The Birth of a new moon

'You haven't met him yet? Oh dear, I probably shouldn't be talking to you about any of this. You're not really one of us until you've talked to Jonas.'

'Shouldn't you? Oh. Well, all right, but I'm not exactly new to Change. I've been in Arizona for a while, and Steven himself sent me here.'

'That Steven's such a pleasant man. I don't think I'd mind too much if I was sent to Arizona, if it wasn't so terribly hot there.'

Ana wiped the sweat off her forehead with the side of her glove and shoved her hat onto the back of her head. 'Actually, it was cooler there when I left than it is here. It's up in the hills, so it doesn't get quite as hot as the lower desert. A very different kind of gardening, though, because of the shortage of water. Sparse, but beautiful. You'd like it, I think.'

'Do you? I'll consider it.'

'Jonas is Steven's teacher, too, isn't he? That's why Steven comes here so often. He must be terribly… wise,'

'Wise?' For the first time in their conversation, Sara paused in her quick, methodical actions, a tiny root ball cradled in one hand and the trowel in the other while she considered this description. 'I suppose he must be. Most of the time he just seems, I don't know. Unreachable, maybe. Like he's so far above most people, he doesn't really see us. I mean it—Jonas seems to look straight through you, unless you happen to say or do something that catches his attention, or his imagination. When I first came here, it bothered me. I mean, it seemed a bit rude. I talked to Sami about it one day, and she said it wasn't rudeness, when he ignored you or said something that was kind of insulting; it was like a jolt he'd give you, to help you with your Work. Do you know anything about Zen Buddhism?' she asked unexpectedly, returning to her planting.

'A little.'

'Well, you know how there were Zen masters who used to slap their students or clout them over the head with their staffs, and then the students would enter a state of satori?' Ana nodded, fascinated by this new side of Sara. 'It's kind of like that.'

'You mean Jonas hits people?'

'No, no, no. Oh, well, I suppose he does, times, but not very often. Only when someone is being particularly blocked by their mind's assumptions.'

This sounded like a lesson learned—painfully, perhaps, taught by the flat of Jonas's hand? Ana thoughtfully dropped the last two plants into their holes and tamped the soil down, and as she went for a second flat, she made a mental note not to turn her back on Jonas if he approached her with a walking stick in his hand.

Sara helped her set out the last of the four flats of cabbages, and then they took two watering cans from the shed next to the greenhouse, filled them at the tap next to the house, and hauled them back and forth to water in the new roots. Apparently, English gardens did not have what Sara called hose-pipes, but relied on rain or muscle. At least, this one did.

They hauled water until Ana's shoulders burned, Sara making three trips for Ana's two, but finally she was satisfied, and the two of them stood looking at their handiwork, dozens of small, spindly green plants lying limply on the damp earth.

'They'll pick up by tomorrow,' Sara predicted cheerfully. 'And they'll keep us in soup all winter.'

'Do you ever use vitamin B₁₂ to keep them from transplant shock?'

'Never anything but clear water and the earth they're put down in.'

'You don't fertilize them?'

Sara turned to her, surprised. 'Oh, no. This is an organic garden. The only things we use are Bacillus thuringus and sometimes a bit of oil spray when the whitefly gets too thick.'

It was Ana's turn to be surprised. She would have sworn that Glen's information included a high use of ammonium nitrate fertilizer in the British Change compound. Or was that the Boston group? Damnation.

Sara gathered up the flats and put them to soak for their next use. They then began to clear out the side of the greenhouse that had nurtured the numerous varieties of plants now growing outside, stripping the growing benches of plant stakes, shards of broken pot, empty seed packets, and all the rest of the debris. It was not the time of day Ana would have chosen to work inside a glass house under the blazing sun, but when she mentioned the possibility of doing the job the next day while the sun was still low, Sara looked at her without comprehension and said she had something else planned for the morning. Ana shrugged, and sweated, and finished the job without complaining.

Afterward, the water that gushed from the tap was deliriously cool and sweet. And then they weeded for a while—in the shady areas—until it was time to pull some lettuces and wash the grit from them. As Ana carried the rich armful into the kitchen, she reflected that her afternoon in the garden had borne some thought-provoking fruit.

Perhaps it was only that Ana had spent the afternoon with her hands in the earth and her ears soothed by Sara's easy accents, but the kitchen staff seemed even more irritable than it had that morning, with pans slapped down smartly and very little of the usual boisterous conversation that kitchen work often gives rise to. Later in the dining hall, she found the same state. Unidentifiable currents and tensions ran through the room.

Not that people were openly irritable with each other; it might have been better if they were. Instead, they seemed grimly determined to remain calm. Residents presented one another with taut smiles, edged away when another person sat down too close, and listened politely with faraway gazes.

Even the children seemed either listless or fractious, with two separate incidents of tears before the meal was over.

Toward the end of the meal Marc Bennett presented himself at the door and waited for silence.

'I need you all to be sure you know where the torches are on each floor.' Ana was struck by a brief, bizarre image of flaming brands stuck into holders on the wallpapered hallways until her internal dictionary reminded her that 'torch' was simply English for flashlight. 'The local utilities today informed us that as we may not be working to code, they may cut off our power. It is simply further harassment, and if it does happen, I am sure we will all use it to drive us a step further along on our Work. I am merely telling you so there will not be any panic as there was the last time the power went out.'

He nodded and left, and behind him rose up a murmur of dismay and annoyance tempered by a surprising amount of philosophical acceptance. Another thing to remember, Ana thought: have someone point out the caches of flashlights.

After she had cleared her dishes she looked around for Jason and Dulcie, and found them sitting with three or four other teenagers. Jason was deep in conversation: Dulcie looked bored and truculent. Ana went over and sat down beside her.

'Hola, Dulcinea. Did you enjoy your apple crumble? I helped make it.'

The child nodded, and Ana wondered if her former silence was returning, but then she elaborated grudgingly, 'It would've been better with ice cream on top.'

'I know. Oh well. Hey, I have to go help with the dishes, but afterward I wonder if you'd like me to read you a story?'

Dulcie nodded, animation seeping back into her face.

'Great,' Ana said. 'How about you come to the kitchen and save me from the dishwashing after you've had your bath and brushed your teeth? Is that okay, Jason?' she said, turning to face him. He looked up at her blankly, having obviously not heard a word she had said before his name.

'What?'

'Can you bring Dulcie down to the kitchen when she's ready for bed and I'll read her a couple of books?'

'Sure. No problem.' He went back to his conversation and Ana studied him for a moment. The hardness was leaving his face, dropping years as it went. The tough, sexy street kid she had met was now visible only in the edges of his face and the angle of his head. He had put on a little weight, true, but that was not the only reason that the harsh lines of his face had softened. Unlikely as it might be, here, yanked from his native land and set down among strangers, he had already made friends. Here he was free to be a different person.

Ana looked away before he could catch her staring at him, and smiled a bit sadly at Dulcie.

'See you in a bit, okay, Sancho? Bring me a couple of good books.'