Victoria Turner put her hand on Lizzie’s forehead, and her violet eyes widened. Lizzie didn’t seem to know, her, that anybody was there. She gave another cough, a small one, and started moaning. I felt despair start in my bowels, the kind you feel when there’s no hope and you don’t see how you can bear it. I hadn’t felt that kind of despair, me, since my wife Rosie died, twelve years ago. I never thought I’d have to feel it again.
Victoria Turner took a scarf out of her pocket and knelt by Lizzie. She didn’t seem at all afraid, her. One of the thoughts I’d had in the night, God forgive me, was: Is this sickness catching? Could Annie get it, her, and die too? Annie…
“Cough for me, sweetheart,” Victoria Turner said. “Come on, cough into the scarf.”
In a few minutes, Lizzie did, her, though not because she was asked. Big slimy gobs of stuff from her tortured lungs, greenish gray. Victoria Turner caught it, her, in the scarf and looked at it closely. Me, I had to look away. That was Lizzie’s lungs coming up, Lizzie’s lungs rotting themselves away.
“Excellent,” Victoria Turner said, “green. It’s bacterial. Now we know. You’re in luck, Lizzie.”
Luck! I saw Annie curve her claws again, her, and I even saw what for: This donkey was enjoying this, her. It was some kind of exciting. Like a holovid story.
“Bacterial is good,” Victoria Turner said, looking up at me, “because the medication can be far less specific. You have to tailor antivirals, at least grossly. But wide-spectrum antibiotics are easy.”
Annie said roughly, “What’s Lizzie got, her?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. But this will almost surely take care of it.” From another pocket she drew a flat piece of plastic, tore it open, and slapped a round blue patch on Lizzie’s neck. “But you should force more water down her. You don’t want to risk dehydration.”
Annie stared, her, at the blue patch on Lizzie’s neck. It looked like the ones the medunit put on, but how did we really know, us, what was in it? We didn’t really know nothing.
Lizzie sighed and quieted. Nobody said nothing. After a few minutes, Lizzie was asleep.
“Best thing for her,” Victoria Turner said crisply. I saw again, me, that she liked this. “Not even Miranda Sharifi herself could equal the benefits of sleep.”
I remembered, me, hearing that name, but I couldn’t think where.
Annie was a different woman, her. She gazed at Lizzie, sleeping peacefully, and at the patch, and Annie seemed to shrink and calm down, both, like a sail collapsing. She looked at the floor, her. “Thank you, doctor. I didn’t realize, me.”
Dr. Turner looked surprised, her, then she smiled. Like something was funny. “You’re welcome. And maybe in return you can do something for me.”
Annie looked wary, her. Donkeys don’t ask Livers to do favors, them. Donkeys pay taxes to us; we give votes to them. But we don’t tell each other, us, more than we got to, and we don’t ask things of each other. That ain’t the way it’s done.
But, then, donkey doctors don’t go wandering around East Oleanta dressed in torn yellow jacks neither. We ain’t even seen a doctor in East Oleanta, us, since a new plague broke out four years ago and a doctor came from Albany to vaccinate everybody with some new stuff the medunit didn’t have.
“I’m looking for someone,” Dr. Turner said. “Someone I was supposed to meet here, but we apparently got our data confused. A woman, a girl really, about this tall, dark hair, a slightly large head.”
I thought, me, of the girl in the woods, and quick tried to look like I wasn’t thinking of nothing at all. That girl came from Eden, I was sure of it, me—and Eden don’t got nothing to do with donkeys. It’s about Livers. Dr. Turner was watching close, her. Annie shook her head, cool as ice, even though I knew she probably remembered that other girl, the big-headed one she said she saw at the town meeting when Jack Sawicki called the district supervisor about them rabid raccoons. Or maybe it was the same big-headed girl—I hadn’t thought, me, about that before, me. How many big-headed maybe-donkey girls did we have running around the woods near East Oleanta? Why did we have any?
Annie said, polite but not very, “How’d you miss your friend? Don’t she know, her, where you are?”
“I fell asleep,” Dr. Turner said, which explained nothing. She said it funny, too. “I fell asleep on the gravrail. But I think she might be around here someplace.”
“I never saw nobody like that, me,” Annie said firmly.
“How about you, Billy?” Dr. Turner said. She probably knew my name, her, even before Annie said it. She’d been in East Oleanta for a week, her, eating at the café, talking to whoever would talk to her, which wasn’t many.
“I never saw nobody like that, me,” I said. She stared at me hard. She didn’t believe me, her.
“Then let me just ask something else. Does the name ‘Eden’ mean anything to you?”
A gust of wind could of blown me over.
But Annie said cool as January, “It’s in the Bible. Where Adam and Eve lived, them.”
“Right,” Dr. Turner said. “Before the Fall.” She stood up and stretched. Her body under the jacks was too skinny, at least by me. A woman should have some softness on her bones.
“I’ll come back to look in on Lizzie tomorrow,” Dr. Turner said, and I saw, me, that Annie didn’t want her to come back, and then that Annie did. This was a doctor. Lizzie slept peaceful, her. Even from by the door, she looked cooler to me.
When the doctor left, Annie and I looked at each other, us. Then Annie’s face broke up. Just went from solid flesh creased with worry to a mess of lines that didn’t have nothing to do with one another, and she started to cry, her. Before I even thought about it I put my arms around her. Annie clung back, hard, and at the feel of her soft breasts against my chest, I went a little crazy. I didn’t think, me. I just raised her face to mine and kissed her.
And Annie Francy kissed me back.
None of your grateful-daughter crap, neither. She cried and pointed to Lizzie and kissed me with her soft berry lips and pushed her breasts against me. Annie Francy. I kissed her back, my mind not even working, it—the words only came later—and then it was like we just met instead of knowing each other for years, instead of me being sixty-eight and Annie thirty-five, instead of everything breaking down and East Oleanta coming apart like it was. Annie Francy kissed me like I was a young man, me—and I was. I ran my hands, me, over her body, and I led her into the bedroom, leaving Lizzie sleeping peaceful as an angel, and I closed the door. Annie was laughing and weeping, the way I forgot, me, that women can do, and she lay her big beautiful body on the bed with me like I was thirty-five, too.
Annie Francy.
If that donkey doctor in yellow jacks had come back then and asked me again where Eden was—if she’d of done that, I could of told her, me. In this room. On this bed. With Annie Francy. Here.
We slept till morning, us. I woke up before Annie. The light was pale gray, thin. For a long time I just sat, me, on the edge of the bed, looking at Annie. I knew this was a one-time thing. I could feel it, even before she fell asleep, in that little space of time when we held each other afterwards. I could feel it, me, in her arms, and in the set of her neck, and in her breathing. What I needed, me, was the words to tell her that it was all right. That this was more than I expected, me, although less than I dreamed. I wasn’t going to tell her that part. You always dream more.
But Annie didn’t wake, her, and so instead I went to check on Lizzie. She was sitting up, her, looking woozy. “Billy—I’m hungry, me.”
“That’s a good sign, Lizzie. What you want to eat, you?”
“Something hot. I’m cold, me. Something hot from the café.” Her voice was whiny and she smelled awful but I didn’t care, me. I was too glad to have her cold, when just yesterday she’d been burning up, her, with fever. That donkey doctor really was as good as a medunit.
“Don’t go waking your mother, you. Just sit there until I get your food. Where’s
your meal chip, Lizzie?”
“I don’t know, me. I’m hungry.”
Annie must of taken Lizzie’s meal chip, her. I could get enough food on mine. I don’t eat all that much anymore, me, and this morning I felt I could live on air.
There wasn’t nobody in the café, them, except for Dr. Turner. She sat eating her breakfast and watching a donkey channel on the hologrid. She looked tired, her.
“Up early, you,” I said. I got myself a cup of coffee and a bun, and Lizzie some eggs and juice and milk and another bun. Annie or I could reheat the eggs on the Y-energy unit, us. I sat down, me, next to Dr. Turner, just to be sociable for a minute. Or maybe to think what to say to Annie. Dr. Turner stared at the eggs like they was a three-day-dead woodchuck.
“Can you actually eat those, Billy?”
“The eggs?”
“‘Eggs.’ Soysynth stamped out and dyed, like all the rest of it. Haven’t you ever tasted a real, natural egg?”
And the weird thing was, the minute she said that, her, I remembered what a real egg tasted like. Fresh from the chicken, cooked by my grandmama two minutes and served with strips of hot toast with real butter. You dipped the toast into the egg and the yellow yolk coated it, and then you ate them together, hot. All those years and at that minute I remembered it, me, and not before. My mouth filled with sweet water.
“Look at that,” Dr. Turner said, and I thought she still meant the egg but she didn’t, her, she’d turned back to the hologrid. A handsome donkey sat at a big wood desk, talking, like they always do. I didn’t understand all the words:
“—if even a possibility of an escaped self-replicating dissembler…not verified…duragem…government should put the facts before us…emphasize restricted to certain molecular bonds and these are nonorganic…very important distinction…duragem…GSEA…underground facility…understaffed in current difficult economic climate…duragem…”
I said, “Sounds like the same old stuff to me.”
Dr. Turner made a sound, her, in the back of her throat, a sound so strange and so unexpected I stopped eating, me, with my plastisynth fork halfway to my mouth. I must have looked a moron. She made the sound again, and then she laughed, her, and then she covered her face with her hand, and then she laughed again. I ain’t never seen no donkey behave like that before, me. Never.
“No, Billy—this isn’t the same old stuff. It’s definitely not. But it might all too easily get to be the same new stuff, in which case we should all worry.”
“About what?” I ate faster, me, to bring Lizzie her food still hot. Lizzie was hungry, her. A good sign.
“What the hell is this shit?” a stomp kid asked, the second he stepped through the café door. “Who’s playing this donkey crap, them?” He saw Dr. Turner, him—and he looked away. I could of sworn he didn’t want no part of her, which was so weird—stomps don’t back off shoving nobody, them. I stopped eating, me, for the second time and just stared. The stomp said loudly, “Channel 17,” and the hologrid switched to some sports channel, but still the stomp didn’t look at Dr. Turner. He got his food, him, off the belt and went to sit at a far table in the corner.
Dr. Turner smiled a little. “I tangled with him two nights ago. He got grabby. He doesn’t want it to happen again.”
“You armed, you?”
“Not like you think. Come on, let’s go see how Lizzie is doing this morning.”
“She’s doing just fine, her,” I said, but Dr. Turner was already standing up, and it was clear she was going with me. I couldn’t think of no reason she shouldn’t, except that I still didn’t know, me, what words I was going to say to Annie about what happened last night. A little cold lump was growing in me that maybe Annie would think, her, that I shouldn’t come around no more. Because of being embarrassed—her or me or us. If that happened, I wouldn’t have no more reason to go on dragging around this old body with its old-fool head.
Lizzie was sitting up on the couch, her, playing with a doll. “Mama went to get water to wash me,” she said. “She said I can’t go to the baths yet, me. What did you bring me to eat, Billy?”
“Eggs and bun and juice. Now don’t you overdo, you.”
“Who’s this?” The black eyes were bright again, them, but Lizzie’s face still looked thin and drawn. I got scared all over again, me.
“I’m Dr. Turner. But you can call me Vicki. I gave you some medicine last night.”
Lizzie studied the situation, her. I could see that smart little mind going. “You from Albany, you?”
“No. San Francisco.”
“On the Pacific Ocean?”
Dr. Turner looked surprised, her. “Yes. How do you know where it is?”
“Lizzie goes to school a lot,” I said, fast in case Annie came in and heard, “but her mother ain’t crazy about that.”
“I worked, me, through all the high school software. It wasn’t hard.”
“Probably not,” Dr. Turner said dryly. “And so now what? College software? With the location of the Indian Ocean?”
I said, “Her mama don’t—”
“There ain’t no college software in East Oleanta,” Lizzie said, “but I already know, me, where the Indian Ocean is.”
“Her mama really don’t—”
“Can you get me some college software?” Lizzie said, her, soft but not scared, just like it was an everyday thing to ask donkeys for work they’re supposed to do for our benefit. Or something. Lately I wasn’t so sure, me, that I knew who was studying and working for who.
“Maybe,” Dr. Turner said. Her voice had changed, her, and she looked at Lizzie real hard. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Better.” But I could see Lizzie was tiring, her.
I said, “You eat, and then lie down again. You been very sick, you. If that medicine—” The door opened behind me and Annie came in.
I couldn’t see her, me, but I could feel her. She was warm and soft and big in my arms. Only that wasn’t ever going to happen again. Dr. Turner was watching, her, with that sharp donkey stare. I fixed my face and turned around. “Morning, Annie. Let me help you with them buckets.”
Annie looked at me, and then at Lizzie, and then at Dr. Turner. I could see she didn’t know, her, who to get stiff with first. She chose Lizzie. “You eat that food and lie down, Lizzie. You been sick.”
“I’m better now,” Lizzie said, sulky.
“She’s better now, her,” Annie said to Dr. Turner. “You can leave.” It wasn’t like Annie to be so rude, her. She was the one believed even donkeys have their place.
“Not just yet,” Dr. Turner said. “I’m going to talk to Lizzie first.”
“This is my home!” Annie said, between pressed-together lips.
I wanted to say to Dr. Turner, She ain’t mad at you, her, she’s confused at me, but there ain’t no way to say that to a donkey doctor dressed in torn yellow jacks standing in a living room that ain’t even yours and that you’re afraid you’re about to get tossed out of yourself for loving in the wrong way. No way to say that.
Lizzie said, “Please let Vicki stay, Mama. Please. I feel better, me, when she’s here.”
Annie set down the two buckets of water she carried. She looked ready to explode, her. But then Dr. Turner said, “I do need to examine her, Annie. To make sure the medication is the right one. You know that if the medunit were working it would check her every day and sometimes change the dosage. A live doctor isn’t any different.”
Annie looked ready to cry. But all she said was, “She got to get washed first, her. Billy, bring this water into Lizzie’s bedroom.”
Annie dragged up Lizzie and half carried her to the bedroom, ignoring Lizzie’s squawk: “I can walk, me!” I followed with the water, set it down, and came back out. Dr. Turner had picked up Lizzie’s doll. It was plastisynth, from the warehouse, with black curls and green eyes and a genemod face, but Annie had sewn it jacks from a pair she ripped up, and Lizzie had made it soda-can jewelry.
“Annie
doesn’t want me here.”
“Well,” I said, “we don’t get many donkeys, us.”
“No, I imagine not.”
We stood in silence. I didn’t have nothing to say to her, or her to me. Except one thing. “Dr. Turner—”
“Call me Vicki.”
I knew, me, that I wasn’t going to do that. “What you watched, you, on that donkey channel, the stuff you said wasn’t more of the same old government shit—what was it? What’s happening?”
She looked up from the doll, then, more sharp than before. “What do you think it meant?”
“I don’t know, me. I don’t know those words. It sounded like just more worry over the economy, more excuses why the government can’t get things working right, them.”
“This time it’s not an excuse. Maybe. Do you know what a dissembler is?”
“No.”
“A molecule?”
“No.”
“An atom?”
“No.”
Dr. Turner shook Lizzie’s doll. “This is made of atoms. Everything is made of atoms. They’re very tiny pieces of matter. Atoms clump together into molecules like…like snow sticking together into a snowball. Only there’s all kinds of atoms, and they stick together in different ways, so you get different kinds of matter. Wood or skin or plastic.”
She looked at me hard, her, trying to see if I understood. I nodded.
“What holds molecules together are molecular bonds. Sort of a…an electrical glue. Well, dissemblers take those bonds apart. Different kinds of dissemblers take different kinds of molecular bonds apart. Enzymes in your stomach, for instance, break the bonds on food so you can digest it.”
I heard Lizzie laugh, her, behind the bedroom door. It was a tired kind of laugh, and the worry about her started up in my gut again. And in another few minutes Annie would come out. I didn’t know, me, what to say to Annie. But I knew what Dr. Turner was saying was important—I could see it on her donkey face—and I tried, me, to listen. To understand.
“We can make dissemblers, and have for years. We use them for all kinds of things: disposing of toxic waste, recycling, cleaning. The dissemblers we make are pretty simple, and each one can only break one kind of bond. They’re made out of viruses, mostly—that means they’re genemod.”