Free Eden West by Pete Hautman Page A

heart.
    As the Convocation draws to a close, I sense Will’s worried looks, but I keep my face still as frozen water. Father Grace descends and walks down the aisle, followed by his wives: Marianne, Juliette, Fara . . . and now Ruth. I fix my eyes upon her as she passes. She does not look at me, but the prideful, smug, self-satisfied curve of her lips tells me more than I wish to know.
    Back at Menshome I retire to my cell and am left alone, as alone as Tobias in the Pit. I lie curled on my pallet, waiting in vain for sleep to take me. I keep seeing Ruth’s face as she paraded down the aisle with the wives. I meant nothing to her. I am embarrassed, I am ashamed, I am furious, but most of all I feel powerless. There is nothing I can do to undo that which is done. They are wed. They were wed the moment Father Grace declared it to be so; such is our custom.
    As my thoughts swirl and begin to cohere, I realize that my desire for Ruth, so strongly felt for so many years, has left me. She is not who I thought her to be. The thought of touching her now repels me, and so I turn my anger upon myself, for it was I who allowed myself to care for her.
    Sleep does not come. It is well past midnight when I rise and walk outside. I move through the darkness to the Tower and press my face to the barred window of the Pit. It is silent inside: no recording, no snoring, no sound at all. I call out for Tobias. Nothing. I gather a handful of pebbles, reach through the bars, and toss them toward the pallet where he sleeps. No response. I call out again. I throw more pebbles.
    Nothing.
    Tobias is gone.

Their spirit is full of lust, that they may be punished in their body.
    — Enoch 67:8

I am awakened by Brother Jerome standing in the doorway to my cell, poking me with the handle of a broom.
    “Brother,” he says.
    I open one eye. It is still dark outside. I swat away the broom handle.
    “Brother, it is fourth Landay.”
    Fourth Landay?
I sit up, rubbing my eyes.
    “It cannot be,” I say.
    “It is. You patrol today.”
    I groan. I must have slept, but it could not have been for long. Thoughts of Tobias and Ruth and Father Grace kept me up most of the night, and now I am faced with a daylong walk.
    “Brother Gregory has reported a breach in the north-central section,” Jerome says. Gregory has taken Will’s edge-walking duties while Will waits for his knee to heal.
    “Why then did Gregory not repair it himself?” I ask.
    “He was not equipped. You will need a shovel. Do not delay. There is weather coming.”
    Ordinarily I welcome the walk, but the events of last night weigh upon me so heavily that I fear I will be unable to bear them as I make my solitary trek. I consider going to Enos and telling him I am ill. Would he believe me? I do not think so. With leaden movements, I dress and prepare my backpack: wire, wire cutters, a folding shovel, and other fence-maintenance items. I take a thick slice of soda bread, a wedge of hard cheese, and a honeyed seedcake. I fill my water bottle. I fetch a carbine from the arms locker.
    By the time I hoist my pack onto my shoulders, the Cherubim are stirring, and I am suddenly glad to be leaving. I do not need their morning banter and their pitying looks, and the eastern sky is brightening with the promise of day.
    The borders of Nodd may be walked in many ways. The usual route is to take the road to the North Gate, then follow the fence east or west, depending on wind and whim. Sometimes I follow the trail through the High Meadow past Shepherd’s Rock to the fence, a slightly longer but more pleasant route. Today I choose to head west, up the Spine to the Pison, then north along the edge of the gorge and down into the Mire. The land drops quickly. The rocky trail becomes green and moist, and soon I am at a level with the Pison where the river mingles with the Mire, becoming indefinite, sending fingers of water into a vast, boggy cedar swamp. When the water is high, as it often is in the spring,