Nina sat down next to her, opened the jar, and dipped a finger in it. She took one of Vanja’s hands and rubbed cream into the knuckles with light, circular movements. Vanja’s skin stung as the cream sank in. Nina’s hands worked their way down her fingers. Where she touched the delicate fold between the fingers, little warm jolts traveled up Vanja’s wrist. Her consciousness narrowed down into the point where their bodies met. Vanja extended her hand, and Nina’s fingers wandered up to the thin skin on the inside of her wrist. She didn’t dare look up.
Nina leaned over until their faces nearly touched, so close that Vanja felt the warmth radiating from her skin. Then her lips brushed the corner of Vanja’s mouth. Just once, gently. She pulled back a little.
Vanja touched the spot where Nina had kissed her. It almost hurt. “I didn’t think.”
There were no more words. Instead, she leaned forward.
Later, when they lay curled up face-to-face in Nina’s bed, and Nina’s hand traced the contours of Vanja’s face, the cuff of her sleeve tickling Vanja’s cheek, Vanja said: “What do you dream about at night?”
Nina smiled weakly and ran her fingers through Vanja’s hair. “Oh, you know. About Sevenday and playing with the girls. About going to work. Or about going to work naked.” She raised her eyebrows. “Or about being naked with someone… like that shy beauty from Essre.” She chuckled. “You’re blushing!”
“No, I’m not.”
Nina stopped laughing, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Vanja smiled a little and shook her head. She made another attempt. “Have you ever dreamed about something that doesn’t, I mean, that doesn’t belong here?”
Nina stiffened. “Why would you ask me that?”
“I was just wondering.”
Nina rolled over onto her back. She stared at the ceiling.
“I think everyone has,” Vanja said. “Sometime.”
“I don’t understand why you want to talk about it.”
Vanja hesitated. “Not sure.”
Nina glanced at her. She extended an arm and pointed at the poster on the wall. As morning comes we see and say: today’s the same as yesterday. “Today’s the same as yesterday,” she said.
“Today’s the same as yesterday,” Vanja echoed.
“Full stop.” Nina rolled back onto her side and pulled Vanja toward her. She was solid, tangible. Vanja sank into her spicy-sweet scent.
The slam of the front door woke her. She glanced at the clock. It was almost three. Beside her, Nina stretched languidly.
“I have to go,” Vanja said. “I have to make a telephone call at four.”
“To whom? Your supervisor?”
Vanja nodded. “It’s some sort of debriefing. I’m supposed to get new assignments for the final week…” She paused. “This is my final week.”
Nina slid an arm around her waist. “Stay a while longer,” she mumbled into Vanja’s neck.
“I really have to be there at four.”
“No, I mean stay here. Quit that job. Stay here with me.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I just told you.”
Vanja sat up. “I need to think.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Nina pulled her arm back.
“No, I mean…” Vanja picked at the cuff of her shirt. “I need to think.”
“I’ll try not to worry while you do, then. Off you go.”
Vanja walked in a slow spiral through the streets toward the center. Soon, she would board the train and go home. Everything would be just like before, the days lined up in perfect uniformity: she would go to work, go home, go to bed. She would go to the leisure center on Sevendays and watch the others play games and dance; day after day after day, just like she always had, until she retired and moved into the home for the elderly to await death. Without Nina.
At five minutes to four, as she stood at the commune office’s reception desk with a large, black telephone in front of her, she had made up her mind. She read the wall posters while the receptionist shuffled papers on the other side of the desk.
“It’s four o’clock,” the receptionist eventually said.
He picked up the receiver, pressed a button, and handed the receiver to Vanja.
The supervisor’s voice was faint and crackly on the other end of the line. She was very impressed with Vanja’s work so far, and would send her extra credits as a reward. She looked forward to seeing Vanja do a presentation when she returned to Essre. Vanja’s work was so outstanding it would be used as a model for future market research. And would she be interested in going to Odek or Balbit after this? Or would she prefer to stay in Essre?
“No,” Vanja said carefully. It felt right. “No. I’m going to stay here.”
“But you can’t do that,” the supervisor said. “You were supposed to give a presentation. That’s part of the assignment.”
“That’s not in my contract. It says I’m supposed to collect and send information.”
“No, but of course you’re supposed to present it, too. We have to be able to ask questions!”
“Everything is in the reports. There’s not much else. I’ll send the final report soon.”
The line crackled empty for a moment. “I don’t know what to say,” the supervisor said eventually. “I didn’t see this coming.”
“My contract doesn’t state,” Vanja repeated, “that I’m supposed to do more than conduct an investigation and then send you reports.”
“But it’s a given.”
“Not to me. And it doesn’t say how long I have to work for, either. You only said to take all the time I needed. And I have.”
“I see.” The supervisor’s voice was strangely small. “You do understand that you’re making our job harder, Vanja. What we’re trying to do is no easy thing.”
“Well, be that as it may, I’m resigning.”
“You’ll lose your bonus.” The voice had slipped into a whine. “And I won’t write a letter of recommendation.”
“It’s just soap. Good-bye,” Vanja said.
“Shit,” the supervisor said.
Vanja put the receiver down. She let out a long, shuddering breath.
The receptionist lifted the telephone off the desk and looked at her with raised eyebrows. He had very obviously listened in on the conversation.
“I’m registering for residence.” Vanja took her papers out of the breast pocket on her anorak. “And I want to sign up for work.”
Becoming a member of Amatka’s commune was a quick process. A short form to complete the information she had given on arrival, a requisition form for transport of any belongings from Essre, a labor registration form where she listed her skills and work history. The receptionist took the finished forms, read them through, and then dug a list out of one of the piles of paper on the desk. He checked Vanja’s labor registration form against the list, nodded, scrutinized her, and then looked back down at the papers.
“You’ll be an assistant here at the commune office,” he said. “That’s what’s available. Because I noticed you have no farming experience.”
“No.”
“You’ll start on Firstday at eight, work until five, one-hour break at midday.”
“What will I be doing?”
“Admin tasks. We’ll go through them when you start. I’m busy at the moment.”
The receptionist sat back down behind the desk and demonstratively turned his gaze to his piles of paper.
Vanja stepped out onto the darkening plaza with a gnawing feeling in her stomach. Maybe this was all wrong. Maybe it was completely insane. She walked along the twilit streets, following the weary stream of workers on their way home. The outdoor lamps lit up one after the other. The cold yellow light brought out lines and folds in the introverted faces around her. No one met her gaze.