Memory of the Color Yellow Page 4

  But tonight, something made him angry. Jabbing the paper with his finger, he shook it at my mother. “Did you read this? They’re shutting the water off now during the day!”

  “George, it’s only for an hour,” she said. “You won’t even be home.”

  “Just make sure you have a bucket filled to flush the toilet,” he said.

  “I wonder what they’re trying to prepare us for now,” she whispered, looking from my dad to his mother to me.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means slowly they make things worse so we don’t realize how bad it is,” my grandmother answered. “It’s been the norm since the revolution. They say they’re going to make changes which will be beneficial, but in reality, it’s to our detriment. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next thing to go is running water.”

  I couldn’t imagine not having water, but when I prepared to leave the house for Tiresias that night, their conversation had made such a big impact, I remembered to take water with me.

  My father put a halt to the conversation when Stephanie and Peter got back from the clinic with baby Steve, not willing to take the chance that Peter could not be trusted with a critical conversation.

  “It took all day?” my mother asked, taking the baby from Aunt Stephanie.

  “We waited for over eight hours to see an intern who had to refer to a text book every time we asked a question. He said the little guy has an ear infection.” Stephanie kissed the baby’s cheek.

  “What’d they say to do for him?”

  “Give him tea made with oregano,” Uncle Peter said. “It’s got antibiotic properties.”

  “Why didn’t they just give him an antibiotic then?” My grandmother asked.

  “The intern said they don’t have any,” Stephanie replied. “‘We’re all out,’ were his exact words.”

  “How can a clinic be out of antibiotics?” my mother asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “It’s the new normal. Another new normal,” Peter replied. “The intern said they won’t be getting more antibiotics because the drug companies aren’t making any.”

  “Oh, that’s a lie,” my grandmother said, hitting her palm on the table.

  “I’m surprised the drug companies are still in business,” Rose said.

  “I bet the politicians can get all the drugs they need,” Stephanie said. “Antibiotics included.”

  “Makes sense,” my father replied. “No one in Europe Town has the money to buy drugs anyway. If we could rely on the government to provide what we needed…”

  “George, watch it,” Rose whispered, nodding toward me. “Anyway, we have plenty of oregano, don’t we Yiayia?”

  “Tons,” my grandmother answered. “We should probably all be drinking oregano tea.”

  “Yuck,” Stephanie said. “I’ll pass.”

  “You expect your baby to drink it, you should, too.”

  “I’ll put sugar in his,” she said, yawning.

  “Sugar will be the last thing to go, mark my word,” my father said. “It makes people sick so they die sooner.”

  “I’d die without sugar,” Peter said. “Tobacco, too.”

  “The two most important food groups, provided to the masses free of charge from The Council.”

  “That’s my signal to leave,” Stephanie said, taking the baby back from my mother, kissing his cheek again. “Say goodnight, Stevie.”

  Everyone waved at the baby and said, “Nitey nite, Baby.”

  Although it was on all the adult’s minds, no one voiced the proverbial question in front of me; what would life be like in the near future? Could it be much worse than it was now? It was an old discussion they’d save for another time, when they could drink ouzo and stay up all night, only soon, I’d be welcome to join in.

  “I guess I’ve had it, too,” my dad said, yawning.

  The exodus to our separate rooms began. It was early, not yet ten and I wasn’t going to leave until after midnight, hoping to see the girl behind the fence at the same time I had the night before. I could hear my mother puttering around her room, my father already snoring. The time had come to go out to the shed for the ladder. I sat in my dark room, willing my eyes to grow accustomed to the dark so I didn’t need to use my flashlight.

  The screen went up easily without a squeak. I was careful not to scrape my back on the threshold this time, twisting around as I dropped out of the window. The distance to the ground didn’t feel as far the second time. I could see lights shining from the basement, my grandmother probably sewing or settling down to read before bedtime. I didn’t waste any time, carefully getting the ladder out of the shed, dragging it to my window, climbing back into my room. I wanted to be in bed, resting with the lights off in case my mother came in. I closed the screen, pulled the shade down, and waited.

  I must have fallen asleep, because sometime after midnight, my mother came to check on me and when she left, the click of the door woke me up. I grabbed the clock on my nightstand and saw that it was time to leave. Repeating the procedure of the night before, I pulled my jeans on over my pajama bottoms. Slipping my arms into a zip up sweatshirt in case I got cold, a hood to hide under, the bottle of water fitting in the pocket perfectly.

  Carefully climbing out of the window, having the ladder was much easier than jumping down. I placed the ladder on its side, against the house, just in case. Repeating the route we took the night before, the only time I was really frightened was crossing the street. The remote areas looked worse when I was alone, the abandoned houses foreboding, the hoot of an owl making my heart pound in my throat until I thought of what the owl stood for. The wise owl was my protector. If anyone came close, he’d fly off as a warning. I tried to remember that as I hiked through the woods.

  Within the hour, I arrived at the fence. Hiding behind the same tree, I heard voices off in the distance, the tinkle of a woman’s laughter, a more hearty sound of an older man’s. I couldn’t see anyone yet, so I sat with my back against the tree to wait.

  A group of people, adults and children appeared suddenly, walking along the fence, dressed in the same uniform-type outfit I’d recognized from the night before. It seemed they were walking the perimeter of an area for exercise, confirmed by their conversation.

  “This is the fifth lap,” a female voice said. “Half way there.”

  “Oh, do we have to do ten?” Another female whined, a familiar voice. “Why, oh why? This is pure torture.”

  “Penelope, you’re lazy,” followed by more laughter.

  “Lazy, but smart,” a male voice said. “This is a drag.”

  “Let’s keep going,” the hearty male voice said. “We’ll be glad we did when we can’t walk this winter.”

  “Oh, winter,” Penelope wailed. “Why ruin a perfectly good evening talking about winter? I don’t even want to think about winter yet.”

  “Winter’s great. We don’t have to do a thing but sit around and eat.”

  “Penelope would never sit around and eat,” a woman remarked. “She’d be too concerned about getting fat.”

  The bickering and teasing of the girl, Penelope continued until the group was out of sight, only the occasional moan or cackle of laughter heard in the distance. Pulling the hood of my sweatshirt up, I leaned back against the tree. I had no idea of the length of their walk, but if they had five more laps to do, I was certain they’d reappear before too long.

  I wanted to see the girl again. Her name was Penelope; she didn’t like winter or exercise, and it appeared she was easily teased for being lazy and proud. The only way I could get her attention was if she lagged behind the others as she’d done the previous night when she’d heard Paul’s whispered voice. Sound carried in the woods.

  Closing my eyes, I was tired and scared. It was foolish for me to come out here alone, now that the group was out of hearing range, my plan seemed ridiculous, my fear increasing. There was no way I could get Penelope�
�s attention without alerting the others.

  “Who are you?”

  The surprise of the whispered voice hit me in the chest like a hot poker, chills and prickles of fear spreading through me rapidly.

  “Where are you?” I whispered back, heart pounding.

  Stepping out from behind a tree, the form of Penelope walked toward the fence, her gold hair catching the moonlight again so I was able to see her silhouette clearly.

  “You didn’t answer me,” she said, persistent. “Who are you? If you won’t answer that, at least have the decency to tell me what you want.”

  I had a decision to make. I could run like the wind and crawl up the ladder to my bed, or I could stay and engage her, tell her what my motive was, run the risk of putting myself in serious trouble.

  “I’m curious,” I answered. It was the truth.

  “Ha! How’d you even find out about this place? It’s supposed to be such a big secret from the mainlanders.”

  “Mainlanders?” I asked, never having heard the word.

  “You know,” she said. “Free people. You people who live on the mainland are free. We islanders have to stay here, like caged animals.”

  Another term I’d never heard; caged animals. “You use a lot of words I’ve never heard before,” I replied, my youth suddenly so obvious. “How old are you?”

  Pausing, it didn’t occur to me that she was trying to decide what to tell me. “Fifteen,” she finally answered. “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen,” I lied. Twelve just seemed too young.

  “Did you travel far to get here?” she asked.

  “No, not too far,” I said.

  “What kind of boat did you take?”

  I was completely confused. “Boat?”

  “Oh, come on. You know what a boat is, don’t you? A vessel that floats on the water? How’d you get to the island? Did you row or have a power boat?”

  “I didn’t take a boat,” I said. “I walked.”

  She took a step closer to the fence, intertwining her fingers through the mesh. “Impossible,” she said.

  “No, it’s not. It took me less than an hour to get here.”

  “The others are coming,” she said urgently, looking off to the east. “Meet me here at five.”

  “I can’t,” I said urgently. “I have to get back before five.”

  She thought for a moment, looking right at me. “I don’t understand why,” she said. “Well, let’s see, I might be able to come back in an hour. Can you wait that long?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

  Sunrise was at six. I couldn’t see my watch, but it had to be around two. If she came back in an hour, I had no idea how long we’d visit but I’d have to be careful not to stay much later. I needed to get home and get the ladder stashed under my bed before my dad got up for work.

  “Wait! One more thing before you go,” I said, finding the courage to stand up.

  Turning back to me, she grasped the fence again. “Yes?”

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  “I could hear rustling,” she said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  I watched her disappear again, waiting back in the woods until the group rounded the bend where she joined in, the droning of their voices repeating the same pattern, becoming louder the closer they got and fading as they walked away. I fell asleep shortly after the last round, but thankfully, she returned within the hour, waking me up.

  “Are you still there?” she called out softly.

  “I’m here,” I answered, the heaviness of sleep leaving immediately with the prospect of talking with the girl. I stood up against the tree again, the bark rough through the sweatshirt fabric. “Do you know what time it is? I can’t see my watch.

  I watched her hand go to her wrist. “It’s three-thirty,” she answered.

  “I have to leave in half an hour,” I said. “It’ll take me an hour to get home and I have to get in my room before my dad gets up.”

  “Why do you have to sneak?” she asked.

  I thought about why I had to sneak around for a moment, the way one word had changed my perspective of the world. What did I have to lose by telling her the truth?

  “We aren’t supposed to know about this place until we’re adults,” I replied, the facts sounding so silly spoken out loud. “I mean, I think they wait until we’re adults to tell us. Me and my friend found out about it by accident.”

  “When you say this place, you mean the island, correct?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s not really an island,” I said. “It’s a fenced-in area west of our town.”

  “It’s not an island,” she replied, stunned. “Of course. How else would you have walked here!”

  “I guess you could say it’s an island in the middle of the woods, but it’s not an actual island floating in the sea. Or a lake.”

  “Hmmm. Interesting. I wonder if the adults here know that. I wonder if my dad knows.”

  I looked around, at the double fence and the woods that went on for miles. “Can you get out?”

  “Do you mean off the island? No. I can’t swim.”

  I didn’t bother repeating that there was no water. “Is a town in there?” I asked.

  “Not like a town you read about in books. There are houses, a distribution center. A hospital.”

  I was befuddled, for lack of a better word. “Where does your dad work?” I asked.

  “My dad doesn’t live here. He’s a farmer. He has a small place east of the city.”

  “What does he grow?” I asked, picturing a garden the size of my grandmother’s backyard oasis.

  “Vegetables,” she said. “What else is there?”

  The conversation about crops was quickly dying. I yawned, looked at my watch to no avail, and felt the anxiety building. “I’d better leave. What time is it?”

  She repeated the movement of her hand to her wrist. “It’s after four. You’d better go. Will you come back tonight?”

  I didn’t have to give it a thought. “Yes. I’ll be back at midnight again, unless something happens. Goodbye for now.”

  “Wait! What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Steve,” I said. “And you’re Penelope?”

  “Yes. Penelope. I’ll see you tonight, Steve.”

  I waved to her, but she didn’t wave back. “Be careful,” she said. “Goodbye.”

  “Bye,” I answered, reluctantly turning from her.

  Fear I wouldn’t get home in time to get back in the window propelled me along at a faster pace than I thought I was capable of going. Before five I was back in bed, the ladder under my bed and the screen closed. The temperature had dropped, and I pulled the blanket that my mother had left folded at the foot my bed up over my body.

  Quickly falling asleep, I was only awakened once; my father poked his head in my room before he left for the bus. “Morning, Dad,” I mumbled, looking up at him.

  “Morning, Son,” he replied. “Sorry to wake you. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Pulling the sheet and blanket up to my neck, I rolled over on my side and fell back to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  By the end of the week, I was exhausted from a multitude of factors; lack of sleep, running back and forth to see Penelope, and keeping my guard up not to slip about her when I was with Paul. He didn’t suspect anything, probably never would guess what I had been up to. In our group, I had the reputation of being something of a momma’s boy. I wasn’t adventuresome or dare-devilish. Running through the woods to pursue a girl would be the last thing my friends would think me capable of.

  During our meetings that week, Penelope and I worked out a plan we’d follow for the rest of the summer. Because she didn’t finish with her group walk until two-thirty, I would arrive then instead of leaving my house at midnight and waiting for her. I set my alarm for one-thirty, giving me plenty of time to get down the ladder and negotiate the miles to Tires
ias.

  I almost got caught the first time I’d left the house at the later time. I didn’t see The Council Police vehicle until it was almost on top of me, its headlights skimming the edge of my body when I dropped to the ground, face buried in the dirt. The lights swept over me, the car not pausing for a second, going on its way. I didn’t know if they were looking for someone or on their regular rounds. By Friday, I was ready for them, hugging the trees, dropping out of site when they approached; having figured it was the beat they drove each night.

  When I arrived, she’d waited for me at the fence. I walked up to the electric fence, careful not to get too close.

  She’d remind me. “You’re getting a little close,” she’d said, her voice giving away her anxiety. I grew up during those first days with her. We’d spend an hour talking, and I didn’t notice that she was asking all the questions.

  “Do you go to school?”

  “Yeah,” I said, frowning; didn’t everybody? “I’m going into eighth grade. What about you?”

  “We don’t have grades inside,” she said. “There’s nothing else to do but go to school, until you work.”

  “It’s the same out here,” I said. That’s how we differentiated; she was inside, I was out here. “We go to school and then we work. Some people go to college.”

  “We don’t have college,” she said. “I’ve heard of it, but it’s not for us.”

  “Why? College should be for everyone. My mom says I don’t have the option not to go.”

  “We don’t have it here and we can’t go out to get it.”

  I wanted to ask why she couldn’t go out. I didn’t understand, but didn’t go further with it because talking about her being inside seemed to upset her.

  “What do you do on the weekend?” I asked.

  “Nothing different than usual,” she said. “Is it special for you?”

  “It’s really special,” I said, my childishness shining through. “Everyone looks forward to the weekend all week long. My family stays up until after midnight playing cards or games. My mom always makes something special for us to eat.”