Quantum State, page 6
Then, I see the miserable man that told me about Kazimir's papa's betrayal to me. He pulls my lunch tray out from under the cell door just to slide in the dinner tray. “You,” I say in angry disappointment.
“Ah, don't be cross with me because I told you the truth, dear.”
“I'm not angry for the truth. I'm angry because you seem to have gained so much delight in it.”
His grin is from ear to ear, and I'd give anything to smack him. “If causing friction between you and Kazimir is a side effect of that truth, then who am I to not delight in it?”
“And why would you want to cause friction?”
He lifts the lunch tray and prepares to walk away from me. “Because his papa ruined my wife. Stained her with infidelity.”
“Why care what I think of him?! I have no effect on his life!” I yell desperately as he strolls down the corridor as if nothing matters.
He laughs heartily. “You'll find out soon enough, my dear. Soon enough.”
I huff, dissatisfied with answers from everyone. So what if Kazimir's papa had an affair with his wife? What does that have to do with me? No one says what they mean…except Esfir. He doesn't speak in half-truths, propaganda, riddles, or fear. He just speaks his unfiltered mind, and I love him for that. What I wouldn't give to see Esfir now.
As the night folds over me, over the cell, I crawl under my blanket and wonder how much longer I'll have to suffer inside here—and then a part of me, maybe a stronger part, wants to stay, to see more of Mama.
On the second morning of my confinement, I awake to realize I only have ten more days until my eighteenth birthday. Until I'm out of Pods for good, assigned my duty, my husband, my house, and ordered to start a family of my own. I have to get out of here. Mama or not, I can't live my life inside of Cherni anymore—and neither can Esfir. Maybe we could flee together outside somewhere, if we just had a chance at escape.
If Esfir doesn't fear leaving, then I shouldn't. After all, we risk so much already trying to find proof about MAQS's deceptions. And my own Mama led Freedom! She would want me to be brave, to escape like she never had the chance to. I'm sure of it.
Just as the dreary gray-white colors of morning beam through the miniature, rectangular window of my cell, a few bots exit the corridor and halt at my cell door. “Miss Masha Mikhailov, please rise for your sentencing,” the bot in front says. They always speak in a heavy metal clank like an eerie drumbeat in my ears.
Sentencing sounds good, a conclusion to something. Maybe this will all be over with today. I stand, letting my hands grip the windowsill for balance as I wake up, wipe sleep out of my eyes, and then head toward the cell door. “Yes?”
The bot in front answers, “You are sentenced to house arrest for ten days. You are only allowed to attend your Pod daily and then return home. With exception to your duty to Cherni, you are not allowed outside of your home or you will be sentenced to three months incarceration. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say, wanting so badly to smash a rock against its moving mouth. They intend to keep me bound to Kazimir until my eighteenth birthday when I'll become wife material.
“Then, we will escort you back to your home.”
I've gotten used to having bots in the vicinity, sometimes even near me. Living in Cherni, you can't avoid them. But I never thought I'd have bots usher me home. Papa will be so pleased.
When I get home, Papa and my stepmum act as if nothing has happened, keeping to their routines, and welcoming me back as if I'd been away at Pod camp or something. The only mention of something weird is of my stepmum telling me that bots came into the house and left with something from my bedroom. I panic as Papa quietly reads the MAQS newspaper on the living room rocking chair. Then, my stepmum Diana hurries from kitchen to living room and back again, organizing things and laying out bowls of early afternoon foods. “We have to hurry. He'll be here any minute.” My stepmum primps her hair at the wall mirror and then smiles, satisfied at the bowl of fresh fruit and breads. She has used the hand painted bowls which she only ever uses for special occasions.
“He who?” I press, still trying to gain my bearings.
My stepmum tosses her hands up. “You have ten days till you turn eighteen. Who do you think?! Your husband to-be!”
“My husband! My husband!” I hyperventilate at the word, remembering the marriage law of Cherni, remembering that at ten I saw a picture of the boy I was assigned to marry by MAQS, which left me in a disarray of emotions…that day when I first met Esfir. I completely forgot all about it, preoccupied with escape.
Then the doorbell rings, and I feel as if I'm a bundle of nerves and I can't stop shaking. I pace the living room before my stepmum pats my back and ushers me to the front door with her at my side. I feel like a brick's been slipped into each of my sandals, keeping me in place and unable to move when he walks in with his papa with a long smile on his face. I just about faint. Kazimir!
State of Equilibrium
I had thought—or wishfully hoped—despite my assignment to marry at nine, that MAQS would somehow find it in her metal heart to give me what I really wanted. That when my husband to-be walked through the front doors of my home, I would see Esfir's accepting face, the one that always says, I know exactly who you are and I love you anyway. Instead, I see the face of the young man who caught me and kept me behind bars. The face of his Papa who threw my mama in the same cell.
I want to scream, but I can't. Now I know what that non-descriptive man at the jailhouse meant. The one who enjoyed mocking me so. What I think of Kazimir, of his papa, does matter. I'm to be a part of his family, by order from MAQS.
Forcing a smile, I offer Kazimir our fresh fruits, orange slices and raisins, with a hand gesture. “Take one. I tend to the greenhouse in our backyard myself.” I beam with pride, because Mama taught me how to garden.
“Oh, thank you.” Kazimir is cordial, polite even. Not anything like I imagined Keepers to be as ruthless enemies. His large fingers wrap around an orange slice and my papa is pleased, his long smile giving him away. Why shouldn't he be? Keepers are the backbone of Cherni, the sidekick to MAQS. Having a Keeper in the family, as my husband, would ensure our place in Cherni society. We'd no longer be looked upon as the family whose mama committed suicide because she couldn't escape. We'd no longer be seen as the outcasts.
Kazimir's papa introduces himself to my parents. “Viktor Kuznetsov, and we're grateful for your welcoming invite into your quaint home.” He is shorter than I expect, shorter than his son by two inches, and his eyes are much kinder than I would have guessed, a softer blue—almost like white clouds fanning out in the sky. Something we rarely see here in Cherni. The dark gray of his tunic matches many strands of his hair that are cut short, almost in a buzz, against his scalp.
“I'm Alexander, and this is my wife, Diana. It's a pleasure to finally meet you both,” my papa says, and then offers them both a seat. “Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Don't hesitate to ask for anything.” Papa ushers them to their respective seats beside each other on the sturdy sofa and then sits down himself in the rocking chair where his newspaper awaits him on a nearby side table with a warm cup of tea—probably peppermint, his favorite.
My stepmum hands them each a glass of apple juice in a ceramic mug. Her auburn hair is pinned up in a few buns over her head, and her opal eyes appear violet blue today, probably because of her violet blouse. She reminds me of a porcelain doll I played with once when I was little.
Viktor smiles in a nod, and then he and his son each sip a few times before placing the mugs on side tables at either end of the sofa. Then, Viktor hands his son's citizen papers to my papa as my papa hands my citizen papers to him, and they each examine them before I interrupt.
“May I see?” I grab Kazimir's papers from Papa's hands, desperate to know more about this stranger that I'm supposed to marry. I read that he was born thirty days before me in the Cherni hospital, and that his full name is Kazimir Evgeni Kuznetsov, that he is an only child, and that all the males in his family are Keepers, while the females in his family are either gardeners or harvesters.
Viktor clears his throat and asks directly, “I heard this is your second wife?” His powder-blue eyes meet my papa's.
“Yes.” Papa's gaze hits the carpet and then returns to Viktor; his lashes blink quickly. “My first wife, Alyona, passed.”
“Very sad indeed,” Viktor says consolingly. “My wife passed on as well. Soon after Kazimir just turned ten.” I figure that was several months after my mama was hauled off, because Kazimir is only a month older than me.
My eyes flit to Kazimir in surprise, examining his facial features that seem so unexpectedly tender. The thought of Kazimir also losing his mama at such a young age makes my heart sink for hating him so much.
“Ten, really?” Papa remarks. “Masha's mama left us when she was only nine—turning ten.” Papa pauses. “Masha never saw her again.”
I want to clarify to my papa that Viktor knows this, that Viktor is the reason Mama left us, that he doesn't deserve any sympathy for losing his wife when he stole my papa's from him…when he stole the wife of the man who fed me in the cell. As kind as Viktor seems, he is a thief—a thief of women, and I could never see him as anything else.
Still, I keep my lips pursed, my attitude in check. I can't ruin this. I can't give MAQS any more reason to keep tabs on me. I need my freedom to finally escape like Mama intended to, like Mama would want me to. I can finish what she never could.
“I'm so sorry,” Viktor says, and my papa nods with his closed eyes as he just takes this man at his word, and I can only squirm in my seat and fidget as I want to jump out of the aluminum chair across from the sofa. But my stepmum keeps watch on me, standing beside me and smiling at Kazimir and Viktor and then at me, just to repeat her eye scan all over again—as if she has to keep watch on me, on us, like if she doesn't, I might say something or do something to ruin this for everyone. And Diana is sick of being part of a family that is gossiped about just as much as Papa is.
An awkward silence follows, and my stepmum leaps to the bread bowl at the table between all of us before offering Viktor and Kazimir a piece. “Please, take some bread. I flavored it with cinnamon.” She nods her head with a tight, taut smile that says she so desperately wants approval from them.
I think Diana has her own reasons for wanting to be a part of the Kuznetsov family, different from Papa. Papa just wants to be accepted by society, to go with the flow, and keep his head low. He hates attention, especially from MAQS, and Mama—his first wife—had a way of always drawing MAQS back to this family. But my stepmum, she fears MAQS, this system. I can tell because she trembles ever so slightly whenever MAQS is mentioned. I think she is afraid that what happened to Mama might happen to her if she doesn't stay in line, and she's tempted to fall out of line. She doesn't like this system; not as much as I or Mama hated it, not enough to start a rebellion or to do anything about it, but enough to make her feel that she has to be careful. I don't blame her; she's not the only one who feels this way. I know many people who don't like this system, but who are also too afraid to speak up against it.
Viktor and Kazimir each take a piece of cinnamon bread, and by Kazimir's blissful expression, I can tell he likes the flavor. “You like it?” I ask more as a statement, and a way to join in on this conversation. I have to get to know this would-be husband of mine.
My eyes meet with Kazimir and he says quickly, “Yes,” before finishing the bread.
“I'm glad. The recipe belonged to my mama. A touch of cinnamon, sugar, cardamom, and chili.” I feel briefly pleased that Kazimir likes Mama's flavoring. “Not everyone likes it.”
“So, that's why there's a kick at the last bite,” Kazimir remarks, his eyes still not leaving mine, and I blush.
“Ah,” Viktor interjects. “A woman who has recipes is a good woman to have.”
Papa joins in on a spout of laughter with Viktor before helping himself to his own piece of bread, while I take an orange slice.
My stepmum clears her throat, and then interrupts, “Well, if we are all acquainted, maybe this is a good time for Masha's and Kazimir's one-on-one?”
“Ah, yes, yes,” Papa agrees, as if he's forgotten, and as if we hadn't had one-on-ones at the jailhouse with me locked up, but I guess this is different—this is duty, tradition.
Viktor nods. “Of course.” He gestures to his son with a wave of his hand. “Go now, go speak in private with your wife-to-be.”
Kazimir lifts his big, engulfing eyes, glancing at my stepmum for direction as she waves for him to follow her. “Come, come, both of you.” She looks hard at me until I stand up reluctantly, and then both Kazimir and I follow behind my stepmum until reaching the next room.
Our family room is not filled with much furniture. A couple of chairs and small tables, and one plant in a corner that we've had for several years, but at least we have a black-and-white television set. Not everyone has one. We can watch reruns of programs that MAQS says humans used to watch in the past. Shows called, Leave It to Beaver, Giligan's Island, I Dream of Jeannie, The Beverly Hillbillies, and The Andy Griffith Show.
I Dream of Jeannie has become my favorite even though it, like all the shows, are completely non-relatable and unrealistic. But I like the idea of a genie who can nod her head and make any wish come true. I'd have her wish me out of Cherni. Still, I can't imagine a world—an actual real world—where MAQS doesn't exist, where she doesn't overlook every aspect of human life, even on television.
Whenever I ask about life before MAQS, like I see on the television, MAQS only tells me, through my educatebot, “The past is in the past and not for us to dwell on. We must live in the present.” What I wouldn't give to see some real history, to know what really happened to us, and why life on television is so different from how we live today. But I'm not going to get any answers from MAQS, or from anyone inside of Cherni, for that matter. That's in part why I have to get out of this district.
When Kazimir settles down in a wooden chair, one my papa made when I was eight, I sit down across from him on the other one and I'm not quite sure how I feel about him here, right across from me, in my house. We stare at each other and then I glance away, partly curious, partly angry, and partly sorry for what happened to his own mama, but Kazimir doesn't turn his eyes from me, as if doing so would mean he'd given up on us. He doesn't strike me as someone who gives up easily.
He finally breaks the silence. “I…I want to apologize for having to take you into the jailhouse, for the cell, for everything.”
Everything? I wonder if he means to include the imprisonment of my mama, and her death, but I'm sure he doesn't. “Sure.” I glance up tiredly at him, and then back at my chair. I flip one leg over the other one, and play with my nails until Kazimir interrupts my disinterest.
“So, you remember me now.” He says as a statement.
My head tilts up to him. “Of course.” Why wouldn't I? He is obviously the boy who was assigned to me when I was nine." I was given a picture of you when I was just a kid. ”
“Oh, me too.” He looks heavy on me. “But you look much better now.”
I'm not sure if his expression is something I welcome or dread.
He continues. “MAQS told me you'd be my wife when you turned eighteen. That you were the perfect genetic complement to me, and for our children.”
I gulp. Children? I know logically I am supposed to have them, but the mention of the word just reminds me of what I absolutely don't want: to bring children into a world where they have no choice.
“I guess so.” I shrug.
Kazimir answers confidently, like he always does. “It is so. MAQS says so, and she is never wrong.”
“Okay.” I look away again, and then back at him. “I do remember the picture, though.”
“Oh?” He seems pleased; his lips curl upward at the corners and lines around his eyes soften.
My mind reels in memory. “I was sitting at the dining table, eating. I had just gotten my kittens, Lotus and Ash, from the animal house.” Kazimir leans toward me, his ears perking. “And then my papa brought in the mail.”
“Must have been startling to learn your husband to-be had been chosen for you already.”
I shrug. “Yeah, you never know when your spouse will be assigned to you. Some have to wait until just months before their eighteenth birthday. MAQS doesn't tell us the exact reasons for delays, except that she wants to ensure everyone matched is healthy and following their chosen path.”
“Yeah, the perfect match is hard to find, and MAQS likes to wait till the right person comes along.”
I want to roll my eyes at him, tell him to wake up and expand his horizons. MAQS isn't perfect, not by a long shot. If she is, then why is self-fulfillment a rare commodity in Cherni; why do so many choose to be silent of their dissatisfactions? But of course, I can't say any of that. Not to him now, and maybe not ever. Hopefully, I won't be around much longer to worry about it. Esfir was right, leaving is a good idea.
“So, why didn't you ever come by and say, hi?” I rise my brows, a challenging, inquisitive glare shooting across the room—though I knew why. My Mama forbade it. I wanted to remind him of that.
Kazimir stalls, his mouth opening with no words. He gulps and then answers, “I passed your home a few times…on my bicycle.”
“You did? You had a bike?” I'm not sure if I'm flattered or creeped out.
“Yeah, all Keeper families get bikes. My papa told me all about you.” His fingers play with the arm of the chair. “I guess I didn't want to wait till our ten-day courtship…even though my papa told me that your Mama's wish was for you to wait. I guess she wanted you to keep an open mind about marriage, before committing, Papa said.” His head flips back. “Anyway, Papa wanted me to concentrate on my studies, so I could become a Keeper. So, that's what I did.”
