‘Your skein,’ says Mother Eve. ‘You are suffering.’
Jocelyn cannot speak above a whisper. ‘It’s a secret. I’m not supposed to talk about it. There are drugs. But the drugs don’t work as well any more. It’s getting worse. I’m not … I’m not like other girls. I didn’t know who else to come to. I’ve seen you on the internet. Please,’ she says. ‘Please heal me and make me normal. Please ask God to take the burden from me. Please let me be normal.’
‘All I can do,’ says Mother Eve, ‘is take your hand, and we will pray together.’
This is a very difficult situation. No one’s examined this girl, or given Allie advice about what her problem is. Skein deficiencies are very difficult to correct. Tatiana Moskalev is looking into skein transplant operations for precisely this reason; we don’t know how to fix a skein that doesn’t work.
Jocelyn nods and puts her hand into Allie’s.
Mother Eve says the usual words: ‘Our Mother,’ she says, ‘above us and within us. You alone are the source of all goodness, all mercy and all grace. May we learn to do Your will, as You express it to us daily through Your works.’
While she speaks, Allie is feeling out the patches of darkness and light in Jocelyn’s skein. It’s as if the thing is occluded: gummy places where there should be flowing water. Silted up. She could clear some of the muck in the channels here and here.
‘And may our hearts be pure before You,’ she says, ‘and may You send us strength to bear the trials we face without bitterness and without self-destruction.’
Jocelyn, though she has rarely prayed, prays now. As Mother Eve lays her hands on Jocelyn’s back, she prays, ‘Please, God, open my heart.’ And she feels something.
Allie gives a little push. More than she’d usually do, but this girl doesn’t have enough sensitivity to feel what exactly she’s doing, probably. Jocelyn gasps. Allie gives another three short, hard pushes. And there. The thing is sparkling now. Thrumming like an engine. There.
Jocelyn says, ‘Oh God. I can feel it.’
Her skein is humming steadily, evenly. She can feel now that thing that the other girls say they’ve felt: the gentle, filling sensation as each cell in her skein pumps ions across membranes and the electric potential increases. She can feel that she’s working properly, for the first time ever.
She is too shocked to cry.
She says, ‘I can feel it. It’s working.’
Mother Eve says, ‘Praise be to God.’
‘But how did you do that?’
Mother Eve shakes her head. ‘Not my will but Hers be done.’
They breathe in and out in unison once, twice, three times.
Jocelyn says, ‘What shall I do now? I’m …’ She laughs. ‘I’m shipping out tomorrow. United Nations observation force duty in the south.’ She’s not supposed to say that, but she can’t help herself; she couldn’t keep a secret now in this room. ‘My mom sent me there because it looks good, but I won’t really be in danger. No chance of getting into trouble,’ she says.
The voice says: Maybe she should get into trouble.
Mother Eve says, ‘You need have no fear now.’
Jocelyn nods again. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
Mother Eve kisses her on the crown of the head and gives her the blessing in the name of the Great Mother, and she goes down to the party.
Tatiana is followed into the room by two well-built men in fitted clothing: black T-shirts so tight you can see the outline of their nipples, skinny trousers with noticeable crotch bulges. When she sits – in a high-backed chair on a dais – they sit beside her, on somewhat lower stools. The trappings of power, the rewards of success. She rises to greet Mother Eve with a kiss on each cheek.
‘Praise be to Our Lady,’ says Tatiana.
‘Glory in the highest,’ says Mother Eve, without a trace of Allie’s sardonic smile.
‘They’ve found twelve more traitors; captured in a raid on the North,’ mutters Tatiana.
‘With God’s help, they will all be found,’ says Mother Eve.
There are infinite numbers of people to meet. Ambassadors and local dignitaries, business owners and leaders of new movements. This party – coming so soon after their defeat in the Battle of the Dniester – is meant to shore up support for Tatiana both at home and abroad. And the presence of Mother Eve is part of that. Tatiana gives a speech about the heart-rending cruelty done by the regimes of the North and the freedom she and her people are fighting for. They listen to the stories of women who join together in small bands to seek Our Lady’s vengeance on those who have escaped human justice.
Tatiana is moved almost to tears. She asks one of the smartly dressed young men standing behind her to bring drinks for these brave women. He nods, backs away, almost tripping over his feet, and heads upstairs. While they wait, Tatiana tells one of her long-winded jokes. It is about a woman who wishes she could combine her favourite three men into one man, and then a good witch comes to visit her –
The young blond man bounds in front of her with the bottle.
‘Was it this one, Madam?’
Tatiana looks at him. She tips her head to one side.
The young man swallows. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Did I tell you to speak?’ she says.
He drops his eyes to the floor.
‘Just like a man,’ she says. ‘Does not know how to be silent, thinks we always want to hear what he has to say, always talking talking talking, interrupting his betters.’
The young man looks like he’s about to say something, but thinks better of it.
‘Needs to be taught some manners,’ says one of the women standing behind Allie, one of those who run the group seeking justice for old crimes.
Tatiana plucks the bottle of brandy from the young man’s hands. Holds it in front of his face. The liquid sloshing inside is dark amber, oily like caramel.
‘This bottle is worth more than you,’ she says. ‘A glass of this is worth more than you.’
She holds the bottle in one hand by the neck. Swirls the liquid around once, twice, three times.
She drops it on to the floor. The glass smashes. The liquid starts to soak into the wood, staining it darker. The smell is strong and sweet.
‘Lick it up,’ she says.
The young man looks down at the shattered bottle. There are glass fragments among the brandy. He looks round at the watching faces. He kneels down and begins to tongue the floor, delicately, working his way around the pieces of glass.
One of the older women calls out, ‘Get your face into it!’
Allie watches in silence.
The voice says: What. The fuck.
Allie says in her heart: She is actually crazy. Should I say something?
The voice says: Anything you say will diminish your power here.
Allie says: So what, then? What is any of my power worth if I can’t use it here?
The voice says: Remember what Tatiana says. We don’t have to ask what they’d do if they were in control. We’ve seen it already. It’s worse than this.
Allie clears her throat.
The young man’s mouth has blood at the lip.