“Everybody off,” announced the driver. He marched down the aisle unsnapping the seat belts of the littlest children. “Go find your flag. No pushing.”
The sun was hot now. Honor was sweating as she made her way to the middle of the field, where the other ten-year-olds were gathered around a flag painted with the letter H.
“Boys on this side, girls on that,” said the teacher’s kindly voice. “Are you the new girl? Over here, dear, for the head count. Twelve?” the teacher asked another adult.
“Yes, twelve,” the other teacher replied.
“Line up nicely, boys and girls.” The two teachers spent some time straightening the lines and straightening the students as well, adjusting hats and patting down shirt collars.
“Off we go inside,” said the teacher at the head of Honor’s line. “Follow me.”
After the sweltering sunshine on the field, the classroom was deliciously cool. The room was large. Twelve desks stood ready, with a microscope on each. There were twelve easels and twelve armchairs in a circle for reading time. Twelve standing looms and twelve glossy black upright pianos. On one wall, gardening tools hung from hooks. A giant saltwater aquarium sparkled with tropical fish, lacy coral, sea anemones, and even a class octopus called Octavio. At the front of the classroom above the blackboard hung a framed portrait of Earth Mother. Honor could not remember ever seeing such a big picture of Earth Mother. Her eyes were blue and twinkling, her hair silver, tucked up in a bun. She wore a red cardigan sweater and reading glasses on a chain around her neck.
At the blackboard, the teacher wrote, Mrs. Whyte. She was an elegant-looking woman with long cool fingers and white hair to match her name. She took attendance.
“Hagar,” Mrs. Whyte called out. “Harriet, and—why, yes, here’s another Harriet. You shall be Harriet K. and Harriet V. Haven . . . Hedwig . . . Helena . . . Hester . . . Hilary . . . Hildegard . . . Hiroko . . .” She paused for a moment and stared at the attendance sheet with a puzzled look on her face. “Honor,” she said at last, and then went on. “Hortense.”
Because Honor had never been to school before, she watched the other girls to learn what to do. Everyone in the classroom had a job, and no one else could do that job. The book monitor distributed books for reading. The snack monitor wheeled in a cart with cups of juice and plates of cheese and crackers and lychees. The fish monitor fed the fish. There were many rules at school and many classes: painting, math, copying, science, gymnastics, music, weaving, and, of course, geography, Earth and Weather.
For geography, Mrs. Whyte rolled down a great map over the blackboard. This was a map of the world. The map was entirely blue, except for the tiny dots of green representing the world’s islands. “Who can find the Colonies on the map?” asked Mrs. Whyte, offering her pointer to any student who could find the islands in the deep blue Tranquil Sea. “Who can find our island on the map?”
The girls strained their eyes, but there were so many islands it was hard to find their own. Mrs. Whyte had to point to the correct island herself. “And what sort of island is this?” Mrs. Whyte asked.
“Big,” suggested Hagar.
“It is relatively big,” said Mrs. Whyte. “But what sort of island is this?”
“Tropical,” said Harriet K.
Mrs. Whyte nodded.
“Important,” said Hortense.
Mrs. Whyte looked pleased. “Yes, Hortense, this is an important island for several reasons. But that’s not the answer I was looking for. This is a volcanic island. We are living on the tip of a great volcano that rises from the ocean. And you will all enjoy learning about volcanoes this year. Who can find the Northern Islands?”
“Me!” Honor called out, but Mrs. Whyte called on Hester because she was raising her hand.
“Who can find the Polar Seas?” asked Mrs. Whyte. “And who would like to tell us what they were like before Enclosure?”
“They were cold,” said Hiroko, standing at the map and pointing to the oceans near the North and South poles.
“Stormy,” said Hilary.
“The blizzards could kill you,” added Harriet K.
“Very good,” said Mrs. Whyte. “Who will show us what they are like now?”
Honor’s hand shot up, and this time Mrs. Whyte called on her. Honor got to stand on a special footstool and roll down a transparency over the map of the world. The transparency was tinted over both Polar Seas and the Northern Islands as well, so that those parts of the earth now looked rosy pink and warm.
“Honor,” said Mrs. Whyte, “you come from the North. What’s the North like now? Are there polar bears up there in the Northern Islands?”
Some of the girls giggled.
“I saw one,” Honor said from her place up on the stepladder. The giggling stopped. Mrs. Whyte looked so severe that Honor’s heart began pounding.
“We do not lie in this classroom,” said Mrs. Whyte. “We do not exaggerate or tell untruths, ever.”
Honor flinched.
“Do you know what happens to children who lie?”
“I didn’t lie . . . I really . . . It was swimming,” Honor spluttered. She remembered her mother calling after her, Be careful, sweetie! “I think it was another kind of bear.”
Mrs. Whyte’s face softened. She helped Honor off the ladder. “Oh, now I see what you meant,” she said kindly. “That’s absolutely right.” And as Honor took her seat, Mrs. Whyte told the children, “The Polar Seas and Northern Islands are Enclosed. What does that mean?”
“They’re Safe,” said Hiroko.
“Secure,” said Hildegard.
“They have a ceiling,” said Hortense, tossing her blond hair with some importance.
“Yes, they are ceiled,” said Mrs. Whyte, smiling, “and because of that, they are enjoying what we call . . .”
“New Weather,” chimed the girls.
“Are the Northern Islands cold?”
Sometimes, thought Honor.
“No,” answered the girls.
“Are the Northern Islands hot?”
Sometimes, thought Honor.
“No.”
“What is the New Weather there?”
“Sunny!” said Hilary.
“Gorgeous!” said Hedwig.
“Perfect!” said Hortense.
“Good,” said Mrs. Whyte.
Honor shook her head. She wanted to say, “No, the North isn’t perfect. Some days are sunny and some days are cold. The Northern Islands are muddy and icy. Sometimes you can see to the next island and sometimes there are only marshes as far as the eye can see.” She wanted to ask the other girls, “How can you know a place you haven’t been?” but she kept quiet until the lesson was over and Mrs. Whyte told the girls to line up for target practice. It was time for archery.
At hour five, when school ended, Honor was exhausted. Slowly, she gathered her books and made her way to the door. Something caught her eye just as she was about to leave. Something or someone was watching her. She pivoted slowly, searching the room. The other girls were hurrying out the door. None of them so much as glanced in her direction, and yet, she felt watched. She searched again. Then she saw that the octopus was staring at her. He was bunched up against the glass of the saltwater tank, and he was watching her with one great bulbous eye.
She walked to the aquarium. Octavio was looking deeply at her. She reached out to touch the glass.
“Stop! You’ll be late,” called Mrs. Whyte. “Hurry to the door. Run.”
Honor raced outside. By the time she reached her bus, she was out of breath. She squeezed into the last seat and sank down with her head against the window. What happened if you missed the bus? She didn’t want to know. The bus rumbled down the hill and Honor closed her eyes. Maps and weather filled her mind, uniforms and rules and Mrs. Whyte and the dark-eyed octopus.
One by one, the other children got off the bus. Round and round the island the blue school bus drove. Honor drifted off to sleep.
“Last stop. Your parents are wa
iting.” The bus driver shook Honor roughly by the shoulder, and she stumbled down the stairs into the arms of Pamela and Will.
“How was it?”
Honor shrugged.
“Did you make any new friends?”
“No.”
“What did you learn on your first day?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, I can’t believe that,” Will said stoutly as they walked home. The air reeked with rotting mangoes and mushy breadfruit. Only a few people lived in bungalows along the way to the Greenspoons’ development. Chain-link fences and ferocious lunging dogs defended those houses that were inhabited. A brown rat darted into the deserted street. And then, in an instant, the silent flash of a taser stunned the animal. Honor shrank back close to her parents.
“Don’t worry,” said Pamela, “the Watcher got him.”
“Our Corporation at work,” said Will.
Honor shuddered. The rat wasn’t dead yet but crazed, limping off into the open mouth of a compost bin by the side of the road. Any creature hit by a taser turned instantly to find a compost bin. That way no festering bodies littered the road.
“Do we have to be the last stop?” Honor asked.
“Yes, we have to be the last stop.” Pamela sighed.
Honor looked up at her mother. In all the times they’d moved, she had never heard her sigh like that before. It was hour six by the time the family arrived home. The sky was the color of orange sherbet.
“Look at the clouds.” Honor was puzzled. The clouds were not white, as they had been back home. They were tinted the same color as the sky. “Why are the clouds orange too?”
“Shh,” said Pamela as Will unlocked the front door.
Will tensed as he raised his hand to turn on the lights. A hulking form stood before them in the living room and another in the hall. But with a flick of the switch, fear turned to joy. The Greenspoons saw that the hulks were their own belongings. Their trunks had finally arrived from the North.
THREE
THERE WERE THREE OLD STEAMER TRUNKS STANDING IN the house, and each had been unlocked and unpacked by the neighborhood Postal Officer. Clothes and bedding were piled neatly on the floor.
“My bear,” said Honor, scooping up her old worn teddy.
“My coffeepot!” her mother cried, and rushed with it to the galley kitchen.
“Oh, he’s torn,” Honor said. Her bear was badly injured, lumpy from lost stuffing.
“He’s been searched,” her father murmured, examining the ripped seam in the bear’s back. “Look at this, Pamela.”
“What were they searching for?” asked Honor.
But her parents didn’t answer.
There were sheets and blankets, pillows, clothes, dishes for the kitchen, pots and pans. There were no electronics, no computers, televisions, or books allowed in private homes, because of Safety Measures. Children could read and study books from school, and when they were old enough, they could borrow books from the school library, but there were no new books printed. There were no authors, except for Earth Mother herself. She wrote all the history books and songs and sayings. She and her Corporation Councilors wrote the laws and established Safety Stations on each block, with call buttons for emergencies. At that time in the Colonies there were no telephones in houses. This was part of building a Safe and Secure community.
Unpacking further, Will found that an old-fashioned windup alarm clock had been disassembled by the Postal Service, but it wasn’t broken too badly. There had been some family treasures: a pair of silver candlesticks and a fine silver goblet wrapped in old scratchy wool blankets. These had been taken, and only the blankets, one blue mohair and the other black and green plaid, remained.
Will and Pamela dragged two of the trunks upstairs, one for each bedroom. Standing up, the trunks were designed to serve as armoires on long ocean voyages. They were fitted out with cedar drawers on the bottom and hangers on top. One of the trunks even had its original hangers.
Will turned the third trunk on its side and made a table for the living room. As the family ate a dinner of baked beans and sausages, Honor ran her hands over the brass-studded surface of that trunk and read the strange names stuck onto it: Istanbul, Cordova. Will had found the trunks in the Port of the North, packed, and mailed the family’s possessions in them.
The air was close and sticky. The house had no temperature controls. “What are those?” Honor asked, pointing at the insects swarming the light overhead.
“I don’t know,” said her mother.
“They look like some kind of termite,” said her father. “I’m sure they’re harmless.” Even so, he turned off the light to try to stop the swarming.
Even in the house the sea air smelled like salt and fish. In the darkness Honor could hear the surf, breathing like a monster, stealing closer and closer, pummeling the shore. The tide was coming in, rough and menacing.
“It’s not safe here,” said Honor.
“We’re just as safe as we were in the North,” said Pamela.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Honor. In the North they had lived in big abandoned houses with rotting porches. Paint peeled from the walls; the roofs leaked. Honor played outside for hours. She fell asleep at night to the sound of rain plinking into the pots and pans Pamela had set up in her room. The houses stood alone on wooded islands. There were no neighbors. When Pamela saw people coming through her binoculars, she would tell Will, “We have visitors.” Then it was time to move again. They hiked down from forests to flooded fields of long grasses, the earth spongy under their feet. They hiked to stagnant seas, loaded their belongings into small boats. As her parents paddled, Honor looked down into silty water and saw little fish and, deeper, like sleeping monsters, the rusting bodies of ancient trucks.
“We need to celebrate your first day of school,” said Will. “We need a cake or some dessert.”
“I wish we had some,” said Pamela.
“We need some music,” said Will. “Where is my harmonica?”
They searched in the trunks, but the harmonica was gone. “A dangerous instrument,” said Will. Playfully, he threw the plaid winter blanket over Pamela and the blue blanket over Honor.
“We’ll suffocate!” Pamela protested. The blankets had a peculiar smell, a fascinating scent Will said was mothballs. For a few seconds the wool had a foreign coolness as well, as if it had stored up some winter in its folds.
“Snow covers the North,” Will said. “The northern lights fill the sky. Now we’re on our sled and our sled dogs are barking and jumping, ready to go. What do you say to the dogs?” he asked Honor.
“Dad,” she groaned.
“What was that? Dad? Is that what you say to them?” He tickled and tickled until Honor was collapsing with laughter.
“Mush! Mush!” she shouted at last.
Then Will and Pamela and Honor sang the old songs. Flushed in the darkness, dripping with sweat, they sang to overwhelm the sound of the surf outside. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way . . .”
Will said he would teach Honor a new song. “Over the river and through the wood,” he began, “to Grandmother’s house we go . . .”
“What’s a grandmother?” Honor asked.
Will stopped singing.
“It’s just an old woman,” said her mother.
“It’s a mother of a mother, or the mother of a father,” said Will.
Over the river and through the wood
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes
And bites the nose
As over the . . .
“Shh! Listen.” Pamela heard the sharp rapping.
Will threw the blanket off and hurried to the door. “Who is it?”
“Neighborhood Watch.”
Will opened the door and they saw a tall white-haired man in a bathrobe and slippers.
“Michael Pratt,” the watchman said. “Your neighbor right next door. Just wanted to make sure everything was all r
ight.” He held an official, government-strength flashlight and sent the beam dancing into every corner. Honor cried out in pain when the light shone in her eyes.
“Everything is absolutely fine,” said Pamela.
“I thought I heard singing,” said Pratt.
“Oh, that,” said Will. “We were singing lullabies to our daughter.”
Pratt’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Honor. She could see him thinking—She’s too old for lullabies. “It’s a school night,” he said. “Don’t you know it’s past hour nine?”
“Clock’s broken,” said Pamela, holding up the disassembled alarm clock.
“That’s the Postal Service these days,” Pratt said in a friend lier voice. “I’ve sent in a couple of complaints myself.”
“Really? How would we go about that?” Will asked. “We’ve got some—”
But Pratt cut him off. “You can go ahead and contact the Postal Service in the morning. For now, let’s settle down and get some sleep.”
Pratt shut the door, and in the darkness and the heat, the ocean seemed to surge louder and louder. Honor trudged upstairs to bed. Her mother followed her.
“Do you want your bear?”
“Not really,” Honor said.
Pamela propped the torn bear next to Honor on the floor.
“We never had a Neighborhood Watch before,” said Honor.
“We didn’t live in a neighborhood,” Pamela reminded her.
“Did I have a grandmother?”
Pamela looked puzzled for a moment. “Yes, I think so,” she said.
“Was she your mother?”
“She must have been,” said Pamela.
“What was her name?”
Pamela searched her memory. She closed her eyes to think, but at last she shook her head. “I wish I could remember,” she told Honor.
“Why did you forget?”