Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3) (22 page)

But
so
many people were reading the blog... Always very hard to judge, what with PrintArounds, but some sources estimated
eighty percent
of the population had seen at least one blog post of ‘The Impatient Gardener’. An extraordinary saturation, or so Eduardo liked to tell me on a regular basis.

Sister Mari was right, comments poured in all day. Messages of support, messages of consolation, messages of comfort, telling me it was all a bluff. Lots of messages about the candles as well. When to light them? How long for? Did the colour matter?
Dear Margaret, I wasn’t going to light one, but then I heard what they’re doing with your parents and it’s so horrible I think I will
... Sister Mari had added Father Mario (and his doves!) and a Lay Brother called Johannes to her team and they were still working flat out.

I couldn’t eat any supper at all. When Jon finished picking at his meal, we went to help Bane into the sitting room and switched the TV on. If many people at all lit candles, surely they’d report on it, even if they didn’t admit to knowing
why
it was happening.

Fetching the laptop, I kept hitting refresh, though it updated the comments by itself at regular intervals. Six o’clock arrived – the time I’d suggested people make a start.

Refresh. Scroll, scroll. Nothing about candles... Two minutes past. Refresh. Scroll, scroll. Nothing. Four minutes past.
Oh Lord, no one’s going to do it
... Refresh... There!

“I’ve got one!”

Dear Margaret and everyone else,

Just lit my candle and wanted to say, if none of you other chicken-livers do the same, I’m going to haunt you. All of you. I swear it!

Mr-I-lit-my-candle-first-so-currently-feeling-very-smug-but-hoping-not-to-be-dead-soon.

P.S. How’s that for pseudonym, M.V.?

Fingers shaking, I clicked ‘reply’.

Excellent pseudonym, Mr-I-lit-my-candle-first-so-currently-feeling-very-smug-but-hoping-not-to-be-dead-soon. I have to congratulate you on getting us off to a stylish start.

M.V.

Mr-I-lit-my-candle-first-so-currently-feeling-very-smug-but-hoping-not-to-be-dead-soon definitely deserved a personal reply!

Another one
...!

Dear Margaret and everyone,

Just lit my candle. Wanted to say I second Mr-I-lit-my-candle-first-so-currently-feeling-very-smug-but-hoping-not-to-be-dead-soon on the haunting thing. Get lighting those candles, everyone. Please?

Mrs-light-your-candles-now-please-everyone-and-save-my-bacon

I clicked ‘reply’ again. Hopefully these two comments represented hundreds of other candles being lit...

I like your pseudonym too, Mrs-light-your-candles-now-please-everyone-and-save-my-bacon and I totally concur with the sentiment. So I do hope everyone is going to light their candles now and save Mrs-light-your-candles-now-please-everyone-and-save-my-bacon’s bacon?

M.V.

Another relevant comment had already appeared:

Dear People of the World,

Looks like M.V.’s online tonight. And that the first candle-lighters are going to receive personal responses. So get lighting those candles and don’t forget to tell her you’ve done it!

Papa Pontifex

Pope Cornelius, of course. Also hovering anxiously over his computer?

Nothing about it on the six o’clock news, but the trickle of candle-related comments quickly became a flood. I replied to as many as possible but soon I couldn’t even think up replies fast enough, let alone type them. The TV room had filled up, and people crowded around reading over my shoulder as I typed, so I wasn’t entirely sorry when Bane finally said, “The news is coming on, Margo.”

What? Nine o’clock already?

I typed at the end of the reply I was writing:

Well, my fingers are about to fall off, so I’m going to have to call it a night.

Keep lighting those candles everyone!

M.V.

I shut the laptop and got someone to put it safe on a nearby table, then cuddled up beside Bane, my heart in my mouth. Quite a lot of people would have to be doing it for it to make the news, though it might get a mention in the papers...

“Good evening, my name’s Wilhelm Frauberg and this is the nine o’clock news. A strange phenomenon is sweeping the bloc tonight. Hundreds of thousands of people have placed a candle or light of some kind in their front window, and more are doing so as I speak. We have news teams on the ground to ask homeowners, why are they doing this?”

“They’re reporting it!” I exclaimed, as Bane took advantage of the moment’s silence to give a triumphant whoop taken up by the rest of the room’s occupants, rattling the windows. Close followed by a chorus of ‘shsss’ as a news team came on screen.

“So, Mr Relois, why have you decided to place a lighted candle in your window tonight?”

An anxious-looking man peeped around his front door.

“It’s, ah, it’s in memory of my mother, you know. She died about seven years ago, and, ah, I do miss her. Seemed a nice thing to do.”

They cut to a wide-eyed mother with a toddler in her arms, trying to shut the door on the camera.

“Mrs Kjelin? Why have you decided to place a lighted candle in your window tonight?”

“Memory of my sister.” She ground the door into the camera lens, getting it closed at last.

“Mr Jackson? Why have you decided to place a lighted candle in your window tonight?”

A sallow-faced man, who shrugged. “Everyone else is. Not illegal, is it?”

The camera crew gave us a shot of his road. About two out of three houses had a light of some kind flickering or glowing in their front window.

Jon snorted when Bane muttered this to him.

“What do they think, that people are actually going to out and say why they’ve really put it there? Mrs Kjelin came the closest. Bet her sister was a reAssignee.”

“Brave of her to say that much,” said Sister Krayj. Most of the non-guard members of Animal team had chosen this sitting room this evening – the guards had one of their own in The Barracks. “Though I think you may be responsible for a good bit of lying tonight, Margo.”

I winced.

“Miss Simms, is it? Why have you decided to place a lighted candle in your window tonight?”

“Just seemed a nice thing to do. It’s so dark at the moment.”

Jon was right, they didn’t get a straight answer from anyone.

Except the last one.

“Mr Galazzi? Why have you decided to place a lighted candle in your window tonight?”

“My daughter failed Sorting three years ago,” said a hard-faced Italian man. “My son is now in a Facility waiting to die, and my wife took an overdose last week. I buried her yesterday. So I’ve decided I will put a candle in my window every night from now on, until Sorting is abolished.

“That what you wanted to hear?”

***+***

20

THE CARDINAL RULE

From the near hysteria sloshing around in the online comments, you’d think everyone else was getting married, not me! An embarrassing level of excitement was building in the Citadel, as well. This would be the first wedding since the state had to relocate – and downsize – so dramatically.

“They’re all just happy for you,” said Kyle, in response to some nervous grumble from me. “Anyway, did Eduardo tell you the last candle-count? They reckon half the population took part. And in some places it was two thirds. Hard to tell in rural areas. But that’s big.”

“Yeah,” I said distractedly. “But it’s one thing to join the crowd and light a candle, and quite another to stick your neck out in any more active way. We’re a long way off ending Sorting, yet.”

Five days to go... Bane was racing around all over the Citadel now, no stopping him. Doctor Frederick was unconcerned, so clearly the wound was basically healed. Bane was talking about having one more week off after the wedding – our ‘honeymoon’ – then going out on the Liberations again. Yet another thing I was trying not to think about.

“Actually, Margo, could we just pop in here for a moment? I wanted to have a word.”

“Umhmm.” I followed Kyle into an empty room, still thinking – trying not to think – about Bane and machine guns. At least the ‘purchase’ of bulletproof vests had gone like clockwork and there was now one for everyone...

“Um, Margo?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, what is it?” Kyle looked... well, he looked really tense, actually. “Kyle? What’s wrong?”

“Well... there’s something... as your only family here, there’s something I’ve got to talk to you about...”

I smirked at him.

“If you’re about to tell me the facts of life, Mum got there before you. About ten years before you.”

Kyle laughed, but it sounded strained.

“No, no. Of course it’s not that. Let me... try to explain. And... please try to remember, I’m your
brother
, I’ve
got
to say this... So don’t get too mad at me, please?”

I frowned.

“Go on...”

“Well, about when I... left... home. Well, you know you’d been saying for a couple of years by then that you were going to marry Bane?”

“Longer than a couple.”

Kyle shrugged.

“Well, I suppose we were gradually taking it more seriously. Anyway, about six months before I left – you were fifteen, I think – I overheard Mum and Dad talking. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, just one of those things. And, um...” he shot me a wary look.

“What?”

“Well, Dad said to Mum, ‘you know Margo wants to marry Bane, don’t you?’ And he sounded... worried. That’s what caught my attention, that’s why I went on listening. And Mum said, ‘yes, I know,’ very softly, and
she
sounded worried too.”

“
And?
”

“And, after a moment Mum said, ‘Look, I’ll try to talk to her, but I don’t think it will do any good.’ And Dad sighed.”

“
And?
”

“And I just... I have to know, Margo. Did she ever talk to you about it? Whatever was worrying them so much...?”

“You going to try and tell me I shouldn’t marry Bane as well!”

Kyle drew in a breath.

“Is that what she...?”

“No, she didn’t! That’s
not
what she said!”

“But she did talk to you?”

“Yes, not that it’s any of your business!”

“Margo! I’m your brother. And if Mum and Dad,
who love Bane like a son,
are worried about you marrying him, well quite frankly, that bothers me!”

“Mum and I spoke about it, okay?” I snarled, “It’s
fine
.”

“
Margo
... Look, if it wasn’t for that one thing... I mean, Bane’s a good guy, he’s even come onto the right side now, and he’s your best friend and... well, he’s taken good care of you this far – I know I wasn’t around to help you, okay, before you say it? I haven’t...
personally
... got any problem with you marrying him, right?

“Well, thank you for your permission!”

“It’s
just
... I don’t know what they see that I don’t, but I had to check they’d talked to you, okay? That’s all.”

“And it’s quite enough!”

“Don’t be mad...”

“Just...
leave it
! The
only
thing you need to worry about is whether you’re prepared to escort me to the altar on Saturday or
whether I escort myself
!”

I slammed the door behind me, seething. By the time I’d reached the battlements –
forehead... slip bandanna on
– I’d calmed down a little. ‘Cause it wasn’t really Kyle I was angry with. It was Mum. It was that conversation – four years ago.

‘Margo,’ she’d said to me, in such a gentle, serious voice, ‘Bane’s a lovely boy, and don’t misunderstand me, I love him like one of my own, but are you sure you want to marry him?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘He’s... he’s so
angry
, Margo.’

I stared at her in astonishment.

‘Can you blame him?’

‘No, Margo. I can’t blame him. But this isn’t about
blame
. This is about whether you really want to live with that anger for the rest of your life.’

I glared at her. Her words were starting an ache deep inside.

‘Yes. Yes, I do!’

She sighed.

‘I can see you think you do. But Margo, the cardinal rule of choosing your life partner is this – never think you will be able to change them. What you see is what you get. Choose accordingly.’

‘I’ve
chosen
already! And for your information I
like
what I see and it’s what I
want
to
get
!’

I’d stormed off from that conversation as well. My brain could tell me over and over that my mum had my best interests at heart – that Kyle did too – but it couldn’t blot out the hurt. That the person who made me happiest was a person they didn’t want me to have.

I sniffed, brushing away a treacherous tear. So much for the only silver lining to my parents’ absence being that
that
whole business wouldn’t get dragged up again.

“Are you okay, Margo?”

I started. Jon. Hadn’t even noticed the tapping of his stick.

“I’m fine.”

“Pre-wedding nerves?”

“No. Just.... just Kyle being
stupid
.”

“Being big brotherly, is he?”

I snorted. “Depends if by big brotherly you mean...” I bit off something very uncharitable.

“You are cross.” Jon laughed, “What, he doesn’t approve of Bane?”

I couldn’t laugh with him, though silence was as good as an admission. The humour was wiped from Jon’s face.

“Not really?”

I said nothing.

“Oh, come on! Of all the guys one’s little sister could drag home to marry, Bane’s
pretty
unobjectionable. The hero of the Liberations? Kyle should be counting his blessings.”

“It’s... My
parents
don’t want me to marry Bane.” Never admitted that to anyone before. Scarcely admitted it to myself.

Jon frowned.

“Why not? His temper?”

I blinked.

“Uh... yes.”

Jon pulled a face.

“It’s blinking awful, no getting around that. But... if they’re holding out for a perfect guy for you – well,
no one
’s perfect.”

“I don’t want a perfect guy. I want Bane.”

“I know. I think they’re wrong. You two have had long enough to stop adoring one another, haven’t you? I mean, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, being married to him for the rest of your life – or him to you! – but I think being married to anyone is pretty hard work. Just thinking of my parents – the perfect couple, everyone says, but I don’t think it’s
easy
.” He shrugged. “
Worth it
, yeah.”

I nodded.

“My parents too.”

“There we are, then. Kyle’s probably just trying to be a good big brother. Don’t let it get to you.”

“I’m not. It’s just... it’s ten times as important my family accept him, now, isn’t it?”

“They’ll accept him, Margo. It’s one thing to try and warn you off beforehand – quite another to actually reject your husband! Don’t worry about it.”

My attention shifted to where Bane was bouncing up the steps onto the battlements from The Barracks direction. He reached us quickly, hair damp with sweat but a broad smile on his face.

“You look happy,” I said.

“You don’t.” He frowned slightly. “I’ve just been around the assault course. What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t!”

“I have. Whole thing. Well, no, I skipped the rope swing. The wound
is
all healed up, but just to be on the safe side. What’s wrong with you?”

He slipped an arm around the small of my back and drew me close, searching my face. “Not pre-wedding jitters, I hope?” He spoke lightly, but a spark of anxiety danced in his brown eyes.

“’Course not.” I wrapped my arms around his warm bulk and rested my forehead on his – slightly damp – chest. “There’s nothing wrong. I just want it to be Saturday.”

“Ah, tell me about it.” He held me closer. “If one more person backs me into a corner to check I have a correct understanding of marriage...” He made a frustrated noise. “Half raised in a Believing household, remember?”

I laughed.

“I know. But they’re just making sure – you know how nonBelievers are – well, when they can afford it – leave their registered partner the instant the children are grown – or even before – off with someone else…”

“I know they’re just worried about you,” said Bane with exaggerated patience, “but Pope Cornelius covered it all when he signed that, y’know, thingie, didn’t he?”

To marry a nonBeliever I had to get something called a
dispensation
, which basically certified both parties were fully aware of any potential problems likely to arise from their differing beliefs and had already, in as much as was possible, discussed and resolved these issues. The Holy Father had scrupulously questioned us to make sure Father Mark had covered sufficient ground before… Well.

‘How would you feel if Margaret said she wanted to get your child baptised?’ Pope Cornelius had asked Bane gravely, making Bane roll his eyes.

‘Margo, want to get our kids baptised? Never would’ve seen that one coming.’

Sarcasm notwithstanding, we’d got our dispensation easily enough.

Resting my head against Bane, I thought about Saturday.

“First day of the rest of our lives, hmm?” Bane’s thoughts were clearly in the same place.

“I certainly feel like I’ve been waiting for it my whole life!”

Leaning on the ramparts beside us, Jon sighed. “I wish...”

He trailed off, but Bane shot him a look of total comprehension.

“Wish the world was a different place?”

“Oh yes. I do.”

Jon straightened up and headed off.

“What was that about?” I asked Bane softly. “Not like Jon to be all wistful.”

Bane gave me a look that might’ve had a touch of, ‘you think not?’ about it. Suppose... it’d been quite an intense time, but I hadn’t really known Jon all that long. He was Bane’s friend first.

“The world tramples on Jon’s dreams, that’s all.”

“Dreams? You mean his physics, and stuff?”

“And stuff. Come on, shall we go in? Perhaps I do want to crash out for a bit now.”

On Saturday morning I wrote a very short blog entry.

Getting married today. Wish me luck and pray for me, please.

M.V.

P.S.

Comments won’t be answered until tomorrow since the prayer team will be joining in the celebrations!

Even that little post took me a few minutes, my fingers were shaking so much with excitement. Breakfast also took me longer than anticipated, because everyone wanted to wish me well for the day. Almost felt like I was being deliberately delayed... Jon was with Bane, who was coming down to breakfast later to avoid seeing me.

“I’ve got to go now!” I made it as far as the door at last. “I shall be late!”

“You’re supposed to be late!” joked someone.

“Not as late as I’m going to be if I don’t go and get ready!” I slid through the door into the hall. Huh? Now where’d the Gozitan noticeboard sign gone? Weird. There last night, wasn’t it?