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Authors: Margaret Peterson Haddix
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logical.
“How?” I asked. “How do you remember everything?”
“We train ourselves—our Aunt Memories train us. We pay attention,” Aunt Memory said. “And we avoid that which we do not want to remember. We do not clutter up our minds with nonsense.”
No watching TV
, I thought.
No surfing the Internet. And does driving a car count as nonsense?
How could I have lived with Mom for more than a dozenyears without her ever telling me she remembered everything that had ever happened to her?
Did
she remember everything?
“Mom—Sophia—she can do that too?” I asked.
“She could,” Aunt Memory said. “Before. Everyone in Crythe could.”
Before? And then I understood. “The war,” I said. “Tell me about the war.”
Aunt Memory shook her head.
“I am giving you a memory,” she said. “There is an order to be followed, so you can remember it years from now.”
I could see how this memory stuff could really get in the way. I wasn’t entirely convinced, anyhow. But I kept my mouth shut.
“People lived in Crythe for centuries, keeping the old traditions alive,” she said. “We were in mountains, off the main trade routes, so there was little threat from the outside world. When we heard of some modernization beyond our village, we’d send a young man out to learn all about it and report back to the village elders. If it sounded useful, we’d adopt it and bring it into our homes. Indoor plumbing. Electricity. Telephones. But if it sounded like too much of a waste of memory, we’d leave it alone, just as the world left us alone. An ideal setup. Until 1986. Our Year of Horror.”
“The war started then?” I asked. I was doing the math in my head. I wasn’t even born yet in 1986. If the war started then and was still going on—
“No,” Aunt Memory said impatiently. I don’t think she expected me to keep interrupting with questions. “What befell us then was a world tragedy, one you’ve undoubtedly learned about.”
I racked my brain.
Nineteen eighty-six, nineteen eighty-six
. It didn’t ring any bells.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “They teach us 1492 and 1776, but beyond that, my history teachers haven’t really bothered much with dates.”
Aunt Memory looked as horrified as if I’d confessed that I couldn’t read.
“Chernobyl,” she said.
Sixteen
“H UH ?” I SAID . T HE WORD WASN’T EVEN OUT OF MY MOUTH BEFORE I realized I should have at least pretended to be thinking hard, remembering. I could have used one of those classic ignorant-student lines like,
Oh, yes, of course. Chernobyl. I’m sure you know a lot more than I do—why don’t you tell me all about it?
Aunt Memory now looked as though she wondered whether I even had a brain.
“Chernobyl,” she repeated, through gritted teeth. “The nuclear meltdown at the power plant in the former Soviet Union? Crythe was right in the pathway of the worst of the radiation.” She waited, as if she wasn’t sure I would understand all those words.
“Yes?” I said.
Aunt Memory cupped her hands around her mug of tea, very precisely.
“It wasn’t ever publicized, but the United States and the Soviet Union had an unprecedented moment of cooperation. They were bitter enemies then, you know. But they evacuated our entire village. They brought us here. And we re-createdour village exactly as it was. We chose not to even talk about our old homeland.
This
is Crythe now. The only Crythe. Understand?”
I nodded, because that was what she seemed to expect. But my mind was churning with questions. Why hadn’t the Crythians just moved somewhere closer to their original homes—at least on the same continent? What did this have to do with me? I decided to cover my confusion by taking a drink of my tea, but I’d forgotten it too long. It was cold and unappealing.
“But the move brought … disagreements to our peaceful community. The Americans wanted to study us, to make sure no one had been affected by the radiation. Some
“How?” I asked. “How do you remember everything?”
“We train ourselves—our Aunt Memories train us. We pay attention,” Aunt Memory said. “And we avoid that which we do not want to remember. We do not clutter up our minds with nonsense.”
No watching TV
, I thought.
No surfing the Internet. And does driving a car count as nonsense?
How could I have lived with Mom for more than a dozenyears without her ever telling me she remembered everything that had ever happened to her?
Did
she remember everything?
“Mom—Sophia—she can do that too?” I asked.
“She could,” Aunt Memory said. “Before. Everyone in Crythe could.”
Before? And then I understood. “The war,” I said. “Tell me about the war.”
Aunt Memory shook her head.
“I am giving you a memory,” she said. “There is an order to be followed, so you can remember it years from now.”
I could see how this memory stuff could really get in the way. I wasn’t entirely convinced, anyhow. But I kept my mouth shut.
“People lived in Crythe for centuries, keeping the old traditions alive,” she said. “We were in mountains, off the main trade routes, so there was little threat from the outside world. When we heard of some modernization beyond our village, we’d send a young man out to learn all about it and report back to the village elders. If it sounded useful, we’d adopt it and bring it into our homes. Indoor plumbing. Electricity. Telephones. But if it sounded like too much of a waste of memory, we’d leave it alone, just as the world left us alone. An ideal setup. Until 1986. Our Year of Horror.”
“The war started then?” I asked. I was doing the math in my head. I wasn’t even born yet in 1986. If the war started then and was still going on—
“No,” Aunt Memory said impatiently. I don’t think she expected me to keep interrupting with questions. “What befell us then was a world tragedy, one you’ve undoubtedly learned about.”
I racked my brain.
Nineteen eighty-six, nineteen eighty-six
. It didn’t ring any bells.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “They teach us 1492 and 1776, but beyond that, my history teachers haven’t really bothered much with dates.”
Aunt Memory looked as horrified as if I’d confessed that I couldn’t read.
“Chernobyl,” she said.
Sixteen
“H UH ?” I SAID . T HE WORD WASN’T EVEN OUT OF MY MOUTH BEFORE I realized I should have at least pretended to be thinking hard, remembering. I could have used one of those classic ignorant-student lines like,
Oh, yes, of course. Chernobyl. I’m sure you know a lot more than I do—why don’t you tell me all about it?
Aunt Memory now looked as though she wondered whether I even had a brain.
“Chernobyl,” she repeated, through gritted teeth. “The nuclear meltdown at the power plant in the former Soviet Union? Crythe was right in the pathway of the worst of the radiation.” She waited, as if she wasn’t sure I would understand all those words.
“Yes?” I said.
Aunt Memory cupped her hands around her mug of tea, very precisely.
“It wasn’t ever publicized, but the United States and the Soviet Union had an unprecedented moment of cooperation. They were bitter enemies then, you know. But they evacuated our entire village. They brought us here. And we re-createdour village exactly as it was. We chose not to even talk about our old homeland.
This
is Crythe now. The only Crythe. Understand?”
I nodded, because that was what she seemed to expect. But my mind was churning with questions. Why hadn’t the Crythians just moved somewhere closer to their original homes—at least on the same continent? What did this have to do with me? I decided to cover my confusion by taking a drink of my tea, but I’d forgotten it too long. It was cold and unappealing.
“But the move brought … disagreements to our peaceful community. The Americans wanted to study us, to make sure no one had been affected by the radiation. Some
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