The first room was mostly supplies for leaving– a row of canvas bodysuits hanging on hooks, rubber gloves originally meant for scrubbing toilets, now darned and patched and lovingly folded in a Bustelo’s coffee tin. There were whole crates of masks, organized into piles… three layers, four layers, plastic, cloth, filtered… Juliet had the sudden instinct to shove them into her pockets, to hide away as many as she could for some future emergency. If she was less hungry, maybe she would have had the wherewithal.
They undressed in the first room, and then Kipling let Juliet wash herself with half a jug of dirty water, evidently already used on the evening’s pots and pans, bits of food waste floating around the top. Juliet was grateful. The mud came off her body and collected in puddles on the concrete floor.
“I’ll clean it later,” Kipling said. She had changed into a loose dress with a cartoonish rainbow along the front. She let Juliet pick her own clothes– all clean, all patched, all featuring characters and scenarios and jokes and slogans lost to the ages. Maybe their parents would have got the references. Juliet chose a large shirt with an orange ball on the back. It was long enough to wear like a dress. Trying to find trousers that fit was always a challenge and Juliet would have gone naked if it meant getting to the food faster. Her hands shook a little as she set her dirty things in the soaking bucket.
“You guys have done well for yourselves,” Juliet said. She shivered a little. It was always colder than one expected in these sorts of cells.
Kipling shrugged and motioned for Juliet to follow. “We get along. I’m lucky I had the job I do.”
“I’ll work. As soon as my paperwork comes in, I swear I’ll work.”
They continued down a long corridor. For a few moments it was dark and Kipling’s rough breathing was the only sound. As a child, Juliet would tease Kipling and say that she wheezed like a machine, and Kipling would splutter something about asthma, and they’d wrestle happily for the next hour. Then they would eat big bowls of rice. It seemed the wrong time to indulge such remembrances. It made Juliet dizzy to think about rice.
“My sister might be able to get you a job in textiles. Nothing fancy.”
Juliet felt no relief. She wondered if she would ever again be able to experience real feelings or if hunger would forever blot out all her senses. She ached with it. Every breath, every glance, every footstep forward was inspired by and punctuated by her hunger.
They finally came to the main room, still dark and lined with sheet metal, overlapped and rusting. It was less organized. Less like a factory, more like a home. There were shelves stacked with bowls, in the style that Juliet’s mother always called “tuggerware,” and she looked eagerly for the food that would fill those bowls. Along the floor were sack-like mattresses, several filled with shadowy bodies. Kipling put a finger to her lips to signal for quiet and opened a little freezer chest, hidden behind a stack of cardboard. Odd that it was hidden away like that. Odd that none of the sleeping figures noticed their entrance. Odd how small these concerns seemed. What mattered, what really mattered, was that Kipling was pulling out a carton of nutritional paste and a spoon and soon, soon, Juliet could eat.
“It’s better hot, but it’s something,” Kipling whispered. Juliet would have eaten worms. She shoved the spoon into the thick, white mass and then slurped it down. She choked a little as she swallowed it, and eagerly ate more. Kipling watched, her hands on her hips and her braids swaying a little from the air vent almost directly above her. It was almost unnerving, otherworldly. Kipling had always been that way. It was easy to be distracted from the food by her big brown eyes. And it was easy to be distracted from those eyes by the food.
Perhaps uncomfortable with watching and being watched, Kipling returned to the freezer and pulled out two dark bottles. “You can sleep with me. I also have some vitamins– You look like you need some D3. And sleeping pills. We all hate the sound of the air pumps.”
Juliet had not noticed the air pumps but nodded dumbly, a bit of nutritional paste wet on her chin. When had she ever said no to oblivion? That was the problem with her last cell. She took the pills easily with her last spoonful of paste, then she wiped her face on her sleeve. Kipling grinned. Her first smile so far. Funny how now that Juliet was satiated, she forgot that she had ever been so hungry. Now all she could think about was Kipling, still smaller than average. The skin around her eyes had always been darker, even gray, like two little circles. Her hands were the same, short and stubby with beautiful round nails. Juliet stared at those nails, and as the oblivion beckoned closer, she found herself dreaming of them.
She awoke to another pill. Kipling’s sister, half-remembered and wearing one of the canvas bodysuits from the first room, was kneeling by her mattress and holding out a little white capsule.
“It will help you wake up,” she said. Juliet swallowed it.
“It’s good to see you too, Austen.”
In response, Austen stood and began folding a pile of nightclothes left on the floor. From the side, she looked pregnant, or at least similar to how illustrations depicted pregnant women. Juliet had never seen a pregnancy in real life, and though she was very curious, she looked away. More likely it was some sort of disease that it would be cruel to ask about.
There must have been fifteen other people– More than Juliet had guessed looking at the sleeping figures the night before. Each wore a canvas bodysuit and ignored her. Kipling was nowhere to be found.
Like the sleeping pill, the awake pill worked quickly and Juliet found it painful to sit still. She stretched and, for want of an activity, helped Austen with the folding.
“Are you going to introduce me?”
Austen shook her head, her braids flying back and forth. “Until your paperwork comes in, you’ll be keeping things clean. The air vents need to be cleaned out every day, and the water filtration system. And everything else.”
“Happy to. Kipling said that you work in textiles.”
“I just sort scraps into colorways. It’s not glamorous, but it’s better than sorting the excrement-covered from the not-excrement-covered. That’s where I started and where you’ll start.” Austen wrinkled her nose as if remembering the smell of it. “We have a reputation for being good workers here. Jack sorts medical tubing, even. We’re clean, and thrifty, and people trust us.”
“I’m clean,” Juliet said.
“Kip got in touch with your previous cell. Orly, or something? That’s who she spoke to. You’re lucky she opened the airlock for you.”
The pill made it hard to focus her attention, which was a blessing, really. She could briefly think of Orly, with her drawn, pale face and habit of scratching the underside of her nose when she cried. She briefly imagined herself banging on the airlock door, crying out with hunger and fear until collapsing and wheezing and eventually dying. Then, easily, her mind flitted to the task at hand, to smoothing the edges of this shirt, soft and cool under her fingers. She hadn’t known how close she had been to ruin. Oh well. She set the folded shirt down and forced a smile.
“I’m glad to be here with friends,” she said.
“I worked to be able to have this baby. Don’t mess it up for me.”
So she was pregnant. Juliet wasn’t sure what the social protocol was, so she just smiled even wider, wide enough to hurt her mouth. “That’s exciting.”
“Yeah, so do what you’re told, yeah? The bleach is on the shelf by the hallway.”
Juliet went to work. They used a slightly different model of air pump than she was used to, but it wasn’t hard to figure out how to unscramble the parts, scrub the mold and thick, black smog off the insides, and set it together. It was pleasant work, even. Hard to think while focusing on it. Sometimes a stray thought came through– How did Austen manage to get pregnant? Was the baby going to stay here or go to a nursery cell? What had Orly told Kipling? Where did Kipling keep the food? But those questions were easy to put away for later. The work was so much more interesting. She didn’t even remember to be hungry until midday when Kipling appeared behind her, holding a bowl of something green.
“Jack was able to bring in some spinach. It’s good for you.”
Juliet took the bowl and sniffed it. “Where have you been?”
“I get a lunch break. I wanted to see how you’ve done.”
Proudly, Juliet gestured to the water filtration system parts, laid out neatly on the floor, shining and smelling of disinfectant.
“You get another pill for this.”
This was a compliment, Juliet knew it was a compliment.
“Where do you get all this medicine? Is it because someone works with medical tubing?”
Kipling, pulling another white capsule from the pocket of her bodysuit, laughed. Like her breathing, her laugh was raspy and labored. “Come on, Jules. Orly told me that you’ve never had a problem with suspicious pills.”
Embarrassed and irritated, Juliet swallowed the capsule with a mouthful of spinach. She didn’t know why her mother had complained about it– it was good, earthy and with a pleasant texture. Still, it hurt to think about her mother, to think about Orly’s gossip, and happily she embraced the momentum of the pill.
Slowly, in bits and pieces, Juliet met the other cell-members. They were also distracted by their various tasks, and it seemed painful for them to wrench their attention away for even a moment. She liked Jack, who was tall and quiet, but always brought interesting treasures home to share. Austen was still cold to her, but Austen’s best friend, an electrical specialist named Joon, was always smiling at Juliet, then glancing at Austen as if asking for permission. Kirk was the newest, after Juliet, and had almost nothing to recommend him beyond a full set of teeth. He sorted plastics, which he claimed to find fascinating and fulfilling. There was even a teacher, a job title as fantastic to Juliet as that of ‘princess’. Ellis traveled five miles underground every morning to the closest nursery cell, where she gave lessons in mathematics and moral reasoning. Having never had a teacher herself, Juliet wasn’t sure what moral reasoning was, but she never quite found a moment to ask Ellis where there wasn’t a terribly interesting task to complete instead.
Time moved quickly and yet very slowly. Sometimes, when she was focused on her cleaning, on rooting out the tiniest bit of grime from inside the vents, time seemed to pause entirely as her entire being narrowed to that moment of concentration. And then she would look up and realize that it had been hours, days, and even if she didn’t know the names of her new cellmates, their faces were as familiar to her as her own family’s had been.
Then, suddenly, Kipling was tugging on Juliet’s sleeve and motioning for her to set down the sponge. Juliet did so and, looking down, noticed that she was wearing a purple dress. She didn’t know when she had put that on. Kipling looked different too– Her hair was unbraided and arranged in a row of little puffballs down the back. Fear, sudden and icy cold, enveloped Juliet.
“What’s that face?” Kipling reached out to touch Juliet’s cheek with her little hands, her doll-sized hands. Juliet had the sudden urge to slap her and run. She didn’t know what day it was. She didn’t remember having a purple dress.
“I don’t know what day it is,” she said.
“Yeah? It’s been a long time. I thought you’d be pleased though– Your paperwork came and you’re approved to start textiles tomorrow. You can follow Austen in the morning. It’s only about a mile from here, and all flat– No stairs. If you’re good, they might let you replace Austen while she recovers.”
“When is that, then?” Juliet tried to remember Austen. How long had she been pregnant? When had she last watched her, noticed her, paid attention to how large or small she was?
“Any day. You seem nervous– Let me get you another–” Juliet wrapped her hand around Kipling’s wrist. She knew that if Kipling reached into her pocket for a capsule, she would take it, and wake up in another dress she didn’t recognize, half-awake and lost.
“Please,” she said. “I don’t want pills. I don’t know if this is getting back at me for Orly, but please.”
“If you touch me again, I’ll be annoyed with you.”
Juliet stepped back and held her hands up. Like a criminal. Like when they played cops and robbers as kids. Austen always wanted to be the cop, and Juliet and Kipling were happy to play at criminality. Sometimes Juliet’s brother would join in and, with his longer legs, easily beat the three of them. Thinking about Duncan made Juliet want the pill in spite of herself.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what day it is.”
Kipling rubbed her wrist as if it hurt, as if Juliet’s touch had somehow dirtied and injured it. Still, she wasn’t reaching in her pocket. “We have a way of doing things here. It works for us. We’re able to work really hard, which is why we could let you in and find you a job. It’s why Austen is going to have her baby at a hospital.”
Juliet gaped. “A hospital?”
“It’s not a joke. You set your own pace with the pills, but we won’t accept slacking.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Juliet was shivering. Why was she shivering? Was the purple dress too thin? Why had she picked a flimsy little cotton dress when she knew, she knew these cells were always colder than they looked.
“Are you sure?” And then, smiling a little, Kipling reached into the breast pocket of her canvas bodysuit and pulled out a little white capsule and held it up between her thumb and pointer finger.
Juliet took the pill and, when she next came back to herself, was wearing a silky smooth camisole and a long black skirt that was patched with a different shade of black. Her left wrist ached a little, like someone had tried to wrench it off her arm.
She was following Austen. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking, or where, but Austen was ahead of her. The skirt was a little too big and kept sliding down Juliet’s hips and needing to be pulled up. It was annoying. Why had she chosen this skirt?
“Where are we going?” Her voice echoed a little.
“Work.”
There were worms under their feet, big fat ones. Juliet’s mother had once said that the only animals from her childhood that remained were the worms. They must be closer to the surface, the metal sheeting having given way to rough sod. Juliet licked her lips and found her tongue touching burlap– She was wearing a mask. That’s good. Even drugged and passive, she had some sense.
She decided to try to make conversation. “Does the nursery have a naming convention or are you going rogue?”
“They name after types of plants. I don’t know yet. I like Fern, but someone already took that. They have a book with old plants, from before. Trees and flowers. There was one listed that was like a– Hee-bee-ska or something. Heebees-skoos. But it seems kind of sad to name a baby after something that isn’t real. Imagine being named after something you can’t ever know.” It was the most Austen had said at once since Juliet arrived. Or at least, the most that she could remember Austen saying at once since Juliet arrived. As a child. Austen had been chatty and silly; She had liked to spin around as fast as she could until she made herself sick.
“I never read the stupid play I was named after,” Juliet said. “Have you read any Austen, Austen?”
“No, but I once held a copy of it and read the title page. That’s more than this baby could do with a Hee-bee-skoos flower.”
Juliet wished the tunnel was wider so she could walk alongside Austen and hold her hand. She was suddenly claustrophobic.
“I’m grateful for you showing me the way. I hardly know which way is up with Kipling’s pills.”
Austen laughed. “She does it with everyone. And she’s throwing her weight around because of what Orly said.”
Orly. Missing tooth a little to the left. Leg hair that grew straight outwards, not down. Collarbones deep enough to drink out of. The remembering was sudden and strong enough to make Juliet a little dizzy. “Orly made me crazy,” she said.
“You were always crazy. Is this really the longest you’ve stayed with one cell since we were kids? I read your papers.”
Before Orly, there was Vie-de-Jeune, which pretended to be a republic with no leader but was actually controlled by the whims of a redhead named Davout. Before that, Monalisa’s group, which fell apart after Monalisa got her hands on expired grain alcohol and tried to burn the whole compound down. At least that was one case that wasn’t Juliet’s fault. Pound’s cell amicably disbanded when the air filtration system exploded.
“I’m trying to stick around,” Juliet said.
“Good. We’re almost there, but your job is to pick out the textiles that more or less serve their original purpose and those that need to be shredded for the fiber. Can you handle that?”
Juliet nodded, then remembered that Austen couldn’t see her nod. “Yes ma’am.”
Again, Austen laughed.
The work was dull enough to make Juliet wish for more pills. She made two piles of cloth. She was forbidden to speak to her fellow workers. She was forbidden from humming or whistling. She began to feel the old urge to destroy something for want of something to happen.
Most of the textiles were usable, even enviable. Though Juliet knew intellectually that there used to be many more billions of people in the world, it was odd to see the evidence– Billions and billions of unworn clothes left to collect rat droppings and, in one case, produce long gray mushrooms along the hem.
This was life, then. You sort trash until you get promoted to sorting better trash in more interesting ways. You take pills. You wear your mask. You fulfill your duty to your cell and, if you’re lucky, you reproduce and presumably have something else to live for besides your own selfish whims. This was what Mother had warned her about, and what, in her most desperate moments, Juliet had prayed for. She wasn’t sure what praying was exactly, but she read it was what people did in moments of desperation. Sometimes, when banging on a new airlock door and begging for entrance, she had thoughts so loud they seemed to come from outside her: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I WANT TO LIVE I WANT TO LIVE PLEASE. Maybe that was prayer.
A new prayer was brewing in her chest, sticky and hard to push away. PLEASE LET THIS NOT BE EVERYTHING. PLEASE LET THERE BE JOY.
On the way back to the cell, Austen handed Juliet two white capsules, which she pretended to swallow but kept hidden under her tongue. When Austen wasn’t looking, she dropped them into the dirt and watched triumphantly as the worms tangled themselves into balls in their eagerness to eat.
