Genesis Lost - Books 1 - 6, page 46
I forced my foot down the step, my mind reciting a chorus for self-conviction: Nobody knows that you’re here. Nobody knows that you’re here.
But what if they did? A mumbled “Jesus Christ, Max” escaped my lips, making me swing my hand onto my mouth. Couldn’t say that stuff out loud here… or anywhere else, really.
If they caught me here, I’d lose my position at the lab, and they would investigate me. Did defenders ever patrol the Districts incognito? I gazed over my shoulder; first the left one then the right. Nothing.
Abandoned buildings lined my path, rotten plywood boards hanging on rusty screws driven deep into the crumbling brick. Water dripped somewhere, perhaps from the stained shirts and ripped pants draped over a line high above me, wallowing in the thick and clingy stench of old age and disease.
Underneath my white shirt, the fine hairs on my arm stood erect in a mixture of disgust, shame and a weird kind of anticipation.
The deeper I ventured, the more I reminded myself to breathe through my mouth.
I stepped around the corner, over what must have been someone’s half-digested dinner, and stopped at the glass door, woven with dozens of cracks which had yet to burst. In a mere whisper, I read the emergency-red graffiti above the door out loud. “We are made in the Lord’s image.” Sounds about right…
The thick paint had flaked in some spots over the years, but the words punched me in the face like an angry mob nonetheless, turning my stomach upside down. When was the last time I’ve seen this one? Two years? Three?
The rusty door wouldn’t budge, and I pushed my entire body against the metal frame, hoping the glass wouldn’t shatter. Can’t make such a fuss if you’re trying to keep a low profile inside a place you shouldn’t be.
A guy with a deep dent above his temple stared at me from one eye, the other hanging dull and lazily in its socket. My best bet was a brain tumor. But the water canons might just as well have injured him during a mob, back when there were still more crumbs than the rug could hide.
The judgmental beam of his one good eye burned through the back of my shirt as I walked along the hall. I didn’t turn until I had reached the second door to the right. Holding my arm up I hesitated for a moment, and it hit me like a rock on the head: what if he isn’t even alive anymore?
I sighed and gave a knock… knock… knock… on the door. Hinges screeched, but the wooden door in front of me stood unmoved. Pale skin appeared at the corner of my eye, mottled in brown and blueish spots. My heart raced. Was it councilwoman Kenya herself? I spun around on my heels, taking a deep breath of the sour air.
“Bless you, my child,” an elderly lady nodded and closed the apartment behind her. Her tired legs barely left the floor as she shuffled across the hallway, the dirty hem of her skirt dragging over the greasy floor, and her shoes squeaking with every tiny step she took.
A warm draft made me spin back to the wooden door. “Max!”
Sudden coldness flashed through me and deep into my core. At that moment, three years seemed like an eternity, and I stared into his weathered face, veiled in a haze of gray. His hair had already lost all of its color by the time I was sixteen, but it now also stood in several directions in matted white strands. Not unkept, just… downtrodden.
I wanted to hug him, because that’s what a family does, right? Instead, I gave a helpless shrug. “Hi, dad!”
His eyes narrowed and he poked his head into the hallway, searching for whoever he thought I was hiding out there. Couldn’t blame him, of course — can’t trust a traitor, now can you?
“It’s just me, dad. I tried to call you, but it says you discontinued your service?”
“Oh that, yes, yes,” he waved me inside, his hands smeared in something black which had rubbed deep into the friction ridges of his fingers. He closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. Then he reached up and placed the chain back into its hole. Then another. And a third one. “I didn’t really need it anyway, now that I’m not active anymore. Come, come! Sit down here.”
He pointed at something I figured might be an armchair, besieged by several small piles of books which leaned crookedly against each other, their tooled leather spines too dusty to betray who authored them.
Radical thinkers, for sure, or perhaps some religious coo-coo. Nothing had ever been more precious to him than his books, except for his children.
“There, sit down, son.” He placed the last pile of books on the ugly concrete floor, pushing it underneath a rustic bench with his foot.
I sat down, and dust flung up around me twirling through the dim light of the flickering bulb. My nose itched like a mosquito bite, and I crinkled my face. “Atchoo!”
“Gesundheit! You’re not getting sick, are you?”
“Um.” I ran my index finger over the side table next to me and showed him the half-inch layer of black fluff.
“Oh, come on Maxi, everyone knows dust makes for a healthy immune system.”
A deep sigh escaped my throat. “Just Max, dad.”
“I forgot you are a serious scientist now. Orange or Mint?” He held up two well-loved metal canisters, and I pointed at orange. “Well, it sure is a surprise to see you here, Max. Haven’t heard from you ever since you got me arrested and the church shut down.”
I wasn’t in the mood for a family grief counseling. I bit my upper lip until he returned from his three-by-ten kitchenette with two steaming mugs, mine chipped in two spots, his missing the handle.
“Nothing is better than a good cup of tea, right?” He placed my mug on the table next to me and gazed across the room in search of another surface not conquered by books. “Can’t afford oranges anymore, so sometimes I allow myself a cup of this tea to remind myself what it smelled like. Remember it was Nathalie’s favorite? Oranges?”
“Uh-huh.” I took a sip. Steam rose from our mugs, clinging to the all-surrounding dust and turning the stale air into an unbreathable thick layer of undigested history. It itched my skin, and I rubbed my palm over my thigh. “Sorry for just showing up here like that.”
“Nonsense Max.” He sat down on the bench across from me, between two piles of books which reached so high, he conveniently placed his tea mug on top. He squeezed himself between the pages and wiggled his hips to make more room for himself. “Betsy told me you work at that fancy research facility at the Obsidian District now.”
I had no clue who Betsy was, but the thought of my dad having to rely on others for news about his only son kicked me in the guts.
A forty-minutes trip with the tram didn’t excuse my absence. But why did he have to be so goddamned stubborn and pious? His eyes darted at me, and I shrunk back into my dusty armchair. I didn’t just say goddamned out loud, did I?
“I am not saying this to put any blame at your door, Max, but we both know you’re not here for bible study. So… why did you come?”
“Do I need a reason?”
His brows shot up before I had even finished my sentence, making me squirm in my seat as if I had a terrible rash on my rear end. Yeah, it’s not like I came for my monthly cup of tea, the way any decent son would have done it.
“Telling a lie is a sin.”
“I didn’t lie, I asked a question.” I took another quick sip of my tea, battling the dryness which had formed inside my mouth. “Don’t think that I stopped looking up whenever I lie, worrying that lightning might strike me down like you preached so many times over butt roast with green beans.”
He clapped his hands together with a wide grin. “Oh, your mother made the most wonderful butt roast, back when we could still smuggle some meat in. The walls are pretty tight now. Not much is getting in or out anymore unless you know the right people.”
“Please tell me you’re not the right people.”
His finger tapped a three-beat on the book cover which made my brows furrow.
“They took our family bible and put the church off limits.” He stared down at his hands, rubbed his darkened fingers together and pushed them between his thighs. “You know I’m no longer active. A reverend without his bible is like a shepherd without his cane.”
The way he had dived his hands between his legs told me a different story. A story of pamphlets printed in a secret backroom. Encoded messages whispered from one ear to another. Protests where people chanted about the holiness of the human genome. Three years ago I would have called him a crazy fanatic — but not today.
I sunk my head. “There is an issue with the water.”
“If you mean that we can no longer honor our wives in marriage and be fruitful like he commanded, then that’s not exactly news.”
“Can you leave your radical views out of this for a moment?” I placed my mug back onto the side table and leaned into him. “I found out our enhanced water is rendering our men sterile. But to make it even worse, it seems to have turned into a hereditary problem.”
“Max, what does that even mean? Hereditary. Rendering. I am not a scientist.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and rubbed my hand across my face. “It is like a mutation that is being passed down from one generation to the next. At the rate we’re going, the Districts won’t have any fertile men left in two or three years.”
His lips trembled, and the corners of his mouth rose and sank as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. I clenched my jaws, waiting for the words to spit from his lips. I told you so. I told you so.
“Didn’t I tell you so?” He wiggled his index finger right at me.
Shame washed over my voice. “You did.”
I would let him have this one. After all, I was the one who had pointed at the ash drawer of his wood stove, where the family bible had rested wrapped in three linen rags.
“We let this happen.” Tea slopped over the rim of his mug and onto the concrete floor, which soaked up the droplets like a thirsty rock. “Be fruitful and multiply. Be fruitful and multiply, Max.”
Dad put his tea onto the book pile, stood and paced back and forth between me and the bench. His lips mumbled something as incoherent as the hums of an old flickering light.
I stared down at my feet and took a deep breath. “I got a plan, dad. But my plan is kind of crazy and, well, maybe a bit dangerous. I wanted to hear your opinion.”
He continued with his back and forth, speeding up at the straight and slowing down whenever he turned on his heel, like an ant who knew nothing but the constant of a busy worker. Overwhelmed and confused, his ears let my words bounce off and dissipate into the room.
“Did you hear what I said? I have a plan.”
“So did I Maxi,” he whispered and shook his head. “And where did my plan get me, huh? I am trapped between walls of paper, unable to do anything but turn the same pages repeatedly. That’s not a life and just merely an existence. If your sister would still be here, she would —”
“But she isn’t,” I said, my voice cold and insistent. “Didn’t we argue enough about this already? This has nothing to do with religion.”
“You’re right Max. This has something to do with the morals and ethics of our society. It is our nature-given right to procreate, and our responsibility to die. Just like Nathalie did.”
“What the hell, dad, she suffocated to death for months. We all might have to go eventually, but nobody should die like her, choking on the scent of the fresh cut lavender I placed in a vase by her bed.” I jumped up and flung my hands around, knocking over my mug which soaked the yellowed pages of the book next to it.
“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I ran my fingers through my hair, the only thing I could hold on to.
“It’s not like I haven’t read that book a dozen times already.” He grabbed a rag from the kitchenette and threw it to me. “And now, no more curses, unless you want to recite the Hail Mary seven times. Dry it up as good as you can and tell me about that plan of yours. Granted, I hope it includes blowing up the research center and fertility clinics.”
Placing it upright and spreading the pages apart, I patted the paper with the rag more out of guilt than ambition to get them dry again. Moments like this made me remember why I never came here. Dad didn’t recognize the benefits of the program, not even if it could have protected Nathalie from a life of suffering.
“Blowing up buildings, huh? Where did you get that from? Was that Matthew or psalm fifty-five?” I gave him a quick smirk. “I’ve been experimenting with the water, trying to find a different formula. You know, one that would still keep everything in check, but without impacting our short or long term fertility. I already tested it on some rats in my lab.”
His pacing steps calmed into a stroll, with a thoughtful face and a wrinkled forehead, and he folded his hands on his chest. “I’m listening.”
“Well, um, the formula appears to work on the rats, but the council won’t allow me a small trial on actual humans.”
He snorted. “Of course not.”
“Without a human trial, I can’t study the side effect.”
“What side effects?”
“Oh come on, dad!” I shook my head and bounced my heel up and down in a nervous pattern, hoping I wouldn’t have to spell it out.
He lowered his head, his chin almost touching his chest, but I caught on to the smirk he tried to hide. I choked on my own spit, coughed three times and swallowed it through my tight throat. Was there anything more embarrassing than talking about this stuff with your sixty-something-year-old dad?
“Urges.” I finally said, throwing my arms up like a birdling who fell from its nest.
“M-Max… ur… urges…” He burst into a deep belly laugh, leaning himself against the wall with one hand. “Urges are not the side effect of anything but what nature intended for us. Not having any urges is what you should fear.”
I pushed myself up from the chair. “Just forget that I came.”
Heat roiled inside my chest as I walked over to the door and reached for the handle, but he placed himself in front of me, his eyes giving me the once-over.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he said. “You want me to tell you what to do, is that it?”
I nodded and stared at his scuffed shoes. The sole came apart from the stitches like a thin slice of stale bread, paced down to the last layer of grip before he would walk on his skin. I shouldn’t let him live like this.
He pushed the white fluffs of his hair to one side across his head, but they clung to his palms in static wisps, refusing to obey. “You need to ask yourself what will happen if you do it, and what will happen if you don’t do it.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “If the council finds out I experiment on myself, they will definitely fire me, and I won’t ever be able to work in a lab again. And that’s if I’m lucky, and they catch me on a day where councilwoman Kenya is in good spirits. The worst case scenario is that I’ll have to move back in with my dad.”
“Ha!” He clapped his hands. “You know I’d like that very much, but I understand that the young folk doesn’t want to live with their parents anymore. Now, what good could come of it?”
My eyes darted across the room like a free-moving proton, searching for that conveniently placed lie I needed so much. Not sure what was worse: that they took everything from him he ever held dear or the fact that I helped them.
I pressed my lips together, swallowing a part of the truth, leaving behind only what I knew he could still handle. Gene editing wasn’t one of those things. “I could save our community from infertility and keep the program going.”
He bore his eyes into me and gave me a slow nod. “You understand that I like none of those options, right? It’s like choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea. But I have something for you that might help you decide.”
He walked over to a desk, poking his stiff fingers through a small woven basket under clinks and clanks. When he walked back over, he gestured me to open my hand, and placed a golden bracelet onto my palm. The cold chains sucked the heat right out of my skin. He put his hand on top, covering whatever it might have been. Jewelry, obviously, but I didn’t believe he had anything of mom’s left.
“You keep it,” he said and squeezed my hand.
A sparkle appeared on his brown eyes, like the day the five defenders kicked in his door and arrested him, along with the lady in the not-so-white gown. Yellowed and torn at the shoulder, the dress danced through the hallway as if it wanted to be in the spotlight just one more moment.
Oh, and the groom of course. They dragged him out too. My father's eyes were desperation, betrayal and hope all at the same time, but love outshined them all. When did it all go so terribly wrong between us?
He lifted his hand from mine. “It was your sisters, but I thought you should have it. You were always so close.”
A golden cross rested as if time hadn’t touched it, atop the rust-mottled chains.
I had my answer: Nathalie happened.
I plunged it onto the table. “Keep it.”
Chapter 6
Max
I gave the glass a good swirl and bubbles fought their way to the surface in a cyclone of pure chaos. Just like our enhanced would. Except that this little batch wasn’t enhanced.
Odorless and calculated down to the smallest element, this one-hundred-percent home-brew would safe our society — I was sure of it!
So why the hell did the thought of taking that first sip turn my stomach into a pot full of bile?
I stared at the glass as if it had me hypnotized, the lab in the background blurring into outlines of work stations and state-of-the-art machines.
Ruth flicked her eyes toward me every few seconds, rearranging her potted herbs from one spot of her desk to another.
I had to do this because there was only so much time you can spend staring at a glass before people begin throwing you concerned looks.
One of the centrifuges hummed about like a background whisper, though I could have sworn a voice from it told me to “Drink it!”.
