Chapter Twelve
Marta subsided into silence for the rest of the drive, and her smiles were replaced by the more familiar scowl as she concentrated on the road and other concerns I couldn't even conceive of. The only other times she spoke were to tell me that we were going to Surf City, where she lived, and that she was well aware I had no experience with cities or even real people, so her only rules were going to be a) total obedience and b) I was never to talk to strangers and from now on everyone was going to be a stranger. I guess this was her idea of “loosening the leash”. It didn't sound very loosened to me, but that morning I didn't even care. We were flying down the coast, driving along the cliffs hanging over the wide blue sea and the wind was whipping through my hair and on my face and I was giddy with excitement. I had never been to Surf City, or anywhere at all, and until that day I had never met a stranger, and practically the first one I had met was now whisking me off to unknown worlds. I was not afraid.
I was fascinated.
Along the highway we saw few houses at first, mostly ocean to the right and farmland to the left, with tree-covered hills off in the distance behind the rows of vegetables rising in the sun. I felt a sort of kinship with those growing things. I too, I now understood, was a product of a farm. I was seeded, planted and grown in my own way. I was watered with smoothies and fed with the data they contained. The artichokes I saw along the road knew only the soil and water and sun of their own acreage, just as I contained only that which was put into me. I wondered just how different I was from the others, the people-people who took so much longer to suckle and settle, who believed they were the “real” ones.
I saw sea-birds flying about and felt a pain of sadness as I remembered Midgerette and the thought came into my mind that I might never see her again. I didn't know how far a seagull could go, or how far Surf City was from my old home. Would she even come looking for me, and if she did, how would she even know where to look? I tried not to think about it but instead focused on the flight of the bird I did see, knowing how much fun it was having in such a lofting breeze.
Soon we began to see more and more buildings and then suddenly we were surrounded by them. There was no more ocean and no more cliffs, just slabs of concrete and glass displaying all sorts of signs which initially made no sense at all to me. I had a million questions to ask, such as why we kept stopping and going, and where did all the other people and cars come from, and where they were headed, and why some were walking and what were they doing, and what was the big noisy thing that flew over our heads, and all the other sounds I was hearing, who and what was making them and why. I kept blinking as if somehow some knowledge would kick in by the time I opened my eyes next, but it didn't. Mysteries were everywhere and I was not allowed to speak.
Marta made many turns and soon I completely lost any sense of direction I initially had. I no longer knew where the ocean was or where the farms had been. All the streets now looked identical, lined with houses separated by low wooden fences that would have been easy for Parsnip and Random and I to climb over. There were no towers and no guards and the dirt beneath them looked soft and diggable enough. Every house had one or two cars in front and when Marta finally pulled up to one I had a strong sense that I would never be able to remember which one was which. If I went out by myself and made more than one or two turns, I would never be able to get back. This feeling frightened me and made me feel better about the 'loosening'.
“Come on,” Marta said and I clambered out of the car and followed her into a plain beige house. The windows were covered with curtains and behind the curtains were shades. This was true of all the windows in Marta's house. You could never see the outside, and no one on the outside could ever see in. The house seemed dark and cold and empty. She had only the bare minimum. The main room consisted of plain gray carpets, a brown couch and two brown chairs, nothing else. The kitchen had a simple small table and four wooden chairs. There were three bedrooms and each had one bed and one small dresser. The only difference was that two of the rooms had small beds and the other had a larger one. Marta quickly showed me all of these and then said “Now for your room,” and she opened the door to the garage.
“Josef!” she called, and a young boy, around thirteen years old, peered out from behind a metal rack of shelves next to a large blue workbench.
“Oh hi, Mom,” he said. Josef was taller than me and much heavier, with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. He looked very serious with those plastic goggles on his face. In his left hand he was holding a metal stick from which flames were shooting out.
“Working on the bunny,” he explained. “Who's that?”
“This is Candles,” she said “He'll be staying with us for now.”
For now? I heard and I wondered. What did “for now” mean? How long was “for now” and where would I be staying when it was over? What was Josef doing with that tool and what was the bunny he was working on? Again, a thousand questions bounced around my brain and I was unable to ask a single one. This seemed to be my fate.