“Who are you?”
“I’m Five.”
“Where did you come from?”
“From my mother.”
“Elaborate.”
“My mother gave birth to me.”
“Who is your mother?”
“A woman.”
“Can any woman give birth?”
“No.”
“Who can’t?”
“An old woman can’t.”
Silence. A very heavy silence.
“Five, you have failed the test.”
I keep quiet. He is right. What can I say?
“You have failed the test,” repeats the Professor. “Again.”
I nod. Indeed, again. I don’t even know how many times I have failed already—it’s been at least a month since I lost count. Maybe fourteen. Maybe more.
“Do I need to explain to you why you have failed it?”
“I said that an old woman can’t give birth.”
“Don’t try to be funny. You know perfectly well what you’ve done. There’s only one rule— one rule to adhere to—and you just can’t help but keep breaking it. Unless you start taking the test more seriously, you have no chance of passing it.”
“I know. I’ve been trying.”
“It’s about time to try harder. I’ll see you in a week. Or whenever you’re ready, if that day ever comes. But keep in mind that you have only two months left. Then you’re out.”
I nod again, get up and walk to the door.
Once it closes behind me I take a deep breath. Then another one. This isn’t exactly what I want to do though. Right now I’d much rather give the poor door a good heavy kick accompanied by a few loudly pronounced words that would accurately describe my feelings toward the test and the man behind that door. But that would only show that I’m not ready. And I’ve already given enough proof of that. An old woman . . . What a brilliant stroke. Pure genius.
As I walk back to my room I can’t stop thinking about the test. I didn’t last long—in fact I failed faster than the last time. How did he make me do it? Where did that “old woman” come from? He must have sneaked in some reference without me even noticing. Our dear Professor is really good at that. He would’ve made a killer interrogator outside. Or a great investigative journalist.
But he is not outside. He is here, and so am I. And I really want to stick around. I want to get to that next level. Yes, it means more studies, more tests like this one, more days full of cringing frustration. But it also means money. Lots, and lots, and lots of money. The money I intend to have when I go back outside. With that money we’ll see who can’t handle the truth. Plus, if I end up kicked out, all of this would be for nothing. And nine months is a long time to waste, despite everything I’ve learned here so far. So I better go and study.
But when I enter my room my resolve fades away. At the first sight the room isn’t bad at all. It’s fairly spacious, neat and welcoming. Compared to some hotel rooms I’ve stayed in it could be even considered slightly luxurious. After all, it comes equipped with a decent computer, an armchair and a large screen TV. Unfortunately, it also comes with no windows.
Of all the crazy things I have to accept in this place, the lack of windows has been surprisingly the hardest one to get used to. Except the Ban, of course. But nothing comes even close to the Ban. You’d think that the lack of windows would be a minor inconvenience when you have no phone, no books—okay, no normal books—no news, and never get to go outside. And yet, it’s windows that I miss the most. Sometimes I think that I could give a good chunk of my yet-to-be-earned ton of money just to be able to see a tiny piece of a blue sky whenever I can.
Well, technically I can see some blue sky. Only, like many other things here, it’s not quite real. I pick up the TV remote. Channel 14. This one is the best. Lots of action compared to other channels. Here we go. How long will I be able to stand it this time?
I give up less than a minute later. The river lazily streaming on the screen used to have a pacifying effect on me. Not anymore. When you have sixteen channels that show nothing but nature—always lush, green, calm nature with no animal life in sight—you risk developing a strong allergic reaction to TV. Worse, these innocent landscapes make you miss even stupid commercials and obnoxious shows.
No doubt, their intention was to help us adjust and to give us at least some way to relax after our intensive studies. But it’s been established a long time ago what kind of roads are paved with good intentions. As of this moment, the picture of unhurriedly moving water makes me want to hurl something heavy at the screen. I take another deep breath. Okay, watching TV was a bad idea. But grabbing something heavy isn’t. Blue sky will wait. What I need now is a good workout. It’s time for dumbbells. At least they are not prohibited in this nuthouse.
Exercises, snack, shower . . . I’ve still got time before dinner. Now, that’s something I would not miss for the world. Unlike TV channels that are supposed to make me happy, the daily dinner with my friends actually does. And I will get to see . . . Her. I know I have to call her by that ridiculous name even in my thoughts. It’s a part of the deal. But that’s one violation that I keep allowing myself intentionally. I refuse to think of her that way. Maybe in a week. Maybe even tomorrow. But tonight I will see just Her.
In the meanwhile I still have an hour. And I know how to spend it.
I sigh and turn on the monitor.
“Choose a subject . . .”
What do have here? Arts, Entertainment, History, Literature, Science, Sociology, Technology . . . How about history? I’m still a little vague about everyone’s occupation.
A mind-boggling mix of the Bible and elementary math.
“. . . And the Lord God made Adam and Eve. And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived and bore Cain . . . Seth begot One and Two . . . Enoch begot Three. And Three took unto him Two as his wife and begot Four and Five.”
Nonsense. But I have to know it by heart. Because, according to my contract, I am that Five.