CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Christmas – a Word from the Past
9:30 p.m.
Jason and I
stepped out of the coffee shop and back into the clear evening air. It was
cold. I could feel snow trying to move in on the city.
“I’ll drive you home,
Christy.” Jason motioned to a car parked by the curb.
Jason had an individually
owned motor vehicle! I slid into the sleek black car and felt guilty, guilty
because an automobile ride was for only a few of Society’s most valued
citizens. Physicians, police, and those on the fire department couldn’t wait
for Public Transit before responding to an emergency. It wouldn’t be quite so
tragic if the fire or robbery was at a low-producing citizens’ home. But, what
if the emergency were in the home of an official of the government or other
professional person? Delay wouldn’t be tolerated. I shuddered as I heard myself
justifying such elitist thoughts. Why were some lives considered more important
than others?
I understood Jason’s need for
a car. Being a physician, he was expected to be on call for emergencies, and
his car had to be kept in top condition.
“This is nice,” I marveled as
I ran my fingers over the hand sewn leather cushions of the expensive vehicle.
“It must be nice to drive such a car.”
“Yes, it is,” Jason said.
“Since so few automobiles are made, the old production lines have become a
thing of history. Can you believe cars are made by hand now, one at a time? If
the government didn’t subsidize the exorbitant price, I wouldn’t be able to
afford it.”
We drove through the late
evening streets where lights twinkled off the glassy surface of the damp
pavement. “Oh Jason, just look at the Gifting lights. They are breathtaking. I
hadn’t even noticed so many of them had been put up.”
“They just finished them late
this afternoon. We’ve both been a little busy today.”
How could the evil that Silas described possibly exist alongside
such beauty? The poor man was mad.
“It’s in the next block.” I
motioned to the large apartment complex on the right. “You can park out front
since you’re a doctor and I’m . . . well, all that and . . . never mind . . .
right there.”
Jason parked in the emergency
vehicle space and then reached over and took my hand. “You apparently don’t
like to refer to yourself as Legacy either.”
“Jason, you’re no different.
You hide behind your physician’s white coat and no one knows you’re Legacy.” I
stopped. I didn’t want to be rude or start an argument. “I’m sorry.”
“You can flash those gorgeous
hazel eyes at me any time.” He took a deep breath and looked out the window.
“I’ve read a lot, Christy. I’ve discovered that no one is better than anyone
else. We are all precious in the heart of the Creator.” He looked at the
brightly decorated tree in the small space in front of the building. “The
lights are great though. I enjoy the Gifting season when everything is bright
and full of celebration.”
“That’s why I enjoy this
season so much too. I wonder who started the tradition of lights at Gifting
time? I have never even thought about it before.” Suddenly, with Jason, I was
seeing everything in new ways, and my curiosity was mounting about everything
around me.
“The lights may have begun
with the Sabbath lights around the Jewish family’s evening table. Certainly,
from what I have read, there was a light from Heaven that shown the night the
Christ child was born. That star led believers to a humble manger in Bethlehem;
no doubt that is what inspired the lights at Gift-giving time.”
“The Christ, Jason? Who or
what is the Christ?” I had never heard that name before.
“He was the promised one,
Christy. You’ll read about him in the new section of your Bible.” He smiled.
“The Gift-giving lights are also reminiscent of the lighted tapers in the churches
of old, which represented the presence of the Holy Spirit. Look over there at
the house across the way,” he whispered as if the inhabitants would hear us
talking about them. “Those folks are like our early ancestors who put up a tree
in their home and decorated it with bright bulbs. See them twinkle,” he
pointed. “A very long time ago, before people had old fashioned electrical
lighting, families carefully placed candles on each branch and lit them only on
Christmas Eve. Fire could have taken the tree and the whole house, but the
candle light was too beautiful to miss out on.”
“Christmas Eve?” I had read
about Christmas in some of the novels I cherished the most, but I was surprised
to hear the words spoken aloud. The word Christmas
was forbidden, because it was too
exclusive to one group and therefore offensive to a few. “In my books, everyone
seemed so happy at Christmas time, so full of love and acceptance.” A strange
feeling gripped me. The stars of the night were lighting the dark places in my
heart. Tears flowed down my cheeks. As I touched my face, Jason pulled me into
his arms.
“It’s all right Christy. Those
are tears.”
“Tears? I’ve never cried
before. And I’m not sad. I don’t think I have ever been sad enough to cry.”
“There were other reasons why
people used to cry besides sadness. In fact, joy could bring some people to
tears. Also, being touched by the heart of God brought many people to tears.”
“God’s own heart? The Creator
is like us? He has a heart?”
“We’re like him, Christy, but
he is not like us. He’s bigger and more wonderful than our minds can ever
understand. He is outside of time and outside of our ability to fully know him.
If we could understand him, we would be God and . . . trust me, we are not
God.”
We sat there a few more
minutes. I didn’t want to go in. Everything was so new. It was hard to bend my
mind around such strange, unheard of shapes and concepts. I wanted to talk more
but, what would people say if I brought Jason into my living space? I thought
for a minute and it didn’t seem to matter what other people thought any more.
Not since . . . Could it be possible
that things started to change just this morning? “Jason, do you want to come in
for a little while?” Then I remembered, “Jason, your nurse Dahlia lives in my
building.”
“Maybe we won’t see her,”
Jason laughed.
Even with the cold outside, it
was nice in the quiet of the car. I squeezed Jason’s hand and felt his warmth.
“You follow behind me and I’ll check the hallway, but I have to tell you, I’m
on the top floor. If no one is in the lobby, there may still be people in the
elevator.”
“I’m game. I can handle
another adventure tonight.”
We started to get out of the
car and then Jason said, “Wait here.” He jumped out and walked around the car,
opened the door for me and offered his hand to help me to the sidewalk. “My
Lady,” he smiled.
“Wow, what book did you read
that in?”
“None. My father always
treated my mother with that kind of respect. He held her chair for her, walked
on the curb side of the sidewalk when they were out for a stroll, held her
hand, and opened the door for her.”
“They remind me of my family,
my parents, and especially my grandparents.” We hurried along to the front
door. The night air was chilled and frost had gathered on the front steps. “Do
your parents live here in town?”
“No, Christy, they died two
years ago. They were driving in the mountains and the road was icy. They
slipped off the pavement and died in the crash.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said.
I looked through the large
heavy glass window of the front door and saw no one in the hall. As Jason
opened the door, I wanted to say words of comfort, but I had no experience to
guide me. “Jason, I’m not good at this feeling
stuff, but I am truly sorry you lost your parents so early. They were Legacy
and would have lived long lives.”
“Thanks Christy,” he smiled.
Not many people in 2112 even
remembered any feeling words. But, it didn’t matter. The people had lost all
empathy for one another by that time.
“The shock has passed,” he
reassured me, “but the love remains. I miss them every day.” He smiled. “I’m
glad I found you.” The touch of his hand held warmth that had the power to melt
my own loneliness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The First Christmas Carols
10:00 p.m.
Jason and I looked through the
heavy glass windows in the door to my apartment building. When we saw no one
between the door and the elevator, we went in. Then we heard them. To the left
of the brightly lit entry, a few people had gathered around the piano.
Jason rolled his eyes in surrender. “Caught,”
he mouthed in silence.
Dahlia smiled from across the
room. She looked like someone who had just gotten an inside joke or secret.
“Doctor,” she sang out in a well, drawn out stream, “and My Lady.” She started
over toward us. “Sorry. I remember. It’s Christiana.” As she came nearer, she
threw her arms open as an old friend would prepare to embrace a childhood chum.
“I’m so glad to see you two
again . . . together.” She flung her arms around me and hugged me as a friend.
“Does together have a different
meaning for Legacy Citizens than it does for us common people?”
She touched me. It felt good. Except for my family, and now Jason, I was never in
close contact with others. People could have been arrested for touching me.
“I’m glad to see you too,
Dahlia.” I looked at my new friend and then at Jason. “Please Dahlia, don’t . .
.”
”I don’t tell people
everything I know, and nothing of what I suspect.” She hugged me again, then
stepped back and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
“Dahlia, you know? How?” Jason
seemed as surprised as I was. We knew there were only a few Bible books still
in existence.
“Yes, Dr. O’Reilly, I know a
little bit. I was hoping Christiana could teach me more.”
“Me? But, Dahlia, I’m just
learning myself.”
“But there’s something inside
of you, Christiana. You glow from within. He’s alive in you.”
I was shocked, “Who, Dahlia?”
“Come accompany us, Dahlia, so
we can sing some more,” someone called from the piano.
“They look like they’re having
so much fun.” I watched the people laugh and touch and be together. I had never
seen people interact like that before, except for my own family.
“Would you like to join us?
We’re going to sing more Christmas songs.”
“Dahlia, it’s forbidden.
Aren’t you afraid?”
“Not anymore,” Dahlia took my
hand and led me over to the piano. “Christiana, there are a lot of us now. This
is the group I told you about.”
“Is Silas Drummond with you
tonight?”
“Silas? No. He works nights, but
I haven’t seen him all day. There were some Blue Shirts in here looking for him
earlier.”
“Blue Shirts? Why?”
“I don’t know, except they
said he wasn’t at work at 3:00 p.m. as usual.”
I gasped as I thought of
Silas’s warning. What was going on?
“How many are in your group?”
Jason asked. He seemed mystified by the gathering. He didn’t yet know about
Silas.
Could it be possible that
there were many seekers? How could a new spiritual revival have gone undetected
by anyone, especially the Blue Guard?
“I can’t give you numbers
right now, but there are a lot of us who celebrate Christmas rather than Gift-giving
Day. The number grows all the time.”
“How do you know it’s safe to
talk about these things? If new people are joining your group every day, how do
you know whom you’re talking to? Maybe you’ll say something and someone will
turn you in.” Jason was concerned for Dahlia as a friend, not just an employee.
She could be arrested and jailed.
“We . . .” she studied us both
very carefully, “we have a way of identifying each other.”
“Can you tell us how?” Jason
smiled and placed a kind hand on her shoulder. “I really want to know, Dahlia.”
“Two ways,” she whispered.
“First, we say, ‘I’m Thomas’s friend,’ since Thomas doubted until he saw the
Savior’s hands with his own eyes. We have been in darkness, too. Then we were
told a great mystery which many of us didn’t believe at first. But, then the
truth grew within us, and we knew, we just knew.”
“Dahlia,” the singer called
again.
“Okay, I’m coming,” she
laughed and walked away.
“Dahlia, what’s the other
way?” We followed her as she joined the group.
Dahlia smiled at us and
pressed her index finger to her lips. “Come join us.”
“I don’t know any songs,” I
protested. Few people sang any more. There never seemed to be anything to sing
about, no romance, no disappointment, no longing or striving, no inspiration.
Besides, most music had been banned.
“I’ve heard you humming when
you’ve stepped off the elevator,” Dahlia insisted.
“I have heard you, too,” the
man from the bus chimed in.
“Do you live here?” I knew I
recognized him from the P-T that morning, but I hadn’t been aware of having
seen him before that. I stepped closer to Jason and took his arm.
“No, I don’t live here but I
saw you at the university when we were both working on our Master’s degrees,”
the man smiled a knowing smile, like he knew me better than I knew him.
A shiver ran up my spine, and
I wondered what else I hadn’t been aware of.
“What’s your name?” Jason
asked.
“I’m sorry. My name is Sean.”
He offered his hand in friendship, an archaic display of nonviolence, known for
spreading germs. I reached out my hand and took his. It was warmer and
friendlier than I expected. I liked the gesture. “I got my graduate degree in
Communications Journalism.” Then he stopped abruptly, cautious but confident.
He lowered his voice and whispered, “Dahlia said you two can be trusted.” He
paused and looked from Jason to me. “I . . .
publish an underground newspaper.”
“A newspaper? I’ve heard of
those,” I gasped.
“Where did you hear of a
newspaper?” Sean asked suspiciously. Newspapers had been abandoned nearly a
hundred years ago when other forms of fast news dissemination flooded the
market.
I thought for a moment. “I
read about them.”
“Come,” Dahlia took my arm and
led me to the group near the piano. “There is music in your soul, Christiana.
Everyone can sing, at least in their own way. Even the angels in Heaven
communicate through song.”
Angels? My
mind was overflowing. I had read about angels and about people who sang when
they were happy and sang when they were sad. I had even seen the words of
Christmas songs printed on pages of song books I had read, but I had never
heard the melodies or felt them resounding in my mind. I didn’t know their
meaning.
“Your heart will recognize the
tunes,” Dahlia assured us.
She sat at the piano and ran
her fingers up and down the keys, chord upon beautiful chord. I wondered where
she had learned how to play.
Obviously, I had seen the
piano in the corner of the gathering room before and never gave it further
attention. Why had I not wondered about it before? If music had been banned,
why was there still a musical instrument in the building? Then I remembered
what the building manager had said. She had described it as a work of art.
Maybe the manager was right in her thinking but only partially. She may have
confused the instruments of music with objects of art, like sculpture or
paintings. She had said, “Isn’t it a beautiful piano?” like it was a fine art
statue. How very strange. For a hundred years, people had rejected the sound
but not the form.
It was a wonderful evening of
music—Christmas carols Dahlia had called them. We sang about a baby who slept
in a manger because there was no room for him in the Inn. Angels sang alleluias
from the heavens to announce his birth and to glorify God for his precious
gift, just like Jason had described. Dahlia was right. The music went deep
within me and then streamed forth from the depths of my soul, and . . . I knew,
but I didn’t yet know that I knew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Forbidden Singing Heard
Out on the
streets, people were going in for the night. As Stoner drove through
neighborhoods, he noticed a small group of people sitting on the steps of an
apartment building, talking. If he had the capacity for enjoyment, Stoner would
have appreciated the solitary quietness of the evening as he drove around the
city in the frosty air. Sometimes, he just had to get away from people. For
someone who worked with the public every day, he had a growing disdain for most
everyone. The truth was, he didn’t like himself much either. He could only
tolerate a short amount of alone-time. He was not his own best company.
The long evening hours had
been uneventful, so the silent vibration of his communication device startled him.
He tilted his head slightly as a voice spoke quietly in the ear piece buried
beneath his skin near the bone behind his ear. “Inspector, I hate to bother
you. Your location indicator places you near Indian River Apartments.”
“I just passed it,” Stoner
spoke into the emptiness of the night.
“It’s the craziest thing.
Someone has reported that they heard singing coming from the building?” the
dispatcher reported.
“Singing? You’re kidding,
right?”
“No, Sir,” she apologized.
“Singing was banned a long
time ago. No one has sung in nearly a century. How would they know how? Who
knows any songs?”
“I don’t know, Sir. I’m sorry
to have bothered you.”
“No, Dispatch. I don’t know
how they’re singing, but I’ll check on it.” The very thought of songs being
sung assaulted his ears. Stoner made a U-turn in the street and headed the few
blocks back to the Indian River Apartments.
He didn’t hesitate. He parked
his strata-car in front of the building and stormed to the entrance. He thrust
open both double doors and burst into the apartment building lobby. In the
large gathering room to the left, a group of people were sitting around on
sofas or chairs, and a few were casually lounging on the floor. A piano art
piece was present but no one was trying to play it. Who could have? It seemed
to Stoner, they were apparently listening to a speaker who was leading them in
a chant of some sort.
“Spending
money carefully,
my responsibility.
Gifting Day is nearly here
Raise a cup and shout a
cheer.
Hip, Hip, Hay! Hip, Hip Hurrah!
Happy, happy,
Gifting Day,
When I spend up all my pay
giving gifts to
everyone,
is my duty and my fun.
Hip, Hip, Hay! Hip, Hip, Hurrah!”
“Very good everyone, we . . .”
the speaker stopped when she saw the inspector who stood listening impatiently.
“May I help you, Sir?”
“There was a report that
singing was heard coming from this building,” he snapped.
“Singing, Sir?” Dahlia
questioned. “Song was banned a long time ago. I would think that most people
wouldn’t even know how to sing, Inspector.”
“Someone reported hearing music
and singing nevertheless.”
“Oh . . . maybe they heard our
chants.” She glanced toward the piano. “People don’t even know how to play one
of those beautiful instruments any more. They are graceful and lovely aren’t
they?” She smiled sweetly. “The chants may sound silly, but I find they’re a
good way to remember some of Society’s important points.” She turned to the
group. “Let’s chant the one we were doing a few minutes ago.”
“Raising children every day,
with the help the People give,
lets me know they’re in
control,
giving
time to work and live”
“Lady . . . shut up!” Stoner
shouted as he glared at the group. “Whom do you think you’re dealing with?”
“Sir ―”
“Enough lady! That sounds like
a song to me, a very bad song, but . . .” Stoner’s face grew red, and his neck
was taunt and rigid. “Why am I wasting my time with this nonsense? Chant if you
want— just don’t sing—or I’m sending a bus for all of you! Got it?”
“Yes, Sir,” Dahlia agreed with
polite surrender to his authority.
The inspector shot a caustic
glance around the room, mentally recording the faces of each participant. Some
looked familiar but at the moment, he didn’t care. He had to get out of there.
He was not going to run around town chasing ghosts and felonious singers.
He turned with near parade
drill formation and shot back out the door. He was not retreating. He was
leaving. He was too important for such stupidity. “Every minute I stand here, I
lose ten IQ points,” he mumbled out loud. On
a night like this, somebody always has a complaint, an observance, or a
question to be investigated. If they’re not griping about something, they lose
their reason for living. Their entire identity is wrapped up in spying on their
neighbors and reporting every little remonstrance to someone, anyone. But, I
will not be reduced to a baby sitter for these minimal citizens.
Stoner left the light and went
back out into the darkness where shadows provided better cover for his
indignant hostility. Back in his patrol car, he tried to remember where he had
seen the leader before. Later, he would get the names of everyone who lived in
that building.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Spirit inside the Book
11:30 p.m.
That
evening, out in front of the apartment building, Dahlia had stationed friends
nearby, talking together in little clusters. They watched for anyone the group
did not know or trust. Fortunately, Stoner’s strata-car was seen in time for
Jason and me to move to the back of the group, inside Indian River Apartments.
After Stoner left, we didn’t expect him to waste his time coming back, so, we
sang far into the night. There were songs about sleighs and snowflakes, and
choruses about a family who had no place to sleep but a barn. That family was
remembered for thousands of years and the baby was the miracle of the ages.
The lyrics and the strains of
music, that had the power to penetrate my soul, were something I had never
experienced. Some melodies made me feel like I was riding the wind of the sea,
lifting me higher and higher. Other music made me think of home and yet, it was
the kind of home I had only read about. I finally understood why the angels
sing. Music touched my soul in ways mere words could not express.
It was late when the last of
the carolers finally gave up and went off to sleep a few hours before the day
would dawn again. Jason and I waited until the others had left, to say good
night to Dahlia.
“Well, my new friends,” Dahlia
yawned, “I will fall off this bench into a sleeping ball, and none of us want
that.” She stood and stretched, then gave me another hug. “I’m happy for both
of you.”
“Don’t bother coming into the
office, Dahlia. Morning starts soon,” Jason smiled.
“You’re very generous, Doctor.
Tomorrow is the day before First-day, our day of rest—which also happens to be
Gifting Day. We never work those two days.”
Jason laughed and kissed her
cheek.
“Night, Dahlia,” I added. Then
I did something I had never done before. I reached out to her with an embrace.
Suddenly, I remembered. “Dahlia, what is the second sign that helps us to identify
others who believe? You were telling us earlier. ‘I’m Thomas’s friend,’ and
what else?”
She took my hands like one sharing
a secret with a friend. “Jesus’s friend Peter was often called the Big
Fisherman, Christiana. Jesus called Peter and two brothers, James and John,
also fishermen, to follow him. As his disciples, they would learn from him, so
that they could reveal God to the people as well. Jesus said he would make his
followers fishers of men. Christiana, watch for the ichthus. Watch for the
ichthus.” Then she turned to go up to her apartment.
“Ichthus, Dahlia? Watch for
fish?” I called after her, but she only waved her hand in the air, smiled over
her shoulder, and walked on.
“Jason, remember those happy,
laughing faces around the piano this evening? Somewhere on each one’s
clothing—a lapel pin, a necklace, a design on a ring—there was a fish, the
ichthus.” I was amazed. “They recognized each other by their brand—the
ichthus.”
Jason never went to my room.
At the door, we lingered for a moment. It had been a wonderful day and we
didn’t want to let it end. There had been no joy like this in our time, so it
was hard to trust there could possibly be a repeat of this glorious day. We
said little, but when our eyes met, volumes were hidden behind them. Jason
kissed my forehead. I watched him turn and walk slowly out into the night. Snow
had begun to fall and I remembered a song: something about a white Christmas. I
smiled.
• • • • •
In my apartment, I pushed the
button to ignite the flame in the fireplace, a luxury known only to Legacy
Citizens. Workers were forbidden to waste fuel. I started to rationalize how
added responsibility should earn special perks and then I shuddered. I hadn’t
even thought about my elite status before. I had taken it for granted. Now, it
all felt pretentious. I wasn’t better than others. For the first time, I
finally felt I was part of a cluster of friends.
As I sat there in the
stillness of my apartment, I felt a presence growing within me, an indwelling
spirit. It was mysterious yet loving, beckoning and calling gently for entrance
into my world. It gave me hope and courage. At that moment, I felt emboldened
enough to take a stand against the darkness that seemed to be crowding in
around me.
I stretched as tall as I
could, pulled the leather bound book from its conspicuous hiding place, and curled
up in my favorite reading chair beside the fire.
How could a harmless black
book make me feel excited, afraid, curious and indifferent, all at the same
time? If I opened that book, would my life change completely? Why were there
secrets inside those pages that had been declared unsafe, subversive? What should I do? I placed the book on
the floor and stared into the fire. I’ll
give it back to Grand-père. He’ll understand. I don’t know why he had given me
the dangerous contraband in the first place. What if I get caught with it?
Unable to move from the spot,
I watched the flames leaping in the firebox and thought of my new emotions. I
jumped up, paced back and forth, and stole little glances at the book. I turned
my back and walked over to the windows. Sparkling snow clung to the trees and
bushes creating a kaleidoscope of color as it danced under the multicolored Gifting
lights. I thought about Jesus and the meaning of Christmas. I understood
something since I’d heard of him. Without him, there is no reason for gifting.
I looked down at the
leather-covered book there on the floor near the hearth. What should I do? Should I, shouldn’t I? Even that sounded silly. I hadn’t just found the book
lying in the street. My grandfather had given it to me. If I couldn’t trust
him, I couldn’t trust anyone. I picked up the sacred book, ran my hands over
the cover, felt the grain of the leather beneath my fingers, and sat down on
the edge of the chair. The old volume fell open to the middle where the heading
read Psalms. Carefully, I leafed
through the pages. Jason had suggested that I start reading alternately from
the old covenant and then the new. But, as a reason for my reading, he
recommended that I read three passages first. I turned to those selections.
Genesis 1: 1-3. In the beginning God created the heavens and
the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface
of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said,
“Let there be light, and there was light.”
My breath stopped. God spoke
light into being! My mind could not grasp the enormity of what I was reading,
but my soul soaked up the words it thirsted for. First there was nothing,
absolutely nothing, then God spoke and light blazed forth. I tried to imagine what
the thunder of creation from the mouth of God would have sounded like!
Then I turned to the second
passage.
John 1: 1-5. In the beginning was the
Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the
beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that
has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light
shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.
So God wants to shine light
into all the dark places. He wants us to understand, even though much of life
is not understandable. He wants all of us to have wisdom, every one of us.
Jason had said, when we follow God’s commands and embrace the wisdom in those
laws, we are given promises. He said those promises and the reason for my quest
for a solution to my grandparents’ fate would be found.
Proverbs
3: 1-2.
My son, do not forget my law, but let your
heart keep my commands, for length of days and long life and peace they will
add to you.
Length of days and long life .
. . what did that mean? The reference explained, enduring days with warm hours
that would be stretched over a lengthy life time and peace for the heart is
promised to those who keep God’s laws. All of my worry over my grandparents’
fate was stripped away. They had a right to live a long and wise life, just as
all of God’s created souls had the same right. God had given that promise.
Light was shining into what I thought had been the shadowed, empty places of my
heart. But, I discovered there are no empty places, only foreign lands of the
soul that speak another language and have other experiences and customs. It
takes time, a life time, an eternity, to travel to the far boundaries of the
human soul. Then I knew —and I knew that I knew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Stoner
Challenged
Ward Stoner
pulled to a stop again in front of the Indian River Apartments. He had been
driving around in circles since leaving the building earlier where he checked
out a report that music and singing had been heard. He had only encountered a
group of chanters. Each time he had passed the building, the same people sat in
conversation on concrete steps, laughing and enjoying themselves. How can they stand to spend an entire cold
evening together, doing nothing more than talk, talk, talk? His skin began
to crawl. Had he known they were spotters for Dahlia, he may have had another
opinion.
Stoner had felt drawn back to
the apartment building, but he didn’t know why. Two situations loomed in front
of him, the disappearance of a furnace technician and a phantom woman that
roamed the transit and the apartment complex and had ties to both. Silas
Drummond had to be found. He was totally insignificant, but he knew things that
could not get out to the general public.
This time Stoner left the
motor running. He wanted to keep the heater on. He had no intention of staying
long.
Dispatch whispered in his ear.
“Inspector, location monitoring places you back at Indian River Apartments. Is
there a problem?”
“No, no problem.”
“Sir, I heard the exchange
before. I think I dropped IQ points too, just listening to your encounter with
those people over the communication device.”
“Never mind. I’ll build up more IQ points later. I’ll not
be able to understand people like that. Lack of education is one thing but
celebrating ignorance is more than I can tolerate.”
“It’s late, Sir. Why don’t you
go home?”
Stoner had used his address
pod to check out residents of the building. He made a list of each inhabitant.
The inspector vowed to waste no more time that night on ghosts, wayward
singers, or on an uppity Legacy Citizen who had the mysterious ability to stay
a few steps ahead of him all day. Yes, once he had left the little gathering
and cleared his head from the mundane dribble of the chants he had been
subjected to, he realized he had recognized her standing almost behind someone
else. Why have you been skipping along in
front of me all day, Missy? What are you doing that’s so, so important?
But, there was more. Stoner was a man with a personal force
of iron. He was used to intimidating people with a frozen glance. Miss
Number-One Citizen was different. There was something about her, a growing
presence, a strengthening of her will. Where
does her strength come from? She probably doesn’t even know she has it, he
thought as his icy breath came out with his mumblings and hung on the night
air.
He had worked in the Blue
Guard for many years and had risen in the ranks, like an alley cat leaping to
the top of the backyard fence. One day he was on the ground and suddenly he was
on the top. The rise to power was too heady for him. It affected his mind and
sense of his own importance. At first, he had struggled with balancing power
with his family life. While Miriam was still alive, she kept him grounded. However,
once she was gone, his equilibrium died with her. He could no longer weigh the
importance of each element of his life. All events held equal weight in
Stoner’s world. Everything was an inconvenience. Everyone was an annoyance.
Every incident of his long days made him angry.
He stared up at the building
and followed the structure’s facade to the very top floor. Lights still glowed
from the windows in the high penthouse and would have made others feel warm.
Not Ward Stoner.
I’m sure you must live up there, Missy, a fairy princess at the
top of her castle.
Suddenly, he saw the silhouette of a woman framed in a top floor window beyond
the shade. He jumped. He was surprised because it forced him to remember she
was real, not an imaginary adversary lurking about in his mind, growing larger
and stronger with each antagonistic thought. He shook his head to reshuffle the
pictures in his deck of mental face cards. That’s
enough of you tonight, Missy. Tomorrow, we’ll see who has the greater power,
you or me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Silas is Taken
7:00 a.m. Saturday, December 24
I woke up
the next morning with Christmas melodies singing in my heart. I must have been singing them in my sleep,
all night long. I stretched and yawned and smiled at the morning. Light
streamed in my windows and bounced off the beveled mirror above my dresser
sending prisms of carnival light across the surfaces of the room. Then I
remembered, And God said, let there be
light and there was light.
Rolling over in bed, I felt a
furry body near my foot. “Oh it’s you, Shakespeare,” I purred at the new white
ball of feline fuzz. Laying there a while longer, I drew Shakespeare’s soft
body near me as new and thrilling images of the previous day filled my
thoughts.
Everything I had been taught
and had experienced up to that Gifting Season was being over-turned or
up-righted. Not that my life had been a lie. I had realized in a flash—the last
generations had not known about the true history of mankind. The text books had
been purged and rewritten many years ago in order to bring stability to a
society that had grown lazy and full of entitlement demands. We had been proud
people, energetic, creative, prosperous, free people, who had forgotten how to
think, how to problem-solve, and how to rejoice with what we had been given.
Now, Society took care of us at the most minimal level, feeding our need to be
nearly illiterate, uninformed, unmotivated, and volatile. People were left with
just enough energy to be good worker bees. Antidepressants and mind dulling
drugs in our water supply now controlled us but left our emotions flat, our
libido restrained, and all creativity thwarted.
I was no better informed. I
only read approved text books while growing up. Emotion was lacking from my life
too, so when I found the old books in the back rooms of the library, I
preferred to read the novels of the past that overflowed with feelings. Once I
found the novels, I neglected the books of history, comparative governments and
religions. I was an elective illiterate the same as others.
I shot out of bed with a new
resolve. Perhaps there would still be a way to reverse my grandparents’ death
sentence, the never-ending-sleep. The answers had to be buried in the old texts
in the library.
I showered in the open wet
area, dressed, and then checked my image in the mirror. For some strange
reason, it was important how I looked today. I thought of a red blouse I had
bought a few years back and had never worn, thinking that the color clashed
with my auburn hair and fair complexion. Today it felt festive. It reminded me
of the bright lights that bejeweled the city with celebration. I dressed
quickly and dashed out to greet the day.
Outside, it had grown colder
through the night and snow covered the ground. The icicle laden trees looked
beautiful. The sky was blue and as clear as I had ever seen it. Maybe God is blessing me with clarity today
too. I hoped I was right.
Another transit ride, I sighed. I hope there is no
stranger staring at me again, like Sean, or no little man to get inside my head
with evil dribble. By the time I got to my stop near the library, my ride
had been so uneventful, I nearly forgot about Sean or Silas Drummond.
8:30 a.m.
When I got
to the library, it was still early and the sun danced off the window panes.
But, just as I entered through the main doors, I heard my name and turned.
“Lady Applewait, wait!”
I could not believe it. Silas
Drummond called to me again from the opposite curb.
Every word of the awful letter
he had written flashed before my eyes and resounded in my ears. I tried to
ignore him as I pushed on the door but his words stopped me.
“Look at the glitter of the
building Miss Applewait. Believe me, please. Calcium,” he shouted.
I gasped in disgust at the
possibility of human bones being ground into a fine powder. I gaged and wanted
to run but there was something about the man. His beard had grown scraggly and
deep lines etched his face. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night and exhaustion
was evident in every motion of his frail body. Just as I was feeling a new
empathy for him, two blue guardsmen jumped out of a vehicle, grabbed Drummond
and shoved him into the back of their car. I could hear his screams as they
sped off.
“Lady Christiana, please . .
.”
Fear gripped me as I stood
frozen on the steps of the library. What was happening? Had he been caught
because he was spreading lies or because he was revealing the truth?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Formation of the New Society
The
encounter with Silas Drummond left me feeling vulnerable, exposed. I hurried in
through the huge library doors and caught my breath in the main lobby. It was
the day before Gift-giving Day and the place seemed empty except for security
personnel and a few librarians and other workers. I welcomed the sight of
Frank, the guard, and sailed through the front inspection barrier where he sat
half asleep.
“Rise and shine, Frank,” I
called out as I slipped through the gate to the safety of the other side. This
time I listened for the sound. I had made sure the chip was in my satchel and,
sure enough, I heard a faint beep as I walked through the scanner.
“Oh Frank, I left my book over
there.” It was not an accident. I was setting up my own experiment. I put my
bag, with the chip inside of it, on the desk on Frank’s side of the gate and
walked back through the portal. I picked up the book I had left over there and
started back through the gate again. I walked slowly and listened intently.
There was no sound. The guard looked up in surprise.
“That’s odd,” he observed.
“What’s that Frank?” I
questioned as I scooped up my satchel again.
“You weren’t detected.
Everyone is detected when they come in.”
“Really? How?” I asked
innocently.
“I don’t know. I just know we
all beep.”
“Let me see,” I stepped back
through the gate with my bag securely in my hand. I turned and swung back
through the portal like I was executing a dance move, allemande left, one of the books had called it. That time, I heard
a beep.
“Well, okay.” Frank seemed
mystified. “I guess I didn’t hear you the first time.”
“You were asleep, my friend,
and we both know it,” I teased. I sighed with relief. My experiment had proven
my hypothesis. The tagging chip caused the beep - society’s methodical counting
of souls.
“You sure are different today,
My Lady.” Frank studied me carefully.
“Am I?” I thought I’d better
move on. It wasn’t the custom for Legacy Citizens to have lengthy conversations
with workers.
I hurried into the back stacks
and was surprised to see Marge sitting by the window reading.
“Christiana? What are you
doing here? It’s the day before Gift-giving.”
“I could ask the same of you,
Marge.” I sounded a little snippy and wished I had phrased it differently.
Marge didn’t seem to notice.
Perhaps I usually snapped at people. I did not like that possibility. Actually,
I wished she would leave. I wanted to go on back into the inner recesses,
unnoticed and unquestioned.
“Do you have company you need
to prepare for?” I asked.
“No, not this year. I’ll be
alone.”
Suddenly, a wave of loneliness
I’d never felt before swept over me. “I’m sorry, Marge.”
She looked up from her book.
“You are? Why?”
“No one wants to be alone on
Gift-giving Day.”
“Are you all right,
Christiana?” She was still watching me closely. “What did the doctor say about
your shoulder yesterday?”
“Yesterday? Was that
yesterday?”
“Yes,” she drew out slowly.
“Was it serious?”
“Was what serious?” She
startled me but I had to smile. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the
doctor and me, or about my seeing the doctor. “No,” I stalled with a chuckle,
“it was just like a sliver and the doctor removed it.”
“And . . . the doctor . . .
what did you think about him?” Marge closed the book and laid it in her lap.
How could I tell her what had
happened? How could I explain my new emotions, my new understandings, my new
awakening, my new friends . . . and Dr. Jason O’Reilly? I didn’t even
understand it all myself. How could I explain it to someone else?
“He’s gorgeous!” I teased playfully as I
turned to go toward the back hallway.
“Gorgeous? So men are gorgeous
now? Christiana, you are bubbling.” Marge started to get up and since I didn’t
want her to follow me, I turned back quickly.
I thought fast and switched
the topic. “They have me on a new medication. I am being . . . detoxified,” I
said with a tone of resignation.
Laying her book on the side
table, Marge eased out of her chair. “Detoxification?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“With tiny little pills?”
Marge moved closer, her eyes darted toward the door and back at me.
I couldn’t believe how Marge
could have known about the pills? She wasn’t Legacy and no one else would have
had knowledge of them. “Marge, what do you think you know?”
“I read about them, Christina,
about the water and the citizen control . . . and ―”
“What about . . . the
never-ending-sleep?” I held my breath. Could it really be that easy? Was the
answer that close? “Where, Marge? Where did you read about the pills and all of
that?”
“Come back here,” she said as
she led the way down the hallway and into the back stacks. “Over here. I
remember exactly where I had seen it because it was so profound.” She ran her
finger over the books on the shelf about eye level and stopped. “Here it is,”
she whispered as she studied the spine. “Formation
of the New Society.”
Marge scanned the index and
stopped on chapter eleven. “Here, page one-hundred sixteen, Citizen Control. It’s all right here,
Christiana. They have been putting stuff in our water for years, in order to
make us calm and cooperative, but it also robbed us, Christina. Yes, we aren’t sad
or angry anymore, but we no longer have any joy either. The antidepressants
control all negative feelings, sadness and anger, which should have brought a
measure of happiness. But, the other chemicals that counteracted the side
effects of the additives flattened everyone back out again because their
ultimate goal had nothing to do with our best interests. It was all about
population control. Their motives were twofold. First, they wanted to insure
there would be no rebellion, and second . . . here let me show you this.”
She turned more pages
frantically. “They wanted to decrease the number of citizens. Here it is, Population Control—listen to this. ‘In
order for any society to support the most productive members, there must be a
depopulation policy to legally put down its most disturbed, disabled, and
infirmed individuals, as well as the elderly, and those citizens considered not
capable of rehabilitation. These individual human units will be placed in a
sleep chamber where they will drift off into an endless sleep.’ It’s right
there.”
“Population Control? Marge,
they have lied all along. Their motives were to build their own power!” I could
not believe it, but I knew with my heart it was true.
Marge continued reading.
“Since a society in the post-industrialized era requires only a modest
workforce, it is necessary to limit the number of children produced in each
family unit. Given that children born outside a family unit have little
potential for success, they will be terminated before they become viable.”
“Oh Marge, those poor babies .
. . and their grieving mothers . . . how could they?” I could not believe our
leaders were so cruel.
“Here it is, Christiana,”
Marge went on. “As a proactive policy, additives in the water supply will
decrease the human desire to procreate, which will also eventually depopulate
the nation. After a passage of time, this present crisis will pass. Then the
policy regarding the endless sleep and these other forms of population control
will be reevaluated to see if they should continue. Overturning this law will
require a referendum from the citizenry.”
“What was this great crisis of
the past? What happened?” I felt knowledge deprived and that rendered me
helpless to change the future.
“I read the old history books
as well as the transitional texts,” Marge whispered into the solitude of the
back library. “The people had gotten complacent and had no longer participated
in the republic. They only wanted to play games and engage in all manner of
irresponsible behavior. Gluttony and an insatiable need for riches led most
people into a totally self-indulgent, self-centered, and self-destructive life
style. Families imploded, financial institutions collapsed and while people
slept off their drunken stupor, a political faction of those bent on the total
control of others rolled into place and shoved the lazy majority aside where
they could continue to wallow in their own self-pity.”
“How did this come about?
Didn’t the people try to stop it?” I questioned.
“No, the people paid no
attention to their own government, except to complain,” Marge responded and
then went on reading. “That anti-democratic political movement had been growing
beneath the general population’s awareness, waiting for the right moment to
take over the government while the country slept in their self-induced fog.
When the people finally awakened from their apathy, they began fighting back,
but it was too late. The movement had become very strong. The emotions on both
sides finally exploded into the streets and chaos rained down. No one trusted
the other. Those who successfully won the takeover of the government started
drugging the water to control the masses of people.”
“Marge, how could it have
gotten to that point? It seems impossible that people, who were blessed with
the emotions of love and compassion, would give up such jewels for the plastic
bobbles of frivolous play?”
“They had become lazy,
complacent, Christiana.”
“Marge, why hadn’t you told me
all of this before?” I was both thrilled and disappointed at the same time.
Marge knew I had been concerned about my grandparents. She must have known that
her information was relevant to my cause.
“I’m sorry.” She looked away
and whispered, “I was afraid.”
“Afraid?” I thought Marge and
I were friends. Maybe a Legacy Citizen can have no friends. “Were you afraid of
me?”
“No . . .” she hesitated,
“well, yes . . . maybe.” Marge touched my hand but would not look at me. “I was
afraid of everything. If they had found out I had been reading the old books, I
could have lost my job. If they thought I was trying to organize or arouse the
people, I could have gone to jail.”
“Sedition . . . promoting
through speech or writing, discontent or rebellion against the country,” I
clarified out loud, although the warning was meant for me too.
“Yes,” she whispered in
agreement. “If I lost my job or worse yet, if they put me in jail, I would no
longer be a valued citizen. I would have my Length of Days lowered to the
status of the common person.” Marge’s face was strained and tears rolled down
her cheeks.
I studied her expression and
asked carefully, “Marge, have you been using the pills too? How else could you
feel so deeply?” Maybe I was revealing too much. I put my arms around her and
hugged her as a friend. “It’s okay. But, where did you get the pills?”
“That, I can’t tell you,
Christiana. Not yet. Please don’t ask me again.” She was pleading and I
couldn’t refuse.
“Tomorrow is Gift-giving Day.
Do you know another name for Gift-giving Day?” It could do no harm. If she
didn’t know, she would say so without raising more questions.
She looked at me and smiled. “Christiana . . .
am I going to get to say it again? I don’t usually get to wish anyone a Merry Christmas. Not very often anyway.”
Joy flooded my heart. Though
I’d known about Christmas for less than twenty-four hours, it felt like my soul
had known forever. “Tomorrow is Christmas, Marge,” I whispered. “I have until
the end of the month to find a way to halt the evil euthanasia of the infirmed
and elderly.” I put my hand on the book Marge had just read from. “I have to
get this book out of here today. Grand-père has to see it. Maybe if he knew the
true history of our country, maybe he wouldn’t be so willing to accept the
inevitability of his fate.”
“Christiana,” Marge’s jaw
dropped, “you cannot try to remove this book! You’ll get caught. We’ll both get
caught.” Panic seemed to have overtaken her as she tried to reach out for it.
“I don’t think they’ll catch
me. I have a plan. If it works, I’d like you to come to Christmas dinner
tomorrow at my grandparents’ home. It’s a family thing, but I’ll be inviting a
few other friends as well. If it doesn’t work, I guess I’ll be having my
holiday dinner as a guest of the city.”
“Christmas in the home of
members of the Council of Elders? Christiana, do you think I could?”
I laughed a little, not at my
friend but at the joy I saw flash across her face. “You have already been
invited. Of course you can come.”
“Wow, what a miracle. Now, we
need another piece of gracious luck to get us through the hijacking of library
property. How are we going to be able to get this book out of here?” Marge
questioned. “You know they’ll see us walk through with a book in our hands.”
“I want you to walk ahead of
me to Frank’s station. You talk to him while I slip past. I’ll put the book on
the other side of the gate, then come back and walk through again.” I had a
plan I thought might work. “Frank always smiles more broadly when you come into
the library, Marge. He watches you. With very few emotions in his quivery of
arrows, Frank must save up all day for his brief encounters with you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Marge
blushed. “Besides, you’ll beep when you sneak through.”
“No, I’m sure I won’t.” I said
as I gathered up the book. It wasn’t large but it was thick. I was still able
to carry it in my left hand, the side away from Frank. “I’ll grab my hat but if
you’ll take my tunic and satchel, I think we can pull this off.”
We walked into the hall and
through the door that led to the outer library. No one was around. We kept
walking, slowly, casually. When we emerged into the lobby, Frank saw us coming
and smiled.
“Hi Frank.” Marge positioned
herself in such a way that caused Frank to turn his back on me to pay exclusive
attention to her.
“Hi Marge,” he grinned when we
came up to his desk. “Are you going to stay here much longer?”
“Are you trying to close up
early, Frank?” she smiled.
I took the few steps through
the portal. It should have caused a beep from my chip. Nothing. Good, I thought.
They no longer tracked books
with a bar code system, so the movement of the book alone would have not caused
notice. Since people’s bodies were now bar
coded and their every move was tracked, it wasn’t necessary to know what
they carried in and out of buildings.
My heart was pounding when I
found myself on the other side of the portal without being counted. Then, like
a calming breeze, I remembered the words . . . Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright. Those words blew away my fear and quieted my soul. I stepped back across the line,
through the open gate, and slipped in beside Marge as she continued to talk to
Frank.
“Thank you for carrying my
stuff, Marge. I had almost forgotten. I can take my things now.” I smiled and
took my belongings from her, including the bag with my chip buried inside. “Walk
with me over to the front door, okay?”
“Sure,” then Marge turned to
Frank, “if you have time to stop for coffee when you leave here later, let me
know. I’ll be going in about an hour.”
Frank looked somewhat
confused, so I walked back through the clearing station nonchalantly and beeped
obediently. I moved over to the side table, picked up the book I had just
placed there, and folded it into my wrap. When Marge caught up to me, we
giggled a little.
“Marge, you made quite a
sacrifice for the cause back there with Frank,” I whispered through my
laughter.
“That was no sacrifice,
Christiana.” She blushed and looked back at Frank who continued to follow us
with his eyes. She patted the tunic-covered book. “Are you going home now?”
“I’m going to make a stop and
invite another couple of friends for dinner tomorrow.” I gave her a hug, and we
parted. Out in the bright early winter day, I saw the transit approaching from
the east. I hurried along, all the while remembering the calm melody of Silent Night that rang in my head at the
library checking station. A new, hopeful spirit and calm peace rose and filled
all the empty spaces, flooding my soul with joy. God had shown me a way to stop
the madness. Then . . . I knew, and I knew that I knew why the angels sing.
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