“What happens if the spores get out?” Vanja asked.
“There are some species that tend to invade buildings,” Ivar replied. “It’s a sort of dry rot. Breaks down structural integrity.”
“You haven’t complained about the fungicides to the committee?” Vanja reminded herself to spoon some of the stew into her mouth.
“Of course we have. But nothing’s happening.” Ivar scowled.
Vanja nodded. “I’ll report back to the company.”
She glanced at Ivar. He’d been calm, almost cheerful, in the mushroom chambers. Back in the canteen, his frown was now back.
“Why did you start working in the chambers, Ivar?”
Ivar shrugged a little. “I like growing things.” He filled his spoon. “And the quiet.”
“But it’s dark.”
“I’ve tried to transfer to the plant houses. But the committee won’t let me.”
Vanja’s spoon clattered against the bowl. “The committee, again.”
“Don’t know if there’s any point trying again. I’m in line already. It’ll happen when it happens, I guess.” Ivar put his spoon down and got to his feet. “I have to go back downstairs. You know the way out, right?”
Vanja nodded. She stayed for a while after Ivar had left. The mushroom farmers moved like they were still in the chambers, slowly and methodically. A low murmur of scattered conversation billowed along the floor. When Vanja returned to the street, the outside noises grated on her ears.
Vanja came home to find Nina and Ulla at the kitchen table. Two girls in red children’s house overalls were seated across from them. They turned their heads in unison to look at Vanja as she entered. Both of them had inherited Nina’s loose curls, the older girl in Ivar’s rich shade of brownish black, the younger in the metallic red Nina must have had as a child. They watched Vanja intently.
“This is Tora and Ida,” Nina said. “And this is Vanja, the one I told you about. Say hello to Vanja now, girls. Up you get.”
The girls immediately stood up. They each stuck out their right hand. “Ninivs’ Tora Four,” said the eldest. “Ninivs’ Ida Four,” said the youngest, lisping through the gap of a missing front tooth.
“Brilars’ Vanja Essre Two.” Vanja shook hands with each of them.
Tora and Ida studied her with solemn eyes and then returned to the table.
“Tora and Ida just told me what they’ve learned this week.” Nina fetched a cup from the kitchen cabinet and poured Vanja coffee.
Vanja sat down at the head of the table and sipped from her cup. The girls’ eyes were fixed on her, brown and green.
Nina smiled at them. “What else have you learned?”
“We’ve memorized mushrooms,” Tora offered. “And the shape of the world,” Ida added.
“They learn everything by rote these days.” Nina took a sip of her own coffee. “Apparently they’re not supposed to have books anymore. The teachers claim the children learn quicker without them.”
“Quit using books?” Vanja frowned.
“Go upstairs to Ulla’s room and do some marking,” Nina told the children. “If that’s all right, Ulla?”
Ulla shrugged. “If it gives them something to do.”
Tora and Ida left the table without a word.
“Something’s going on with the good paper,” Nina said. “It’s the same thing over at the clinic. We get less and less good paper, so we have to start committing things like schedules and routines to memory. We’ve even had to start using mycopaper for the medical records.”
“But that won’t work.”
“No. We’ve had to bring more people in just to retype the records before the old ones reach their scrap-by date.”
Vanja glanced at Nina. “But why? Do you think we’re running out?”
“They say the good paper is needed elsewhere.”
“And you haven’t thought to ask why?” Ulla said.
Nina waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sure they’ll tell us if it’s important. Until then, we probably shouldn’t talk about it.”
“But it’s good paper, it’s okay. It’s not mycopaper,” Vanja said. “We can talk about good paper as much as we like.”
“But still,” Nina said.
“We all know something will happen sooner or later,” Ulla said. “We’re running out of good paper.”
“I’m not stupid,” Nina cut off. “I just don’t see why you feel a need to talk about it.”
The sound of the girls’ high-pitched voices could be heard through the ceiling: Bed! Chair! Cabinet! Lamp! Nina put her arm around Vanja’s shoulders. Vanja was suddenly very aware of her scent: sweet, spicy, with an underlying hint of something she couldn’t name. The heat from Nina’s arm radiated through the fabric of her shirt.
“Hear how good they’re doing? We’ll be fine,” Nina said. “Now stop dwelling on it.”
Ivar and Nina were both very physical with the children. Tora and Ida always had a parent’s hand resting on their shoulder, or arm around their waist, or fingers running through their hair. The girls responded by jumping down from the lap they’d been lifted onto, sliding out from underneath the hand, ducking away from the fingers. They clung to each other instead. Their body language was completely synchronized. At bedtime, they said good night and ran up the stairs before their parents could reply.
“Every time they visit, it’s like they’ve forgotten who we are,” Nina said when the sound of footsteps had faded. “But they do become more friendly with time.”
According to the committee, it wasn’t healthy for parents and children to be too close. They were to socialize once a week, to satisfy the emotional needs that unfortunately still plagued many and that, if entirely neglected, could needlessly cause neuroses. But a bond that grew too strong made the children dependent and less inclined to feel solidarity with the commune.
At the children’s house, Vanja had always longed for the weekend, when Lars would stand in the doorway to the dormitory, and she would walk—but not too quickly—over to him and take his callused hand, and he would look down at her with brimming eyes and say: There you are. Once, he knelt down and hugged her. Then Teacher Elin had taken him out into the corridor and talked to him for a long time. After that, he just held out his hand.
SEVENDAY
Sevendays were for wholesome fun with family and friends, and most citizens had the day off. Parents could spend time with their offspring, if they wanted to. Everyone would visit one of the leisure centers to play games, sing together, and enjoy a delicious Sevenday dinner.
Vanja declined to join Nina and Ivar, telling them that she’d come by later. She wouldn’t have to be there until evening anyway. She slid her book into her anorak pocket, so she would have something to hide behind once she got to the center, and walked out of the house with no particular goal in mind.
The library’s window was lit and the door unlocked. Inside, the librarian sat at his desk with a thermos and a pile of books. “It’s Sevenday,” he said without looking up.
“I’m sorry,” Vanja said. “I’ll leave.”
She paused. The librarian’s posture seemed off somehow: slumped and tense at the same time. When she didn’t leave, he looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and salty white lines ran down his cheeks. He cleared his throat and tried to smile. His voice was rough when he spoke. “You borrowed About Plant House 3, didn’t you. Did you like it?”
Vanja nodded.
The librarian rubbed his eyes, sniffled, and rose. “I suppose we’d better get you another one, since you’re here.”