“Hey neighbor. You okay?” Jimmy called from his front door.
“Yeah, sure, why?”
“Thought the cold had gotten to you. You were frozen to the spot there for a minute.”
“Just thinking.” God, I’m such a liar.
“I’ll be out to help in a minute,” Jimmy said. “No, it’s okay.” Her protest was too late. Jimmy had closed the door on her words and would be dressed and out with his shovel in a couple of minutes. Not that she minded the help, but she needed time to think and he’d chatter as they worked disrupting her thoughts.
Back in the house twenty minutes later, M settled on the sofa, wrapped an afghan around her legs and sipped a Baileys. Mustafa? Fatma? François? Did they exist? She would have liked to chalk it up to imagination, or dreams, or even hallucinations, but the wound on her leg from the machete five days ago—was it only five days?— served as a grim reminder of the reality of her travels.
The television was muted. She wanted to think, but she also needed to see the news. François had taken pictures. What would she do if her face filled the screen? She’d be recognized. It was one thing to explain away a momentary lapse of attention, a foreign word or two coming out of her mouth, but pictures of her blasting out to the world would be a whole other story.
And that was another thing. How could she be in Raftan, messing about in their affairs and be here at the same time? She took another sip of the Bailey’s. The warmth of the liqueur spread through her and she felt herself relaxing.
There she was on the screen. She sat bolt upright. Yes, it was her. François’ pictures captured her perfectly, damn it.
*
Morning came much too quickly. She dreaded facing the students and staff. Playing hooky would only delay the inevitable. She crawled out of bed, showered and dressed. Over her bowl of cereal and banana, she rehearsed the responses she’d come up with during the sleepless night. “Looks like me? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Looks like me? Tom, you need new glasses.”
“Looks like me? Ha, ha, flattery won’t work; you still have to do your report card comments.”
“Looks like me? Well, they say everyone has a double somewhere in the world.”
“Morning,” students said as she walked down the hallway to her office.
“Morning.” The teachers she encountered en route greeted her.
“Morning, Boss,” Tom called as she entered the staff room.
What’s this? Didn’t anyone watch the news last night?
“Did you see the news last night?” Sue asked as she filled her coffee cup.
“Isn’t it amazing, what that woman did?”
“If it’s real.”
“Ah, you’re such a skeptic.”
“Well, what can you believe these days? You know what the media is like.”
“I for one would like to believe it’s true. Stopping the Spinda. What a breakthrough.”
“Time will tell.”
*
Elspeth frowned. “I don’t get it. Why don’t they know it’s her?”
I chuckled. “Simple. What’s happening in Raftan is so far from their daily experience that they don’t think anyone they know could be M.”
“So, no matter how much they see of her on the news, they’ll never make the connection?”
“Nope.”
“But what if someone does? That Tom is sharp.”
Elspeth was right again. I couldn’t take chances. “Hum, I’ll put up some barriers just to be sure.”
*
On her way home from school, she sat at a red light tapping her steering wheel. Why am I not afraid?
*
François Durocher returned home late that afternoon to find M sitting in the center of his courtyard, head on her knees. The children looked at him helplessly.
“She has been like this ever since she came back half an hour ago,” Mohamed said. “She does not look at us or talk or anything.”
“Where is your mother? She’ll know what to do.”
“She went out,” Faroud said.
“What! But she never goes out.” François looked at the fearful children and immediately regretted having stated the obvious. “Did she say where she was going?”
“No, but she did say she would be back
soon.” Alyia wiped frantically at her tears. “She will be back.” François patted Mohamed’s shoulder. “Now, let us see what we can do to help Madame.”
“Try talking to her,” Alyia said.
François spoke softly, “Madame, what is it? What has upset you so?” He spoke louder. “Madame, you must tell us. We can help.” Not a flicker of recognition in her eyes. He panicked, shouted at her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her roughly.
“No! no!” The boys cried as they scrambled to pull him away. Alyia covered her face, and then peered between her fingers. None of them saw Fatma enter the compound.
“Leave her. She will speak when she is ready,” Fatma said. “We wait.”
The boys pressed close to François, one on either side. Alyia clutched her mother. They sat a respectful distance away, eyes averted. None of them wanted to see her pain. Hearing was bad enough. The torrent subsided to sniffs and hiccoughs and eventual silence. Fatma brought a cool damp cloth and gently washed Madame’s face and neck.
“Can you tell us?” Fatma asked.
“I saw … I saw … the dead … the villages in the south. I saw … the refugee camps. I saw the roads. I saw the gate at the border …” She began to cry again.
François picked her up and carried her to his divan. The others followed. Mohamed patted her shoulder awkwardly. Alyia stroked her hair.
“How can this be?” she cried. “There can be no God.! I have seen poverty, lived in some of the poorest countries in the world, but never have I seen anything as devastating as this. The children reduced to… to… worse than begging, run over and killed in the crowds stampeding for a few grains or seeds, a few bits of clothing, a few coins. I can never do enough. Never!” Her sobs verged on uncontrollable again.
“Madame, what you have done already has begun to awaken our people,” Fatma said.
“You must think of yourself as the catalyst for change,” François said.
“Madame, it will be up to us to finish what you start.” Alyia’s mouth set in a determined line.
“Please Madame, do not cry anymore,” Faroud held one of her hands in both of his. She reached out with the other and ruffled his hair.
Fatma held out her hand. “Come I will prepare you a warm bath.”
*
A car honked. She glanced in her rear-view mirror. The driver gestured angrily. She checked the lights. Green. How long had she sat there lost in another world?
*
I watched my Little Soldier and fretted. That was a new feeling for me. I tried to explain it to Elspeth. I think she had some understanding for she seemed to be worried too. But, there was nothing I could do for M. What was the point of being a Power if my hands were tied by all the damned rules? Don’t do this. Don’t do that. I mean, what was a Power to do?
I fretted now, too, waiting for my first meeting with Mentor. She ruled the Powers. Of course, as a Drone, I’d never had dealings with her, had never even seen her up close. But, I’d heard plenty. And none of it was good. My friend, Exelrud, insisted she was a termagant. One tough cookie was how he put it.
An aide showed me into Mentor’s chambers. She sat on a high-backed chair on a dais. I stood humbly before her. I had no idea why I was the first Drone ever to be appointed a Power. For the sake of all Drones, I had to succeed.
“Why all the drama?” Mentor asked.
“I don’t know. What she saw… seems to me the earth is pretty much all like that.”
“She’s too soft to do the job.”
Okay, I wasn’t off to the best start here. “One of the reasons I chose her is because she has travelled and seen the realities of her world. I don’t know why the conditions in Raftan are so shocking to her.”
Mentor blinked and we saw M again and François trying to soothe her. “That man does go on.” Mentor shook her head. “The children are a little more understandable.”
M’s sobs, great tearing sounds, echoed in my ears. I’d never heard anything like it. Shocked me, I tell you. I felt all knotted up inside and there was a funny catch in the back of my throat.
Mentor closed the view. “I’m disappointed with her weakness.”
I felt a wave of dizziness sweep over me. Similar to the feelings I had felt in M as she worked for me. I think she called it panic. “She’s not weak,” I said. “It’s how humans release tension.”
“Humph!” Mentor raised her chin and her eyes narrowed. “And what did you do to help her?
“I used the ring. I sent pictures, clear ones, not the ambiguous swirls that she couldn’t read. But she didn’t hear me. I set the ring to vibrating. Still she didn’t look.” I had shouted too. I’d never raised my voice before. The loud sounds had reverberated in my head. My body had grown hot and then cold.
Mentor cleared her throat drawing my attention back to her. Oh Guardian, how much of this does she know. Her tight smile was not comforting.
“Very well,” she said. “Continue.”