Story: Tourmaline (conclusion)

Tourmaline

(part seven)

Anton came to a table, one of six skirting the naked base of a statue. He shuffled, and time allowed him a picture, of resisters wrapping Jocelyn’s heroic frauds in fleshy fat suits. No public representations of figures were permitted by the G.R.A.—even of their enemy, travestied. Anton reached a place across from a Helper, who scanned his card and told him, “Over there.” A different table. A fresh queue. He was classed in some way as an outsider.

Nedforum, the woman wrote in her binder. “Do you understand? You won’t live here. You’ll be moved to the capital.”

Neforum was a way of pronouncing Northeast Department, population ≈ four million: NED4M. The plan called for each population center to be a center of industry, residents housed in quadrants, numbers balanced. His second Helper handed him a clip-on badge. “Never lose that. You will have to show it when you show your card.”

New panics. I’ll sleep with it on, Anton told himself. Because they were finally given enough to eat, the crowds had grown docile as lambs. They walked miles and waited hours…some even laughed and sang in the queues. Useless farts.

He was following the daughters, bright in their spring dresses. Lagging their father and Anton, after the lunch Anton had had himself. A pasta in red sauce, a school cafeteria meal.

He didn’t speak. That was taking care, and they ought to appreciate it. He saw Vonnie often, walking twice past her house each day. Glimpses of her at windows. Never a signal from her…and so she must feel he’d spent his value.

He was a toss-off, not a lover. He felt martyrly about this, almost fascinated to watch her not care. He didn’t come close enough to their heels to look like he was walking with them. He didn’t expect them to leave the door open. That might not be wise.

But she had locked it. Vonnie smiled at him, bending to turn the knob, lifting her eyes, brushing away a strand of hair. Then she locked him out.

He was not making a troublesome scene. He had only shouted something; and then, feeling so much a fool…being one in such an exposed way, had gone on with it, pounding the door with his fist, calling her bitch, bitch, bitch.

7

Tourmaline

Palma (part one)

(2016, Stephanie Foster)