Nebula Awards Showcase 2013 (13 page)

“And what happens if I don't take it?”

“You will be sent back.”

“Then why did you even ask?”

He gave a regulation smile. If she had measured it with a ruler, it would have been perfect. She stood up, and the chair sounded like it was laughing. “All right. Where do I go?”

They took her blood and sent her into a waiting room with two doors, neither of which had a handle. As she sat there idle, the true rashness of what she had done crept up on her. It wasn't like running away on-planet. Maya didn't know where she had gone. By now, they would be different ages. Maya could be dying, or Thorn could be older than she was, before they ever found each other. It was a permanent separation. And permanent punishment for Maya.

Thorn tried to summon up the righteous anger that had propelled her only an hour and thirty-two years before. But even that slipped from her grasp. It was replaced with a clutching feeling of her own guilt. She had known Maya's shortcomings when she took the ice owl, and never bothered to safeguard against them. She had known all the accidents the world was capable of, and still she had failed to protect a creature that could not protect itself.

Now, remorse made her bleed inside. The owl had been too innocent to meet such a terrible end. Its life should have been a joyous ascent into air, and instead it had been a hellish struggle, alone and forgotten, killed by neglect. Thorn had betrayed everyone by letting the ice owl die. Magister Pregaldin, who had trusted her with his precious possession. Even, somehow, Jemma and the other victims of Till Diwali's crime—for what had she done but reenact his failure, as if to show that human beings had learned nothing? She felt as if caught in an iron-bound cycle of history, doomed to repeat what had gone before, as long as she was no better than her predecessors had been.

She covered her face with her hands, wanting to cry, but too demoralized even for that. It seemed like a self-indulgence she didn't deserve.

The door clicked and she started up at sight of a stern, rectangular woman in a uniform skirt, whose face held the hint of a sneer. Thorn braced for the news that she would have to waste another thirty-two years on a pointless journey back to Glory to God. But instead, the woman said, “There is someone here to see you.”

Behind her was a familiar face that made Thorn exclaim in joy, “Clarity!”

Clarity came into the room, and Thorn embraced her in relief. “I thought you were going to Alananovis.”

“We were,” Clarity said, “but we decided we couldn't just stand by and let a disaster happen. I followed you, and Bick stayed behind to tell Maya where we were going.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Thorn cried. Now the tears that had refused to come before were running down her face. “But you gave up thirty-two years for a stupid reason.”

“It wasn't stupid for us,” Clarity said. “You were the stupid one.”

“I know,” Thorn said miserably.

Clarity was looking at her with an expression of understanding. “Thorn, most people your age are allowed some mistakes. But you're performing life without a net. You have to consider Maya. Somehow, you've gotten older than she is even though you've been traveling together. You're the steady one, the rock she leans on. These boyfriends, they're just entertainment for her. They drop her and she bounces back. But if you dropped her, her whole world would dissolve.”

Thorn said, “That's not true.”

“It
is
true,” Clarity said.

Thorn pressed her lips together, feeling impossibly burdened. Why did
she
have to be the reliable one, the one who was never vulnerable or wounded? Why did Maya get to be the dependent one?

On the other hand, it was a comfort that she hadn't abandoned Maya as she had done to the ice owl. Maya was not a perfect mother, but neither was Thorn a perfect daughter. They were both just doing their best.

“I hate this,” she said, but without conviction. “Why do I have to be responsible for her?”

“That's what love is all about,” Clarity said.

“You're a busybody, Clarity,” Thorn said.

Clarity squeezed her hand. “Yes. Aren't you lucky?”

The door clicked open again. Beyond the female guard's square shoulder, Thorn glimpsed a flash of honey-gold hair. “Maya!” she said.

When she saw Thorn, Maya's whole being seemed to blaze like the sun. Dodging in, she threw her arms around Thorn.

“Oh Thorn, thank heaven I found you! I was worried sick. I thought you were lost.”

“It's okay, it's okay,” Thorn kept saying as Maya wept and hugged her again. “But Maya, you have to tell me something.”

“Anything. What?”

“Did you seduce a
Vind
?”

For a moment Maya didn't understand. Then a secretive smile grew on her face, making her look very pretty and pleased with herself. She touched Thorn's hair. “I've been meaning to tell you about that.”

“Later,” Bick said. “Right now, we all have tickets for Alananovis.”

“That's wonderful,” Maya said. “Where's Alananovis?”

“Only seven years away from here.”

“Fine. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters as long as we're together.”

She held out her finger for the secret finger-lock. Thorn did it with a little inward sigh. For a moment she felt as if her whole world were composed of vulnerable beings frozen in time, as if she were the only one who aged and changed.

“We're a team, right?” Maya said anxiously.

“Yeah,” Thorn answered. “We're a team.”

The Monday before spring break I told my English lit class we were going to do Shakespeare. The weather in Colorado is usually wretched this time of year. We get all the snow the ski resorts needed in December, use up our scheduled snow days, and end up going an extra week in June. The forecast on the
Today
show hadn't predicted any snow till Saturday, but with luck it would arrive sooner.

My announcement generated a lot of excitement. Paula dived for her corder and rewound it to make sure she'd gotten my every word, Edwin Sumner looked smug, and Delilah snatched up her books and stomped out, slamming the door so hard it woke Rick up. I passed out the release/refusal slips and told them they had to have them back in by Wednesday. I gave one to Sharon to give Delilah. “Shakespeare is considered one of our greatest writers, possibly
the
greatest,” I said for the benefit of Paula's corder. “On Wednesday I will be talking about Shakespeare's life, and on Thursday and Friday we will be reading his work.”

Wendy raised her hand. “Are we going to read all the plays?”

I sometimes wonder where Wendy has been the last few years—certainly not in this school, possibly not in this universe. “What we're studying hasn't been decided yet,” I said. “The principal and I are meeting tomorrow.”

“It had better be one of the tragedies,” Edwin said darkly.

 

* * *

 

By lunch the news was all over the school. “Good luck,” Greg Jefferson the biology teacher said in the teacher's lounge. “I just got done doing evolution.”

“Is it really that time of year again?” Karen Miller said. She teaches American lit across the hall. “I'm not even up to the Civil War yet.”

“It's that time of year again,” I said. “Can you take my class during your free period tomorrow? I've got to meet with Harrows.”

“I can take them all morning. Just have your kids come into my room tomorrow. We're doing 'Thanatopsis.' Another thirty kids won't matter.”

“'Thanatopsis?'” I said, impressed. “The whole thing?”

“All but lines ten and sixty-eight. It's a terrible poem, you know. I don't think anybody understands it well enough to protest. And I'm not telling anybody what the title means.”

“Cheer up,” Greg said. “Maybe we'll have a blizzard.”

 

* * *

 

Tuesday was clear, with a forecast of temps in the sixties. Delilah was outside the school when I got there, wearing a red Seniors Against Devil Worship in the Schools T-shirt and shorts. She was carrying a picket sign that said, “Shakespeare is Satan's Spokesman.” Shakespeare and Satan were both misspelled.

“We're not starting Shakespeare till tomorrow,” I told her. “There's no reason for you not to be in class. Ms. Miller is teaching 'Thanatopsis.'”

“Not lines ten and sixty-eight, she's not. Besides, Bryant was a Theist, which is the same thing as a Satanist.” She handed me her refusal slip and a fat manila envelope. “Our protests are in there.” She lowered her voice. “What does the word 'thanatopsis' really mean?”

“It's an Indian word. It means, 'One who uses her religion to ditch class and get a tan.'”

I went inside, got Shakespeare out of the vault in the library and went into the office. Ms. Harrows already had the Shakespeare file and her box of kleenex out. “Do you have to do this?” she said, blowing her nose.

“As long as Edwin Sumner's in my class, I do. His mother's head of the President's Task Force on Lack of Familiarity with the Classics.” I added Delilah's list of protests to the stack and sat down at the computer.

“Well, it may be easier than we think,” she said. “There have been a lot of suits since last year, which takes care of
Macbeth
,
The Tempest
,
A Midsummer Night's Dream
,
The Winter's Tale
, and
Richard III
.”

“Delilah's been a busy girl,” I said. I fed in the unexpurgated disk and the excise and reformat programs. “I don't remember there being any witchcraft in
Richard III.
”

She sneezed and grabbed for another kleenex. “There's not. That was a slander suit. Filed by his great-great-grand-something. He claims there's no conclusive proof that Richard III killed the little princes. It doesn't matter anyway. The Royal Society for the Restoration of Divine Right of Kings has an injunction against all the history plays. What's the weather supposed to be like?”

“Terrible,” I said. “Warm and sunny.” I called up the catalog and deleted
Henry IV, Parts I and II
, and the rest of her list. “
Taming of the Shrew
?”

“Angry Women's Alliance. Also
Merry Wives of Windsor
,
Romeo and Juliet
, and
Love's Labour Lost
.”

“
Othello
? Never mind. I know that one.
Merchant of Venice
? The Anti-Defamation League?”

“No. The American Bar Association. And Morticians International. They object to the use of the word 'casket' in Act III.” She blew her nose.

 

* * *

 

It took us first and second period to deal with the plays and most of third to finish the sonnets. “I've got a class fourth period and then lunch duty,” I said. “We'll have to finish up the rest of them this afternoon.”

“Is there anything left for this afternoon?” Ms. Harrows asked.

“
As You Like It
and
Hamlet,
” I said. “Good heavens, how did they miss
Hamlet?
”

“Are you sure about
As You Like It?
” Ms. Harrows said, leafing through her stack. “I thought somebody'd filed a restraining order against it.”

“Probably the Mothers Against Transvestites,” I said. “Rosalind dresses up like a man in Act II.”

“No, here it is. The Sierra Club. 'Destructive attitudes toward the environment.'” She looked up. “What destructive attitudes?”

“Orlando carves Rosalind's name on a tree.” I leaned back in my chair so I could see out the window. The sun was still shining maliciously down. “I guess we go with
Hamlet
. This should make Edwin and his mother happy.”

“We've still got the line-by-lines to go,” Ms. Harrows said. “I think my throat is getting sore.”

 

* * *

 

I got Karen to take my afternoon classes. It was sophomore lit, and we'd been doing Beatrix Potter—all she had to do was pass out a worksheet on
Squirrel Nutkin.
I had outside lunch duty. It was so hot I had to take my jacket off. The College Students for Christ were marching around the school carrying 
picket signs that said, “Shakespeare was a Secular Humanist.”

Delilah was lying on the front steps, reeking of suntan oil. She waved her “Shakespeare is Satan's Spokesman” sign languidly at me. “'Ye have sinned a great sin,'” she quoted. “'Blot me, I pray thee, out of thy book which thou has written.' Exodus Chapter 32, Verse 30.”

“First Corinthians 13:3,” I said. “'Though I give my body to be burned and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.”

 

* * *

 

“I called the doctor,” Ms. Harrows said. She was standing by the window looking out at the blazing sun. “He thinks I might have pneumonia.”