Amatka

FIRSTDAY

Vanja woke on her back with Nina’s breath on her cheek. As she opened her eyes, she caught Nina quickly closing hers. Nina lay on her side, hands cradled against her chest. One of her elbows touched Vanja’s upper arm; a knee brushed against Vanja’s thigh. The two points of contact burned her skin through the layers of clothes. Vanja closed her eyes again and lay very still. At length, Nina sighed and sat up. She slid down to the foot of the bed and onto the floor, where she hunted around for her socks.

“Sock, sock, shoe, shoe. Trousers, shirt,” she mumbled at the garments as she picked them up. “Brr. Cold. Good morning!”

“Good morning.” Vanja stretched. Her body ached, as if she’d been tensed up in her sleep.

Nina opened her wardrobe and took out a pair of boots. “Here, my spares.” She placed them next to the bed.

“Thank you very much,” Vanja mumbled.

“Keep them. It’s better that someone’s using them.”

Vanja stayed in bed until Nina had finished dressing and gone down to the kitchen. She crawled out from under the blanket and picked up her neatly folded clothes from the desk chair. The boots were a size too big, but she could walk in them. Her arm and leg tingled where Nina’s body had touched hers. If the new bed wasn’t delivered today, they would have to share again tonight. At first she didn’t recognize the sensation that flared in the pit of her stomach. It had been so long.

Ulla was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of dark and acrid-looking coffee. “Good morning.” She gave Vanja a small smile.

“Good morning,” Vanja replied.

“Had another accident, did you?” Ulla’s smile became a strange grin.

“I’m sorry,” Vanja said. “I really am.”

Ulla tutted. “You’re not in Essre anymore, dear.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s done.” Ulla paused. “What did it look like?”

“What did what look like?”

“When the suitcase had dissolved. What did it look like?”

Vanja shrugged. “It didn’t look like much at all. Just… sludge.”

“I thought you were a researcher.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would expect some curiosity,” Ulla said. “A good researcher is curious about everything. Even that which one would find terrifying.”

“I’m curious,” Vanja said. “But I wasn’t going to stay there and watch.”

“Well,” Ulla said, “that’s where you and I differ. I would have taken the chance to observe.”

“Observe what?”

“How it behaves,” Ulla said slowly.

Something in Ulla’s eyes made Vanja shiver.

“Now, then,” Ulla said in a very different voice, “did you want to interview me, too? Nina said you might want to talk to an old doctor.”

“I’ll let you know,” Vanja said. “I have to go write a report.”

“You do that,” Ulla replied. “You know where to find me.”

Finishing her next short report took some time because the memory of Nina’s heat against her back kept distracting her, but finally it was done. Vanja put it in an envelope along with the first report. The box she’d brought from the pharmacy was just big enough to fit all the product samples and the envelope. It was also just about light enough that she could carry it on her own, so she did, to the post office next to the train station. The clerk informed her that the train from Essre was on its way in to load and unload and placed Vanja’s parcel on one of the pallets headed for the platform.

Vanja stepped out onto the platform. The tracks ran in a straight line to the south until they climbed a low hill and disappeared. The train was on its way down that hill, and the rails gave off a whirring sound that made the hairs on Vanja’s neck stand up. The noise rose in volume as the train approached; when the train finally arrived at the platform, it was so loud Vanja had to cover her ears. The train was made of good metal that had been in use ever since the pioneers arrived, scratched and eroded, painted over many times. A section of the paint on the passenger car had bubbled and come loose, as if exposed to extreme heat. It hadn’t looked like that when Vanja had last seen it. Something must have happened out there. Everyone knew the world outside of the colonies was dangerous, but the committee had never spoken of the details. Vanja thought about herself in the little car, unaware of the world outside the train’s protective shell, of whatever it was that could do something like this to a train made of good metal.

Amatka Children’s House Three had one hundred and seventeen residents between the ages of six months and fifteen years. The principal, Larsbris’ Olof, had no objections to Vanja’s surprise visit; he was happy to show her through the building and tell her about their hygiene habits. The air in the residential area of the building was thick with the smell of vinyl mattresses and soap. It was bathing day. In the long sunken tubs in the basement, the children sat in rows, each scrubbing the back in front of them. Those at the end of a row had their backs scrubbed by an older sibling. It was always a race to not end up at the back of a row. Elders always scrubbed too hard, seeking revenge for all those times elders had bruised their backs when they were little.

“Atopic eczema, acne, dandruff,” the principal said as he led Vanja back upstairs. “And fungal infections. That’s what we deal with here. We could use something more effective against dandruff. The hair soap we have, it doesn’t work—it just makes your scalp dry and itchy. It’s probably made in Essre. You can tell they’ve never been here and have no idea what the climate is like. No offense.”

Vanja laughed in the way that meant the place I come from is terrible, isn’t it.

They continued on to the classrooms. In three halls, one for each age group, students sat on long benches facing the teacher’s desk. From the doors of two of the halls, only the muted sound of a teacher droning out a lecture could be heard. But from the third came the sound of a choir. Children’s House Three must have gifted students or a skilled teacher, because the harmonies drifting out through the chink in the door made Vanja’s eyes prickle. They were singing a version of “The Pioneer Song” with a beat that had been slowed down to an almost leisurely pace. Leaning on a solid fourth voice, the third and second voices entwined in a dissonance that wasn’t quite a dissonance, out of which the first voice rose up into bright notes that somehow entered through the ear and into the throat, constricting it. The pain didn’t dissipate until Olof had led her around a corner and out of earshot.

She only half listened to Olof’s account of the house kitchen and the hygiene routines observed there. When he was done, she thanked him for the tour and left. She chose a route that brought her by the classrooms. The singing had ceased. Even so, she stopped for a moment, in case they might start again. Instead, the door swung open, and thirty children in the oldest age bracket drifted out. They squabbled, let out adolescent howls, elbowed each other, and stared at Vanja. There was no sign that any of them had just been part of creating a sound so beautiful it hurt. Vanja set her course for home with a feeling of having somehow been made fun of.

That night, the bed still hadn’t arrived. The four members of the household had dinner together; the conversation consisted mainly of Nina’s small talk and Ulla’s acerbic comments. Vanja replied mechanically to questions aimed at her. She caught herself avoiding Nina’s eyes. Bedtime was very slow in coming. They undressed in silence. This time, Vanja carefully scooted back until one of her shoulder blades brushed against Nina’s back. Nina didn’t pull away, but nor did she come closer.

SECONDAY

The bookshelves in the library had been reorganized to make the gaps less obvious. Evgen sat behind his desk, writing index cards. When Vanja came in, he looked up and gave her a guarded smile. He looked less devastated.

“Hello again,” Vanja said.

“Welcome back,” Evgen said. “How are you getting on with number seven?”

“I like it very much.”

“Keep it a while. It gets better every time you read it.”

“I forgot to register it properly last time.” Vanja put the book down on the desk.

“Right, right.” Evgen took the library card from the pocket inside the cover and wrote something on it.

“Have you read any of her other poetry?” Vanja asked.

Evgen looked up. “What other poetry?”

Vanja hesitated. “I heard… I heard she wrote other poetry as well.”

Evgen rubbed the library card between his fingers. “Nothing that’s been published,” he said eventually. “Except the hymn.”

“A hymn?”

“Yes. But it’s not considered part of her work.” Evgen shrugged. “I can show it to you.”

He walked over to a bookcase in a different part of the room and drew out a thin booklet. “Here.”

The booklet was printed with the title A Book of Songs by Amatka’s Best Poets. Evgen opened it, turned a couple of pages, and held it out to Vanja. It was a call-and-response chant.

Vanja looked up at Evgen. “It seems…,” she started, “sarcastic?”

Evgen gave her a tight smile.

An awkward silence descended on the room. Evgen seemed about to speak a few times but stopped himself.

“Listen,” Vanja said finally, “I was wondering if you have any historical information on… on hygiene habits?”

Evgen blinked. “Hygiene?”

“Yes. Because I’m actually here on an assignment. For a hygiene company. And I thought that maybe you might have some books or documents about that kind of thing.”

Evgen stared into space for a few seconds. Then he said “Hygiene, no, no books. But the letter collections.” He stood up and walked around his desk, heading for a door at the far end of the room. “Follow me.”

It was a long, narrow room, almost like a corridor. Shelves running the length of the walls were stacked with meticulous rows of gray boxes. Vanja walked along the shelves. The boxes weren’t marked BOX. Their rough surfaces were only labeled with years and subject words.

“Where did these boxes come from?” she asked. “Are they…?”

Evgen nodded. “Good boxes. They’ve been here from the start.”

He pulled out a box and put it in Vanja’s hands. “What’s this?” Vanja locked her elbows to get a better grip.

“Letters and journals. Some people I came to think of.”

“Do you know this archive by heart?”

Evgen reached for another box. “I sort all the documents that come in when someone’s died. All biographical texts are to be preserved.”

“But you haven’t always been here, have you? How do you know so much about them?”

“I like reading.” Evgen waved his box at the door.

He set his box down on the table in the middle of the library. Vanja put hers on top. Evgen took a pair of thin gloves from his pocket and handed them to her.

“Like I said, letters and journals,” Evgen said, and opened the first box. “This one contains letters from one Kettuns’ Daniel. He frequently wrote to his brother in Essre about some sort of eczema he had. His brother sent the letters here a couple of years ago, after Daniel’s death.” He pointed to the other box. “Journal entries and letters from pioneers in that one. Some of them mention, uh, bodily matters.”

“Is this paper, all of it?” Vanja asked. “Good paper?”

“It is. And I won’t let the committee have it.” Evgen made a face. “Yet.”

“That’s good.”

“There’s coffee in my thermos,” Evgen said. “In case you need it.”

Vanja smiled at him. He returned the smile, warily, and sat back down at his desk. Then there was just the rasp of his pencil on the index cards.

Like Evgen had said, Kettuns’ Daniel’s letters were all addressed to a brother, Vikuns’ Tor, in Essre. The oldest letter had been written ten years earlier; the last one was three years old. Daniel had written about one letter every other month and almost exclusively about his body.

Vanja leafed through the pages. Detailed accounts of Daniel’s hygiene habits, his opinions on various soaps and creams, his ruminations on himself. He never referred to his brother’s replies. But the eczema grew steadily worse.

Daniel tried a range of different treatments: he was committed to the clinic for a round of warm mushroom poultices. He tried diets that excluded mushrooms, root vegetables, or beans by turns. Nothing worked. His joints and muscles began to ache. He wrote less and less often.

The rest of the letter was missing. Vanja leafed through the pages. The letter at the bottom of the box consisted of a few short lines. It was dated several months after the previous one.

“Excuse me,” Vanja said out loud. “Do you know what happened to Daniel? Why he died? Because he didn’t die from eczema, did he?”

“I remember it well,” Evgen said from his desk. “He lay down in front of the auto train. People talked about it for months.”

Vanja opened the next box, which contained documents from a number of authors. The paper was thin, some sheets were brittle. The documents smelled dry and musty at the same time. She leafed through logs, letters, a few journals. Most were letters. She had some success: letters from an engineer discussing the development of the commune’s products with a colleague. A doctor ranting in his diary about the excessive use of soap. After a while, she noticed a cup of coffee by her elbow. The doctor’s diary ended abruptly. The last third had been ripped out.

Some letters from a “Jenny” filled the bottom third of the box. Jenny was a pioneer—not just a pioneer to Amatka from Essre, but born on the other side, before the colonization. She wrote letters to her mother in a childish, sprawling hand.

Vanja learned in the first letter that Jenny’s mother hadn’t joined the colonization. Jenny wrote to her anyway, to keep the memory of her mother alive. She gave detailed descriptions of the colonization as she lived it: long rides on uncomfortable seats in coaches that broke down one after the other; the temporary camps; the “hard mental work” of building Amatka. After that particular mention, the page had simply been cut in half. When the letter continued, Jenny was complaining about the lack of basic necessities and that they had to go months without basic hygiene and medical supplies.

Vanja noted the word “disposable pad” down. Several pages were missing from this letter as well. Finally, she got up to stretch her back. There was a vague discomfort in her belly. She must be hungry.

“Did you find anything?” Evgen said from his desk.

“Yes, plenty. But there are pages missing in several places.”

“That means they’ve been redacted.”

“Redacted?”

Evgen cleared his throat. Vanja pulled the corners of her mouth down. Evgen looked at her and nodded. Silence fell once more.

“Is that your job?” Vanja asked.

“Yes. At least it is when new material comes in.”

“So then you know what they said.”

He cleared his throat again.

“Sometimes I think…,” Vanja began, glancing at Evgen.

If she had misinterpreted him the last time she was here, this could end badly. She steeled herself and continued. “Sometimes I think it would be nice to know if one could choose another way of life. If it were possible to find out what really happened before. And then make up one’s own mind.”

Evgen met her gaze. He was about to reply when the door slammed in the coatroom. He instantly started putting the papers back into the boxes. Vanja slunk out the door while the new visitor quizzed Evgen about biographies.

The bed hadn’t arrived. They lay back-to-back. If Nina found it awkward, it didn’t show. If she liked sharing the bed, that didn’t show, either. Her studying Vanja that first morning had probably been a coincidence. Vanja lay awake feeling the warmth of Nina’s body where it touched hers, trying to soothe herself by thinking about what she remembered from About Plant House 7.

There was something about Berols’ Anna’s language. It was as though she understood words and objects on a deeper level than anyone else. The poems weren’t just simple marking rhymes or descriptions of the world. Vanja had a feeling that the plant houses didn’t need marking anymore, because Berols’ Anna’s words had fixed their shape so completely.

THIRDAY

Again, Ulla opened the door immediately, as if she had been waiting on the other side. She showed Vanja into her room. “Take a seat,” Ulla said. “I’ll get you something to drink. Would be rude if I didn’t.”

Vanja waited while Ulla dug out a little bottle and two cups from her cabinet. At length, she sat down and poured the bottle’s contents into the cups. It was wine, and it had a sour bouquet Vanja didn’t recognize. “What is it?” she asked.

Ulla winked at her. “It’s the good stuff. Go on, then, interview me.”

“Right.” Vanja picked up her notepad and pen. “Sarols’ Ulla Three, retired doctor. Your speciality?”

“General practitioner,” Ulla replied. “Retired fifteen years.”

“And what do you do now?”

“Wait for death or better times.”

Vanja looked up.

Ulla raised her cup and grinned. “That, and I rattle my pill organizer with the other decrepits at the recreation hall.”

“So.” Vanja cleared her throat. “You remember when new hygiene products were introduced?”

Ulla laughed. “Yes, hygiene products. All right. Yes, I remember. We all thought it was silly. Everyone was using the commune’s own, and then these two new companies came along. And there will be more, as I understand it. From Essre?”

“That’s the idea.”

“But there is no difference, you know.” Ulla poured herself more wine. “New manufacturers, new labels. The muck they make it from is exactly the same.”

“That’s actually not true,” Vanja ventured. “Among other things, extract of agaric is used in…”

“Extract of agahhhric,” Ulla mimicked. “Oh really. And what’s the main ingredient?”

“Well… soap base. And cream base.”

Ulla raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that made of? Because it’s not all mushroom extracts and bean oils.”

“It’s…” Vanja struggled. “It comes from the factories in Odek.”

“That’s right.” Ulla patted Vanja’s hand. “And what do they manufacture in the factories in Odek? What is the substance they use to make every last thing we have?”

Vanja swallowed.

Ulla shot her a sharp smile. “Isn’t it strange how one is so frightened by, say, a cup dissolving into sludge? And in the next moment, one rubs oneself all over with something that’s made from exactly the same sludge.”

“It’s not the same,” Vanja protested. “It’s… a cream base. The other is… it’s…”

“You know what it is. Everything that comes out of the factories is made from the same stuff.”

It was almost as though the shape of the cup in front of her was starting to melt, as though the table were suddenly sagging.

“Table,” Vanja mumbled reflexively. “Cup.”

“Exactly!” Ulla said. “You know how it works. Everyone knows how it works.”

“Why are you being like this?” There was a sour taste at the back of Vanja’s throat.

The sharp smile returned. “Because I think it’s funny. It’s so funny that you can be so aware of the truth, and still come here and try to sound as though your… specialists, or whatever they are, that you’re making something that doesn’t come from the same place as everything else. Tables and cups. Creams and clothes and… suitcases.” The last word was no more than a whisper.

“You said it yourself, everyone knows.” Vanja pushed her chair back.

Ulla watched her with unblinking eyes. “But have you never wondered?” she said. “If you just changed a consonant, or… misspoke. Just once.” She pointed at Vanja’s cup. “Knife,” she hissed.

The word stabbed at Vanja’s ears. She couldn’t look away from the cup. It kept its shape.

Ulla laughed. “Look how scared you are!”

“I could… I could report you.” Vanja got to her feet and moved away from the cup.

“Go ahead. Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Go and make your report.” Ulla reached for Vanja’s cup and raised it to her lips. “But I don’t think you will.”

“Why not?”

Ulla looked at Vanja over the rim of her cup. “Because I think that someone who lets two of her things dissolve over the course of just one week… might not be too happy with the order of things, if you know what I mean.” She slurped at her wine. “Besides, didn’t you hear? I’m old and confused.”

Vanja spent the afternoon in her room, wrapped in a duvet at her desk. All she could see through the window were roofs and the curves of the plant houses beyond. About Plant House 7 lay opened in front of her, full of comforting descriptions of the world, more and more soothing every time she read them. And yet Ulla’s words wouldn’t leave her alone. Someone who lets two of her things dissolve over the course of just one week might not be too happy with the order of things. Neither was Ulla, it seemed. And if one were to judge from that hymn and handwritten poetry, nor was Berols’ Anna. There was more to her than the plant house poems and the simple epitaph in the history book. Ulla knew something. She wanted something, too. The question was what.

FOURDAY

“Distillate Number One, forty-six volume percent alcohol. Made from turnips,” Vanja read out loud.

“Amatka’s most popular alcoholic beverage, after Distillate Number Four,” Nina said. “Average consumption three point seventy-five liters per person per year.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I have patients with cirrhosis. There’s a lot of cirrhosis going around.”

“In Essre, it’s two and a half liters,” Vanja said.

“And how do you know that?”

“I wrote a pamphlet about temperance.” Vanja held out her cup.

Nina chortled and gave her a refill. It was the afternoon. It had been about an hour since Nina came home and set the bottle on the table with a deep thud: “I have tomorrow off. Let’s drink.”

And that was that. Nina made strong coffee and poured enough distillate in the cups that the rising steam pricked Vanja’s nostrils. The liquor was harsher than in Essre and spread an acrid warmth through her chest. Nina was rosy cheeked and told stories about patients with weird injuries.

Vanja’s shoulders were slowly lowering. She had no funny stories to tell, but she enjoyed listening to Nina.

“It’s great seeing you laugh,” Nina said.

Vanja flushed. “What, don’t I normally?”

Nina shook her head. “No. And that’s a shame, because your whole face lights up. You’re so serious all the time, all worry lines.”

Vanja scraped at the bottle’s label with her thumbnail. “Maybe.”

Nina reached out and stopped her fidgeting. “Hey. What happened to you?”

“What do you mean, what happened to me?”

“You know, when we were at the clinic. Down at the fert unit.”

“Oh. That.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s not much to say.”

Nina took the bottle and mixed them a new batch of coffee and distillate. “It happened to me, too,” she said. “Before I had Tora. Ivar and I had been inseminating at home, you know, with one of those baster things…”

“Inseminating?” Vanja said. “I thought you were…”

“What? No, no.” Nina laughed. “Haven’t you ever wondered why we have separate rooms?”

“I thought it was so there would be fewer empty rooms.”

Nina laughed again and shook her head. “No, no, no. See, we’re best friends since the children’s house. We’ve always lived together. It was just more practical to make a couple of children together, instead of standing in line at the clinic or trying to pick someone up at the leisure center.”

“I see.” Vanja started picking at the bottle label again.

“Anyway… we’d been trying for a good while with that syringe. And then I thought it finally worked. But I had a miscarriage more or less straight away. It was horrible.”

“But why?” Vanja said quietly. “Why was it horrible?”

“Because I’d been hoping, you know? And because I wanted to have children, and, well, contribute. Do my part for the commune. According to my ability, right?” Nina shrugged. “But then Tora and Ida came. I guess I’m trying to say that things might go better next time.”

“There is no next time,” Vanja said. She pinched a corner of the label between her thumb and forefinger and tugged at it. “They’ve given up. It didn’t work.”

Nina sighed. “I’m so very sorry to hear that.”

Vanja tore the corner off and rolled it between her fingers. She downed her drink. “But that’s not why.”

“Then why?” Nina tilted her head.

“I mean. What if one doesn’t want to.” The words seemed to have a will of their own. “If one doesn’t want to have children. One waits, and sort of hopes that it doesn’t have to happen. And then one turns twenty-five, and the questions start coming, and they put you in a room with a counselor who explains that it’s one’s communal duty, and finally one gives in, one goes to the fert unit and shakes hands with some pitiful man who has to masturbate into a cup so the doctors have something to impregnate one with, and one resigns and puts one’s feet in the stirrups because one has. No. Choice.” She was out of words. She rested her face in her hands.

Nina got up from her chair and sat down next to Vanja. She pulled her close and held her without speaking.

After a while, Vanja straightened up. She wiped her face with her shirtsleeves.

Nina put a hand on Vanja’s knee. “I’m sorry you’re in pain, Vanja. I really am. But both you and I do know why everything is like it is. It’s so that we can survive.”

Vanja stood up. The room seemed to tilt sideways ever so slightly. “I’m going out.”

She went up to her room and stuffed two blankets into her satchel. She looked into the kitchen on her way out. Nina sat with her chin in her hand. She was topping off her cup again.

The raw lake air was refreshing, even though everything still felt remote. Vanja walked north along the beach. Tundra, shingles, grass. She came to a spit of land where a group of boulders offered shelter from the wind and a place to sit. She spread out a blanket and sat down with her back to one of the larger rocks. Dusk was falling. Slow waves lapped against the beach; the rush of water on stone was unfamiliar and calming at the same time. Her eyes felt crusty from tears and alcohol. Vanja tied her earflaps under her chin, leaned her head back against the rock, and closed her eyes.

They were always kind. The doctors, the nurses, the technicians. It was always with the same polite care that they showed her to her room, established that it was time, examined her. A nurse held her hand and gently pushed her shoulders back into the chair when she panicked. They tried to comfort her, telling her that it was normal to be nervous, that she was such a good girl, while they attempted to plant a little parasite inside her.

The sound of footsteps made her open her eyes again. It had grown darker, and the waves had abated. A figure stood a few steps away. In the fading light, it was hard to make out features, but the posture made it look like an old woman in a pair of overalls. She was holding the end of something resembling a stick, or a pipe, which she’d plunged into the water. The woman turned. It was too murky to see her face. She nodded at Vanja and turned back toward the lake.

When the water whitened, the old woman raised her arms so that the end of what she was holding hung just below her chin. She supported her elbows on her stomach and remained standing like that while the water froze. Vanja tried to keep her eyes open, but the drowsiness was overpowering. She managed to raise her eyelids a couple of times. The woman was still there, unmoving.

When Vanja managed to open her eyes one last time, all she could see was the woman’s silhouette against the light from Amatka’s plant houses; the lake was a still, black expanse, inseparable from the night. The woman took a deep breath and put her lips to the thing she held in her hands. Vanja felt rather than heard the note vibrate through her body. It continued for a long time. Finally, the sound faded. The woman straightened and pulled the pipe up. It ended in a narrow funnel. The woman slung the pipe over her shoulder and left.

It was warm between the blankets. The rocks around her were comfortable if Vanja just adjusted her position a little. She leaned back, turned her head, and closed her eyes again.

It happened at dawn. Something like a chorus of discordant flutes rang out. Vanja turned her head. A group of people were approaching across the ice. She couldn’t quite make them out; their shapes wavered as if in a heat haze. She was so tired. Her eyes fell shut again.

The beach bathed in the light of morning. She must have slept through the breaking of the ice. Her neck ached. When she stood up, the hangover hit her.

FIFDAY

Nina sat by the kitchen table with her head in her hands. If she’d been sitting there all night, or if she’d just sat back down, was impossible to say. The bottle and the cups were cleared away, in any case. She turned toward the door when Vanja entered.

“Where have you been?”

“By the lake.”

“All night?”

“All night. I fell asleep.”

“How stupid can you get?” Nina stood up. “You walk off just like that and don’t come back. Do you think that’s fair?” She was standing in front of Vanja now, gripping her shoulders. “And you can’t just spend the night there. People have disappeared that way, Vanja.”

Vanja looked down at her shoes. Nina let go of her shoulders and rubbed her face.

“I’m sorry,” Vanja said. “I didn’t know you’d be worried.”

Nina lowered her hands and stared at Vanja. “You are stupid.”

Vanja stared back. “I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, that much is clear.” Nina took one of Vanja’s hands in hers and trailed her fingertips over the red knuckles. “You’re all chapped.”

She abruptly let go and went into the bathroom. After rummaging around for a moment, she came back out, a jar in her hand. “Sit down.”

Nina sat down next to her, opened the jar, and dipped a finger in it. She took one of Vanja’s hands and rubbed cream into the knuckles with light, circular movements. Vanja’s skin stung as the cream sank in. Nina’s hands worked their way down her fingers. Where she touched the delicate fold between the fingers, little warm jolts traveled up Vanja’s wrist. Her consciousness narrowed down into the point where their bodies met. Vanja extended her hand, and Nina’s fingers wandered up to the thin skin on the inside of her wrist. She didn’t dare look up.

Nina leaned over until their faces nearly touched, so close that Vanja felt the warmth radiating from her skin. Then her lips brushed the corner of Vanja’s mouth. Just once, gently. She pulled back a little.

Vanja touched the spot where Nina had kissed her. It almost hurt. “I didn’t think.”

There were no more words. Instead, she leaned forward.

Later, when they lay curled up face-to-face in Nina’s bed, and Nina’s hand traced the contours of Vanja’s face, the cuff of her sleeve tickling Vanja’s cheek, Vanja said: “What do you dream about at night?”

Nina smiled weakly and ran her fingers through Vanja’s hair. “Oh, you know. About Sevenday and playing with the girls. About going to work. Or about going to work naked.” She raised her eyebrows. “Or about being naked with someone… like that shy beauty from Essre.” She chuckled. “You’re blushing!”

“No, I’m not.”

Nina stopped laughing, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Vanja smiled a little and shook her head. She made another attempt. “Have you ever dreamed about something that doesn’t, I mean, that doesn’t belong here?”

Nina stiffened. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I was just wondering.”

Nina rolled over onto her back. She stared at the ceiling.

“I think everyone has,” Vanja said. “Sometime.”

“I don’t understand why you want to talk about it.”

Vanja hesitated. “Not sure.”

Nina glanced at her. She extended an arm and pointed at the poster on the wall. As morning comes we see and say: today’s the same as yesterday. “Today’s the same as yesterday,” she said.

“Today’s the same as yesterday,” Vanja echoed.

“Full stop.” Nina rolled back onto her side and pulled Vanja toward her. She was solid, tangible. Vanja sank into her spicy-sweet scent.

The slam of the front door woke her. She glanced at the clock. It was almost three. Beside her, Nina stretched languidly.

“I have to go,” Vanja said. “I have to make a telephone call at four.”

“To whom? Your supervisor?”

Vanja nodded. “It’s some sort of debriefing. I’m supposed to get new assignments for the final week…” She paused. “This is my final week.”

Nina slid an arm around her waist. “Stay a while longer,” she mumbled into Vanja’s neck.

“I really have to be there at four.”

“No, I mean stay here. Quit that job. Stay here with me.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I just told you.”

Vanja sat up. “I need to think.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Nina pulled her arm back.

“No, I mean…” Vanja picked at the cuff of her shirt. “I need to think.”

“I’ll try not to worry while you do, then. Off you go.”

Vanja walked in a slow spiral through the streets toward the center. Soon, she would board the train and go home. Everything would be just like before, the days lined up in perfect uniformity: she would go to work, go home, go to bed. She would go to the leisure center on Sevendays and watch the others play games and dance; day after day after day, just like she always had, until she retired and moved into the home for the elderly to await death. Without Nina.

At five minutes to four, as she stood at the commune office’s reception desk with a large, black telephone in front of her, she had made up her mind. She read the wall posters while the receptionist shuffled papers on the other side of the desk.

“It’s four o’clock,” the receptionist eventually said.

He picked up the receiver, pressed a button, and handed the receiver to Vanja.

The supervisor’s voice was faint and crackly on the other end of the line. She was very impressed with Vanja’s work so far, and would send her extra credits as a reward. She looked forward to seeing Vanja do a presentation when she returned to Essre. Vanja’s work was so outstanding it would be used as a model for future market research. And would she be interested in going to Odek or Balbit after this? Or would she prefer to stay in Essre?

“No,” Vanja said carefully. It felt right. “No. I’m going to stay here.”

“But you can’t do that,” the supervisor said. “You were supposed to give a presentation. That’s part of the assignment.”

“That’s not in my contract. It says I’m supposed to collect and send information.”

“No, but of course you’re supposed to present it, too. We have to be able to ask questions!”

“Everything is in the reports. There’s not much else. I’ll send the final report soon.”

The line crackled empty for a moment. “I don’t know what to say,” the supervisor said eventually. “I didn’t see this coming.”

“My contract doesn’t state,” Vanja repeated, “that I’m supposed to do more than conduct an investigation and then send you reports.”

“But it’s a given.”

“Not to me. And it doesn’t say how long I have to work for, either. You only said to take all the time I needed. And I have.”

“I see.” The supervisor’s voice was strangely small. “You do understand that you’re making our job harder, Vanja. What we’re trying to do is no easy thing.”

“Well, be that as it may, I’m resigning.”

“You’ll lose your bonus.” The voice had slipped into a whine. “And I won’t write a letter of recommendation.”

“It’s just soap. Good-bye,” Vanja said.

“Shit,” the supervisor said.

Vanja put the receiver down. She let out a long, shuddering breath.

The receptionist lifted the telephone off the desk and looked at her with raised eyebrows. He had very obviously listened in on the conversation.

“I’m registering for residence.” Vanja took her papers out of the breast pocket on her anorak. “And I want to sign up for work.”

Becoming a member of Amatka’s commune was a quick process. A short form to complete the information she had given on arrival, a requisition form for transport of any belongings from Essre, a labor registration form where she listed her skills and work history. The receptionist took the finished forms, read them through, and then dug a list out of one of the piles of paper on the desk. He checked Vanja’s labor registration form against the list, nodded, scrutinized her, and then looked back down at the papers.

“You’ll be an assistant here at the commune office,” he said. “That’s what’s available. Because I noticed you have no farming experience.”

“No.”

“You’ll start on Firstday at eight, work until five, one-hour break at midday.”

“What will I be doing?”

“Admin tasks. We’ll go through them when you start. I’m busy at the moment.”

The receptionist sat back down behind the desk and demonstratively turned his gaze to his piles of paper.

Vanja stepped out onto the darkening plaza with a gnawing feeling in her stomach. Maybe this was all wrong. Maybe it was completely insane. She walked along the twilit streets, following the weary stream of workers on their way home. The outdoor lamps lit up one after the other. The cold yellow light brought out lines and folds in the introverted faces around her. No one met her gaze.

When she arrived at the household—no, home—the front door opened a crack. Nina stood in the coatroom, arms folded across her chest. She had been waiting. Vanja felt her face break into a smile. Nina smiled back, at first warily, then broadly.

“You’re staying,” she said when Vanja reached the door.

Something in Vanja’s belly clenched hard and then relaxed. She nodded.

SIXDAY

Vanja sat at her desk wrapped in the duvet. She finished her last report, in which she noted that the citizens of Amatka had expressed no need for new hygiene products, with two exceptions: a hypoallergenic laundry detergent and a mild antidandruff hair soap. She ended the report with her resignation.

She looked at the report she had just written, stood up, took a turn around the room, and sat back down. The duvet bunched up under her thighs. There wasn’t really anything else to say. She stared at her notes from the meeting with Ulla. They were unusable. They should be scrapped immediately. Instead, she put them at the very back of the NOTES folder. She gathered up the pages of the official report and popped them into a brown envelope. It wasn’t even midday. She stared blankly at the envelope until the lumpy duvet under her legs brought her back, and she had to stand up and smooth it out. A small noise made her turn around. Tora and Ida stood in the doorway, watching her. It was impossible to tell how long they’d been standing there. Tora’s shirt had food stains. Ida’s mouth hung open.

Vanja attempted a smile. “Hello.”

Without a word, they turned and ran.

Ivar was the one who had fetched the children. Vanja heard him pottering about in the kitchen, talking to them. Ulla was down there as well; the sound of her sharp voice carried up through the stairwell, but Vanja couldn’t hear the actual words. Vanja waited until Ulla had shuffled back up to her own room, then went downstairs.

Ivar was frying something or other he’d found in the fridge. The children sat at the table, whispering to each other. They fell silent when Vanja entered.

Ivar turned halfway around. “I heard you’re staying.”

“Yes.” Vanja hesitated in the doorway. She couldn’t tell what Ivar was thinking.

Ivar turned back to the frying pan and nodded. “That’s good. Nina will be happy.”

“Oh. Good.” Vanja stayed in the doorway.

Tora and Ida resumed their whispering.

“Could you make some coffee,” Ivar said after a while.

They ate in silence. Vanja washed the dishes, then went upstairs. After some hesitation, she knocked on Ulla’s door. This time, it took some time before Ulla opened. She looked tired and worn; her usual smile was gone.

“What?” she said.

“I need to ask you a question,” Vanja said. “Can I come in?”

“Certainly.” Ulla took a couple of steps back.

Inside, Vanja lowered her voice to a whisper. “Were you at the lake last night?”

Ulla raised an eyebrow. “Where does this come from?”

“I was there,” Vanja said.

Ulla’s smile returned. “Went down to the lake at night, did we?”

“I thought I saw someone who looked like you.”

“I heard you were drinking.”

“I was.”

Ulla nodded. “So you went out to the lake, alone, drunk. What did you see exactly?”

“Um,” Vanja said. “I saw someone… sticking a pipe into the water… and blowing into it. There was a noise.”

“You realize how all this sounds, don’t you?” Ulla smiled at her.

Vanja held her gaze. “I think that was you.”

“And why would I be doing that?”

“Someone came from across the lake.”

Ulla’s eyes brightened for a moment. “Is that so?”

“Who was it?”

For a moment, Ulla looked as if she was about to say something. Then she shook her head. “You’re very curious, my dear. And very reckless. I think you need to ask yourself what you’re doing.”

“So there was someone.”

“I think maybe you need to stay sober.” Ulla winked at her. “Now off you go.”

Vanja returned to her room and stayed there until Nina knocked on the door to ask for help with dinner. Ulla was at the kitchen table, talking to the children. She grinned broadly at Vanja.

Someone eventually showed up to deliver a new bed. Vanja slept in her own room that night. Nina shared her bed with one of the girls. Vanja woke up several times, fumbling in vain for Nina’s warmth. The new bed had a sharp factory smell. She rested her nose on the sleeve of her sleep shirt and breathed in the scent it had absorbed from Nina. It helped, a little.

SEVENDAY

Vanja accompanied Nina and Ivar to the leisure center. Nina and Ivar joined a ring dance with the girls. Before long, half of the people in there were dancing in a long, winding line, led by a man in a wheelchair who zigzagged his way through the hall. Those who weren’t dancing clapped their hands to the rhythm and sang along in the chorus. Vanja stood at the back wall, behind the last row of benches. The din of the crowd was an assault on her ears. When someone suddenly tapped her shoulder, she jumped. It was Evgen. He leaned in close and cupped his hand around her ear. “It’s nice to bump into you. How are you?”

“I’m fine, actually,” Vanja yelled back. Raising her voice hurt her throat a little.

“And your research?”

“Well, yes. That’s fine, too, but I’m quitting.”

Evgen frowned.

“I mean, I’m quitting and I’m staying here,” Vanja said. “I got a job.”

“You got what?” Evgen leaned in closer.

“A job! At the commune office! Administration!”

Evgen put a hand on Vanja’s arm and steered her closer to the exit, where the noise was less deafening. “Did you say you were going to do admin work?”

“In the reception. Sorting papers and filing and such.”

Evgen squeezed his lips together and looked intently at her. Then he came closer again, his face turned toward the dancers so that he seemed to be commenting on the party. “Listen. What you said, the last time you came to the library.”

Vanja nodded and smiled at the room.

“Maybe I can show you something. If you help me in return.”

“With what?”

“You said it yourself. You’ll be doing admin.”

Evgen shifted uncomfortably where he stood and rubbed his hands together. “All right,” he said after a moment’s silence. “When it gets dark, go down to the lake. I’ll meet you there.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight. When everyone’s busy.” He abruptly turned and left.

Vanja lingered. She even joined in a couple of ring dances. When dinner was served on the long tables, she made her excuses to Nina. She was tired, too many people. Nina smiled, gave her a long kiss, and left with her daughters to sit at one of the tables. The eldest girl looked over her shoulder at Vanja, and for the first time she took her mother’s hand.

The remains of Old Amatka stood to the south, at the waterline: parts of the central building jutted out of the black ice, an angular husk that for some reason hadn’t been dismantled.

Evgen had met her by the beach, and they had walked off toward the ruin in silence. Just outside the building, he stopped short. He was buttoned into an enormous overcoat with a thick collar. His face was framed by a brown hat with earflaps. Vanja looked around. He might of course have led her down here to cajole a confession out of her.

“What is it?”

Evgen looked over her shoulder and back at her. “Did you…”

“No, but.” Vanja squinted at the darkness inside the ruin. She thought she could see something move in the doorway.

“Vanja.” Evgen’s voice was taut. “I’ve decided to trust you, because you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who’s said anything close to what you told me in the library. Maybe you’re just out to report me, but I… I’m willing to take the risk.” He paused for breath. “If you don’t know what I’m talking about, or if you’re the least bit uncertain, then I want you to leave and this never happened. And if you report me, I’ll report you.”

The rest of the air escaped him with a sigh. He looked small where he stood against the weak light from the colony. After a moment, Vanja realized that he was as scared as she was, if not more. She took off one of her mittens and held out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation he pulled off his glove and took it. His palm was moist and hot.

“Good.” Evgen withdrew his hand and pulled out a couple of flashlights from his coat. He gave one to Vanja. “Let’s go.”

The doorway was partly buried in the ice, and they had to crouch to get through it. The room on the other side was perhaps thirteen by thirteen feet and completely bare. Vanja let the beam of her flashlight sweep across the walls. Flakes of green paint still clung to the rough surface.

“This was the reception,” Evgen said.

Here and there, scraps of posters were stuck to the walls. There was no text, only images: a head in profile, a clenched fist, yellow rays over a landscape. Vanja aimed the beam at her feet. The ice was perfectly clear; she could see the floor a foot and a half below, bare save for a few scattered pebbles.

Further back there was another doorway, blocked with debris from a collapsed ceiling. Next to it, a set of stairs led up to the next floor. Evgen started to climb them. Vanja followed.

The construction—or deconstruction—had halted at the second floor. From the landing at the top of the stairs, two unfinished corridors led off in either direction. The left one had collapsed in on itself. Below, Vanja could glimpse the nearly buried door to the reception.

Evgen walked into the corridor on their right, stopping after a few feet. “Careful here. There’s no floor.”

Vanja walked up to stand next to him. The floor ended in darkness. She angled her flashlight downward. Below them lay the rest of the ground floor, what would have been the lounge next to the reception, if the building conformed to the standard layout. Evgen sat down on the edge and slid forward and down.

As Vanja peeked over the edge, she saw him climb down the pile of debris from the collapsed floor. She followed. The stack of thick slabs seemed stable. Evgen waited for her on the ice. He waved at her and walked around the pile to the other side. There was another doorway, half-hidden by rubble. Evgen shoved a lump of concrete aside and crawled in on his hands and knees.

He backed out again with a box in his hands. It looked like one of the boxes from the library archive. He put it down on the ice and sat down on the lump of concrete he’d just pushed away. “Have a seat.”

Vanja sat down on the edge of a piece of collapsed floor. “Doesn’t anyone else come here?”

Evgen shook his head. “It’s too close to the water. People are afraid of the lake.” He took the lid off the box and put it to one side. “Only the eccentric and the suicidal go down to the lake.” Inside the box was another lid, which he also opened. He pushed the box toward Vanja. “These should have been given to the committee for destruction, but I couldn’t do it.”

It was full of good paper, most of it covered in handwriting. Vanja took her mittens off and picked up the topmost sheet. The paper was delicate, but the words were clear in the torchlight.

Vanja recognized the childish handwriting. It was the rest of the letter from Jenny, the girl who wrote about her longing for disposable pads. The part Evgen had told her had been culled.

“Cats,” Vanja said. “Dogs… what are they?”

“Animals. A type of organism, fairly large.” Evgen gestured at knee height. “In the old world, they were kept as companions. People would eat some of them.”

Vanja shuddered at the thought. “So they brought those? It says she saw them in the street.”

Evgen shook his head. “The pioneers didn’t bring any animals at all, I know that much. I’ve read somewhere that they had plans to bring animals later, but it never happened. Something prevented them.”

“But if they didn’t bring any animals…”

Evgen looked at her in silence. He pointed at the letter.

Vanja turned the paper over, but the other side was blank. If there were more pages, they were missing. “What was it?” she asked.

“The animal?”

“Yes.”

Evgen gave her a long look. “I think you know.”

Vanja folded the paper. Her hands were trembling.

“Read more.” Evgen browsed through the pile and pulled something out. “Here. It’s by an industrial inspector.”

They were pages torn from a book, a log.

Vanja put the papers back in the box. There was a sour taste on her tongue.

“I was on the committee a few years back,” Evgen said. “I was deposed. It’s a long story, but in any case, they offered me to resign voluntarily in exchange for a job at the library. I was entrusted with the task of redacting the archive material.” He gestured at the box. “I should have scrapped it. And I did, at first. But then I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted to know.” He looked up at Vanja. “Now I’ve entrusted this to you. You want to know. So few people want to know.”

Vanja sat in silence, staring at the box. Her hands were freezing. She shoved them into the sleeves of her anorak. “We’re the ones creating everything. Everything.”

“They pump the raw sludge out of the ground over in Odek,” Evgen said. “And then shape it in the factories.”

“And we have to keep telling it what it is. Or it’ll revert to sludge.”

“But it’s not just that. That… cat… came from somewhere.”

“They talked it into existence.”

“Just like Colony Five talked itself into destruction….”

Vanja felt slightly sick at the thought of it.

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Evgen continued. “If we could harness it. Or if we could somehow live in harmony with it.” He pointed at the papers. “It all starts with us forcing matter into a shape it can’t maintain. If we didn’t, if we could learn to live another way… But we can’t, as long as all this knowledge is kept secret.”

Evgen put the inner lid back on, then the outer one. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but fifteen years ago we lost almost a hundred people.”

“The fire in the leisure center?”

“There was no fire. It was Berols’ Anna. The poet with the Plant House series. She left with a group of followers to start a new colony.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. They sent out a rescue team after a while. Officially, the rescue team found everyone dead, and then the story changed again—no one had ever left. Not even the members of the committee found out what had happened. Only the rescue team and the Speaker at the time knew, but he’s dead now. Anyway, I think it’s the other way around. I think Anna’s people managed to create something new. Real freedom.”

“What makes you think that?”

“They never brought any bodies back. They said they’d dug a mass grave out there, but I don’t believe it for a second. Nobody would leave a hundred bodies out there when they could be recycled. We could never afford it.” Evgen let out a long breath. “And I think, now that the committee is coming after the library… I think something is happening up here. Something big. I think the committee’s afraid that whatever happened with Berols’ Anna’s people will happen here, too.”

“They need the good paper for something.”

“Yes, exactly. It’s for documents and books, after all, for things that mark. That define. And they need lots of it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Can’t you find out?”

“Hardly. I’m not on the committee anymore. But you could. You’ll be able to go through the archives. You’ll be able to find out what they want with all the paper.”

“And if I can find that out…”

“…then we can figure out what they’re planning.”

Evgen looked Vanja in the eye. “And you can help me find information about what happened with Anna’s colony. Because if they succeeded, we have to learn how to do it. So we can do more than just survive. I mean, the way things are now—we’re alive, but what kind of life is it?”

“We speak of new worlds, we speak of new lives, we speak to give ourselves, to become,” Vanja mumbled.

“What’s that?” Evgen said.

“It’s a poem,” Vanja said. “By Berols’ Anna.”

“I’m not familiar with that.”

“It was in a book I found at Ulla’s apartment.”

“Huh,” Evgen said. “I’d like to read that.”

“You would have to speak to Ulla.”

“Who is this Ulla?”

“A retired doctor,” Vanja said. “She says she knew Anna back in the day.”

“That’s very interesting,” Evgen said. “You should talk to her more.”

“I am,” Vanja said.

“What has she said?”

Vanja hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

Evgen studied her. “Get back to me when you’re sure, then.”

The house was quiet and empty when Vanja returned. Ivar and Nina would come home alone; the children were always fetched from the rec center on Sevenday evening so they could start the week in their own beds at the children’s houses. Vanja crawled into Nina’s bed and lay awake until she heard footsteps on the stairs. Nina came into the room, moving as quietly as she could. Vanja heard clothes fall to the floor. Then Nina crawled in under the duvet. She slid an arm around Vanja’s waist. Her touch spread warmth through Vanja’s limbs, relaxing her tense muscles.

When Vanja decided to find the place outside Essre that Lars had told her about, she’d walked eastward for what felt like hours. At first the plant-house ring lit the ground before her, but the light soon began to fade. Instead, a cold gleam appeared up ahead. The ground slowly rose into a ridge that glittered with night dew in the backlight. From the top, the ground sloped sharply down into a deep valley. And there it was: the village.

Surrounded by a low wall, the windowless houses were irregularly shaped, rounded and flowing, their domed roofs crowned with little symbols. Among the buildings spotlights mounted on tripods illuminated patches of walls and ground. Vanja could make out figures moving about. They looked small at first, like children, until she realized that it was because the houses were enormous. The thresholds reached the people walking around outside to their knees. Some of the houses seemed to have soft walls that draped into folds, but seeing a figure in overalls leaning against one of them, Vanja realized they were hard, too.

She crept closer to see better. None of the people walking around among the buildings seemed to pay much attention to their surroundings. No one seemed to be standing watch. Vanja crawled through the cold grass until she could crouch behind the wall and peek over the edge.

The men and women wore torn and dirty overalls. The men’s beards were unkempt, some long enough to reach their chests. They ambled aimlessly through the alleys or sat on the ground. No one spoke. Vanja jumped when a woman slowly turned her way and came closer. She waited for the woman to speak to her, or point and call out, or grab her. None of those things happened. The woman gawped at Vanja. Her black hair was dull and lank against her face. A thin string of saliva slowly dribbled down her chin and dripped onto her chest. Then her gaze moved on. She walked away.

Vanja crept along the wall, now and then peering over the top. It was the same everywhere: men and women silently and aimlessly shuffling about or leaning against the walls. The houses had no doors, just empty openings through which Vanja could glimpse beds and tables.

A man stepped out of one of the houses and into the light of a lamp. His overalls weren’t as soiled as the others, and his beard still fairly tidy. Vanja didn’t recognize him at first: his face was slack and expressionless, his eyes dry and lifeless. He was swaying. A dark stain slowly spread from his crotch down his legs.

Vanja ran back up the slope, away from the town and away from Lars, who wasn’t Lars anymore.