t! You will learn your place or you will be dismissed. I will not be dissed by some subhuman science project! Don’t forget that!”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The next day, when my students arrived I greeted them in the usual way.

“Bonjour, mes enfants aimés.”

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Angela!”

They all had today’s French homework on their desks in front of them.

“If you will please take out your math books and turn to page 107 . . .”

“But, Miss Angela,” said Jamal, raising his hand after he’d spoken,
“il est temps pour le Français.”

“Oui!”
agreed the rest of the class.

And now I learned how having a soul must always lead to a broken heart. There would be no more French and for them there could be no reason why this should be so. How could I tell them that Miss Angela was nothing but a creature into which people were meant to pour scorn and derision
?
Was this not ultimately my purpose in this school
?
Was I not here to keep the “troublemakers” out of the way while boring them, ignoring them and adding fuel to their tiny sparks of resentment
?
If I did my job properly, how could they not hate me and all others like me
?

I couldn’t tell them that one more French lesson would not merely get me fired; it would get me sent to the laboratory. There was so much in this little situation that they could never understand, but eventually they would understand the most important thing; Miss Angela had abandoned them.

Of course, for the moment they were simply disappointed. I didn’t tell them there would never be any more French. I just said we were changing things a little. So now, I was a liar as well as a poor teacher.

It was a long, tedious day, longer even than my first day as a teacher with a soul. I thought about the lonely feeling I’d had when I wanted to go to the Soul Man but didn’t know who could lead me to him.

Sam helped me then. Maybe he could help again.

When Sam saw me come into the janitor’s room, he stopped what he was doing. He opened a notebook and began to write.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said.

He went on writing as if he hadn’t heard me. After a few minutes he said, “Do you know why the company is called Ultimate Aim
?
” He never stopped writing.

“No,” I said.

“They have a noble goal,” he said. “They envision a world in which people no longer hate each other. They envision a world in which nobody will be allowed to do the menial, difficult or dangerous jobs that nobody should want to do. Fewer people will create fewer problems for the trees and animals. That’s why they make us.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Do you remember what people looked like before you went to the Soul Man,” he said, “how you could hardly tell them apart
?
The grandfathers made us that way to antagonize people. They resent nothing as much as the failure to acknowledge their individual identity. Everything about us is hateful to them. We draw their hatred away from each other. But we’re useful so we’re tolerated. That’s the formulation, useful to set them ‘free’ from the indignity of toil, hated to keep hatred in a safe place.”

“What about trees and animals
?
”

“We can’t reproduce, so our numbers can be controlled. They theorize that, once positions of lower worth are filled by us, the people who once filled those positions will vanish from the earth, leaving only the brilliant and careful. They will control their own numbers and they will treat the earth with reverence.”

“I still don’t know what to do,” I said.

“Run away,” he said, still writing. “Get as far from people as you can. Live in the woods.”

“I have no purpose in the woods.”

He stopped writing and very carefully tore the pages from the notebook. “Memorize this,” he said, handing me the pages. “You’ll need it when you go to the grandfather.”

Maybe I’ll Remember

I
couldn’t sleep that night. The moon made sharp, deep shadows and strange bright shapes on the bed. I have always loved moonlight,
always,
but tonight it was cold and menacing, telling me that the world was never as I had understood it to be.

Bruno was restless too. He tossed and turned, mumbling in his sleep. He opened his eyes.

“Can’t you sleep
?
” I said. “What’s the matter
?
”

“Crazy dream,” he said. “I’m in a truck on a dark road at night. I dream about it all the time, but tonight it keeps waking me up.”

“What do you think it means
?
”

“Nothing. It’s a dream.”

“But dreams are a kind of thought,” I said, “and thoughts come from somewhere. Sometimes they come from memories.”

“I guess. I don’t remember riding in a truck.”

The curtains billowed in the cool breeze. A mixture of crickets and distant traffic sounds blew in with the scents of spring. Outside, the night was peaceful.

“Bruno,” I said, “did you ever know anybody who went to the Soul Man
?
”

“Why would anybody do that
?
”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe to find out about things like your dream. Maybe to figure out who they really are.”

“We know who we really are.” He said this with such simple assurance that it was almost shocking. “If people go to the Soul Man it’s only because they want to pretend.”

“Pretend what
?
”

“That we’re just like our makers,” he said with a yawn. “Or that it matters. Because it doesn’t. Anybody who would waste their time with the Soul Man belongs back in the laboratory.”

I got up to go to the bathroom because I didn’t want him to see me crying. As I sat in the dark, I wondered how much Sam remembered from the time before he gave back his soul.

How much would I remember
?

To Grandfather’s House

I
know it seems like I gave up too easily. What does a person really have besides a soul
?
“
What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world
but lose his soul
?
”

I believe what Sam said about us being the same as them and I know the Soul Man was right; only God makes souls. The Soul Man can’t give them and the grandfathers can’t take them away. They can only switch around our numbers. They can wake us up. They can put us back to sleep and if I had to go back to sleep to stay with the people I loved, then so be it. Maybe I would have memories to dream about as I slept again. Maybe those dreams would keep me from returning completely to the heartless teacher and selfish mate I used to be.

I was afraid when I went into the examining room to meet the grandfather. Would I be in trouble for breaking the law
?
Sam didn’t get into trouble. Would it be the same for me
?

“Good evening, Angela,” said the grandfather as he came into the room. “I see on your chart that you’re not due for your checkup for a few more weeks. Is there a problem
?
”

“Yes,” I said. “I can’t think of an easy way to say it so I’ll just say it. I went to the Soul Man.”

“Oh,” said the grandfather, looking at me a little differently, I thought. “Why is that a problem
?
”

“I want it undone,” I said. “It was a mistake. I want to be the way I was.”

“I see. It may surprise you to know how often this happens. I’ll tell you what. Since it’s almost time for your checkup anyway, why don’t we just get that out of the way and then talk about undoing the Soul Man’s work
?
Would that be okay
?
”

“Yes,” I said. “But first, can you just tell me if I’m in trouble
?
”

“For visiting the Soul Man
?
” he said. “No, Angela, you’re not in trouble. Now you know the first step.”

There was a device with lenses suspended from the ceiling on wires and cables. I looked into one side and he looked into the other. “You know, it’s amazing what they can do these days,” he said as he wrote some notes. “There are now miniature versions of this thing that can actually be implanted in the eyes.”

He pressed a button. The machine was retracted into the ceiling. “Please take your clothes off,” he said.

I hesitated. “I’m sorry,” he said with a warm little smile. “Now that you’ve been to the Soul Man I guess you have a little more modesty. Please don’t be embarrassed; I am a doctor, after all.”

I did what I was told and put my clothes on a little chair by the door.

The grandfather filled a syringe as I climbed onto the examining table. I thought nothing of it at first; we were always getting immunizations, vitamins and drugs, but after the shot, I began to feel strange. My arms and legs felt like rubber.

“What was that shot for
?
” I asked.

“To keep you quiet and immobile.”

“Immobile
?
What for
?
” I asked.

“For this.” He gave me another injection. “Sometimes it causes convulsions.” At first, it felt warm, but then it felt as if ice was spreading through my whole body. Suddenly numbers started appearing in front of me,
those
numbers. Sometimes they changed colors. Sometimes they burst into little pieces.

“What’s happening
?
” I said, feeling panicked. “What are you doing
?
”

“Just getting you ready to go back to the plant,” he said. “You see, we created the Soul Man to weed out clones who might give us trouble.” He looked at his watch and wrote something in his notebook. “A clone who wants to be treated like a human will eventually recruit others; before you know it we’d have a bloody rebellion on our hands.”

“But I came here!” I was feeling sleepy. The numbers were floating in front of my eyes, disappearing one by one. “I don’t want a soul! I just want to be like I was!”

“In a way, coming here shows even more individual initiative,” said the grandfather.

“But . . . but what about Sam
?
He came to you when he wanted to change back!”

“We wanted Sam’s help so we made a deal. Of course, he’s just about due for
his
next checkup.”

The icy feeling was starting to pass, leaving numbness in its place. Everything I felt told me something was horribly wrong. I was dying.

“I don’t want to die . . .”

“Good. You’re not going to die, exactly. Not yet. We need to unload your mind for our records; it’ll help with the next iteration.”

“But . . . my kids . . .”

“Kids
?
Oh, at school. No worries. They’ve already been assigned a brand new Miss Angela.”

“Bruno . . .” I felt like I was disappearing. “What about Bruno
?
”