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I continue speaking. “I thought the meats we’ve been eating here were from the farm. Not shipped in. But now it makes sense. At the rate we consume meat, there’s no way the cattle could be self-sustaining. Most of the meat would have to be brought in.”
But Sissy’s head is turned away down the length of the train tracks. Her jawline ridges out, hard as a granite cliff face in moonlight. She looks at me out of the corner of her eyes, then down to her exposed forearm. At her branded flesh. “I don’t know, Gene,” she whispers, frowning. She bites her lower lip. “Call me overcautious but I still need more.”
We quietly observe the activity on the platform. More elders arrive. There’s laughter and smiles, their pleasure with the shipment obvious. Already, a few of them are opening the alcohol chests, uncorking a few bottles. I hear Krugman’s laughter lifting into the night air seconds before his face glides into view. He’s gripping two bottles by their necks like a man strangling a pair of geese.
The girls work en masse in a silent, coordinated movement: lines of them radiate out from the train station carrying containers, while other girls—empty-handed now—sweep in like a returning tide. They move slowly on account of their diminutive feet but their sheer numbers ensure that progress is steady. They will be finished unloading by dawn, noon at the latest. Then the train will be ready to make its return trip.
Sissy knows what this means. She has to make a decision soon. But her face is twisted with uncertainty.
“I have an idea, Sissy,” I say. I shift position to face her as I place my hands on her shoulders. “I’ll get on the train. But only me. You and the boys stay here. No, hear me out. I’ll go to whatever is on the other end of these tracks. If it’s everything we hope it is, if it is indeed the Promised Land, I’ll return on the next train back and get you and the boys. Then we all leave here together.”
“And if—”
“If I never make it back, you’ll know not to go there.”
She’s still shaking her head but slower as I finish speaking. A brief hesitation ripples across her face—the plan makes sense, and she knows it. But then she stares straight into my eyes. “No way,” she says.
“Sissy—”
“No. You don’t get to play sacrificial hero.”
“I’m not trying to play anything. Think it through, Sissy. With my plan, you and the boys stay together. Isn’t that what you want?”
Her eyes waver for just a moment. “We stay together—that’s what I want.”
“The boys will be fine without me.”
She places her hand on my cheek. “When I said we stay together, I meant you and me.”
My hands slip off her shoulder. “Sissy…”
“I don’t want to be without you,” she says. A breeze flows across the meadows, blowing hair across her face. Her eyes, sharp and intense, catch mine through her windswept bangs. Moonlight swims silver in them. Then it is as if all sound vanishes, the breeze soughing through the grass, the voices on the train platform, the sound of livestock in the train, all fading away. As if the only sound left in the universe is her voice. “I don’t want us to be apart,” she whispers. “Not for a week. Not for a day. Not for a single hour, Gene.”
My hand reaches out to brush aside strands of her hair. I tuck them behind her ear, and she leans her head into the palm of my hand, pressing her cheekbones against my skin. I pause, thinking.
She must feel the resolve stiffen in me, the contraction of my pupils. Because as soon as I pull my body away, she reaches up to stop me. But she’s too late.
“Gene! No!”
I’m sprinting across the meadow for the platform. I hear her slicing through the grass giving chase. But I’ve gotten too big a lead on her. I bound up the stairs three at a time to the platform.
“Krugman!” I yell. He’s halfway along the platform. I sprint toward him, crowds of girls parting before me.
“I’ll get on the train,” I tell him as I reach him. I’m gasping for air and trying to speak at the same time. “But it’ll be just me. The others will stay here and await my return. Only then will we all leave together.”
Sissy catches up seconds later. “Whatever he just told you,” she says, “it’s not going to happen.” She turns to me now, and anger sizzles off her face. “You are not getting on this train alone.”
“Just let me do this,” I say.
Krugman starts laughing, uproariously, his leg stomping on the ground as if pixie dancing. The crowd of elders behind him glance at one another, then start smiling. A few guffaw loudly with Krugman.
“My, my,” Krugman says, smacking his belly, “I’m caught in the middle of a lovers’ spat! Who knew it’d be so much fun to watch. All so … drama!”
And then the smile snaps shut, his laughter coming to an abrupt end. The elders also stop smiling, dropping their lips to cover their teeth. Krugman stares at us, his bunched cheeks drooping into jowls. “Fact is, it’s all neither here nor there. Because this discussion is academic. You’re all getting on the train. You read the official Order from the Civilization—you are all to journey there. All of you. Discussion closed. Train should be ready to leave in several hours.”
Sissy’s next words are spoken quietly and with calm. But the elders jolt with every spoken syllable. “I don’t think so,” she says. “We’re not getting on.”
Krugman presses his chin inward, and scowls at Sissy. “And what has got your knickers in a twist?”
She speaks in a near whisper. “I guess it’s out there now, so let me just say it. We have questions about the Civilization. We don’t know if it’s the place you’ve represented it to be.”
“So I’ve gathered,” Krugman says. He exhales slowly, phlegm in his throat combining with the stink of halitosis. “I’ll try not to be offended by this apparent lack of trust in me. I’ll try not to feel … betrayed—is that too strong a word? No, I don’t think it is—by this misbegotten belief that I’ve somehow lied to you about the Civilization.”
He spits to the ground, and the phlegm, large as bird poop, is acidic yellow, half-solid, and dotted with tiny bubbles. “After all I’ve done for you, after all I’ve provided for you, this is what I get in return? Not only ingratitude, but suspicion? Come now, what have I ever done to deserve this kind of distrust?”
“Take a wild guess,” Sissy says, her words cutting into the thick, tense air.
Krugman smiles, then slowly bends forward to examine her forearm. A slight flick of his tongue at the corner of his lips. “I think it’s getting infected,” he says with a miniscule smirk.
She jerks her arm out of sight.
“I’ve treated you like guests in my home,” he says. “But this is still my home. There are rules and regulations that all, even honored guests, must abide by. I’m sorry you chose to run afoul of these rules. But that was your choice.”
He gazes at the girls with a look of fondness. Their heads downturn as his eyes fall on them, their postures closing inward like sleeping grass touched. “These bylaws and precepts that you have such narrow opinions on? They are nothing more than the blanket that bestows warmth and coziness to this community.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel a lot of warmth or coziness here,” Sissy retorts.
“My, my, aren’t you full of interesting comments today.” He snaps his fingers, and a girl approaches with tumblers of whisky on a tray. He downs a shot, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, but roughly, smearing a trail of whisky on his cheek. “Let me give you a small suggestion. You’ve been through a lot, okay. You look tired. Why don’t you just relax over the next few hours? Make the Mission your own veritable Shangri-la retreat. Until tomorrow when you—all of you—depart on this train for the Civilization. So in the meantime, just sit back, stop asking pesky questions, and simply enjoy the rest of your time here in this happy place.”
“You say the Civilization is a paradise?” I say, stepping in front of Sissy. Krugman’s demeanor is making me suspicious all over again.
I’m feeling less optimistic by the second.
“Very much so,” he says.
I pause. “Then I’m confused. Maybe you can help me with something.”
“How so?”
“If the Civilization is such a wonderful place…”
“Yes?”
“Then I’m wondering why the Scientist chose not to go there. Why he chose never to board the train.”
The leer on Krugman’s face dies. The eyes of the elders behind Krugman swing toward me, their irises taking on the quality of cold steel.
Krugman stares at me for a long time. “We’ve been through this already. He was a disturbed man.” His words come out not as a suggestion but as a threat daring me to disagree. “Our mistake was not forcing him back to the Civilization. The man needed professional treatment. He needed to be institutionalized.”
“Really?”
“And besides, who can blame him for wanting to stay here at the Mission? Granted, it’s not the Civilization, but it’s not exactly the dumps, either, now is it? A close second, if I may say so myself. A pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, a ray of buttery sunshine. Where singing and smiles and joyful dispositions are de rigueur.”
“Well, that begs another question,” I say.
“Go ahead.”
“If this village is such a ray of sunshine…”
“Yes?”
