I really wanted to go to the person, the man, playing the guitar and talk to him. But I didn’t want to interrupt the show, which put a smile on all our faces, and so I enjoyed the music, even though it was mainly aimed at the children. The sound was just as alluring as the taste of fresh food, the smell of fresh air, a view of shimmering nature and the blue arch of the sky spanning all directions.
After ten songs, a deep clear voice said: “There’ll be more tomorrow. Goodnight!”
The answer was an unhappy grumbling. I didn’t expect the musician to be offended; personally I thought that the children’s protests sounded more like applause. I didn’t want the music to stop either!
I waited until Ruby fell asleep. It must have been late in the night. Deep breathing or slight snoring was coming from all around me and the high windows let in rays of moonlight. I dug around in my backpack, took out the matches and lit one of the tea candles. I didn’t want to accidentally tread on someone’s elbow or hair when I made my way across the room.
I was walking through the sleeping groups and finally arrived at my destination. The musician, now illuminated by a faint yellow glow of the candle, was the black man who led us from the tree to the factory. He was still sitting on a desk, a guitar placed next to him.
It was too small for a guitar, though. I didn’t know much about musical instruments, but a voice in my head whispered: ukulele. Portable thanks to its size, easy to attach to a backpack. A good choice for a musician and a traveller.
“You must be Billy.”
His eyebrows shot up into his hairline in surprise. “I don’t recall us introducing ourselves,” he said and extended his hand.
“We didn’t,” I agreed. “I’m Frank. I recognized you from the letter…”
I recounted a short version of how I found Connie’s letter on Darlene’s farm, one for me, one for a stranger. I confessed to reading the letter and recognizing its recipient based on its contents despite having never seen him before.
“Hm,” he mumbled thoughtfully. Was he offended by something from my monologue? “Actually, I also have a letter for somebody. And a key…”
I didn’t expect our short conversation to cause such havoc, but suddenly, other adults around us started to join in Me too! I also have a letter!
Billy suggested we leave this conversation for the next morning when there’s more light. When we’ve had some proper sleep after today. I was burning with curiosity, desperate to find answers to all my questions now, but I agreed. Things always look better in the morning.
The next morning, right after we took care of the most basic need, to fill our stomach, we agreed that last night’s conversation should be continued outside. We needed enough space for the children to run around and play and the adults to talk. It wasn’t easy to have a conversation that all the two hundred adults, one eye on their children, could follow. It seemed more like a conference to me, all we were missing was a stage and microphones.
So we split into groups and talked about the fact that our survival was definitely intentional. I volunteered information about The Collective, although I left Connie out of it. She wasn’t here, but still, I didn’t want anyone to think badly of her in any way. The group that Billy and I were in was gradually starting to attract more and more people. I wasn’t entirely sure what they thought they would learn from us that they couldn’t get just as easily from others. After all, I couldn’t have been the only one who knew about The Collective? Maybe our conversation was just a step ahead of theirs and it was easier to follow it instead of searching for answers next door.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just ask yes or no questions?” Billy asked in a low voice.
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
It was probably the best and fastest way to get anywhere. But why was Billy looking at me so expectantly, why didn’t he just start with the questions himself?
I thought that soon enough, we’ll need someone to lead our new community, like a herd of sheep needs a farm dog to lead the way, otherwise there will be chaos. I most definitely didn’t care to take that position, I was no leader. But as a speaker?
“Could I get your attention please!” I called into the crowd, albeit slightly pointlessly, since they were all looking at me anyway. “Could everyone who’s got a letter for somebody else raise their hand!”
Two hundred hands shot into the air.
“And a key that doesn’t fit into anything in your shelter? A storage in your shelter that you couldn’t open?”
It reminded me of synchronized swimming a little bit, everyone’s hands moving up and down in one smooth motion as if governed by a single mind.
“What does that mean?” a female voice called out.
Billy and I exchanged a look, he shrugged and motioned to me as if to encourage me.
What if I shared my assumptions with them and they turned out to be incorrect? But they waited for answers, and I tried providing one.
“I can’t be absolutely sure, but I think that the extra key probably belongs to a locked storage of the recipient of your letters. Probably,” I emphasized.
“But what does it mean?” another young man from the other side of the crowd joined in.
“I’d say that… the survival of us all depends on cooperation of individuals. Everyone should contribute something to help the community run smoothly,” I quoted Billy’s letter.
All this attention from a mass of people was starting to make me uncomfortable and I tried to
