Chapter 21: The Miracle of Science
“Hello.”
Like a leaf in a stream, a strange voice floated into Naomi’s consciousness, then flickered away.
“Hello,” came the voice again. Naomi’s eyes were closed. How did that happen? Then she remembered. She shot upright.
“Sammy!” she shouted.
The room was dark, lit only by a glow that fell from a huge TV screen that covered the ceiling. Naomi turned. Sammy lay to her side, stiff as a branch, eyes closed.
“Who Sammy?” said the voice.
“What?” she said.
In the dark she could make out boy kneeling beside her. “Who Sammy?” he said. “You keep say ‘Sammy.’”
Naomi pointed to Sammy. “He is Sammy. He was scared,” she said. She put her hand on him. Though his eyes were closed, his chest rose and fell under her touch. She sighed in relief.
“I scared, too,” the boy said. His face was soft, with high cheekbones and a strong chin. He looked to be about her age. His eyes were sad.
“What are you doing here?” Naomi asked.
“Same you,” he said. “Not work, get trouble.”
“I’m not a white person,” she said.
“Me not either,” he said. “I draw.”
“Draw?” she said.
He reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a small spiral-bound pad of paper and a little nub of a pencil. “See?” said the boy, flipping the notebook open. Naomi had to lean very close to the notebook to see it in the dark. On it was a drawing of a girl’s face. The lines were heavy in places, wispy in others. “Sister,” he said, as he pointed to the dark shape lying next to him.
“This is your sister?” said Naomi.
“Yes,” said the boy. He flipped to the next page. Naomi leaned close and saw the picture of horse rearing up, drawn in quick lines. “Horse,” said the boy.
“You know the horses,” said Naomi.
“I know,” said the boy.
“Do you have a name?” she asked.
“Me Paster,” he said.
“Paster,” she said. “Like paste.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Is your sister okay?” she asked.
“Yes, she okay,” he said. “Just knock out.”
“What happened?” Naomi glanced around. There was no furniture in the place. People covered the floor like crumpled paper.
“They shock us,” Paster answered. “Everyone fall down. You got drag in here with Sam. This the paste room,” he said.
“Why aren’t you knocked out?” she asked him.
“I close my eyes and the pain do not hurt me,” he said. “I think of other thing, like horse running, or vegetable garden.”
“You’ve been to the dome?” she said.
“My family job,” he said. “We gardener.” He flipped some pages in his notebook, and held it up to her face. A perfect orange tree appeared there, rendered in such detail it looked just like the real thing.
“It’s perfect,” she said.
“Thank,” he said.
The overhead TV flickered. Swirling colors danced there. Naomi caught the subtlest hint of pictures behind the wavy lines, like a crowd of people moving or tall grass swaying. Her eyes got heavy.
“Wake,” said Paster.
Naomi shook her head, clearing the sleepy feeling from her brain. Soft music played somewhere.
“What’s going on?” she said.
“Paste,” said Paster. “Don’t breathe it.”
“What do you mean ‘breathe it’?” Just as she asked she heard a sound like drizzling rain and the air got wet. Paster pulled his sleeve around his hand, covering his mouth. Muffled through the sleeve, he said, “You.”
Naomi covered her mouth. “How do you know what to do?”
Paster set his pad on the floor and turned to another page with his free hand. Drawn on the page was a person covering his face with his sleeve. Above the person, jets spewed mist. Above the jets was a circle with a line through it. At the very top was the gypsy symbol, the horseshoe with the three strings of the lute.
“Where’d you get that?” she asked.
“Left in garden,” he said. “Sis’ find it.”
Naomi shook Sammy with her free hand. He groaned but didn’t move. She shook him harder and yelled, “Sammy.” He stirred. His eyes opened and he sat up, coughing.
“Hack, hack, hack,” he said. Naomi covered his mouth with the sleeve of her free hand. “Hack, hack, hack,” he continued. She felt his hot breath through the fabric.
“Cover your mouth,” she said. He did. After a few seconds, he stopped coughing.
“He shocked us,” he said through his sleeve.
“I know,” she said.
“Tubby jerk,” he said. “Where are we? It’s so dark.”
“In the paste chamber,” Naomi said.
Sammy made out Paster in the dark. “Who the heck is that?”
“His name is Paster,” she said. “He’s helping us.”
“How the heck can he help us?” said Sammy. Naomi took the picture from Paster and showed it to Sammy.
“This is this room,” said Sammy, looking around. “We’re trapped. What happens now?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But the gypsy symbol is on there. His sister found it.” As if remembering something, Paster turned and covered his sister’s mouth with his free hand. By now the already dark room was filled with mist, and it was getting hard to see. Beyond Paster’s sister, Naomi couldn’t see much. The music grew louder, threatening to drown out the hissing sprayers.
They waited as the room grew darker and darker. “I don’t like this,” Sammy said. He stood, stepping over the people until Naomi thought he must have reached the door. Because he was obscured by the mist, she couldn’t tell what he was doing.
“There’s no handle,” he said. “No keyboard either. We’re stuck.”
There came a sound like a board being dragged across the ground. Naomi looked behind her. “What’s that noise?” Sammy shouted.
“Shhh,” she said.
Paster laid down. “They come,” he whispered.
“Who are ‘they’?” she asked.
“What did you say?” Sammy shouted.
“Be quiet a minute,” she said. The far wall seemed to open. She thought she saw shapes moving behind it, and something come into the room. There was a sound to her right. There was a sound to the left.
Sammy appeared behind her.
“What is it?” he said.
“Can’t tell,” she answered.
“They here,” said Paster.
“Who are ‘they’?” Sammy asked again.
“Help,” said Paster.
A dark shape appeared over them. It spoke.
“Come with me,” it said.
“Who are you?” Naomi asked.
“I’ll tell you once you’re safe,” said the shape. “The paste levels are dangerous. We have to go.” The shape offered both its hands.
“I don’t think so,” said Sammy.
“You’re free to stay if you want. But I don’t recommend it,” said the shape. “You stay another couple of minutes and you’re going to forget your own name.”
They didn’t have any other options, so Sammy took one of the shape’s hands and Naomi took the other. It yanked them standing. Naomi almost fell over, still dazed from the shock, but caught herself.
“Follow me. And don’t trip over any of these bodies.”
“What about Paster and his sister?” Naomi asked.
“They’re on the list,” the shape said. Someone came in and yanked Paster to his feet. Someone else lifted Paster’s sister from the floor.
The shape said, “Watch your step.”
Naomi stepped over the bodies she could barely see on the floor. They looked dead.
“Be careful going down,” said the voice.
Noami pitched forward in the darkness. Something
grabbed her wrist, keeping her from falling. Her other hand found a railing and she walked down some steps.
“Stop,” said the voice. She stopped. Something made a hollow, rhythmic tap… rap…drag. Light flooded in. She stepped through a doorway.
“Sammy?” she called out. Dark shapes moved around her like a swarm of gnats. “Sammy?”
“Here,” he said.
“I can’t see anything,” she said.
“You’re safe,” said the voice, “among friends.”
“Where are we?” she said.
“Hold on,” said the voice. “Here.” A damp towel was placed in Naomi’s hand. “Get that paste off of your face.” She put the damp fabric to her face. Her skin tingled under its cushy fibers. She scrubbed her forehead and cheeks. Then she touched her head. The mop was gone, so she scrubbed her hair too.
The voice said, “Get your neck and behind your ears. You didn’t get much on you, but the substance is super concentrated. Even a little can pastify you for a couple of days.”
Naomi could see again. In front of her stood a person in brown pants and a vest, but the person’s face was covered by a brown mask, black hair shooting out from the top and sides. “Better?” the voice asked.
“Uh,” said Naomi.
“Sorry.” The person yanked the mask from her head, revealing the face of a young woman. She had dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a clear forehead with a sun-kissed glow.
“I’m Clara,” she said. She put her arm around Naomi and led her to sit on a wooden chair in the middle of the room. Clara’s vest looked just like the one the gypsy man wore in Naomi’s dream. Before Naomi could say something, Sammy came towards her led by a man with a beard and a brown mask draped around his shoulders like a necklace.
The only light came from a couple of flickering lamps hanging from the walls. Sammy sat next to her. Paster was led out of the room, and behind him a person in brown led his sister. Very delicate, as white as a porcelain doll, Paster’s sister looked sleepy, like she would tumble if the brown person let go of her shoulders. Others led or carried in three more people from Pastification. Two people sealed the door with a wooden crossbeam.
“Where are we?” said Sammy.
“You’re safe,” Clara said, “in the house of gypsies.”
Sammy squirmed in his chair. “You can’t trust gypsies,” he said.
Naomi turned to him. “They just rescued us from Pastification! You should be relieved, not…” She didn’t know the word for how Sammy was acting. Ungrateful was part of it, but mean too. “Don’t be a jerk,” she told him, though that is not what she wanted to say at all.
“Sammy,” Clara said. “You can trust us.”
“Farmers don’t trust gypsies,” he said.
“Sammy!” Naomi squealed.
“Sammy,” Clara said again, “Your mother trusts us. You should, too.”
“How do you know my mother?” he shot at her, his tone laced with distrust.
“I don’t know your mother,” Clara said.
“Ha,” Sammy laughed.
“But my mother knows her,” Clara continued.
“Yeah, how’s she know her?” he said. He looked at her sideways, a smirk on his face.
“They grew up together,” said Clara.
“What?” said Sammy.
“They were friends,” said Clara.
“Gypsies and farmers ain’t friends,” said Sammy.
“Not true,” said Clara. “In the long years after the gasoline ran out, the farmers and gypsies worked very closely together. Farmers worked the land to grow food, and the gypsies cared for the horses.”
“Humph,” Sammy said, though his expression had softened. He was listening.
“The farmers didn’t start hating gypsies until the horses started disappearing. No one knew what was going on and farmers thought we were hiding them somewhere. Farmers starting fighting gypsies and riots broke out. Many died, and farmers and gypsies became enemies.”
“I never heard that,” said Sammy.
“You didn’t?” said Clara.
“Well,” Sammy said, reconsidering. “Momma told me something like that. But the others said different than her.”
“Do you trust others over your own mother?” Clara asked.
“I guess not,” he admitted. “But there was a lot that I thought wasn’t true.”
“Like the horses?” said Clara.
“Yeah,” said Sammy. “Like the horses.”
Clara crossed her arms. “What are you two doing here?” she asked.
Naomi looked at the horses embroidered on Clara’s vest and thought of the father she never met. He was the real reason she left home. But there was her dream to think about, too. “We’re trying to release the horses,” she said.
“How do you plan on doing that?” said Clara. It was strange, because until this very moment, it hadn’t occurred to Naomi that she might have gotten herself into a big mess. She could have been turned into a white person and never seen her mom again. Her face flushed.
Clara turned to Sammy. “Your parents let you come here?”
“Not really,” he said.
Clara said. “You would be white people if we hadn’t have found you. After you guys fried that turbine, the CEO issued an order to capture you and have you pasted.”
“We were almost pasted,” said Sammy.
“No, you were nearly pastified,” said Clara. “Pasted is getting turned into paste.”
“They were going to turn us to paste?” Naomi shouted.
“They were,” said Clara.
“People eat paste,” Sammy said.
“They do,” said Clara. A smile rose on her face and she suddenly glowed with a warmth Naomi hadn’t seen from her. “I must admit, dropping the paste in the turbine was a pretty bold move. Who came up with that?”
Naomi pointed at Sammy. “Sammy did,” she said.
“Good work, my man,” said Clara. “You’d make a good gypsy. But still, you shouldn’t have come. It is way too dangerous.”
“But the gypsy man sent me,” Naomi said.
Clara furrowed her brow. “Who is the ‘gypsy man’?” she asked.
Naomi thought about his face. How could she describe something that felt like it had always been a part of her? “He had dark hair and brown eyes. He was older than you.”
“There is no man like that here,” said Clara. “Where did you see him?”
“In a dream,” she said.
“In a dream?” Clara asked.
“The night of my birthday,” said Naomi, as if that would explain everything. She felt stupid. Why had she thought to follow a man who appeared in her dream? He looked so familiar, like she had known him her whole life. But how could she have known him? And yet the gypsy man was right. His symbol appeared whenever she seemed lost. Though it was totally stupid, Naomi knew the gypsy man came to her for a reason.
Clara said, “The horses are wild. Abuse has made them fierce. It was unwise for you to come here.”
“The gypsy man said I should. That I was a horse speaker,” said Naomi. She didn’t even know what that meant.
“What makes you a horse speaker?” asked Clara.
“My father was a horse speaker.” From the jumpsuit folds, she pulled out the purple horse-flavored T-shirt. “I have this,” she said.
Clara’s face softened when she saw the T-shirt. Her eyes moved to Naomi’s face as if searching there for something. “This is the horse-flavored T-shirt?” she asked.
Sammy said, “Momma said it’s real.”
“Here,” said Naomi. “See for yourself.”
Clara touched the T-shirt and a look came over her like she could be happily asleep in the grass on a spring day.
“This was your father’s?” Clara asked.
“Yeah,” said Naomi. “My mom gave it to me for my birthday.”
“Well,” said Clara. “This changes things.” Clara bunched her lips while she thought.
“A gypsy told you to come here?”
“Yeah,” Naomi answered.
“He came to you in a dream?” Clara asked.
“Yeah,” said Naomi. “He was wearing that vest,” Naomi said.
Clara looked down at the vest with the horses embroidered on it. “That’s impossible,” she said.
“Why is that impossible?” Sammy asked. Clara looked at Sammy.
She said, “Nobody else has this vest. It was my uncle’s, and he’s been gone for almost 15 years now.” Clara thought a while longer. “Whatever is going on, we’re going to have to see mother, but let’s get you de-Pastified first.”