Son. Lois Lowry

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СКАЧАТЬ Miriam made a face. “I don’t have a scar.” She turned away and joined another conversation.

      Claire tried again, carefully asking a few other Vessels. But no one had a scar. No one had a wound. After a while, her own ache subsided, and she tried to ignore the uneasy awareness that something had gone very wrong.

      Then she was called in. “Claire,” the voice from the speaker announced at midday while the Vessels were eating, “please report to the office immediately after lunch.”

      Flustered, Claire looked around. Across the table was Elissa, a special friend. They had been selected the same year, both Twelves at the same time, and so she had known Elissa through her school years. But Elissa was newer here; she had not been inseminated as soon as Claire. Now she was in the early stages of her first Production.

      “What’s that about?” Elissa asked her when they heard the directive.

      “I don’t know.”

      “Did you do something wrong?”

      Claire frowned. “I don’t think so. Maybe I forgot to fold my laundry.”

      “They wouldn’t call you in for that, would they?”

      “I don’t think so. It’s so minor.”

      “Well,” Elissa said, beginning to stack her empty dishes, “you’ll find out soon enough. It’s probably nothing. See you later!” She left Claire still sitting at the table.

      But it was not nothing. Claire stood facing them in dismay as the committee told her of their decision. She had been decertified.

      “Gather your things,” they told her. “You’ll be moved this afternoon.”

      “Why?” she asked. “Was it because … well, I could tell that something went wrong, but I …”

      They were kind, solicitous. “It wasn’t your fault.”

      “What wasn’t my fault?” she asked, aware that she shouldn’t press them but unable to stop herself. “If you could just explain …?”

      The committee head shrugged. “These things happen. A physical problem. It should have been detected sooner. You should not have been inseminated. Who was your first Examiner?” he asked.

      “I don’t remember her name.”

      “Well, we’ll find out. Let’s hope it was her first error, so that she will have another chance.”

      They dismissed her then, but she turned at the door because she could not leave without asking.

      “My Product?”

      He looked at her dismissively, then relented. He turned to another committee member near him at the table and nodded to the papers in front of her, directing her to look up the information.

      “What number was it?” the woman asked him, but he ignored the question. “Well,” she said, “I’ll check by name. You’re—Claire?”

      As if they didn’t know. They had summoned her here by name. But she nodded.

      She moved her finger down a page. “Yes. Here you are. Claire: Product number Thirty-six. Oh yes, I see the notations about the difficulties.”

      She looked up. Claire touched her own belly, remembering.

      The woman returned the paper to the pile and tapped the edges of the stack to make it tidy. “He’s fine,” she said.

      The committee head glared at her.

      “It.” She corrected herself. “I meant that it’s fine. The medical difficulties didn’t affect it.

      “You’ll be fine too, Claire,” she added, affably.

      “Where am I going?” Claire asked. Suddenly she was frightened. They hadn’t yet said she was being reassigned. Just decertified. So she would no longer be a Birthmother. That made sense. Her body had not performed that function well. But what if—? What if decertified people were simply released? The way failures often were?

      But their reply was reassuring. “Fish Hatchery,” the committee head told her. “You’re being moved there. They need help; they’re short of workers. Your training will start in the morning. You’ll have to catch up. Luckily you have a quick mind.”

      He dismissed her now with a wave of his hand, and Claire went back to the Dormitory to gather her few things. It was rest time. The other Vessels were all napping, the doors to their cubicle-like rooms closed.

      He, she thought as she packed the few personal items that she had. It was a he. I produced a baby boy. I had a son. The feeling of loss overwhelmed her again.

      

      YOU’LL BE ISSUED a bicycle.” The man—his nametag said dimitri, hatchery supervisor—gestured toward the area where bicycles were standing in racks. He had met her at the door, unsurprised by her arrival. Obviously he had been notified that she was on her way.

      Claire nodded. Confined to the Birthing Unit and its surrounding grounds for over a year now, she had not needed any kind of transportation. And she had walked here, carrying her small case of belongings, from the Birthmothers’ area to the northeast. It wasn’t far, and she knew the route, but after so many months, everything seemed new and unfamiliar. She had passed the school and saw children at their required exercise in the recreation field. None seemed to recognize her, though they looked curiously at the young woman walking along the path at midday. It was unusual. Most people were at their jobs. Those who needed to be out and about were on bicycles making their way from one building to another. No one walked. A small girl with hair ribbons grinned at Claire from the exercise routine, and waved surreptitiously; Claire smiled back, remembering her own beribboned days, but an instructor called sharply to the child, who made a face and turned back to the assigned calisthenics.

      Across the Central Plaza, she caught a glimpse, in the Dwelling area, of the small house where she had grown up. Other people would live there now, couples newly assigned to each other, perhaps waiting for …

      She averted her eyes from the Nurturing Center. It was, she knew, where the Products were taken after the birthing. Usually in groups. Early morning, most often. Once, sleepless at dawn, she had watched from the window of her cubicle and seen four Products, tucked into baskets, loaded into a two-wheeled cart attached to the back of a bicycle. After checking their security in the cart, the birthing attendant had ridden off toward the Nurturing Center to deliver them there.

      She wondered if her own Product, her boy, number Thirty-six, had been taken to the Nurturing Center yet. Claire knew that they waited—sometimes days, occasionally weeks, making certain that everything was going well, that the Products were healthy—to make the transfer.

      Well. She sighed. Time to put it out of her mind. She walked on, past the hall of Law and Justice. Peter, whom she had once known as a СКАЧАТЬ