to a state of chaos. They’re not waging a campaign against an idea; they’re attacking the well-being and safety of every single member of our society. Every attack on the Method is an act of war, and the supporters of the Method are prepared to fight back.’
While the studio audience bursts into enthusiastic applause, the presenter and his guest leave their seats and Mia finally seizes the remote control and hits the off button.
‘Well,’ says the ideal inamorata. ‘Do you see what’s going on now?’
Mia looks at her questioningly.
‘Your new friend meant
you
.’
The End of the Fish
THEY OFTEN ARGUED , but that day – the day, as Mia later realised, when things started to go wrong – they had a full-blown fight. Every week they would set out for a walk, and every week they would stop at the edge of the exclusion zone and go through their usual ritual. Moritz would stop in front of the sign at the end of the path, stretch out his arms and read the printed warning:
You are leaving the Controlled Area. This Area has been sterilised in accordance with Article 17 on Public Cleanliness. Anyone who passes beyond this point will be in breach of Article 18 on Infection Containment and will be penalised accordingly.
Then he would add, ‘Failure to leave the Controlled Area is evidence of wilful stupidity: your body will be turned to stone and your mind to mush. What are you waiting for, Mia Holl?’
Mia would run away, and he would catch her, still struggling energetically, and lift her off the ground. Carrying Mia, he would charge into the woods, hurtling towards what he called freedom and what was otherwise known as a hygiene risk.
Moritz saw his exercise obligations as a drag. He liked to exercise, but he didn’t want his ID chip in his arm communicating with the sensors on the road. Moritz wanted to walk in the woods without accumulating credits. He wanted to go fishing, light a fire and eat his catch. He preferred the taste of his scaly, slightly burnt and amateurishly filleted fish to any protein tube in the supermarket. When they went to the river, Mia would gather some nettles and offer them to her brother as a salad. She would watch as he chomped his way through his unappetising snack. And she would think, though she never said so, that Moritz, although quite probably a little unhinged, was someone you couldn’t resist.
That day too Moritz dangled his improvised fishing line into the water, chewed ostentatiously on a blade of grass, and allowed the river, a torrent of possible infections, to wash around his feet. It was warm outside, and Mia found herself leaning back on her elbows and gazing at the sky. Despite the elevated risk of skin cancer, she angled her face towards the sun. The cathedral was decked out with light, and Mia tried not to listen as Moritz filled her in on his blind date with Kristine and her proficiency at what he referred to as ‘doggy-style’. When he finally finished, she launched into a short lecture on the purpose and merits of the Central Partnership Agency. She called her brother a reckless pleasure-seeker, an egotist who was fundamentally incapable of loving a woman.
Was her tone a little harsh? Did she go beyond the usual teasing? Sometimes Mia would feel a stab of jealousy when Moritz talked about his dates. On such occasions her tone would be harsher than she intended, though not sufficiently harsh to justify Moritz reacting as he did. The woods were chirping happily and life was good, as good as it always was when the two of them were together. But Moritz was incensed.
‘You make me sick,’ he said angrily. ‘You of all people, accusing me of being incapable of love! The fact is, I’m human and you’re not.’
He spoke more urgently, more intensely than usual. He had fire in his eyes and he intoned his words with the passion of a poet.
‘Unlike an animal, I can rise above the compulsions of nature. I can have sex without wanting to reproduce. I
While the studio audience bursts into enthusiastic applause, the presenter and his guest leave their seats and Mia finally seizes the remote control and hits the off button.
‘Well,’ says the ideal inamorata. ‘Do you see what’s going on now?’
Mia looks at her questioningly.
‘Your new friend meant
you
.’
The End of the Fish
THEY OFTEN ARGUED , but that day – the day, as Mia later realised, when things started to go wrong – they had a full-blown fight. Every week they would set out for a walk, and every week they would stop at the edge of the exclusion zone and go through their usual ritual. Moritz would stop in front of the sign at the end of the path, stretch out his arms and read the printed warning:
You are leaving the Controlled Area. This Area has been sterilised in accordance with Article 17 on Public Cleanliness. Anyone who passes beyond this point will be in breach of Article 18 on Infection Containment and will be penalised accordingly.
Then he would add, ‘Failure to leave the Controlled Area is evidence of wilful stupidity: your body will be turned to stone and your mind to mush. What are you waiting for, Mia Holl?’
Mia would run away, and he would catch her, still struggling energetically, and lift her off the ground. Carrying Mia, he would charge into the woods, hurtling towards what he called freedom and what was otherwise known as a hygiene risk.
Moritz saw his exercise obligations as a drag. He liked to exercise, but he didn’t want his ID chip in his arm communicating with the sensors on the road. Moritz wanted to walk in the woods without accumulating credits. He wanted to go fishing, light a fire and eat his catch. He preferred the taste of his scaly, slightly burnt and amateurishly filleted fish to any protein tube in the supermarket. When they went to the river, Mia would gather some nettles and offer them to her brother as a salad. She would watch as he chomped his way through his unappetising snack. And she would think, though she never said so, that Moritz, although quite probably a little unhinged, was someone you couldn’t resist.
That day too Moritz dangled his improvised fishing line into the water, chewed ostentatiously on a blade of grass, and allowed the river, a torrent of possible infections, to wash around his feet. It was warm outside, and Mia found herself leaning back on her elbows and gazing at the sky. Despite the elevated risk of skin cancer, she angled her face towards the sun. The cathedral was decked out with light, and Mia tried not to listen as Moritz filled her in on his blind date with Kristine and her proficiency at what he referred to as ‘doggy-style’. When he finally finished, she launched into a short lecture on the purpose and merits of the Central Partnership Agency. She called her brother a reckless pleasure-seeker, an egotist who was fundamentally incapable of loving a woman.
Was her tone a little harsh? Did she go beyond the usual teasing? Sometimes Mia would feel a stab of jealousy when Moritz talked about his dates. On such occasions her tone would be harsher than she intended, though not sufficiently harsh to justify Moritz reacting as he did. The woods were chirping happily and life was good, as good as it always was when the two of them were together. But Moritz was incensed.
‘You make me sick,’ he said angrily. ‘You of all people, accusing me of being incapable of love! The fact is, I’m human and you’re not.’
He spoke more urgently, more intensely than usual. He had fire in his eyes and he intoned his words with the passion of a poet.
‘Unlike an animal, I can rise above the compulsions of nature. I can have sex without wanting to reproduce. I
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