Read Online Year of the Flood: Novel by Margaret Atwood - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Atwood
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Fiction - General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Visionary & Metaphysical, Regression (Civilization), Dystopias, English Canadian Novel And Short Story, Atwood, Margaret - Prose & Criticism, Environmental disasters, Regression
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strokes and then one through them to make five.
It’s been a long time — over fifteen years, ever since she came into the Gardeners. So many people from my earlier life were from there — Amanda, and Bernice, and Zeb; and Adam One, and Shackie, and Croze; and old Pilar; and Toby, of course. I wonder what they’d think of me — of what I ended up doing for a living. Some of them would be disappointed, like Adam One. Bernice would say I was backslidden and it served me right. Lucerne would say I’m a slut, and I’d say takes one to know one. Pilar would look at me wisely. Shackie and Croze would laugh. Toby would be mad at Scales. What about Zeb? I think he’d try to rescue me because it would be a challenge.
Amanda knows already. She doesn’t judge. She says you trade what you have to. You don’t always have choices.
12
When Lucerne and Zeb first took me away from the Exfernal World to live among the Gardeners, I didn’t like it at all. They smiled a lot, but they scared me: they were so interested in doom, and enemies, and God. And they talked so much about Death. The Gardeners were strict about not killing Life, but on the other hand they said Death was a natural process, which was sort of a contradiction, now that I think about it. They had the idea that turning into compost would be just fine. Not everyone might think that having your body become part of a vulture was a terrific future to look forward to, but the Gardeners did. And when they’d start talking about the Waterless Flood that was going to kill everybody on Earth, except maybe them — that gave me nightmares.
None of it scared the real Gardener kids. They were used to it. They’d even make fun of it, or the older boys would — Shackie and Croze and their pals. “We’re all gonna diiiiie,” they’d say, making dead-person faces. “Hey, Ren. Want to do your bit for the Cycle of Life? Lie down in that dumpster, you can be the compost.” “Hey, Ren. Want to be a maggot? Lick my cut!”
“Shut up,” Bernice would say. “Or you’re going into that dumpster yourself because I’m shoving you in!” Bernice was mean, and she stood her ground, and most kids would back off. Even the boys would. But then I’d owe Bernice, and I’d have to do what she said.
Shackie and Croze would tease me, though, when Bernice wasn’t around to push back at them. They were slug-squeezers, they were beetle-eaters. They tried to gross you out. They were trouble — that’s what Toby called them. I’d hear her saying to Rebecca, “Here comes trouble.”
Shackie was the oldest; he was tall and skinny, and he had a spider tattoo on the inside of his arm that he’d punched in himself with a needle and some candle soot. Croze was a stumpier shape, with a round head and a missing side tooth, which he claimed had been knocked out in a street battle. They had a little brother whose name was Oates. They didn’t have any parents; they’d had some once, but their father had gone off with Zeb on some special Adam trip and had never come back, and then their mother had left, telling Adam One she’d send for them when she’d got herself established. But she never had.
The Gardener school was in a different building from the Rooftop. It was called the Wellness Clinic because that’s what used to be in there. It still had some leftover boxes full of gauze bandages, which the Gardeners were gleaning for crafts projects. It smelled of vinegar: across the hallway from the schoolrooms was the room the Gardeners used for their vinegar making.
The benches at the Wellness Clinic were hard; we sat in rows. We wrote on slates, and they had to be wiped off at the end of each day because the Gardeners said you couldn’t leave words lying around where our enemies might find them. Anyway, paper was sinful because it was made from the flesh of trees.
We spent a lot of time memorizing things and chanting them out loud. The Gardener history, for instance — it went like
It’s been a long time — over fifteen years, ever since she came into the Gardeners. So many people from my earlier life were from there — Amanda, and Bernice, and Zeb; and Adam One, and Shackie, and Croze; and old Pilar; and Toby, of course. I wonder what they’d think of me — of what I ended up doing for a living. Some of them would be disappointed, like Adam One. Bernice would say I was backslidden and it served me right. Lucerne would say I’m a slut, and I’d say takes one to know one. Pilar would look at me wisely. Shackie and Croze would laugh. Toby would be mad at Scales. What about Zeb? I think he’d try to rescue me because it would be a challenge.
Amanda knows already. She doesn’t judge. She says you trade what you have to. You don’t always have choices.
12
When Lucerne and Zeb first took me away from the Exfernal World to live among the Gardeners, I didn’t like it at all. They smiled a lot, but they scared me: they were so interested in doom, and enemies, and God. And they talked so much about Death. The Gardeners were strict about not killing Life, but on the other hand they said Death was a natural process, which was sort of a contradiction, now that I think about it. They had the idea that turning into compost would be just fine. Not everyone might think that having your body become part of a vulture was a terrific future to look forward to, but the Gardeners did. And when they’d start talking about the Waterless Flood that was going to kill everybody on Earth, except maybe them — that gave me nightmares.
None of it scared the real Gardener kids. They were used to it. They’d even make fun of it, or the older boys would — Shackie and Croze and their pals. “We’re all gonna diiiiie,” they’d say, making dead-person faces. “Hey, Ren. Want to do your bit for the Cycle of Life? Lie down in that dumpster, you can be the compost.” “Hey, Ren. Want to be a maggot? Lick my cut!”
“Shut up,” Bernice would say. “Or you’re going into that dumpster yourself because I’m shoving you in!” Bernice was mean, and she stood her ground, and most kids would back off. Even the boys would. But then I’d owe Bernice, and I’d have to do what she said.
Shackie and Croze would tease me, though, when Bernice wasn’t around to push back at them. They were slug-squeezers, they were beetle-eaters. They tried to gross you out. They were trouble — that’s what Toby called them. I’d hear her saying to Rebecca, “Here comes trouble.”
Shackie was the oldest; he was tall and skinny, and he had a spider tattoo on the inside of his arm that he’d punched in himself with a needle and some candle soot. Croze was a stumpier shape, with a round head and a missing side tooth, which he claimed had been knocked out in a street battle. They had a little brother whose name was Oates. They didn’t have any parents; they’d had some once, but their father had gone off with Zeb on some special Adam trip and had never come back, and then their mother had left, telling Adam One she’d send for them when she’d got herself established. But she never had.
The Gardener school was in a different building from the Rooftop. It was called the Wellness Clinic because that’s what used to be in there. It still had some leftover boxes full of gauze bandages, which the Gardeners were gleaning for crafts projects. It smelled of vinegar: across the hallway from the schoolrooms was the room the Gardeners used for their vinegar making.
The benches at the Wellness Clinic were hard; we sat in rows. We wrote on slates, and they had to be wiped off at the end of each day because the Gardeners said you couldn’t leave words lying around where our enemies might find them. Anyway, paper was sinful because it was made from the flesh of trees.
We spent a lot of time memorizing things and chanting them out loud. The Gardener history, for instance — it went like
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