of our group are sick. We slow down our pace, and that helps, but Jas worries that we will fall behind in our duty.
We pass another group of Paters from the North on the road. Their number is small, only five. We exchange news. Even though they do not mention it, I notice that most of their group is feeling sick, too. We camp together for the night before we part ways in the morning.
We pass by some more fenced-off towns. I think that we are going to stop at every single one, but Jas says there is no need. Sometimes there are no flags hanging, which means no counting must be done because no babes have been born. We only stop if there are white flags—to do the counting—or if there are colored flags—to do the seeding—and then, only if the colors of the flags mean that one of us is a good match. If there are no flags, it means there is no need, or some other Pater group has filled it. We are all in this together.
We come upon a town that needs us, and so we enter. Here, there are the cactus and the succulents. I notice that there are plots of land outside that people still water, although nothing pushes up through the ground except for weeds. I am surprised when, later at the feast, they put the weeds in everything. Many of our group are still feeling ill. Many in the town are too. But I have not lost my appetite.
“It tastes good,” I say.
“Dandelions,” a woman tells me. “I will pack some for your journey.”
I continue eating my soup to avoid Jas’s annoyed look, but I am glad that I will have a tasty snack for the long walks.
The next morning, in the room with the machines, the same woman enters with a bag of dandelions and a babe in her arms. She hands me the dandelions, and I am glad that Jas is still in the outhouse, taking care of his stomach because he is not feeling well, so I can put them in my pack before he sees me collecting another thing. I wait before beginning, for Jas, and he comes in and examines the babe. The babe has orange and brown tattoos. That is a rare combination, but not as useful since the babe is a girl. When I am a full Pater, and a seeder, brown and orange will be good for me to do my duty with. If there are any left. I heard Jas say that there are not many along the road of the Way.
The baby coos. The woman smiles. I distract the child when Jas goes to prick her finger. The baby laughs. The machine whirs. The first code comes up green.
AGGCTTACACCG
And then there are three red buzzes.
Jas looks at me. The woman looks at me. The baby coos again.
“Geo, why don’t you give the litany.”
He is teaching me how to do it because I am Apprentice Counter. I have never given the litany before. I stumble over the prepared speech.
“As we know in these dark times, it is important for all that only the strong be allowed to grow. Any of those without the sequence must go down for all to rise.”
The woman looks at me. I feel terrible about the dandelions. I wonder if I should give them back. As is tradition, I take her hands in mine. I have not touched many hands in my life. Her hands are rough and cracked and dry. That is when I notice her birth marks. She has seven. On her
Jas has already taken the babe in his arms and put the poison on his finger for the babe to suck. In a few minutes the babe will sleep and never wake up again.
“Thank you,” the woman says. Her eyes are hard, but mine are not. I am crying as she leaves the tent.
Jas moves close to me.
“The first one is always hard,” Jas says. “It gets easier.”
“How can it get easier?” I ask.
Jas shrugs. “It just does.”
He leaves me to myself as I do my job of packing the machines. I try to remember that we are performing a kindness. No one, the Way says, except for those who are three or four for four, will live for very long. It is better for them to go down when they are young. It is less painful than to know them and then put them down.
“Orange and Brown is so rare, though,” I say.
“Yes,” Jas says. “Very rare.”
“Why couldn’t we have spared her for the orange and brown?”
“The sequence. Three or four for four. It is what we live by. It is our code. It is the law.”
After one week, we arrive at the next town that needs us.
We are halfway through the feast when a man comes from a remote village. He has heard through the Romas that we were on the road. He comes to plead his case.
“We are a small town. Very small. We are new. We have only two girls who are of age. We are prepared to give so much for just this chance. We are ready to join the Way.”
Sometimes this happens. New towns form. The Romas get tired of wandering and fighting, and they settle down and make a town. In order to grow, they must join the Way. It is hard. The Romas take a chance by inviting the Paters in. The girls must be tested to see if they will fit into the Way. If they do, then Paters will be sent to them. If not, then they will not join the Way and the town will likely die.
Jas is the oldest. It will be him to decide. It will be him who will go with the man to visit the girls. He consults with the man. They look at me.
“Geo,” Jas says. “They are desperate. The Way is their best chance. And they have birds.” Birds are rare. My stomach and eyes delight at the thought of birds.
“Why don’t you go?” I ask Jas. He should go. He is the leader. He is the Counter. I am just an Apprentice Counter. But then, as I look at him closely, I see that I don’t have to have him give me an answer. I can see by the way he holds himself, as though it is with great effort to stand, by his paleness and by the way he has spent so much time by the side of the road, like the others. It will not be long before the fact that he is ill will be known to all. It seems as though many people in all of the towns are ill. But I have not weakened at all. The walk has made me stronger.
“I will do it for the birds,” I say.
I will be gone a few days, and that will give the group a chance to rest and get better while I do our duty.
The man is so thankful, he pumps my arm up and down as though I will give water. It is shocking to be touched. But he is crying. And I try to remember that the Romas ways are not our Ways. He gives a sack of goods to Jas, with the promise for more upon my return.
I get my pack and find the man waiting by the gate. It is strange for me to leave on my own with a stranger. His accent is difficult to understand, but we make do with hand gestures and good will. We begin to walk. I can tell that he is sorry that I have to walk because it is far and the terrain is treacherous. And I am a Pater. I try not to let on that I am only an apprentice and have never seeded anyone, and that this is my first trip, and that after two hours my feet are in pain. I am his hope. I must always look like it.
We are walking up and up and up a mountain. As we turn on the path, the valley and the ocean spread out below us. The view takes my breath away. The water is silver, the sky is blue, and the ruins from two cities are in perfect view. I cannot help but wonder at the amount of people who lived there once. I cannot imagine the world without worry of extinction. The trip is worth it for this moment of beauty and sadness. My guide stops with me, and we both take a moment to ponder our fate, given to us by those who lived in those impossible buildings.
Jas has been slowly teaching me how to read the words of those from the ruined cities. He says that sometimes the answers to our questions lie in there. But the books are fragile and cannot stand the light. And many things that are written are confusing and incomprehensible. But I am always amazed at the things those people seemed to be able to do. Even everything in ruin seems more than what we are able to accomplish. I am amazed.
My guide nudges me, and I tear myself away from the view. I discover that I am close to crying, so I try to hide it, as though there is dust or sun in my eyes. I make a big show of adjusting my hat. But I think that my guide knows my heart. For he puts his arm around me and squeezes my shoulder in a sympathetic way. A way that says, “My heart is heavy for us all, too.”
Just before sunset, we make it up to the village, if you can call it that. It is five houses and a well. Most of the few people here are old. Very old. These are Romas who are too tired to roam.
