A large part of Donna didn't want to see her son. She didn't want to find out just how far apart they had grown in their nearly three years away from each other. Dem had sent in a new photo, and Lars was practically unrecognizable, but then again, he was twelve now. Old enough to come by for a visit, like his sister. Soon enough, all of her kids would be waiting for a chance to visit her. The prospect frightened her. Would they even recognize her, or she - them?
Hesitantly, she walked inside the room. On the other side of the glass, Lars waved at her awkwardly.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," Donna replied. "You've gotten so tall!"
Lars rolled his eyes. "You can't even see how tall I am! I'm sitting down!"
When had he become so sarcastic? "I can see that you're taller sitting down than you were before," Donna pointed out. "Or maybe you think I've just gotten that much shorter?" she added with a smile.
Lars shrugged, looking like he was trying to collapse in on himself. Donna sighed inaudibly. "How are you?" she asked.
Another shrug. Lars looked around the room, staring at the guards with a slightly confused facial expression. One of the guards, a woman from Four, waved at him slightly.
"Are you still not talking to Primus?"
"I haven't seen him in a month," Lars said, and refused to elaborate. Donna tried to not show her frustration. Her and Theodosius' eldest sons were acting more like two roommates who hated each other than anything else.
"How's school?" He had just started grade seven in the previous month.
"Pretty good," Lars said, coming out of his shell a little bit. "My Geography teacher is a returned defector, and he always talks about being to all these different countries and how they do things there."
"That sounds very interesting. You know, we get foreign visitors here sometimes." Donna glanced at the guards, but that didn't appear to be a state secret.
Lars nodded. "I know. I've read it in the newspapers."
Was he seriously still reading the newspapers? He must have been reading them outside the house sneakily. "And what do they say?" she asked, before mentally kicking herself as the guards shouted at her to change the topic. Lars startled at the noise, nearly falling off his chair.
"Um," Donna tried to think of what else to say, "what are your other subjects like?"
"They're alright. I hope I can get straight A's this year." The previous year, he had always gotten one or two B's. "I got an A+ on my math test."
"That's amazing!" Donna said, trying to cheer up Lars, who still looked glum. "What was it on?"
"Fractions. And I have a Lit essay I need to write," he groaned.
Donna smiled. "You don't like Lit?" Lars shook his head.
"But you love reading!"
"I love reading, but I hate Lit," Lars said sulkily. "There are never any right answers," he complained, throwing his hands in the air. "No matter what I say, the teacher always finds something wrong with it!"
"I also used to not like it," Donna said. "It's much easier when you're either correct or not correct, right?" Lars nodded. "Thing is, that's not how people work. You can have two opposite opinions that are both neither right nor wrong. And even if a position is very weak, or even downright wrong, it can still be successfully argued."
"I still don't like it," Lars said glumly. "I get that things are complicated, but-" he shrugged. "It's hard. Math is so easy by comparison. Just practice enough, and you can always get the right answer."
"Well, I'm sure you're practicing a lot," Donna tried to reassure her son. "It looks like you're doing very well."
Lars was silent.
"Is everything alright?" she asked anxiously. Lars shrugged.
"Yeah, yeah, it's alright," he said. "I'm just worried it will get harder later on."
At that, Donna nearly laughed. "Of course it will get harder, but you will get smarter!" she said. "You know, during my entire time in university, I'd think that I was at the end of my tether and if things got only a little bit worse, that would be the end of me. But things got worse, and I kept on going."
Lars looked like he didn't quite believe it. "Grandma and Grandpa are always going on about how it won't be this easy later."
"Grandma and Grandpa are stuck in the old mentality," Donna said, mentally cursing her parents for putting so much pressure on her kids. "When I was your age, it was nearly impossible to go to university out of public school, your marks had to be borderline perfect. Anyone with money or connections could easily get into state school, but our family wasn't quite at that level, and I had to do well on the entrance exam to get in. Your uncle Alex failed both times he tried, so there was a lot of pressure on me." That period of her life had been simultaneously horribly stressful and extremely easy. She had never found it difficult to do well, but the irrational fear of failure always haunted her.
Lars listened wide-eyed. "Grandma and Grandpa are arguing with Dad over whether I should apply to state school." There were two intake years - grade seven and grade nine. Dem hadn't wanted to drag him through the complicated process the past year.
"Well, what do you want?" Donna asked.
It was clear that Lars had never thought about that. He fidgeted awkwardly, looking at the guards, as if for reassurement. They stared blankly back, clearly not interested in the details of her family life. "Um, I don't know?" he said. "I never really thought about it." Donna tried not to laugh. It was as if the glass partition was in fact a mirror to the past.
"I never really thought about it, either," Donna reminisced. "You know what kind of attitudes your Grandma and Grandpa had, right?" She was worried Lars wouldn't get the hint, but he nodded. "Well, they wanted your uncle Alex and I to be like your Grandpa and Great-Grandma, and become engineers. They always talked about how I needed the sort of job that would always be needed." She sighed, not meeting her son's eyes. "And I suppose people do tend to follow their parents' footsteps. I wanted to impress them, make up for Alex's failures. Plus, I liked the idea of an apolitical sort of job."
Lars looked at her strangely.
It was hard to explain what had motivated her back then. How could she simultaneously have wanted an apolitical sort of job that would always be needed no matter what and still applied to work on the Games? "I was always apolitical, or at least I thought I was," she said with a shrug. "I know it's hard to believe, but in my mind, I was just building bridges and roads."
The guards looked ready to strike down that line of conversation.
"Apolitical?" Lars asked.
Donna chuckled bitterly. "There's no such thing as apolitical. Doesn't matter if you're an activist or a doctor. Living in society makes you political by default. You may think you don't care who wins the elections, but some of the candidates will be worse for you than others. Politics cares about you even if you don't care about it." She had read that in a book just a few weeks ago. If only she had read that years before.
The guards decided they had nothing against the elections being discussed and settled back, looking bored again. They were waiting for juicy gossip to sell to journalists.
"What do you think of Paylor?"
Donna thought a lot of things about Paylor, chief of them being the unpleasant suspicion that she owed the former factory worker and Rebel cell leader her life. While Coin had prepared her show trial of Snow and the Gamemakers, Paylor had ended up in charge of organizing the trials of everyone else until she got elected president and passed it off to her old deputy, and her deputy ended up taking over the Gamemakers as well in the end. From the earliest speeches she had made as one Rebel leader out of many in Eight to personally guaranteeing a fair trial for everyone to the promises she made during the extremely short election campaign, Paylor had always given the impression of someone interested in only justice, not vengeance.
The restitution debates were another thing that made Donna feel very, very small and insignificant. Paylor had made a speech where she promised restitution for every innocent victim of the Games regime, and said that the only restitution she herself needed was the chance to build a better nation in place of the old one. Many of the Capitol Rebels and defectors had loudly agreed with the last part.
"I don't know how much I can say," Donna began, glancing at the guards.
"But why?" Lars asked, confused. "They told me not to talk about certain topics, but why? Or is that also a forbidden topic?"
Why?
Because I was a total fucking idiot who didn't use her brain, and now I'm stuck here until you're thirty-four and everyone is scared of the prospect of me influencing you in any way, shape, or form.
Donna rubbed at her face with a hand. "Maybe ask them on the way out. I don't think I'm allowed to talk about that. Let's talk about something cheerier, this is the first time I've seen you in so long! How are your siblings?"
"Tall," Lars said with a comical facial expression that quickly faded. "Um, they're alright. Donna's passing all her classes. Nothing really new since the last letter." It seemed sometimes that being able to write to her family again hadn't led to an increase in communication.
"Well, what happened during the last week?" Donna asked desperately. "I'm sure there's something I'd find interesting."
Lars cocked his head to one side. "What's 'interesting'?"
"Literally anything," Donna said. "Did your Grandma and Grandpa say something strange? What are you learning in class? What did your Dad cook for dinner yesterday? How is Cynthia doing?"
"Mrs. Coll is alright," Lars said. Donna sighed inwardly at the formality. She had thought that they would become family friends, but Lars was still playing the reluctant roommate. "Um, so is everyone else? We had curry yesterday. It was way too spicy for Mrs. Coll, but she ate it anyway and even got seconds, even though she got really bad heartburn afterwards. Is Mr. Coll also that bad with spice?"
It took a few seconds to come up with an answer. "I have no idea," Donna said. "I think you should ask Cynthia." To give a definite answer would indicate that they interacted regularly, which flew in the face of the fact that the silence rule was technically still in force. However, if she said so, it could potentially end up in the press. According to the sympathetic guard, a large segment of the population believed that they were forced to observe strict silence - and approved. There was, however, a small but loud minority standing up for Donna and the rest of them. The last thing she, or the administration, needed were angry protesters at the compound fence clashing with counter-protesters complaining about "laxness" and "being soft on the Games criminals".
For the rest of the visit, Donna managed to get Lars to talk about how the family was doing. Was he always so taciturn or was it just because he was talking to her? Donna tried to convince herself that a lot of children felt awkward opening up to their parents at that age, but it was futile. Maybe that played a role, but Donna knew full well that she was by now a near-stranger to her own son.
When it was time to leave, Lars stayed sitting, hands pressed against the wall. "When will I see you again?" he asked, sounding much younger than he actually was.
"Time's up!" said a guard. The four of them stood up slowly.
Donna got up as well. "Ask your Dad," she said. "He's the one managing the rota." Lars nodded. "You have a good year, or whatever. Alright? Listen to your Dad, he's got enough things to worry about." Flanked by two guards, she turned around to leave. When Donna looked back, her son was staring at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Lars noticed her staring, and waved.
"Move along, Female Nine!" snapped one of the guards. "You'll make the next one ate." On the way out, they passed by Aslanov, who was waiting to see his brother. He was one of the few former Peacekeepers who were still in touch with their families. Donna nodded slightly at him, and he responded in kind. The guards led her to the entrance to the yard and left. Donna went to join Theodosius, who was pulling up beets.
"How did that go?" he asked, brushing the dirt off a particularly small beet.
"Alright," Donna said. "Is that a beet or a radish?" She pointed at the tiny root. Theodosius rolled his eyes. He placed it into a bucket and shuffled over to another one. Donna squatted down next to him, pushing back her sleeves.
"Aslanov's in there now, right?" When Donna assented, he clarified, "I noticed him trying to rub dirt on his knees to make the numbers less visible."
"It clearly didn't work," Donna said. She pulled a beet out of the ground. It was slightly more respectably sized, though still quite small. "Seriously, what's up with the beets? They're tiny." The potatoes had been so much bigger than last year, Donna had dared hope the same would hold for the rest of them. While the zucchinis had also grown to utterly insane proportions, over half a metre long, the beets had clearly not benefitted.
Yanking out another beet, Theodosius managed to only tear off the tops. "And how is Lars?" he asked as he dug his hands into the ground, trying to grab the root.
"Not too bad. Talked a lot about school."
"Any new information?" Theodosius asked eagerly.
"My parents are already pressuring him about getting a job."
Theodosius chuckled at that. "Sounds like your parents." He pulled out another radish-sized beet. "I am very concerned," he said, staring at it.
Someone was laughing next to them. Donna looked up and met Heatherson's eyes. "What?" Heatherson asked defensively. "Those are some tiny beets."
"It's not my fault," Theodosius said. "I wasn't the one planting them."
Heatherson looked at him like he wasn't entirely sane. "I wasn't accusing you of anything," she said, frowning. "I just pointed out that the beets are very small."
"It sounded like an accusation," Donna chimed in, brushing dirt off a beet. It was, once again, absurdly small.
Heatherson sighed. "Maybe you shouldn't look for accusations everywhere."
"We need another bucket," Donna said as she placed another beet into the one next to her. "This one's full." She stood up, stretching. Theodosius stood up as well, even though the bucket next to him still had some room.
"I'll come with you," he said.
Not getting the hint, Heatherson offered to walk with them as well. "What do you think about the news?" she asked.
"What news?" Theodosius asked with some irritation. "The speech the mayor of Two made last week, the report by that international organization whose name I forget, the updates on the Depuration, or how well my children are doing in school?"
"Anything," Heatherson said. "We haven't talked for a while." Neither of them interacted much with the former industrialists.
They walked down the path, cringing at the cold gusts of wind. "My children are doing well, thank you for asking," Donna said. "How are yours?" Heatherson had four children, all long grown.
"My eldest just got married. To a person from Eleven." She looked more confused than anything by that.
"Well, congratulations," Theodosius said. "How old are they?"
"They're thirty-two."
Donna chuckled. "Well, that's a good deal older than mine. My eldest is fifteen."
"For now," Heatherson said, shaking her head sadly. "One moment they're your little one, the next they're getting married. When I see them next, there will probably be a toddler running around the apartment." Heatherson had less than six years left in here.
"I'm sure you must be looking forward to the photos already," Theodosius said. "My wife sends me photos from time to time, and I can't believe how fast they're all growing."
"How old are they?" Heatherson asked. Theodosius paused, scratching his head. Donna tried to remember how old her own kids were. It took a few seconds.
Finally remembering the ages, Theodosius rattled them off. "Twelve, nine, nine, seven, three, three. The youngest two have their birthday in a few weeks, though."
Heatherson looked very sad for an instant, before her face assumed its normal slight boredom. "Two sets of twins? That's interesting."
"Interesting is one way to put it," Theodosius said abashedly. "When the youngest were born, I practically fled to my office every morning. It was chaos. And now, I wish more than anything else that I could be surrounded by that chaos now."
Donna felt that way, too. How often had she wished that her children would grow up already and stop being so hard to manage? Well, now she was getting her wish.
"You young people are much worse off," Heatherson said. "Longest finite sentences for the second-youngest people - they'll throw you into an unfamiliar world just like that!"
"Forgive me for saying so, but six years is still quite a long time, especially in the light of the constant developments going on right now," Donna pointed out.
Heatherson slumped slightly. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said. "I'll leave, and be retirement age, but I'm not eligible for my pension! I'll have to live off my husband's, probably."
Donna wanted to reassure the older woman that there was still plenty of time to figure things out and have circumstances change, but six years were quite a short time to someone like Heatherson. It was only when Donna considered how old her children would be then that she realized just how long a time it actually was.
"Maybe it'll be reinstated," Theodosius said. "You're always saying that they'll stop being so harsh on us as soon as it becomes politically expedient. I bet that pensions and savings accounts will be the first if that happens."
They reached the shed, and Donna took two empty buckets, passing one to Theodosius. Heatherson shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, looking glum. "If it happens," she echoed them. "The more I hear the news, the more I worry that you're correct and they will never slacken their grip."
The prospect of being right was not enjoyable. "I hope I'm wrong," Donna said. "We thought the IDC would just kept on going and going no matter what, and now it's gone. The administration here's just thirteen people who can't get along. Now, it all depends on what the Districts think."
Heatherson tossed her head. "In that case, I almost pity the guards who will have to stay here for decades."
Donna's perspective on the Districts wasn't quite so cynical, though. It was the people of the outer Districts who had been the kindest when she was in jail, and even now, the sympathetic guards who carried messages for her were from Eight and Twelve.
She decided to ask Dem to bake something for them as a token of her gratitude. Anything to lessen the chances of them leaving.
They walked in silence until they returned to the beets. Heatherson squatted down next to them. Since there was no polite way to tell her to go away, Donna didn't react. She carefully pulled out a beet and brushed off the wet dirt. The dirt from before had dried slightly as they had walked, and the combination of wet and less wet dirt felt strange on her skin. Donna rubbed her hands together to try to clean them off, but it just smeared the dirt all over her palms.
Looking up, she saw Theodosius juggling two beets. "Nice," she said appreciatively. "I didn't know you could juggle."
"It's easy with just two," he replied, continuing to juggle. "I can't do three." One of the beets fell to the ground. Theodosius picked it up and placed it into the bucket.
"I don't think I can do that," Heatherson said. She reached into the bucket and took out two beets, holding one in each hand. Tossing one into the air, she tried to switch the other one to her now-empty hand, but she couldn't do it fast enough, and the first beet fell to the ground before she could grab it. She sighed.
Donna picked up the fallen beet and placed it into one of the empty buckets. Over half of the patch was already harvested, and there wasn't much left after the beets. She didn't want harvest to end. An end to outdoor work meant the beginning of endless days of crochet. Donna stared at her dirty hand, covered with wet dirt. It was quite cool now, especially in the mornings. Soon, it would be cold. A barely perceptible breeze chilled her damp hand, as if it was caught in a vise. She shoved her fingers into the ground, grabbing hold of yet another beet. It came away encased in a clump of dirt bigger than the beet itself.
"Now that's a decently sized beet," Theodosius pointed out.
When the dirt was brushed off, the root looked small and pitiful. "I should have expected that," Theodosius said. "These beets are a fiasco. I'll have to read up on how to fertilize them properly."
"You want to take over the planting as well?" Heatherson asked acidly. "Why are you so worried about the yield?"
"Because I don't like the idea of not doing my job as well as I could," Donna said, surprised to realize that she sincerely meant those words.
"But this is not your job! It doesn't matter how small or large the potatoes you grew are. It wouldn't change anything if the beet was the size of a pea or a watermelon instead." Donna had a suspicion that if they tried to grow watermelons, they'd be just about the size of a normal beet.
Theodosius didn't answer, instead digging his fingers into the ground for another beet, which was, once again, the size of a particularly large radish.
At the taps, Donna listened to former industrialists complaining as she lifted the tap with a wrist.
"I got in touch with the new management," said Dimmers. "They said they wouldn't hire me for as much as an intern position!" The former manager of the Capitol section of the Electrical Works sounded infuriated by this turn of events. "I don't understand this - it doesn't say anywhere in my sentence that I'm to be banned from working!"
Andrews and Torres, formerly plant leaders in Five, vigorously agreed as they tried not to lean against several buckets of apples that had just been picked by several of the former Peacekeepers.
"I noticed the same thing," said Torres, the shorter and darker one of the two. He gave up on trying to lean against the wall and stood up straight. "They didn't even give a decent excuse! Just 'it would not be beneficial for the company to employ you right now'. How does that even make any sense? They're not releasing us right now!" The two former plant leaders were both serving eighteen-year sentences, and both refused to believe they'd have to serve it all.
Andrews nodded to every word Torres said.
"Well, I suppose it could be worse," Dimmers said as he began to wash his hands at the tap next to Donna's. "Look at the Steelworks people. Now that it's broken up, they've got no chances."
Torres disagreed. "The Depuration hearings are still going on," he said. "And I don't think they'll fall apart in the next few months." The Capitol-run trials had recently acquired that name.
"Next few months?" Donna chimed in. "Try 'next few years'. They haven't been showing any signs of slowing down."
"I didn't ask you," Torres muttered irritably. Most of the former industrialists resented being imprisoned with Donna and the rest of the key criminals, thinking that they themselves did not deserve to be stuck with whom they perceived to be the real criminals of the regime. Donna turned back to scrubbing her hands under the cold water, trying to get the dirt out from under her fingernails. They were growing out again. She'd need to ask the orderly for a pair of scissors.
As she finished washing her hands, the three men next to her resumed their complaining. Dimmers was getting on the nerves of the other two, that much was obvious. Andrews and Torres clearly weren't as certain about their upcoming release as they said. They were both standing away from the wall, leaning slightly backward. Dimmers was either oblivious or didn't care, as he kept on talking to Torres. When they were called back inside, they continued their conversation.
Donna wished Theodosius a good evening and headed toward the entrance to the women's wing. One of the guards was advising the other on her job application. It was sounding like the woman from Eleven had much better job prospects than the three former industrialists put together. She sounded almost upbeat as she told the guard from One that she would definitely listen to the suggestions, but fell silent when she realized that the prisoners were hanging onto her every word.
Back in her cell, there was a bit of time to clean up before dinner. Donna put on her thin shoes in place of the ones she had worn outside, as their soles were covered with dirt and she didn't want to track mud all over her cell. It was bad enough that cleaning the corridor tomorrow would be a hassle. She took off her sweater, hung it up, and washed her hands again, this time with soap. It was chilly in the cell, so Donna put her sweater back on. She sat down on her cot and waited for dinner.
When the doors unlocked, she stepped out and joined the queue. To Donna's surprise, the sympathetic guard was there. When she met her eyes, the woman from Eight twisted her face in a barely perceptible grimace Donna had no idea how to interpret. Was it supposed to be a warning? Hidden in Donna's bra was a piece of paper with diary entries for the past few days. They were short ones, though, she could probably memorize and re-write them later. Better be safe than sorry, after all. Donna had no idea how the administration would react if they caught someone passing notes, but she was certain nobody would enjoy the consequences except the press.
Donna didn't even look at the guard as she took her tray and went back to her cell, chatting with a few of the others. It was too risky. She listened to Smith hum something until Kim snapped at her to be quiet. Smith took offense to that, and began to actually sing out loud, albeit quietly. Kim went inside her cell and slammed the door behind her. The rest of them, however, hung around the doorways until they were ordered inside.
The first thing Donna did once the door was slammed behind her was to take out the note, read it several times, and flush it down the toilet. Only then did she begin to eat the rice with vegetables, piece of flat bread, tiny piece of dried meat, and apple. There was no tea today, so Donna had to go to the sink and fill up her cup with the cold water. After handing back the tray Donna sat down on her cot, opened a book, and began to wait for the search.
Such an odd time for it. They normally preferred to conduct the searches while they were washing. Had something happened? Was this just an attempt to mess with them? Donna turned the pages, feeling more and more anxious as she waited for the door to slam open.
She waited and waited, and the search failed to materialize. She read a section of the history book and the novel completely undisturbed. The same went for the book of puzzles. Donna listened for the slightest sound as she got ready for bed. The prospect of having guards barge in while she was on the toilet was an unpleasant one, but fortunately, that didn't happen. The lights flicked off, and still there was nothing but the occasional bootsteps in the corridor, same as always.
The lights went on, and Donna woke up. A voice was shouting at her in a tone both demanding and extremely bored to undress and stand with her face against the corner. The next thing Donna was aware of, she was facing the wall and shivering in the cold air as two guards went through everything. Good thing the sympathetic guard had warned her, as there would have been no easy way to dispose of the note, other than eating it or something, and the guards would have noticed that. With how enthusiastically they were going through everything, even leafing through book pages, Donna was seized with the irrational fear that they would find something even though there was nothing to find. One noticed her looking, and snapped at Donna to face the wall. She complied.
Finding nothing, the two nodded to each other and left the cell, shutting the door behind them. Still in a slight state of shock, Donna slowly went about getting dressed and cleaning up, until she realized that the lights would go off at any moment. She sped up her cleaning pace until she was frantically dumping clothes in their rightful place, listening to the sound of doors slamming and boots hitting the ground. It didn't sound like they had found something. Were they going through every single cell, or just some? The noises were growing slightly fainter, so perhaps they were going through them in order. That meant plenty of time. Donna placed her thin shoes neatly under the cot, her bra and cap - onto the chair, and climbed into bed, eager to get warm. The sounds of the search were still there.
For a while, the lights didn't go off as the last prisoners were searched. It was impossible to sleep with the bright light on. How had she managed it before? Donna turned over, face against the mattress. Now, it was hard to breathe. She rolled onto her side, hand on her face to hide her eyes from the stabbing light. Suddenly, the light switched off, plunging her into darkness. Sighing with relief, Donna curled up comfortably and tried to sleep.