Chapter Ten In Which Stories Are Collected #2
“We’ll ask you some questions,” said Sister Patience. “Feel free to answer them with as much detail as you’re comfortable with. If there’s anything you’d rather we skip, just let us know. For now, just make yourself comfortable as we calibrate the recorder.”
“Right.” Hortense glanced from the two sisters in their kelly-green robes to Zada and Daphne. “And, sorry, who are they?”
No response from Daphne, who had dropped to a crouch and was trying to make eye contact with the four-year-old.
“We’re volunteers,” Zada explained. “We’re just here to help.”
“That’s good,” said Hortense. “Young people getting involved. Gives you a little faith in the next generation.”
Zada nodded her way through a wisp of guilt.
“We’re all good here,” said Sister Patience, nodding at the recorder.
Hortense cleared her throat and took a seat at the countertop. “Where should I start?”
“Why not start at the beginning? When did you come to New Ionia?” said Sister Justice.
“Sure. My family applied when I was born, and we were granted entry when I was four years old.”
So Hortense was a first-gen arrival. Daphne was entertaining the child with silly faces, but looked up at this, making eye contact with Zada. First the florist and now Hortense made two newcomers in as many days. New Ionia hardly ever allowed in new citizens. There simply wasn’t space.
Sister Patience gave a low whistle. “That’s a long wait.”
“Not as long as it could have been. My parents were both engineers. I think that might’ve moved our names up on the queue. But it still took ages.” Hortense clapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean, that isn’t to say we weren’t grateful. It was very generous of the city to let us in at all.”
“Could you tell us a little bit about your life prior to coming to New Ionia?” asked Sister Patience.
“It was a long time ago,” Hortense said, relaxing.
“Like I said, I was pretty little. I don’t remember much.
” She paused. “I mean, I’ve heard the stories, same as anyone.
But I don’t really—I don’t remember. We moved around a lot, I know that much.
There were animals roaming free, you could see them sometimes.
Deer and wild hogs. Crows, too, and raccoons and skunks. Seagulls near the water, of course.”
“What water?” asked Zada, leaning forward. From school, she knew that nearly everything inland outside of the dome was either used up, or too foul to go near.
“Oh, the lakes,” said Hortense. “North of here. They were looking for fish, I guess.”
Zada frowned. Both sisters were giving her curious looks, and she realized belatedly that it was not her job to ask questions. But certainly outside New Ionia there was no water that could support life for miles and miles.
Hortense’s eyes flitted from Zada to the nuns. “If I said something wrong—”
“Nonsense,” said Sister Patience. “Don’t worry about it. Our young volunteer here is just new to the interviewing process. So, did you ever see any fish?”
“Um,” said Hortense. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
Of course, Hortense had only been four. Maybe she’d seen a picture of a lake somewhere and cobbled together a memory of something that had never occurred. That could happen sometimes, Zada reminded herself.
“Nobody’s here to scrutinize or report,” said Sister Justice soothingly. “This is for the archives, nobody else.”
“I miss them a little,” Hortense said. “Even the skunks, who were a total nuisance. That smell! Sort of like—well, there’s nothing to compare it to, here.
But there’s something about seeing a creature in its own world.
” She glanced back at Zada, then down at the recorder.
“I’m still so thankful, of course. And maybe in a few years, we’ll get an allotment for a dog or a cat, wouldn’t that be nice, Connor? A puppy or a kitty?”
This last comment was directed at the child, who had finished his nutrient bar.
Instead of answering, Connor pulled at his mother’s sleeve. “Mama,” he said loudly, “when is Auntie Ellie coming back?”
Hortense’s posture stiffened. “Who?” she gritted out through a smile that didn’t come close to meeting her eyes.
“Auntie Ellie,” Connor enunciated.
“Honey, we talked about this,” Hortense’s smile widened into a grimace. “Your little flights of fancy—”
“She said she’d take me to the Raptor Detectives movie. She promised.”
“He didn’t get his nap today,” said Hortense quickly. “Listen, this might not actually be the best time.”
“I want Auntie Ellie,” said Connor.
“Not now,” hissed Hortense.
Daphne, who had gone very still crouched beside Connor, broke in now. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Oh, it’s not your fault!” said Hortense, in a voice that was clearly aiming for cheerful.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Daphne. “Hey, Connor, can I tell you a secret about the Raptor Detectives?”
Connor nodded, chin wrinkling in advance of tears. Daphne leaned over and whispered something to him. He swallowed, listening intently, and whispered something back. Their secret conference spanned the rest of Hortense’s apologies and all of Sister Patience’s efforts to pack up the microphone.
“We’ll get out of your hair,” said Sister Justice at last. Daphne straightened. Connor wrapped his arms around what he could reach of Daphne, burying his chocolate-stained face in the side of her trouser leg.
Zada and Daphne followed on the sisters’ heels, back out into the blazing sunshine.
“What did you tell him?” asked Zada in an undertone.
Daphne cleared her throat. “That’s between me, him, and Velly Raptor.”
Over the next several hours, the nuns called on a number of citizens scattered around the city. Sister Patience seemed determined to push their little suncart to its limit, racing through the streets of New Ionia with shameless glee.
They interviewed a newly married couple who kept glaring and sniping at each other with passive-aggressive comments about chores left undone and who said what.
Perhaps they were another of Heartsong’s rare mistakes.
Or perhaps they simply deserved each other.
Would she and Buford end up like these two, months from now?
They spoke to a family with three children, ranging from thirteen to maybe seven.
The parents looked exhausted. Reading between the lines, one or both of them had been demoted, so they had probably taken extra work to make ends meet.
The eldest girl unpacked the nuns’ basket as her parents answered the nuns’ questions.
When she uncovered a small box of hand-dipped candies, her smile was so giddy that Zada had to blink back tears.
Zada couldn’t help wondering what the girl’s parents had done.
It seemed horribly selfish to incur that sort of punishment when they had young mouths to feed.
And then there was the older man who had never gotten a Heartsong match.
His housing unit was almost bare, and he kept jumping up to offer them snacks, or water, or maybe someone would like a cup of ginger tea?
He smiled hard whenever anyone spoke to him and told long, meandering stories about his parents and grandparents and great-grandparents, which the sisters diligently recorded.
His smile only dimmed when they were about to leave, but the sisters promised to visit again to get the rest of his family history.
After they left, Sister Patience murmured something about getting him to come to craft night.
Following the unmatched man was a former guard who had quit her job a few months ago.
The sisters didn’t press her as to why she’d left, but the guard’s hunted look gave Zada a sinking feeling.
The guard had since been assigned a job hand-scrubbing filters for the hydroponics labs.
She was polite but clearly so worn down from her latest shift that the sisters made excuses to cut their interview short so she could rest. In contrast with the housing unit of the unmatched man, this one was so cluttered and dirty, Zada wished she hadn’t removed her shoes by the door.
By the time they left, the soles of her socks were nearly black.
Zada kept waiting for them to interview someone who was doing genuinely well.
Their final stop, around sunset, was a stoop-shouldered white-haired woman who gave both of the sisters a big hug when they entered. Her home was small and cozy, and Zada felt her shoulders relax as she sunk into the comfortable armchair offered to her.
“What would you like to know?” the older woman said with a laugh. “I’m an open book, even if some of the pages are a little wrinkled!”
She answered every question freely, enthusiastically, and at great length.
Her name was Cordelia Sutton. She’d lived in New Ionia her whole life, first working as a librarian and then teaching English literature at Hammersford University.
She was a widow with three grown children, and she loved to garden.
“Now, my cousin Thea never used five words when she could use fifty,” Mrs. Sutton was saying. “She reminded me of, oh, who am I thinking of? From Romeo and Juliet?” She peered up at Zada as if seeing her from a great distance. “What was her name?”
Zada glanced at Daphne, who shrugged.
“We haven’t the faintest idea,” Daphne said.
“Oh, come now,” said Mrs. Sutton. “Surely you know your Shakespeare. The nurse, what did they call her? I’d be able to tell you if my head wasn’t full of bees.” She tapped her forehead. “I’ll forget my own name next.”
“Works by Shakespeare were curated out the year before we were to read him,” said Zada quietly. “Along with James Baldwin and, uh, Zora Neale Hurston.”