CHAPTER 4
However old they say she is, she already looks dead, he thought. He peered at her white, wrinkled face. Her wiry hair matched the color of her skin, or rather the lack of color. Her wrinkles ran deep into her face creating dark canyons around her eyes and mouth, crevices in her cheeks. The boy continued to stare at her, waiting by her bedside. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought she was dead. But she wasn’t. All one had to do to know that she was alive was to look into her eyes. They were vividly blue at times, although lately they had been steadily graying. He so wanted her to open her eyes, to wake up. Maybe she just needed someone to wake her up. He looked to his mother sitting in a chair beside him still reading her magazine. He slowly lifted his hand toward the old woman and poked her cheek. Nothing. She continued to lie there on her hospital bed quite unmoved. If only she would wake up.
She always had the most interesting stories to tell, perhaps because she was insane. At least that seemed to be the opinion of most people, and they had good reason to believe so. One day she would tell stories of being one of the first people to ever live here when she was just a little girl, but no one could ever follow anything she described in that story. It was mostly nonsense. The next day she would be talking about how her great-grandfather helped build the very hospital she was in and how this placed had changed over the last couple of hundred years. She talked about different lives, different people and she talked as if she lived those different lives and was those different people. She was obviously confused in her old age. After all, she was one hundred and fifteen years old, barely hanging on at some moments, but absolutely thriving at others. However, it was when she seemed to be most aware of herself that she seemed to be the most insane. He was waiting for her to wake up. He was waiting for her to thrive. He poked her cheek again.
“Josiah, stop it!” His mother smacked his hand away.
“But she needs someone to wake her up.”
“Let Aunt Junia have her rest. You don’t just go poking the poor woman in her face. You know better than that. Maybe you should just come back another time.”
“But please let me stay. I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll just wait.”
“Alright. Can I trust you to behave if I leave for a little bit to go to the common area? I need to take care of some things.”
“Yes, ma’am, you can.”
“I’ll be back in a little bit. Behave yourself and don’t be a bother.”
He sat still in his chair, twiddling his thumbs, going through his schoolwork in his head, thinking of rhymes and riddles as he waited for her to wake up. She once told him of how, when she was young, she would ride around on a big toy with two wheels, a biciggle. He wasn’t sure of how to picture this biciggle which is why he remembered her telling him about it. He always wanted to find one. He even searched around for it thinking that there must be at least one. When he asked others about it they didn’t seem to know what he was trying to describe. “A large toy that you sit on with two wheels, and you move your feet on to make it go.” He never found it, but he knew it existed. Or at least he hoped it existed.
She moved.
He got out of his chair to move closer and looked into her face, only inches away. He whispered.
“Are you awake?”
No answer. He drew back and returned to his chair by her bedside, twiddling his thumbs. He was quite different than most of the children. On a weekend such as this, most children had already outrun each other, outwrestled each other, and outfought each other. Instead, Josiah sat quietly and had been sitting there most of the morning. He enjoyed running and wrestling occasionally, but it never interested him. The company of the other children always seemed to be a little empty. So he enjoyed his own company better and tended to be a bit withdrawn. The weekend was his escape from what he felt to be a boring week. It was his chance to do something he wanted to do. Many, including children and adults, thought he was a bizarre child since he asked about strange words and found riddles and puzzles to be rather easy when no other person, less any child, could solve them. To them, his mind was strange and “perhaps already going in the way of that woman.” Stranger than anything else, which caught a single person’s attention more so than others, was that Josiah seemed to notice their opinions but didn’t seem to care.
She moved again. When he turned to look at her, his eyes met hers and at this sight his eyes lit up as well as his smile.
“Aunt Juny!”
“Who are you?” She whispered as she woke.
“Well, I’m Josiah. I’m your nephew, great-nephew to be exact, or at least that’s what mom tells me. I come here all the time. Mom says you may not remember me so I have to keep introducing myself. I come here all the time and you tell me stories.”
“Oh, my. Of course you are my nephew. Sometimes I just can’t see very well, dear. These eyes just aren’t what they used to be. I -”
Before she could make her next statement, the boy chimed in.
“Tell me a story, Aunt Juny.”
The fragile woman smiled.
“Alright. Well, once there lived a boy, about your age who -”
“Aunt Juny, are you making this one up?”
“You said you wanted a story, didn’t you, my nephew?”
“I want a real story. Tell me something about when you were younger like you usually do.”
He could see by her eyes that she was trying to sift through her past. It always seemed to take a while for her to speak after he asked this question. Every time he went to her, he always had to ask for a memory instead of a made-up story. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy stories, but it was only that her memories were more exciting than her stories, than anyone’s made-up stories.
“Well, when I was a little girl, we used to go out and play in the rain, my friend and I, and whenever this happened we would -”
“What’s rain?”
“Well, it’s like falling water from the sky -”
“What’s the sky?”
“It’s like a space, an open space. Or maybe not. I… I’m not really sure. Maybe it was water falling from the ceiling. That must’ve been it. In the common area. Maybe in the common area. No, certainly not. Although, it must have been. Is the ceiling blue? If the ceiling is blue then maybe it was from that room. It may not be blue now, but it used to be blue. The water fell from the blue ceiling. Anyway, we used to play in it all day, in the common area. It was so fun, the rain was, especially with a friend. Her name was…what was her name? It started with a J, I think. Judy, Joann, Jannette, Junia. No, I am Junia. Maybe it wasn’t a J. What was her name? Anyway, the two of us…we…we would go…rain…sky…what is it… what’s… her… name?”
She quickly fell back into her uneasy yet deep sleep. It was much shorter than usual, almost as if she simply decided not to last long to escape her confusion. It happened often, though. She never was able to finish her story, but even if she had more time, she would not ever finish her story. He listened because he liked the words she used, the ones he never heard before. But once she had fallen back to sleep, she wasn’t waking for a long while. The day’s lesson was over, so he sat there in the chair watching her sleep and waiting on his mother to return for him.
He wondered if she did indeed make these stories up, but from what he could tell, she at least believed what she told. Maybe that’s why everyone said she was crazy. Maybe that’s why anyone is called crazy. If you truly believe in the story you’ve invented, then you should be called crazy. However, he couldn’t help but want to believe in what she said, just as she believed.
His mother returned.
“Mom, do you know what rain is?”
“No, son, what is it?” She was quite accustomed to him asking such questions, questions about words he had heard from Aunt Junia and questions about words he had made up himself.
“I think it’s water that falls from the ceiling. Aunt Juny told me a story about how she used to play in it when it rained in the main
room.”
She had learned to play along with his questions for the most part, but she had started to worry about how trusting he had become of the woman, not that Junia was ever distrustful. She was just confused.
“Listen son. You can’t always believe what Junia says. To have water fall from the ceilings in the main room doesn’t make any sense. There’s no reason for that to ever happen. In fact, it hasn’t ever happened. The only water that ‘falls’ is the water from the showers. You see, she’s confused. She doesn’t always say things that are true, only she thinks they are true.”
“So that’s never happened before?”
“I’m afraid not. In her old age, she often mixes the experiences she has. She takes a shower and then she visits the main room. She combines the two as one and is convinced that the combination is the real experience.”
“What if someone did think what she said was true?”
It was just as she feared.
“Josiah, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone with Aunt Junia anymore. She’s getting weaker and weaker each day, and it may be that she may never wake up as you wait for her to.”
“She always wakes up. It may take a while, but she always does.”
“Well, son, when people grow older, the more they sleep, the less likely they are to wake up. Eventually there will come a time when she will die, and I don’t want you to keep waiting for her to wake when she never will again. I at least don’t want you to be on your own when this happens.”
“But that’s not fair.”
“What did I say, Josiah?”
On the inside, he was distraught. He knew that in taking away his solitude with the old woman, his mother had extinguished the possibility of him hearing more stories and more words. She would not bother with telling stories to any other person but the boy. No one else wanted to hear her incoherent thoughts. No one appreciated the history of the old woman. She knew that. She had tried to tell her story but only received pity for her insanity. “Poor woman” had been an all too common phrase. Only the boy would listen and only to the boy would she tell.
Josiah began to cry. He searched to remember many of her words but came up short. He then had to depend on his own memory and his own words. However, he had forgotten much and the words that he invented were not real words. Ikker, jube. They had no real meaning, no story behind them. They were just random syllables and sounds. Her words seemed to be real. Rain, sky. Her words seemed to belong in the language as if they should come up in normal conversation but for some reason or another did not. Her stories and her words were his only real delight. Those he called his friends weren’t near as interesting, school work was boring, and everything else just came so easily. She and her words interested him because there seemed to be more to them than what he could understand. With accompaniment, he would hear them no more. He cried more than ever.
---
Months had gone by without a visit to the old woman. Her words were almost forgotten. His mind no longer dwelt on finding significance in strange sounds. Instead, Josiah found his outlet in learning elsewhere. During school he no longer daydreamed about the unknown. He no longer pondered on searching for things that didn’t exist. Instead, he devoted himself to his studies, and with no distractions, he excelled. He found that he could calculate quickly. He understood grammar and syntax, but more than anything else, it was his skill in strategy and problem-solving that he found the most interesting. To teach these the children were given puzzles, simple at first then complex. To Josiah, they were just games. He enjoyed solving them and was far beyond the others in speed and cleverness. He understood the thinking that it took to answer the riddles and to solve the puzzles. It was thinking outside of the norms while still staying inside of logic. He had a special mind for it, and this special mind was noted by the teachers. What he found so easily, he noticed, was actually difficult for everyone else. After he had finished his classroom projects, he turned to his neighbors and taught them the basics of how to solve their own. He found joy in this as well, not because it proved that he was better in any way, but because he was helping them. “If you can understand the basics, you can eventually understand the complexities.”
On the weekends, instead of visiting the hospital, he would take his break from school by playing with the others. He had done so on occasion before, but not often enough. The other kids thought it strange that he preferred sitting by an old, crazy woman than playing a game of prisoner or running about or wrestling. He was smaller than most of the boys his age and a bit thin. Ordinarily, he would have been a prime receiver of the tortures of the larger boys in his age group. However, Josiah had been allowed to sit in on the classrooms of the older age groups because of his excellent learning skills, and so those older boys saw Josiah as their younger brother, and so they protected him. He had joined in the group and played in their games and enjoyed himself. It was true that no one ever disliked Josiah, but it was also true that no one ever befriended him. He was strange, like something they never could grasp. There was a word for him, but it seemed to be missing.
It didn’t take long for the boy’s extraordinary capabilities to reach ear of those higher in power. The Captain had always said that talent, especially young talent, was to be reported so it might be put to better use. It was no secret. Josiah was a young boy of great talent. So while in class as the teacher was discussing mathematics, a guard came in and requested Josiah’s accompaniment. This disruption, of course, had no effect on his knowledge of the day’s lesson because he had learned it long ago. It did, however, have quite the effect on his classmates as they were so riled that the teacher gave up the lesson. Perhaps Josiah the genius was in trouble. They could only hope for so much. Even as young as they were, bad news was good news for gossip.
As the two walked out of the classroom, Josiah was quiet with fear. A man in uniform had come to take him away. Where was he going? What had he done? Thoughts quickly filled and fluttered through his mind, and he steadily grew more afraid. The man in the uniform did little to ease his thoughts for he said nothing but “this way.” There was no guessing where. The Captain did not often request the presence of anyone, much less a boy like Josiah. Like most people, Josiah only knew of the Captain but didn’t know the Captain, nor had he ever even seen the leader. He was too important of a man to concern himself with the individuals of the colony, but every so often he made exceptions. Josiah was on his way to meet him.
They traveled to the elevators and, to his surprise, passed the large elevators and stood before the farther, smaller one. He had never been in it before, but he always held it as a fascination. The elevator had a keypad, and the guard input a code in order to open the doors. As a result of Josiah’s constant observation, he had almost unconsciously watched and memorized the five digit code. After they entered and the doors closed, the guard pressed a button and the number five lit up.
“There’s a fifth floor!”
Sometimes excitement overcomes fear, especially when the world has substantially increased. Not only was there a fifth floor which the boy never even heard of, those rumored underground floors proved to be true as well. The buttons listed B, A, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. The larger elevators only listed 1, 2, 3, and 4, and those were the only ones he had ever known. The guard remained silent. Fear crept back in his mind as they traveled upward. He glanced around and in the top corner of the elevator was another one of those strange, mounted objects. They were mounted throughout the colony, but no one knew what they were or what they did. Here it was made more noticeable by the small, enclosed area. If he had known what they were, he would have also known that they were used in the early days but had stopped being used long ago. Though it was a curious object, his mind quickly went back to other things. Where was he going? What had he done?
The doors opened. They walked down the hall, passed by a manned desk, and turned the corner to the opened door of an office.
Upon seeing who was in the room, he was
instantly relieved. It was his mother. But as he looked on her face, his fear abounded much, much more. The look on her face was that of immense nervousness and anguish. He had wondered if he too had had that same look upon his face earlier. His attention then turned to the man sitting at the desk. The man was in uniform, but of a slightly different type. This man had such decorations on him that clearly distinguished him as a man of much more importance than anyone else. He was the Captain. He was an overweight man but still looked strong. He was not easily considered to be handsome, but after a time with him, after all his ugly flaws were accustomed to, there was some attractiveness to him. Josiah eventually thought there was something familiar about the man, but upon first seeing him, his hideous mustache was the only thing that caught Josiah’s attention.
The Captain rose from his seat as he entered the office. There sat a desk and two chairs across from it. There were paper stacks on the desk with a single bookshelf to the left which had thick, official texts lined together. The man’s enormous hands seemed to swallow his own as they greeted.
“Josiah, how are you, son?”
“Very well, sir.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. I’ve been hearing good things about you. I’ve been told that you’re the top of your class, achieving more than any of the other students and even teaching the other students.”
He found his relief again. He wasn’t in trouble. He was led to take a seat by his mother, whose expression had changed and was just a bit uneasy. Perhaps he had mistaken it before.
The Captain took his desk seat again and sat face to face with the two. Josiah then replied his answer.
“Well, I don’t really know if I’d go that far. I just enjoy doing it. I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. It’s just fun.”
“It’s not the schoolwork, it’s the leadership. And anyone who says that they enjoy leading is a mark in my book. You show talent. You show cleverness. Above all, though you show care for your fellow neighbors, and that is the most important aspect of our lives. We do what we can for each other to better get along in our lives. We should all strive for the betterment of the people as a whole and that is exactly what you are doing. Your actions show that you care about the well-being of the people and that really impresses me at your age. I’ve had my eye on you lately. In fact, I’ve had my eye on you for a while now. I hope that doesn’t make you uneasy. But the reason you’re here is so that we can simply be acquainted with each other. I see us becoming good friends. So thank you, Josiah, for what you are doing. I expect that we’ll be seeing a little more of each other in the future, especially if you keep up the good work. Would you like that?”
“Yes, sir, I would.” He didn’t quite know what to say, but part of him did want to be in the company with the Captain even though his mustache seemed to twitch every now and then.
“Alright, then. All there’s left to do is have a toast.”
There was a small cabinet to the left of the bookshelf. He walked over, bent down, and opened up its small doors. As he came back, he held a glass bottle in his hands. Along with the bottle, he brought three fancy glasses, one for himself, one for Josiah the guest, and one his mother. A dark, tan liquid poured from the bottle, an immense aroma filled the room as the liquid filled the glasses. They were handed to each person present, Josiah’s glass nearly overflowing.
“To you, Josiah, and to the well-being of our people.”
They took a sip.
Josiah was completely taken aback by the thick taste of the tan liquid. In all his life he was limited to water and vegetable drink. This was in every way different than anything he had ever drunk. It was sweet and distinct. It was aromatic and quenching. It was incredible. “What is it?”
“It’s cider, my dear boy, and not only any cider but that from the apple. I bet it’s quite different than from what you’re used to.”
“Definitely, sir. It’s awesome. I’ve never had anything like it. I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did it come from?” He was smiling from ear to ear. In fact, he was grinning because the tartness of the drink stung his jaws.
“Josiah,” the mother chimed in, knowing that too many questions are never a good thing in front of the Captain, “before you say anything else, what have you forgotten?”
“Oh, yeah. Thank you, sir. It’s really good.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. It’s always a nice treat. Although, it can only ever be a treat sadly. Apples have always been so complicated to reproduce that we can only do so with little results. This bottle must have taken two or three years’ worth of fruit, but it was well worth it. Perhaps in the future we can celebrate with more, right Josiah?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
With the same abruptness of meeting the Captain was the departing of the Captain. With a short “I hope to see you soon,” the Captain left his office and left the secretary to deport them back to their lodging.
His thoughts about the Captain were rather mixed. The cider and the compliments were enjoyable, but there seemed to be a lack of genuineness about him. He had always felt that he knew what was genuine and true when it was spoken, and when he was spoken to by the Captain, he felt little assurance of anything true. He had only heard one thing that was true and that was the Captain’s belief of his talent and cleverness. Josiah lingered on this thought. Perhaps he was more talented and clever than the others. Perhaps he was mistaken in what he felt, and what he felt to be false might have been truly genuine. If that was the case, then maybe Josiah would return to the Captain to celebrate with him again once he furthered his talents and cleverness. The apple cider was very tasteful as well as very scarce, and the only possible way to get another taste was to get another invite from the Captain, and the only way to get another invite was with some kind of outdoing the others intellectually and authoritatively. There was one thing. If it wasn’t for this, he could see himself yearning for approval and cider rather than what was needed. If it wasn’t for this, then he might have convinced himself that he was mistaken. His mother had a fear of the Captain, and not a respectful fear of authority but a “fearful fear,” and that taught him all he needed.