Slow River

Chapter 24

The seven hours between lunch and dinner are the longest part of the day. She tries to stay fit by doing stretches and sit-ups and resistance exercises, but she does not have the strength to work out for more than thirty or forty minutes. The rest of the time drags. She weeps often: for herself, for Stella, for Tok. She wonders why her family has not ransomed her.

Something is different. Both men come into the tent together. She sits at the far end of the tent while they stand at the entrance. They fill the tent, breathe all her air. She must not look scared or they will know she is no longer drugged,

“Your family is stalling,” Crablegs says.

Lore looks from one to the other, not sure if she should say anything.

Fishface squats down until his hooded face is only a foot or so higher than Lore’s. “We’ve asked for thirty million,” he explains, “which isn’t much.”

“They say ten is all they’ll give, We think maybe they don’t care whether you live or die.”

Fishface stands. “If they don’t give us the money, we can’t give you back. You do understand that, don’t you?”

He sounds genuinely regretful. Lore wants to reach out and pat his arm, let him know she understands that he is really trying.

“Think about what you want to say to them, to persuade them to pay.” They leave without another word.

Ten million. What can she say that will make them pay if they don’t want to? And why wouldn’t they want to?

She thinks of Katerine, and Oster. Perhaps they are still competing for her.

Then why haven’t they paid?

When Crablegs brings the camera again, what will she say to convince her parents that she is worth thirty million?

Lore looks inside herself and finds only a vast space. Who is she? Her father would recognize the Lore who goes with him to count fish in the bay, and talk about the silliness of their ancestors. Katerine, on the other hand, knows and cares only for the Project Deputy, the efficient young woman who designs huge systems and suavely courts the Minister for This and the Commissar of That.

But what of the girl who would lie in Anne’s arms and swim with Sarah, the child who dreams of monsters and still sometimes gets up in the middle of the night to check the lock on her door? Who will recognize her? No one but herself. She has shared none of these things, told them to no one. She has been so alone.