All the girls, at one time or another during past summers, have hoisted themselves up to a window to watch a summer of fruition. Even in the first month of summer, they’d seen what happens, which completely belied what Mrs. Aaron was saying. But they wanted desperately to believe her. They had a month, and anything could happen in a month. They could run away, change, die. So they let themselves be soothed, and accepted seconds of cake, and put their heads close together to whisper.
There seemed to be a collective intake of breath upon the entrance of the men, brought in early on the first day. Some of the girls huddled close as if preparing to defend themselves, but the men were so polite and quiet that even the most frightened girls soon relaxed. Andrew told Amanda later that Mr. Aaron had given them a speech beforehand, comparing the girls to frightened mice. “You need to calm and charm a frightened mouse,” he told them. “What are you going to do? Stomp in there and grab the one you want? They’ll bolt in a second. They might even bite you! You need to tiptoe in there and barely even look at them. Offer them food and drink the way you might offer your ancestor a meal if he showed up at your door. Lie down on the floor and show your belly, if it helps them think you’re not there to eat them.”
The first night was all gentle talk as the men ceremoniously and submissively offered the girls more slices of honey cake or cups of milk. Even more surprisingly, they seemed to be genuinely interested in the everyday details of the girls’ lives. The youngest of the men was at least seventeen; having an adult so fascinated by their childish chatter was like being drunk for the first time. All the men were so handsome, tall and bright-eyed with luxuriant beards. Soon some of the braver girls were giggling and playful.
That night, after the men left, the girls huddled together, whispering about who they’d liked and who they hadn’t, what they’d talked about, who would make the best husband. The next day they walked en masse to Callan Moses’s house, shrieking at the rain and blackened children, and then delighting in the desserts that awaited them. Honey was precious on the island, and they’d never experienced such an explosion of sweetness. Janice, who couldn’t stop crying and vomiting and curling up in corners, was given a special drink by Mrs. Moses to “help her relax.” It made her calm and cheerful and unable to walk quite straight. When it wore off and she started sobbing again, she got more. She was the first to lie down under one of the men, giggling and hiccupping, her eyes glossy and dark. It was Thomas Joseph who took her, caressing her like she was something precious and new, while she stared at the ceiling in a syrup-sweet haze. The girls, talking to the other men, were too embarrassed to watch outright. They threw quick, fascinated glances toward the rutting couple, while the men shifted and stared and stepped a little closer to the girls they were looming over.
By the end of the first week, Amanda sat on Dale Joseph’s lap and kissed him. By the end of the second week, she was running through a room of Byron Jacob’s house with no clothes on, laughing at four pursuing men and promising herself to the one who caught her. The girls had discovered the power they had, the power to make men crawl and beg. They could say yes or no and the men would listen; they could play with them like pets or puppets. The men wanted to please their future wives, make them desire their strange male bodies with swelling muscles and heavy, dark, almost comical genitalia. The girls crawled over the men like curious animals, experimenting, examining, sniffing, biting. A couple of girls found the act of love repulsive and submitted with the stiff, resigned faces of old women shouldering a heavy load. To Amanda’s surprise, a few men actually seemed to prefer this sullen submission.
Amanda found sex with the men intoxicating, whereas before her summer of fruition sex had only been wearisome. There were certain aspects, however, she could not stand. She hated a man’s full weight on her and she didn’t like being touched on her throat. The worst was being surprised out of sleep by a lustful hand. She bit Garrett Jacob badly when he tried to slide fingers over her breast in the night, waking to him cradling a bleeding palm and glaring at her. Embarrassed and guilty, she apologized and let him do whatever he wanted with her later—acts she was pretty sure the ancestors would have disapproved of.
One night she awoke to sobbing. This had been a common sound during the first few days, but most of the girls had gotten over weeping for their lost childhood. Those who did were quiet, curled up on their sides to sleep, a few tears running slowly from their eyelids to the floor. Crawling naked, Amanda found the source of the sound: Janice was wedged into the corner of the room, trembling like she used to.
“Janice,” she whispered. “What is it?”
Janice tried to speak, but couldn’t. Some sleepy man mumbled a protest at the noise, and Janice plastered shaking palms over her mouth and nose like she was trying to suffocate herself. Amanda crept next to her and pulled Janice’s body to hers. It was strange, the feeling of a girl’s skin on her own instead of a man’s, the softness and smoothness and comfort of it. Janice put her head on Amanda’s collarbone, and her hot tears gathered in the tiny hollow there. “I can’t do this,” she said.
“What do you mean?” said Amanda. “You’re doing a wonderful job. You were the first one, don’t you remember? All the men love you.”
“I don’t remember, not really,” said Janice. “I’ve been drinking whatever they’ve been giving me, and everything seems all right, but then it wears off and I’m back to being me again. And I can’t do this. I just can’t.”
“But Janice,” said Amanda, “I mean, how did you…before? I mean surely you have before.” She flushes in the dark.
“I have never,” said Janice. “I mean, not like this.”
“Oh,” said Amanda, too surprised to pry further. “Well.”
“I just,” said Janice, her voice rising, “I need to leave, I need to get away.” She put her hands on Amanda’s. “Will you come with me? Can we run away?”
The urge that rose in Amanda’s throat was choking in its bright impossibility, its vivid promise. “But, Janice, where would we go?”
There was a long silence, and then Janice said, “I need more of that drink. I need it now.” Amanda could feel Janice’s heartbeat, thrumming into vibrations like the wings of a hummingbird.
“Wait,” said Amanda, and although she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to, she woke Mrs. Solomon, their current host.
“What is it?” asked Mrs. Solomon blurrily. “Is someone hurt?”
“It’s Janice,” said Amanda. “She’s…not well.”
“Oh, the one who’s being dosed,” said Mrs. Solomon. “Surely she’s over it by now?”
“She’s not,” said Amanda, and again, “She’s not well.”
Mrs. Solomon rose with some grumps and grunts, and walked with Amanda to Janice’s corner. She took Janice’s clenched fist in her capable hands.
“Janice,” said Mrs. Solomon quietly. “You’re a woman now. This is what women do. This is how you get married, and have babies.”
“I don’t,” said Janice, hiccupping, “think I want to be a woman.”