Lois Lowry - Son

The young girl cringed when they buckled the eyeless leather mask aroundthe upper half of her face and blinded her. It felt grotesque andunnecessary, but she didnt object. It was the procedure. She knew that.One of the other Vessels had described it to her at lunch a monthbefore.

Mask? she had asked in surprise, almost chuckling at the strangeimage. Whats the mask for?

Well, its not really a mask, the young woman seated on her leftcorrected herself, and took another bite of the crisp salad. Its ablindfold, actually. She was whispering. They were not supposed todiscuss this among themselves.

Blindfold? she had asked in astonishment, then laughed apologetically.I dont seem to be able to converse, do I? I keep repeating what yousay. But: blindfold? Why?

They dont want you to see the Product when it comes out of you. Whenyou birth it. The girl pointed to her bulging belly.

Youve produced already, right? she asked her.

The girl nodded. Twice.

Whats it like? Even asking it, she knew it was a somewhat foolishquestion. They had had classes, seen diagrams, been given instructions.Still, none of that was the same as hearing it from someone who hadalready gone through the process. And now that they were alreadydisobeying the restriction about discussing itwell, why not ask?

Easier the second time. Didnt hurt as much.

When she didnt respond, the girl looked at her quizzically. Hasntanyone told you it hurts?

They said discomfort.

The other girl gave a sarcastic snort. Discomfort, then. If thats whatthey want to call it. Not as much discomfort the second time. And itdoesnt take as long.

Vessels? VESSELS! The voice of the matron, through the speaker, wasstern. Monitor your conversations, please! You know the rules!

The girl and her companion obediently fell silent then, realizing theyhad been heard through the microphones embedded in the walls of thedining room. Some of the other girls giggled. They were probably alsoguilty. There was so little else to talk about. The processtheir job,their missionwas the thing they had in common. But the conversationshifted after the stern warning.

She had taken another spoonful of soup. Food in the BirthmothersDormitory was always plentiful and delicious. The Vessels were all beingmeticulously nourished. Of course, growing up in the community, she hadalways been adequately fed. Food had been delivered to her familysdwelling each day.

But when she had been selected Birthmother at twelve, the course of herlife had changed. It had been gradual. The academic coursesmath,science, lawat school became less demanding for her group. Fewer tests,less reading required. The teachers paid little attention to her.

Courses in nutrition and health had been added to her curriculum, andmore time was spent on exercise in the outdoor air. Special vitamins hadbeen added to her diet. Her body had been examined, tested, and preparedfor her time here. After that year had passed, and part of another, shewas deemed ready. She was instructed to leave her family dwelling andmove to the Birthmothers Dormitory.

Relocating from one place to another within the community was notdifficult. She owned nothing. Her clothing was distributed and launderedby the central clothing supply. Her schoolbooks were requisitioned bythe school and would be used for another student the following year. Thebicycle she had ridden to school throughout her earlier years was takento be refurbished and given to a different, younger child.

There was a celebratory dinner her last evening in the dwelling. Herbrother, older by six years, had already gone on to his own training inthe Department of Law and Justice. They saw him only at public meetings;he had become a stranger. So the last dinner was just the three of them,she and the parental unit who had raised her. They reminisced a bit;they recalled some funny incidents from her early childhood (a time shehad thrown her shoes into the bushes and come home from the ChildcareCenter barefoot). There was laughter, and she thanked them for the yearsof her upbringing.

Were you embarrassed when I was selected for Birthmother? she askedthem. She had, herself, secretly hoped for something more prestigious.At her brothers selection, when she had been just six, they had allbeen very proud. Law and Justice was reserved for those of especiallykeen intelligence. But she had not been a top student.

No, her father said. We trust the committees judgment. They knewwhat you would do best.

And Birthmother is very important, Mother added. WithoutBirthmothers, none of us would be here!

Then they wished her well in the future. Their lives were changing too;parents no longer, they would move now into the place where ChildlessAdults lived.

The next day, she walked alone to the dormitory attached to the BirthingUnit and moved into the small bedroom she was assigned. From its windowshe could see the school she had attended, and the recreation fieldbeyond. In the distance, there was a glimpse of the river that borderedthe community.

Finally, several weeks later, after she was settled in andbeginning to make friends among the other girls, she was called in forinsemination.

Not knowing what to expect, she had been nervous. But when the procedurewas complete, she felt relieved; it had been quick and painless.

It that all? she had asked in surprise, rising from the table when thetechnician gestured that she should.

Thats all. Come back next week to be tested and certified.

She had laughed nervously. She wished they had explained everything moreclearly in the instruction folder they had given her when she wasselected. What does certified mean? she asked.

The worker, putting away the insemination equipment, seemed a littlerushed. There were probably others waiting. Once theyre sure itimplanted, he explained impatiently, then youre a certified Vessel.

Anything else? he asked her as he turned to leave. No? Youre free togo, then.

That all seemed such a short time ago. Now here she was, nine monthslater, with the blindfold strapped around her eyes. The discomfort hadstarted some hours before, intermittently; now it was nonstop. Shebreathed deeply as they had instructed. It was difficult, blinded likethis; her skin was hot inside the mask. She tried to relax. To breathein and out. To ignore the discomNo, she thought. It is pain. Itreally is pain. Gathering her strength for the job, she groanedslightly, arched her back, and gave herself up to the darkness.

Her name was Claire. She was fourteen years old.

They clustered around her. She could hear them, when her mind was ableto focus through the surging intermittent pain. They were talkingurgently to each other. Something was wrong.

Again and again they checked her with their instruments, metallic andcold. A cuff on her arm was inflated, and someone pressed a metal diskthere, at her elbow. Then a different device against her stretched andshaking belly. She gasped as another convulsive pain ripped through her.Her hands were tied on either side of the bed. She was unable to move.

Was it supposed to be like this? She tried to ask but her voice was tooweakmumbly and scaredand no one heard.

Help me, she whimpered. But their attention, she sensed, was not onher, not really. They were worried about the Product. Their hands andtools were on her taut middle. It had been hours, now, since all thisbegan, the first twinge, then the rhythmic, hardening pain, and later,the buckling on of the mask.

Put her out. Well have to go in for it. It was a commanding voice,clearly someone in charge. Quickly. There was a startling urgency toit.

Breathe deeply, they ordered her, shoving something rubbery up underthe mask, holding it to her mouth and nose. She did. She had no choice.She would have suffocated otherwise. She inhaled something with anunpleasantly sweet scent, and immediately the pain subsided, herthoughts subsided, her being drifted away. Her last sensation was theawareness, pain-free, of something cutting into her belly. Carving her.