“Mother Lola.”
“A nun?”
The frown again. “None of what?”
“I think I’d better talk to Mother Lola.”
“Oh, that won’t be any problem at all,” Ruth said. “She wants to speak with you too. She says you’ve been sent to us. You’re the talk of the society.”
“What society?”
“The society. All that is everything. Together we are all the society.”
“And when exactly can I see Mother Lola?”
“When she returns.”
“Returns from where?”
“From without the society.”
“Listen, do you have any drugs or whiskey or anything I can have?” asked Mortimer.
“Do you have pain?” Ruth looked alarmed. “I can treat it with acupuncture. I’ve been reading a book on how to do it.”
“Never mind.”
The frightened woman stuck her head in the door again, mouth hanging slightly open as she eyed Mortimer with trepidation.
“It’s okay,” Ruth said. “You can come in.”
She darted in, set Mortimer’s clothing on the foot of the bed and scampered out again.
“She’ll talk your ear off if you let her.”
Ruth laughed.
“Thanks for the soup. I feel better. I think I’d like to get dressed now.”
“Of course.” She didn’t budge.
Mortimer made shooing motions.
Ruth looked toward the door, then back at Mortimer. “Oh.” She left, closed the door with a loud click.
He stripped off his gown, naked underneath, and began to dress. He paused, examined his pants and shirt. They were laundered and pressed. Rips had been sewn with fine stitching. Even the socks had been bleached. Boxers lightly starched. He put it all on and felt like a new man.
His boots hadn’t been returned to him.
Mortimer went to the window and swept the curtains aside. The boarded-up window surprised him, wide planks fastened snugly crossways. Only a thin slice of light between planks told him it was daylight. He wondered how long he’d been asleep. No clocks in the room.
In the bathroom, he urinated, washed his hands and splashed water in his face. He dried himself with a fluffy white towel. The towel smelled fresh, like a meadow, with just a hint of bleach.
He opened the door and found Ruth waiting for him in the hallway. Fluorescent lights, a slight antiseptic odor. It seemed like any hospital he’d ever been in.
“Feeling okay?” she asked.
“Where are my boots?”
“We don’t like to track dirt in from the outside,” Ruth said. “They’re in storage.”
Mortimer noticed Ruth wore fuzzy white bedroom slippers.
“If you’re feeling up to it, I can show you around,” Ruth offered. “I sensed you were curious about the society. I can show you how we live.”
“Sounds good. I am a little curious.”
Her smile radiated innocent pleasure. “This way.” She motioned for him to follow.
They walked the long hall, passed rooms with closed doors. Sleeping quarters, Ruth explained. A woman Mortimer hadn’t seen before passed them, pushing a cart full of clean laundry. She was tall and haggard, late forties with dark circles under her eyes. She wore the same white scrubs and slippers as Ruth. Mortimer wiggled his fingers in a friendly wave. She returned only wide-eyed silence.
They found a stairwell and went down two levels, came out in a wide main corridor.
Mortimer asked, “How big is this place?”
“Three main floors, and then two five-story towers on either side of the garden,” she said. “There are two sublevels, housing the kitchens, laundry and other maintenance facilities, including the power station. Sixty-three thousand, five hundred and sixty square feet all together.”
She sounded like she’d memorized a brochure. Maybe she had.
Ruth led him through a set of wide double doors into a sudden open space, sunlight pouring down on them. Mortimer estimated it was only just after noon. Trees and plants, fat, ripe tomatoes in ceramic pots surrounded by a chest-high wire fence. The temperature was mild, and Mortimer realized they weren’t outside. A huge glass dome
