When I was a child I used to fall asleep against my father’s chest, the regular, rhythmic beat of what I thought was his heart lulling me to sleep. I thought it the most comforting sound in the whole world, and I would sleep soundly, knowing that I was safe and snug and secure. Now I’m terrified by the memory of that sound. It makes me sick.
The ceremony was to be performed tomorrow, and I was one of
the five who would be subjected to it. They say it is to celebrate our
coming-of-age, but I know better. I know what goes on in the House. Every year
the girls and boys who’d seen 18 summers would enter that House and emerge as
men and women, finally being part of the System.
The System ran everything around here. It created an ideal
world. The System knew everything about everyone in it, and what it did was
match stuff together. The men and women who were the most compatible were
allocated to each other, producing maximum happiness and minimum domestic
violence. Jobs were assigned to the people who were best suited to them,
resulting in great efficiency and productivity. Those who were neither
compatible nor capable were sent to sleep.
This was the fate for those disabled in accidents, or pets
who had grown too old. Or those who had fallen too gravely ill, be it persons or
pets. These were solutions to the mistakes of the past. In school we listened in
horror as our teachers told us stories of how infectious diseases wiped out
thousands upon thousands of people. This was mind-boggling stuff; we couldn’t
grasp the concept of thousands of people living in close enough proximity to
die of each other’s sicknesses, let alone allowing those infected to walk
freely amongst them.
Our teachers told us about the enormous drain on resources
old and disabled people represented. They told us what to do when (assuming we
were lucky enough to be spared by disease and disability) our fiftieth summer
came: enter the door at the back of the House and sleep. They liked to say that
you only entered the House twice: Once at your “birth” (into adulthood that
was) and once at your death. They sounded both like deaths to me.
“Jean, we can’t do
this. We have to run away from this place!” Jean was the best and only friend I had.
We had grown up and somehow managed to stick
together despite our different backgrounds. My parents were doctors while her
family ran the store. The System generally frowns upon people from different
classes mingling with each other, but since we were merely children we were
allowed to get away with it.
“I don’t know Henry.
Where would we go? What would we do? We can’t just leave everything and
everyone behind like that...” One day we had been out in the fields when we
decided to take a break, and just lay down on the grass. I was busy trying to
make out the shapes in the clouds when she put her head on my chest. I was
startled and my mouth had suddenly turned curiously dry and my heart started
thumping much too loudly, I was sure. I decided to keep silent and perfectly
still, just in case the slightest movement would dislodge her. I became very
conscious of my breathing and prayed I wouldn’t hyperventilate. I didn’t want
to give myself away.
“Well… I don’t know.
Away. That’s all that matters. Who is this ‘everyone' you’re talking about
anyway? Your family? What we have between us is… different, are you just gonna
give it up like that?” After a few moments, she lifted her head with a quizzical
look on her face. Oh damn it, I thought, I screwed up, I knew I would. Then she
said “Your heartbeat, it’s different. It isn’t the same as my parents’.”
“What do you mean
different? You always say that. I don’t know what you mean when you say that.” So
I had to put my head on her chest, to determine if it was just me. It wasn’t. I
cast my mind back to the memories of my father’s heartbeat. And then I knew.
His had been too regular, its rhythm
lacked humanity. It was mechanical.
“I… I don’t know.”
When we were very young, we had this one day where we were to show our form
teacher our appreciation for her. We were very excited about it and had made
elaborate preparations for it. As the end of class approached, the cake was
wheeled out and we leapt out of our seats and shouted “We love you Miss Fritz!”
She recoiled as if struck a blow. She gaped for a bit and then decided anger
was probably the best response. “Never say that word again. Never.” And there
she stood, in her murderous rage while maintaining the stoniest of silences,
until the bell rang.
“You don’t know? Hah.
I don’t know what I was expecting of you, but it was definitely better than
that. For all your grand notions you’re surprisingly empty. You’re just another
scared kid.” We didn’t talk about it afterwards. We never did. All of us
were so deeply shamed by the episode that it had become as much of a taboo as
the word itself. It had scared us and scarred us and we would never forget the
lesson we learnt that day. And no matter how inadequate the words remaining in
our vocabularies seemed we never could bring ourselves to say it again. It is
funny how one forbidden word can create such a gaping hole in our ability to
describe what we feel.
“Don’t do this,
please. I’m scared, you’re scared. We’re all scared. But at least we have each
other. We can face our fears together, everything will be alright. You have to
trust me. I’ll see you by the fields at four in the morning. Don’t worry, okay?”
She didn’t answer. I made my way home. The reality of my leaving this place
forever didn’t set in until I started packing. It is weird to consider which of
your possessions are necessary for survival. Necessary means one thing when you’re
at home and your only worries are either about school or girls. It takes on a
whole new meaning when you’re wondering how to survive the next few days, and
more, out on your own where the things we hold dear, like money or fancy
clothes, are worth nothing.
I was wracked with doubts all night. Would we be able to
last more than a few days? Could we have a life outside of the place we had
called home all our lives? Would we be
happier than if we stayed? Would she be there?
I struggled to stay awake. It’s always the times when you
desperately want not to sleep that it sneaks up on you and takes hold of you
just like that. You’re asleep without even knowing it. So I paced around in the
dark, making sure I was deadly quiet while doing so. I double and triple
checked the contents of my bag. I looked around me to ensure I wouldn’t leave
anything essential behind. In the throes of a restless night like this, it is a
comfort to know that the relentless march of time never stops, no matter how
slow it might seem to be creeping along. It’s still ticking away, draw strength
from that.
And then it was time to leave. The night air seemed to have
a sharp taste in my mouth. The glow of the streetlamps seemed to have an otherworldly
tinge to it. There was a sort of desperate clarity to everything, as if my
brain were highlighting what I was leaving behind in a last-ditch attempt to
stop me.
“Henry.” My heart
soared, the last flight it would ever take, though I didn’t know it yet. “I can’t do it. I can’t forsake everything I’ve
got here to go on this wild adventure with you. This is ridiculous, it’s madness.”
I think I had always known what her answer would be, although her
appearance here, now, had given me something that was almost hope.
“Hah. And you called me scared? Look at you. Terrified of the
unknown. Clinging on to the familiar just because that’s all you’ve ever known.
You’re gonna let them rip your heart out just because you’re afraid. You... you’re
just like the rest of them. You make me sick.” I turned away from her and stared
into the field and tried to hold back my tears. I didn’t know how to be angry
and cry at the same time.
“Let them rip my heart
out? No, Henry, that’s what you just did.” And she walked away. I still
didn’t turn around. I wanted very badly not to care, but I did. I wanted to
turn around and chase after her and tell her not to go and that I wish we could
be back on that field and feel her head resting against me again. I wanted to shout “I
love you” at her departing figure but even then, even right at the end, I
couldn’t.
I stood there, shaking in my futile anger. Anger at myself,
at Jean, at the whole damned System. It felt like there was a lump at the back
of my throat and it was like there was something with clammy hands holding my
heart in its grip.
I swallowed to clear the constriction in my throat. I took a
step forward. I stopped. I couldn’t do it. Not alone. I turned around and I
started walking. To the House.
