Velvet Dogma About 3300 wds (17 page)

The perfect mate for a velvet Elvis.

He was eleven and she was buying him a painting to play with. She'd almost thrown it in the gutter, and would have had David not been standing at the screen door, staring out at the sidewalk waiting for her to arrive. When he saw her, he screamed towards the living room, "She's here, grannie! She's here!"

Rebecca rolled her eyes and couldn't help but grin. Scooting the painting up beneath her arm so it wouldn't fall, she hurried up the walk and into the house. Within minutes David was hopping up and down chanting "
What did you get for me Sis?"
over and over. After Grandma had insisted that he be patient nearly a dozen times causing him to veritably vibrate the floor beneath his little feet, young David had ripped the paper from the picture, tossing it aside to stare at the gift Rebecca had given him.

For a full minute he'd held the painting in front of him, arms extended, serious eyes roaming over the velvet features of the dogs, the poker table and the cards. Rebecca watched him, wondering what was running through his mind. Of all the presents he wanted or could have had, this picture wasn't one of them.

Finally he looked up. "This is a grown-up present, isn't it?"

Rebecca had nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Then I like it," he said. He took the picture to his bedroom, closed the door and hadn't come out until morning.

To this day, Rebecca didn't know what he'd really thought on that eleventh birthday, but he came to love the painting, often expositing philosophy upon the dogs, using them as metaphors and symbols for whatever situation he found himself in at the time.

The sound of someone climbing up the ladder disturbed her reverie.

"Not much of a sunrise, is it?"

Rebecca blinked out of the memory and turned as Maria pulled herself up the last foot to stand on the rooftop. She wore a simple robe that buttoned down the front.

"No."

"That's one of the things we gave up when we came down here."
 
Standing next to Rebecca, Maria smelled faintly of roses. "We've paid a price for our passion. Some say too much."

"You cast yourselves out."

"We did. And there are times I just want to be a mother and a wife with nothing to worry about except my family, school and where the next meal is coming from."

"I never imagined that when I fell in love with computers that it would lead to prison."
 
Rebecca admired Maria and what she'd had to live through. She herself hadn't experienced but a few days of this new world. Would it have been easier if she'd not gone to prison, experiencing instead the changes incrementally over the years? She was reminded of the inherent cruelty of young boys and how at ten years old the rage had been to hold magnifying glasses above ladybugs, patiently waiting for the magnified sun to fry the little creatures to
smithereens
–a term the ten-year-old version of her brother had worn out with giggles and innocence.

She couldn't help but wonder if maybe
time
was just like the magnifying glass?

"Do you regret it?" The way
it
was understood to be the leprous gap that separated the two women.

"Not really. I regret having to do it, but knowing what I know, I could never go back."

"Me, too, I suppose."
 
Rebecca thought her response overly brave, remembering when she'd cried in prison and begged an absentee God to let her do it all over again.

Maria turned and placed her palm on Rebecca's cheek. The comforting gesture was like that of a sister or a girlfriend. She read the pathos in Maria's eyes and knew that the woman understood her. That very thought was an anchor amid the sea of counter-purposed currents in which she found herself barely able to keep her head above water in.

"You poor, dear girl. So much weight upon your shoulders. So much responsibility."
 
When Rebecca responded with only a blank look, Maria moved her hand down to her shoulder. "Much hope rests in your Velvet Dogma. Your brother thought that you could help retrieve it and be a part of the community to present it to the world."

"They need the password."

"Do you know it?"

"Yes."
 
She'd kept it from the government interrogators, her friends, her family and even her dreams for fear she'd whisper it to the gossamer shadows of a dream.

"Then you have to decide if you're going to use it."

Rebecca stared at Maria for a long moment. To not give the password had never occurred to her, but she realized now that she did have that power. They knew where the program was now, but it had grown to leviathan proportions. They could not control it without her. They were giving her power that she'd never asked for, condemning her to a responsibility she'd never wanted. What if she was wrong? What if Velvet Dogma did more harm than good?

Seeing the panic in her eyes, Maria shook her head. "Don't worry. No one here is going to force you to tell us. That goes against everything in which we believe. We'd rather you do it out of informed free will."

Informed
. But what did she really know? Not that she disbelieved the things that Kumi and Andy had said, but her world view was as limited as the slice of magnified sun wielded by those ten-year-old boys, and if she wasn't careful, just as deadly in the end.

"I was kept in solitary in prison. No news. No access to anything electronic. I was allowed to read books, but only those published before my incarceration. Maria, I am as in the dark about this world as a newborn. I mean, I look at the Tsunami Wall. I know why it's there because of what I was told, but it's as if someone snapped their fingers and my memory of the LA Beaches was instantly replaced by this wall. I know it's there and real, but I don't have any background or memories of the steps leading up to the building of it. It's hard to explain."

"No, I think I understand. You only have snapshots of the world, not a complete understanding. You need to know more. You need to understand what has become of your world, both good and bad. You know everything isn't bad in the world. There are some great and wonderful things."

"Can you help me?"

"Of course I can. We are teachers and would like nothing more than to teach you. But let me get my son to do this. I think it's important to hear the story told from a generation who didn't witness it all. As in all history, the point of view of the teller is preeminent when considering the faithfulness of the dialogue."

"You'll do that for me?"

"You are not as alone as you believe, Rebecca."

Rebecca smiled and nodded, but didn't entirely understand.

"You are part of our family. David was one of us. He took the choice early this year."

"David?"
 
He'd become a leper
?

"He wanted to protest. He wanted to be a part of something. He'd always envied you, you know. He called you a hero."

I'm no hero. I'm just a girl. A woman, she corrected herself. "He became one of you?"

"He did."
 
Maria beamed.

"Do you think he did it because of me?"

"I think maybe a little bit."

"How does it work? Is it painful?"

Maria turned serious, her gaze level. "If there comes a time that you really want to know, contact me."

The reply left no doubt as to what she'd need to do to get the answer. Rebecca decided that she wasn't ready to know. She didn't know if she'd ever be ready.

"Now get back to bed. There's a good five hours before the city will be waking. After breakfast, I'll rouse my son. You'll like him and understand why I chose him to teach you, and after awhile, you'll appreciate why."

Maria left, slipping swiftly and out of sight.

Rebecca lingered a few moments longer, staring at the Tsunami Wall. Then she, too left. She found Andy twisted in the silken sheets and lay down next to him, smelling his musk. She listened to his breathing for awhile. When she kissed his neck, she heard it change and knew he was awake.

"Rebecca?" Sleep slurred his speech.

"Of course, silly."

Then she pulled herself to him and they made love once again.

This time slowly.

This time with detail.

S
he met Abraham in the fourth story CONEX after breakfast. The minute she entered and saw his twisted and brutalized body, she wanted to leave, but to do so would me more than a sign of disrespect—it would be a slap in the face to all they'd done for her. Still, it took all the self control Rebecca could muster to suppress a shudder as she saw him resting within the cradle.

She approached him with trepidation. The closer she got the more she saw. But she couldn't stop. He was looking at her through eyes bright with intelligence. His face was beautiful. Smooth skin. Aquiline nose. Masculine yet delicate jaw. A beauty juxtaposed to his body which rested neatly in a cradle meant for a baby, and only fit because he had neither arms nor legs to get in the way.

"I'm an ugly sight to an upworlder," he said in a low, velvety voice. "It's okay if you want to run away. I'll understand. It's happened before."

"No."
 
She swallowed and stepped to the very edge of the cradle. "I'm not the type to run away."

"Oh, you're strong-willed. Gonna tough it out, are you?"
 
Although there was an edge to his jibe, a smile hid at the corner of his lips.

"I won't leave."

"Is that a statement or the beginning of a mantra?"

"I want to learn," Rebecca said, holding her ground. "Your mother thought you'd be the best one to teach me. I like her and if she thinks so, then you must be more than the measure of your snottiness."

The look of surprise on his face was quickly banished by a smile so beautiful that Rebecca almost forgot how ruined his body was. "She said you'd respond this way. Forgive me, Rebecca. I
am
more than the measure of my snottiness. I shouldn't have acted that way. I'm just used to certain responses to my condition and I've developed my own ways of dealing with them."

"I'm surprised your expectations are so high."
 
She wasn't going to let him off that easy.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem to expect people to ignore that you've ruined your body. You seem to have forgotten that it is a badge of honor, a badge of political rage that you chose to wear by making the
choice
. I would think that someone who is as sensitive as you are to the political motivations of the Day Eaters would relish other's reactions to your visage, knowing that you are the consummate result of a man's political determination."

He grimaced as he fought to gain a sitting position. Clearly angry, he grunted as he scrambled like a worm, twisting and turning, finally pulling himself up with the aid of his chin. "No one has ever spoken to me like that."
 
He glared at her. "I think they're too afraid of me to say what you said," he paused a moment, then added, "However right you may be."
 
He smiled sideways. "I've allowed self-pity to color my presentation. I see a woman such as you and want to stroke your cheek or hold you in my arms. I usually do bear my cross proudly, but sometimes I get caught up in the what-ifs of a full-bodied Neverland."

She softened her gaze. "And I don't play well with others and have been saying too much of what is on my mind recently. I really should find a way to censor myself."

"Why? You're right on in what you said. You aren't married are you?"

She blushed. He couldn't have been twenty years old. "No. I'm not married."

"Do me a favor then. If I slip and fall on my self-pity again and ask you to marry me, don't immediately say no. Think about it, will you?"

She couldn't help but grin. "I promise I'll think about it."

He grinned as well. "That's all a man can ask."

He'd vacillated from pitiful, to self-deprecating to charming. She didn't know how a boy in his condition should act. She did know that he'd won her over. She'd responded so harshly in defense of her true emotions. The time it'd taken her to say it, along with the time it'd taken him to respond had allowed her long moments to come to terms with what he was, A Day Eater Christ.

For the next hour he taught her about her world and all that had happened since she'd been in prison. His slow, velvety delivery reminded her of a priest delivering last rites or giving guidance in the privacy of a confessional. At times he spoke wondrously, at other times with distaste, but through it all glistened a sparkle in his eye, evidence of his joy at interaction.

The face of the world had changed in the last twenty years as if a divine surgeon had decided that it was time for a new look. After the droughts of 2029, hemorrhagic fever swept across the Horn of Africa, turning Cairo and most of Alexandria into ghost towns. Cholera killed what was left of Sri Lanka after the third Tsunami in as many years. Asian Bird Flu finally snuck across the Pacific, killing ten million North Americans and resulting in the forced destruction of all chickens. Smallpox made a comeback in Colombia, killing farmers and destroying the cartels. Some still believe it was the final weapon in the forty year war on drugs, delivered by low flying aircraft that traded defoliant for biological warfare.