The Green Blanket
By Laura Schiller
Based on the Across the Universe Trilogy
Copyright: Beth Revis
Impossible child! I knew the Feeders were spoiling you, but this is absurd!
Don't tell me what to do, you're not my father!
And you just proved my point. Come back here when you can talk to me like a grown-up.
I hate you! I wish I'd never come here!
Eldest didn't even remember what the fight had been about; something trivial, probably, such as Elder complaining about his early bedtime or too many lessons. All he remembered was the boy's face twisted with rage, his high-pitched voice and Eldest's growl reverberating through the Keeper Level, and finally Elder's sob as he barreled out of the Learning Center and into his own chamber. He should have known better than to hope that his second heir would be easier to raise. He was too frexing old for this.
"Sir? Sir!"
"Now what?" he snapped.
Tylar, Foreman of the Recycling facility, was calling after him just as he was about to leave the City limits. Eldest closed his eyes in momentary exhaustion, then turned around, prepared to answer whatever trivial remarks the younger man might have. After all, it wasn't his fault that Eldest had been distracted all day.
Seeing what Tylar held in his arms, though, he froze.
"Where … did you get that?"
"It, uh, came down the chute from Elder's room, sir," said Tylar, holding it out. "I just thought – because it's still in good condition. I don't know – it seems a waste to recycle it. Should I … ?"
Eldest stared down at the soft folded length of blue-green wool, only half listening to the Foreman's words. So Elder had thrown his blanket away – the same blanket he had slept with on his first night in the Keeper Level, whose corners he used to suck as a toddler. The same blanket Doc had wrapped him in as a baby when he came out of the artificial womb. Eldest remembered holding him for the first time, those huge brown eyes already full of questions. There was something about a baby, even one he knew would grow up cursed with his own flaws and his own burdens; something about a newborn life which made even him hope for better things.
Fight or no fight, Elder should not have thrown that blanket away.
"Give it here," said Eldest, pulling it out of the Foreman's hands.
Belatedly recalling his role as Godspeed's patriarch, he forced a fatherly smile and added: "Thank you, Tylar."
/
"Come in," said Elder, in response to a knock on the door.
Eldest felt oddly clumsy coming in, his bad leg heavier than usual as he dragged it around piles of dirty clothes. He did not know what to say. The tears of shame and rage in Elder's eyes were still burned into his mind, and he wished he had never seen them. Yet he was Eldest, for the stars' sake, and he would not apologize. Neither could he bring himself to return the green blanket; cosseting the child like an old Feeder wife was exactly what he had resolved not to do. Instead, somehow, the thing had found its way to the back of Eldest's closet. He did not care to ask himself why.
Elder, his skinny limbs all tangled in his blanket, too drained for once to protest going to bed before lamp-off, automatically sat up straight and wiped his sleeve across his tear-streaked face.
"Are you sending me back now?" he asked, half sulky, half remorseful.
"Back where?" asked Eldest.
"The Ward."
"Now why would I do that?"
He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, not taking his eyes off Elder.
"You sure you don't want to select another Elder? Someone more, I don't know, mature?"
It took decades of self-control to disguise the momentary chill in his heart, but no sign of it appeared on Eldest's face. It was a coincidence. Elder could not have known that he was anyone's replacement, let alone why.
"All right," said Eldest, "Listen. So you and I had an argument; it happens. Part of being a leader is learning how to deal with conflict. When you're Eldest, people like Doc and the Shippers will disagree with you all the time. But you mustn't hold on to your anger; it will lead you to make wrong decisions, and you'll look like a chutz. If I can forget what happened, so can you. Got it?"
Elder moved a few inches closer, tentative hope in his young face.
"Does that mean you're not mad anymore?"
"It does."
He held out a gnarled hand for the boy to shake. As always, their peacemaking ritual turned into a contest of strength that left them both pink-faced and laughing.
"Good night, Elder," said Eldest, pausing in the doorway to turn off the light.
Good night, son, he did not say.