VISIONS OF EDEN

Come eat.

I rearranged the rough cloth covering me and followed her into the main room. This was the only area of the house with glass windows instead of bare openings. We used scraps of metal, wood, or fabric when we wanted privacy. My father sat at the table of loose boards and piping oiling our vaporizer tools. The petroleum smell mixed with the odor of boiling vegetables and pervasive acridity to form a unique but familiar bouquet. Birthday? Just another morning.

I patted Father on the back then eased myself into a brittle plastic chair across from him. Deep lines crossed his face and the top of his head was a mass of blisters where hair had once been. He looked up at me with wide yellow eyes. I found it hard to believe he was thirty-seven years old.

Happy birthday, Son, he wheezed. I could see and hear the profound sadness in his eyes and voice as he looked at me. Take the day off if you want but you' ll work double tomorrow.

Eighteen years gone, another twenty or so to go if I'm lucky, each worse than the last, I muttered, remembering my dream. No, make that unlucky. Yeah, I'm real happy.

Speak up, Son, you know I can't hear too good.

I picked up a caliper, using a corner of my blanket cum hood to carefully scrape caked grit out of its hinges. So does being eighteen mean I get to marry Lynn and start my own farm?

Yes, and about time. Go mod your own vaporizers for a change, since you're so good at it.

I'm damned good, I said. If you don't want more efficient vaporizers and more water, fine. Besides, when's the last time one of my repairs broke?

What if I let you mod the vaporizers and all Gertrude's disks turn out to be wrong? What then? No vaporizers, no water.

Eva emerged from the toilet. Will you two stop for one day?

I squirted a few drops of oil into the caliper and worked it into the hinges. Finished, I started for the toilet. I stood up too fast and grimaced as sheets of fire raced down my back. Limping into the tiny room, I slammed the door, and wiped cold sweat off my brow. Vaporizers, my back hurt!

Breakfast is served.

Yeah, yeah. I took a few breaths and returned to the main room as my mother set an iron pot containing the day's meal on the table. I sat down to my breakfast of carrots and broccoli. Boiling had done little to reduce the vegetables' burned and stunted appearance. Still, I chewed carefully, extracting what nutrition I could, and took a few swallows of still-warm cooking water from a cracked pitcher. Finished, I wiped my hands on my hood.

David, why don't you take the sailcar into New Omaha and get your package? Mother said. Clumps of hair stuck out of the rag she wore on her head. She reached under her apron and withdrew a few iron coins, pressing them into my palm. I've been saving these for a special occasion. Get some rat meat if you like and I'll make you a special supper.

We're not wasting money on meat. Father snatched the coins from my hand.  And don't encourage him to keep filling his head with Gertrude's acid.

Why not? I returned Father's glare. Those disks are teaching me how to improve our lives.

You'll live by my rules as long as you live on my farm.

Same threat, different day. But I was eighteen now.