Memory of the Color Yellow Read online

  I could hear him whining; “Oh oh oh, hurry hurry hurry.”

  I considered what it would mean if I got caught. “I need to put something away, first,” I said.

  Retracing the trip back to the living room, I almost bought it when my grandmother came up from the basement to use the bathroom. My heart beat so loudly, I was sure she’d hear it. I tiptoed past the bathroom door and put the books back on the shelf, waiting in the corner until she returned to the basement.

  Once back in my room, I pulled my jeans on over my pajama bottoms and slipped my shoes on. “How am I going to get back up through the window?” I asked, looking down at Paul.

  “I’ll give you a boost. Come on!” he whined.

  The levers on the side of the screen were difficult to move, but I finally pushed them up and screen slid into the upper area without squeaking. Paul reached up for me as I stuck one leg out and then the other, sliding out, scraping my back on the metal sill. “Ouch!”

  “Quiet!” he hissed.

  I looked up at my window once my feet were on the ground. “I’m never going to get back up there,” I said, imagining my mother finding my bed empty in the morning.

  “Yes you are, now come on. I need to tell you what my dad said tonight, but I can’t do it here.”

  It appeared Paul Senior didn’t take the advice he’d given my father. We crouched down, Paul in front of me, and he grabbed hold of my shirt and pulled me along behind him. “Keep up with me,” he whispered, not letting go. “Stay close.”

  The houses were built during the time families had cars and there was just enough room for a driveway leading back to a garage. Our neighbor’s bedroom windows were open and for all I knew they listened and watched, preparing to call The Council Police.

  We crept along the fronts of the houses, staying out of sight, first making sure no one was on their porch having a late night smoke. When we reached the corner, Paul paused, holding me back again. “I’m not sure what to do,” he said. “We need to cross, but I’m afraid the cameras will pick us up.”

  Motion activated infrared cameras mounted on each corner, pointed down each street, capturing the slightest movement. “Let’s go to the middle of the block, furthest from the corners,” I said. “Pull your shirt up over your face. It’ll see us but not our faces.”

  “Okay,” he said. “It’ll be worth it, you’ll see.”

  We ran across the street bent over at the waist with our shirts pulled over our heads. As soon as we reached the other side, we dove into bushes on the corner, just in case our movement activated a drone. It was all conjecture; no one had ever seen a drone fly at night, but we couldn’t be too cautious. Although I’d get an earful if we got caught, Paul would get a beating. We’d be extra careful.

  One more block of dodging cameras and we reached the woods. Calling the area woods was generous, a dried out swamp reclaimed by Mother Nature, with the skeletons of old growth trees mingling with sweetgum and tulip tree saplings.

  “Tell me now,” I demanded. “What happened?”

  “Let’s move in a little deeper,” he said, teeth chattering with fear.

  We hiked a few more yards, the trees dense enough to block out what little moonlight there was. Stopping, Paul turned to me, a solemn expression on his face. “My folks told me.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “They told me what the fuss was about Tiresias.”

  “No way! Won’t they get in trouble?”

  “Not if I don’t tell. You have to promise me you won’t tell.”

  “I’m not going to tell, Paul. I promise. What is it?”

  “It’s a place over there,” he said, pointing. “It’s a big place, as big as a city, my dad said. It’s got a big fence around it, as high as a building. There used to be a hospital on the other side of the fence. People got a lung disease a long time ago and they lived together in the old hospital. Now, the people are separated from us. They live there, and we live here.”

  “Do they still have a lung disease?” I asked.

  Frowning, I could tell Paul wasn’t sure. He looked up at me and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  I told him what I’d read earlier that night. It made a little more sense now. “People who are different are separated from us. That’s what Tiresias must be. We’re here and they’re there.”

  “But why?” Paul asked the air.

  “Did you ask your dad?” I asked.

  “No. I didn’t think of it until now. He acted like it wasn’t such a big deal.”

  “How far is this place?” I asked, yawning. I needed a good dose of adrenaline again to keep me going.

  “I’m not sure, just that we follow Oxford until it ends. That’s the far west side of town. When I asked my dad where it was, he said, ‘At the end of Oxford.’”

  I thought when Paul said he had to show me something; it meant he’d already been there. He was as clueless as I was about where Tiresias was, or what we’d find once we got there. We trudged through the woods, keeping the street in our field of vision. It wasn’t easy, even with our eyes adjusted to the dark. I watched Paul’s thin back, his frailness evident to me for the first time.

  Housing got sparser the farther west we hiked until Oxford was a dirt trail, winding through the forest, an occasional abandoned property forcing us to move further into the woods. The contrast between the ramshackle dwellings we encountered with our perfectly maintained albeit modest homes jarred, the black, vacant windows frightening.

  “They must not care about these houses,” Paul said, referencing the mysterious they.

  “No. I wonder what happened to the people who lived here.”

  Our feet crunching on fallen twigs echoed around us, announcing our arrival if anyone waited to catch us. It took over an hour to reach Tiresias. I was sorry I didn’t bring water, my mouth so dry, thinking about the walk back home increasing my anxiety. I tried to remember how long a person could go without water before they fainted. It had to be longer than an evening walk.

  “Look!” Paul whispered, pointing. “There’s the tall fence.”

  Creeping closer to it, we didn’t know if it would be monitored like the street corners were. “Look!” I said, parroting Paul. “There are people walking around!”

  We backed up behind the trees and crouched down again, out of sight. As though it was the middle of the day, people were walking along the perimeter of the area, close to the fence. They were talking. I could hear the soft hum of voices, an occasional cackle of laughter. It was difficult to see from a distance, but it appeared they were wearing some kind of uniform.

  “They’re just regular people,” Paul said softly. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Let’s get closer,” I said.

  We crept up a little further. “There’re two fences,” Paul said.

  It was difficult to see in the dark, but if I focused, I could see the second fence. The fences were spaced about two feet apart, forming a safety zone. My back was starting to bother me from crouching over, so I dropped to my knees and started to crawl to the fence.

  “Don’t touch the fence,” Paul warned when we reached it. “Listen.”

  The buzz of electricity was clear; the fence was electrified. “It must be to keep us out,” I said, idiotically. “I mean, they’re walking right up next to the fence on their side.”

  “Shhh!” Paul hissed.

  It was too late. A girl heard me; turned from the group she was with and walked back to the fence. “Who’s out there?” she called softly.

  “Don’t answer her,” Paul whispered, grabbing my arm. We stood like statues, listening.

  “I can hear you!” she said. “Who are you?”

  “Let’s get out of here!” he cried, pulling on me.

  “Wait, don’t leave!” she screamed. “Please, I beg of you, come back!”

  With her cries echoing through the forest, we got up and ran back toward home, sure
that Council Police would be waiting for us when we reached Oxford.

  But no one was there.

  Chapter 3

  Rose called it out at the lake weather, perhaps a need for a blanket spread over the bed, a sweater in the morning, fighting the urge to turn the furnace on, fuel oil rationed as strictly as food. It was a hint that autumn was on its way. Old people dangerously reminiscing said even the weather had changed with the times. The winters were milder, summers almost unbearable with the heat and humidity. That morning when I woke up, late due to the outing Paul and I had made the night before, I felt it too. A change in the way the air felt. Summer was almost over.

  We’d reached home after three, frightened and shaking. Paul gave me a boost through my window and went home without saying goodbye. I pulled my jeans off and got into bed right away. I didn’t know what time it was when my mother came in my room to see if I was still sleeping.

  “You okay, Stevie?” she said. “This is late for you.”

  “What time is it?” I moaned.

  “Almost ten,” she said. “Paul and Joey were already here. You’d better let ‘em know you’re still alive.”

  “It feels like a school day,” I said.

  “I know,” Rose replied, rubbing her arms to warm up. “It’s out at the lake weather for sure. If you want I’ll make you pancakes. I’ve got extra flour.”

  “Okay, that sounds good, Mom,” I answered. “I smell bacon, too.” Any food we didn’t grow ourselves was a commodity provided by The Council, and bacon was rare.

  “Paul brought it over, a gift from his dad. Someone from the restaurant gave it to him. I hope the day never comes when we can’t accept gifts like bacon.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be able to?” I asked, frowning.

  “It could be the next slap in the face,” she whispered, “If a farmer has animals to butcher, the government takes them. Everything belongs to the government. The same thing applies with the flour. I hope the day never comes where they take our wheat harvest.”

  I couldn’t believe what she was saying. “That’s not right,” I said.

  “It wasn’t always like this,” she sighed. “Yiayia once kept a cow and chickens. Back in the old days. Don’t tell anyone I told you. We don’t talk about the past, remember?”

  We’d talked about the past more in the last two days than ever before. “I won’t tell, Mom, I promise.”

  Waiting until she left to get up, I couldn’t remember if I ever took my clothes off or not. I looked over at the window and noticed I’d forgotten to pull the screen back down. My heart started that familiar staccato beat I always got after getting caught doing something wrong. But my mother hadn’t noticed.

  Quickly going to the window, I closed the screen. The sound of the girl’s voice screaming after us came back to me, petrifying me. Would someone there report us? The whole thing made no sense. In spite of the fear, I couldn’t get her voice out of my head; the sweet, begging cry. I felt she was calling after me, not Paul.

  Entering the kitchen, my mother had breakfast ready for me. I tried to focus on the effort she’d made and not fantasize about the girl.

  “They’re good, Mom, thank you.”

  “I’ll save some of this for your father’s dinner tonight,” she said, pleased. “Something extra.”

  I took another big bite of the light, fluffy pancake with real maple syrup. My father and grandmother and I tapped the maple trees in the neighborhood, letting the sap drain into buckets. “Where is everyone?”

  “Stephanie and Peter took baby Steve to the clinic today and Yiayia is in back, working in the garden.” Pausing, her uncomfortable hesitation permeated the room.

  “What?” I asked.

  “About yesterday,” she said. “Daddy and I want to tell you, Stevie. We want you to know about things. That whole mess yesterday, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It just means there are many things about life that you’ll learn when you’re a little older. We’re not allowed to tell you, you see. Because of our history, any opinions we have will affect what we teach you. Each person’s thoughts are colored by their experiences. That’s what we’re taught now.” She rubbed her cheek trying to explain to me. “The Council doesn’t want that. They want to be in control of what your generation thinks. It’s too late for people my age because we remember what it was like before all of this happened.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  But she shook her head. “You must trust me, Steve. The less you know, the safer you’ll be. That’s why Mrs. Polsky calling out one word was so detrimental. It got you and the boys thinking about things you don’t need to know about yet.”

  She turned away and I could tell she was sorry she’d spoken.

  “Eat up your breakfast.”

  For not wanting to talk about the past, everyone was sure talking a lot about it and I was getting confused. I put my plate in the sink when the familiar tap on the door alerted me that my buddies were waiting for me outside.

  “If you can, don’t get caught up in a conversation with the boys about what happened yesterday,” Rose said, kissing my cheek.

  “I won’t, Mom,” I replied.

  As long as the others were with us, Paul and I wouldn’t say a word about where we’d gone the night before. It was eerie, the memory of the girl in the uniform on the other side of the fence, looking like a prisoner. Her screams for us not to go reverberated through my head. I wondered if the others surrounded her when she called after us. I was too afraid to look back.

  I wasn’t in the mood to horse around, choosing to dwell on what I remembered, what I was able to see in the dark woods. The little light which filtered through the leaves of the trees settled on her head, golden light reflecting off her hair. A glimpse of white teeth and the whites of her eyes were all I could see.

  While Joe and Paul argued about goalie techniques, I fantasized about going back to Tiresias, alone. I’d have to sneak through the front door because my bedroom window was too high to reach to get back inside. Unless I took a ladder from the shed after my uncle was inside for the night. I could rest it against the window, then pull it in after me and hide it under the bed. The only time it would be problematic was if Uncle Peter needed it for some reason, or my mother got the notion to clean my room. Maybe I could do it myself that afternoon and make sure she saw the effort I’d made; it would deter her need to run the dust mop underneath my bed.

  Enough time had passed that I felt like I could leave my friends without their suspicions being roused. “I’m getting hungry,” I lied. “Lunch time.”

  Paul looked at me; I detected worry. We still hadn’t mentioned what we’d done. It was a secret best left unspoken if what our parents had warned us about was true.

  I left them and walked home. The cool breeze from the morning had evaporated, replaced with stifling heat, a mirage of rippling waves of heat just feet in front of me as I walked, disappearing as soon as I reached it.

  “You’re back already?” Rose asked, sitting on the front porch with my grandmother, fanning herself.

  “I don’t feel good,” I lied, knowing the response it would generate, both women jumping to their feet.

  “I’ll get mint for tea,” my grandmother said, sprinting around back.

  “Come in,” Rose said. “Let me get you a cool compress. It’s this heat.”

  I let her lead me, thinking it might not be too smart to play sick because surely she’d check on me in the middle of the night, thwarting my plans. “Mom, I’m just tired,” I said.

  The cool dark house felt good after the heat of the pavement, and I followed her into the kitchen, hoping she’d start talking about the old days again. My grandmother would probably love sharing the past, but my mother always shushed her if she even spoke a word.

  “Sit down,” Rose said, pulling a chair out for me. Automatically, her hand whipped out, pa
lm to my forehead. “You don’t feel warm. It’s sweltering out there. Maybe you’re dehydrated.”

  I chuckled. “Mom, I’m not that, whatever it is. Don’t worry.”

  “Just drink,” she said, pouring a glass of water from the filtered pitcher. “You can never have too much water in this heat.”

  Trying to draw my mother and grandmother into reminiscing proved fruitless. Although I’d found them relaxing on the porch when I got home, now they had too much work to do that afternoon to sit around making small talk.

  “Go back outside,” Rose said. “School is starting soon and you’ll be sorry you didn’t take advantage of your freedom.”

  Begrudgingly, I left the house and found my friends again. Paul didn’t mention anything and although I was curious about his silence, I didn’t push. Involving him in my plan was too dangerous, the fewer people who knew what I was doing, the better. Looking back, there was a hint of possessiveness, too. I didn’t want to share the girl with Paul.

  My dad’s bus arrived on time. I waited on the sidewalk and when I saw him step off, I ran to meet him. Ruffling my hair, my dad made me feel better about everything just by being home. My mother had dinner ready.

  “Get cleaned up for dinner, Stevie,” she said after kissing my father hello.

  As usual, we ate together, the talk superficial tonight, avoiding any mention of Mrs. Polsky or banned words. The relief in my parent’s voices drove home the fact that we’d dodged a bullet so to speak. If it happened again, if anyone slipped and uttered a forbidden word or phrase in public, we might get our dreaded visit from The Council Police.

  My dad smoked his after dinner cigar on the front porch while he read the paper. The paper was a community effort, like bread baking and childcare and gardening; allowed by the law, but not necessarily encouraged. As long as the paper reported the mundane; accidents, gossip, information about food, electricity and water distribution, its publication could continue. No one ever wrote anything about the past, or current government concerns, or laws. If the information didn’t touch on opinion, it was allowed. Knowing this, he read it each night, not having any expectations, shaking his head in amusement at the ridiculousness of it.