"Happy birthday!" Donna said, drinking in every detail of her husband's appearance with her eyes. His hair was a little bit greyer than last year, but other than that, Dem looked just like he had the previous year.
Dem smiled softly. Donna's own smile was making her cheeks hurt. She tried to relax her face, but as soon as she looked at Dem, the grin was back. It was hard to believe she had spent the past two weeks in a state of mild depression and near-constant anxiety. She was finally talking face-to-face with her husband!
"Thanks," he said. "We're actually having the party today. Shame you can't be there, of course." Dem glanced at the guards. "Little Donna's fifteen now. Can you believe it?"
"Absolutely not," Donna said with more emotion than she had intended. "Octavius is five! The last I saw him, he was only two."
Dem nodded, looking somber. "Time flies, doesn't it? All too soon, they'll-" He fell silent suddenly, looking at the table. What had he meant to say? That the children would be grown all too soon? Was he reluctant to worry about time passing too fast in front of her?
"So what are you going to do for the birthday party?" she asked, changing the topic. Dem seized the opportunity gratefully.
"Not much," he said. "I'm making a nice meal. Well, Donna's making the meal."
"Oh, really?" She hadn't imagined her eldest daughter being quite so good at cooking, but then again, the only creations of hers she had ever had access to were the occasional cookie or pastry. "She's making the entire meal? What is it?"
"I don't know," Dem said with an adorable crooked smile. "She didn't tell me. And she's not alone, Cynthia's helping her, and your parents too. I'm not sure why she was so eager to cook for her own birthday party, but I'm not complaining. If not for her, I wouldn't have been able to see you today." He shrugged.
"Well, thank her for it, then. Is anyone else going to be there, other than Cynthia and the kids?"
"The older kids invited a few friends, as did your dad. I'm also having a few friends from work over. One of them drove me here, in fact." The family still couldn't afford a car.
There were already fifteen people living in the house, and now everyone was inviting 'a few friends'. "Are you sure the house won't burst at the seams?" Donna asked half-jokingly. "How are you going to feed so many people?"
Dem laughed. "That's what the extendable table is for," he pointed out. "And we've been saving since the New Year for the party, so I'm sure we'll manage somehow." Before, Dem had never had to worry about money, but now, with their savings accounts long since confiscated in the name of the Rebellion, he was forced to scrimp and save. It was unfair that the entire family was suffering because of her, but what could be done?
"That's good," Donna said, trying to act cheerful. "Tell them all happy birthday from me, alright?"
"Of course," Dem said, resting his hand on the glass panel between them. Without thinking, Donna rested hers on the other side. Only millimetres separated them; was that really the warmth of his hand that she was feeling or only her imagination? The bulletproof glass was fully transparent, and a part of Donna felt like she could reach out her hand and touch Dem. It was impossible, of course. The barrier was solid despite its invisibility, cold to the touch unlike the warmth of her husband's hand that Donna had long since forgotten. "Are you alright?" he asked.
"Of course." Donna forced a smile. "I'm very happy to see you."
Dem looked about to cry. "Please don't be sad," he said, smiling weakly. "You'll just make me sad, because I can't feed you cookies and make you feel better."
Of course, he could feed her cookies, albeit indirectly, but the sentiment remained. "If only you could feed me cookies, that would solve all of our problems."
"If only." He fell silent, and there was an awkward pause.
"Tell the kids I love them," Donna said in a desperate tone.
"But you already do, in every letter," Dem replied, furrowing his brows.
He didn't understand, but then again, Donna didn't, either. "Maybe it'll be different if it's face-to-face."
"Maybe." Dem sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. He glanced at the guards. "Are you doing alright?" he asked.
"Of course I am," Donna said. "Everything is fine." Dem glanced at the guards again. "No, really!" she insisted, fighting down her irritation. "Life is good. The only problem is the lack of your cookies," Donna tried to joke.
Dem didn't laugh. He looked at her with an expression of such pity that she wanted to burst into tears. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "That's good, then. Is the garden doing well?"
"Very well."
"We'll be doing some gardening of our own soon," Dem said with a smile. "Your parents have moved to Cynthia's old cottage and are fixing it up."
Donna struggled to imagine her prim-and-proper parents doing renovations. "I can't quite imagine Mom hammering in nails as Dad holds the ladder," she confessed. "How are they finding it?"
At that moment, the door behind Donna opened, and the director from One walked in. The middle-aged woman must have been from the southern part of the District, with that medium-brown skin and narrow eyes, but Donna didn't know for sure. The directors rarely talked to the inmates informally. Dem glanced at the director, then at the guards, then at Donna, who shrugged. From time to time, the directors sat in during visits. "Carry on," the director said, standing by the open door.
"Er, fine," Dem said, still glancing at the director. "The electricity is fixed now, and the water, but there was never heating there and we're not sure if we can even afford it. Membership dues are annoying to deal with, but if it means the kids can get out of the city for the summer, it will be worth it." Once, they had travelled all over Panem and not even thought about the cost. "And Cynthia got a promotion just a few days ago, so that makes life easier," he added, sounding like a proud brother. "We're still mostly living paycheck-to-paycheck, but a savings account isn't out of reach anymore."
Compared to that, Donna's problems were nothing. All her needs were being taken care of, after all, she didn't have to worry about utility bills or food. "Sounds like you're doing not too bad," she said. "How are my parents enjoying their new jobs?"
"I think they're just glad to be out of the house," Dem said. "They're enjoying the peace and quiet, and given that they have roosters crowing at three in the morning, that says a lot about the kids." Donna chuckled. Even when the kids were quiet, they still somehow managed to be noisy.
"Tell them I'm glad they're enjoying their vacation," Donna said, feeling slightly awkward. Dad shouldn't have been helping to support two families on his pension, and he and Mom certainly didn't deserve to be leading the kind of life one needed a vacation from. She glanced around. The director from One was looking at her with an unreadable expression.
Noticing the motion, Dem also glanced at the director before looking back at Donna with a slightly forced smile. "I'm sure they're enjoying the roosters. And the children who already have designs on the cherry-plums, even though they're not ripe yet. And the neighbour singing while drunk. And the other neighbour, who keeps on trying to sell them her apple seedlings." His smile was real now, eyes sparkling with mirth, and Donna felt herself smile slightly as well.
"Sounds like they're having lots of fun," she said. "I can't quite imagine Cynthia vacationing in such a place before, though." As a rule, the sort of cottages ministers' families summered at were not the same sort as the ones where lower-class pensioners grew potatoes and apples for their grandchildren.
"It belonged to her family for a few generations," Dem said with a shrug. "I think she stopped going around the same time she got married. Now, though-" he shrugged again. Now, Cynthia wasn't in a position to feel lowered by visiting such a place.
"I'm sure it'll be nice to be back," Donna said. "And you'll enjoy it too, I promise. Gardening is very relaxing and satisfying."
"So you've told me."
"When have I ever lied to you?" she asked playfully.
Dem smiled. "Oh, maybe that time in second year when you told me you were going to study early? Or that other time-"
"Are you really going to bring that up-" Donna protested, laughing, but her husband kept on going.
"-or that other time. Or when you failed that calculus midterm and only told me that it had even happened after you passed the course. Or when you only told me about your applications when they were successful." He was still smiling and his tone light, but Donna felt as if he was accusing her. "I'm still not sure if you were trying to have me worry less, or worry more."
"You never told me you were upset by that," Donna said sharply. Why was he bringing this up out of nowhere? "I just didn't want to have you ask about midterms and whatnot when I had actually done badly." During first year, she had told her parents whenever she had written a test, resulting in them constantly asking about marks. Whenever they had been not good enough for them, she had ended up pretending to not have gotten them back yet until they finally gave up. The following year, she simply told them nothing. "My parents always hounded me, so I guess I did the same with you."
"I'm sorry," he unexpectedly said, shaking his head. "This isn't what I came here for. Let's talk about something else." Dem ran a hand over his hair, which was buzz-cut similarly to hers.
"What is there to talk about?" she asked sadly. When they talked about the present, it was confusing, and when they talked about the past, it was upsetting. They had nothing else.
Dem looked slightly desperate. "Do you want to hear about the kids?"
The director from One left, shutting the door quietly behind her.
"Sure," Donna lied. She didn't want reminders of how her children were growing into strangers, but Dem seized the offered lifeline.
"Donna is standing firm against any attempts by your parents to make her think about the future, but Lars is interrogating your father about how to become an engineer."
"But-he can't be-" Was he seriously considering it? The thought of one of her children studying the same profession as her was utterly absurd.
Dem shrugged. "I don't know. He just turned twelve, though, so I think he's just asking people close to him out of curiosity." Twelve. Lars was now as old as his sister had been when Donna had been arrested. Time was truly flying.
"Have you gotten their report cards yet?" she asked.
"Only Donna's. The others still have a few weeks left."
Dem looked reluctant, but Donna pressed him. "And?"
"Well, she passed everything, but that's the most I can say about it."
"Maybe she'll do better next year," Donna said, not believing her own words.
"Maybe," Dem sighed. "We'll see what happens. Maybe she'll be more motivated then. At least the others are doing well."
At least there was that, but it still stung. "How well?"
"As far as I can tell, very well. Octavius is reading everything he can get his hands on, even if he can't understand the concepts," Dem said in a proud tone.
Donna cracked a small smile. "Tell him I do the same thing," she said.
"I most definitely will."
"Thank you." It was exhausting to say even that much. Maybe it would have been easier if Dem hadn't showed up for a visit. Maybe it would be easier if they cut off all contact, letting her forget that every day she spent here was a day she wouldn't get to spend with her family. Maybe if she had nothing to miss, it wouldn't hurt so much.
"So, how was that?" Theodosius asked, concern evident in his voice. "You don't look any better than before."
"What do you mean?" Donna asked sarcastically. "We had a lovely one-on-one conversation. Only four guards watching us, and the director from One poked her head in for a few minutes. Very intimate."
Theodosius chuckled, as did Smith, who had been taking the afternoon walk with him while Donna was talking to her husband. "Still something," Smith said, skipping slightly. Despite the oppressive heat, she still had energy.
Kicking herself for bringing up the topic in front of the unstable Smith, Donna tried to salvage the situation. "No, no, I was joking. I'm very glad I got to see him," she said. Now that the visit was over, she felt completely drained and exhausted, and a part of her envied Smith for not having to worry about that.
"I'm glad you're glad," Smith said in a sing-songy voice. Theodosius moved a pebble from one pocket to another. "What are you doing?" she asked. "You've been moving pebbles between your pockets this entire walk."
Theodosius ran his hand through his hair, holding his cap in place with the other. "I'm counting laps," he said. "I'm on a walk through Panem, and this helps me keep track of the distance. Crazy, right?" He laughed self-deprecatingly.
"Not at all," Smith said. "If you enjoy it, why not? Where are you now, by the way?"
"No, but think about it," Theodosius insisted. "First I measured out the length of the path with my feet, and now I add to the tally every single day. I'm at the northern tip of Two, and I'm going to head for Seven soon. I'm reading up on what the climate is like there."
Smith shook her head, staring at Theodosius intently. "Seems quite sane to me. You're making learning fun for yourself, and you're setting goals to strive towards."
"Thank you, Mrs. Smith," he said, smiling slightly. "I still insist on my insanity, though! Sane people don't pretend they're walking around the forests near Two when they're actually within the Capitol perimeter." Theodosius took out the pebbles from his pocket. "I'm actually done now. Do you want to keep on walking?" he asked Donna.
"I'm fine with working," Donna said. "Are we continuing with the peas?"
"Yes." Theodosius placed the pebbles back into his pocket and took off his shoes. Donna followed suit. Walking around the path was uncomfortable without shoes, the gravel bit into their feet. To work in the garden, though, they all took their shoes off. It was easier to clean mud from feet than from shoes. The three put their shoes and socks against the wall, lining them up neatly. The vast majority of the pairs were virtually identical, except for the size, but everyone always managed to find theirs.
The dry clods of dirt were painful to step on sometimes, and the patches of wet mud were slippery where they still hung on to their moisture. Usually, water evaporated almost immediately. Those tomatoes must have been watered just now. Nitza stood on her knees in the dirt, removing invisible weeds from the ground. Her tomato patch looked perfect, every plant meticulously tied to a stake, and tiny green tomatoes covered the plants thickly. Seized by a sudden curiosity, Donna paused to count the tomatoes on one of the plants.
"How many?" asked Nitza.
"More than sixty so far."
"Most of them will fall off soon," she said, but her proud grin belied her words. She stood up, inspecting a leaf. Nitza was about the same height as Donna, but her extreme slenderness made her look taller compared to Donna herself, who was on the skinny side of healthy. "See?" She picked up a fallen tomato from a large leaf, holding it out to them.
Theodosius took the tomato and rolled it between his fingers. "See, this is why potatoes are better," he said. "If they don't grow, you just eat the tiny potatoes. Unripe tomatoes, though, are useless."
Nitza was extremely offended by his words, tensing up and gritting her teeth. "If you want to eat nothing but potatoes, I'm sure the administration will be glad to arrange it," she snapped, taking back the tomato and tossing it inside a bucket. "I, however, would prefer some variety in my diet." Donna did not share that optimism. So far, there was no sign of them being allowed to eat what they grew. Nitza kneeled back down, looking for weeds that were not there. "Did you know that adult mole crickets can fly?" she asked.
"What?" Donna was shocked. The gigantic insects were bad enough with their burrowing, but now they could also fly? The mental image of a swarm of the thumb-sized insects made Donna shudder.
"That's not fair," Theodosius complained, echoing her words. "First they dig tunnels in our potatoes and now they can also fly?"
"Is this another one of Cotillion's jokes?" Smith asked, scratching her head.
Nitza shook her head. "They've been this way since forever." She found another invisible weed and placed it into the bucket.
"Huh," said Smith. "I suppose we should be grateful Cotillion didn't make them the size of your arm."
"That's impossible," Donna said instinctively. "You can't scale up living things endlessly, their bodies just aren't capable of being that large." She had picked up a few things from talking with IGR representatives from time to time.
"Ah, yes," Nitza said in an emotionless tone. "I forgot you're the real mutt expert here."
"Is that an accusation?" Donna asked quietly. "I thought a fellow engineer, of all people, wouldn't listen to nonsense like that." Nitza had been the head engineer of the Steelworks. Like Donna, she had been accused of the horrific abuses that had gone on in the Districts. Other than that, though, the two were opposites. Donna had been responsible for the Games but not for the conditions the Districts had lived in, and it was the other way around for Nitza.
"Your tomatoes are lovely," Smith said. "I hope we get to eat them."
"Thank you." Nitza sounded taken aback. "I do, too."
Smith pushed her cap back, even though that made the sun hit her eyes. "And the weather is also lovely, if a bit too hot. What sort of temperature do tomatoes need?"
That sort of question wasn't one Nitza was about to ignore. Forgetting her irritation with Donna, she launched into a monologue they had all heard before. "The nighttime temperature can't exceed thirty, and the daytime - thirty-five. I think this variety is hardier, though, the daytime temperatures regularly reach above that in the height of summer." Had Smith done this on purpose, to distract Nitza? "If only it was so phytophthora-resistant as well, then it would have been absolutely perfect."
"Mrs. Blues and Mr. Coll are also worried about phytophthora," Smith said as she knelt down next to Nitza.
"It's a common problem," Nitza explained. As the two women talked, Donna and Theodosius took their leave of them and headed towards the peas. There were several wooden frames, with twine hanging down that the peas climbed. Despite the fact that the plants were vertical, it was still hard to prune them, as they tended to attach to each other and to the weeds.
"I didn't realize Smith was that sharp," Theodosius confessed as he removed weeds from the ground. "Nitza was really being harsh on you there."
Donna tried to wiggle one of the frames, but it held fast. "It's like with Holder. The moment you write them off as erratic, they do something subtle like that."
"Holder is the opposite of erratic," Theodosius pointed out, "but I get what you mean. I still think Smith is faking, though." According to the guards, she acted in a completely normal way when talking to her children.
"I think it's less faking and more - putting in no effort. She finds it harder to control herself, and doesn't bother when she sees no point."
Theodosius inspected one of the vines. "I just want to know what she's like with her psychologist. If we knew what was actually wrong with her, everything would make more sense." While it was obvious that this strange behaviour started when Smith was locked up in total solitary for a month and it was obvious that total solitary was ruinous for mental health, the details remained a mystery especially as the mental health of the prisoners was considered to be a state secret on par with the nuclear codes.
"Same. There's no way she'll tell us, though." Donna crouched down to help with the weeding.
Dr. Chu was wearing a different kerchief today. It was a striking yellow, embroidered with blue flowers in all shapes and sizes.
"I like your kerchief." Donna said. It looked too bright to be real.
"Thank you," said the psychologist. "I embroidered it myself."
That explained why the flowers were so all over the place. "You did an amazing job, then."
"Oh, thank you so much!" Dr. Chu positioned herself on the backless chair and gave Donna the ball. "Now, how are you doing today?"
Donna rolled the ball between her palms. "Not too well, I guess. My husband came for a visit." The psychologist knew that already, but she always wanted to hear the full story from Donna. "It didn't go too well. I was happy at the beginning, but then everything went wrong." She paused, kneading the ball and gathering her thoughts. "Things just kept on going wrong. They'd go right for a while, and then they went wrong."
"Could you give an example?"
"Well, we were talking about our kids, and then somehow we started fighting over something that happened twenty years ago." Donna didn't want to remember it. She flattened out the ball, watching it become more and more transparent as she stretched it.
"I know you can give more details than that," Dr. Chu said. Reluctantly, Donna paraphrased the conversation.
"It's like he couldn't take a joke all of a sudden!" she complained. "Why did he even want to bring up all that nonsense?"
Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. "In all fairness, it sounds like you couldn't take a joke either. You did say that he was still speaking in a lighthearted tone."
"I guess." Had she overreacted? Donna brought her knees to her chest, hugging herself with her hands while still fidgeting with the ball. "Maybe we've just forgotten how to communicate."
"And what makes you think that?" Dr. Chu asked, adjusting her kerchief.
When squeezed, the ball made a funny sound. Donna pinched it with two fingers, creating a torus. "It's like we didn't understand each other," she said. "Dem said things, then realized he might upset me with them, and suddenly stopped talking. And like you said, I misinterpreted his tone." Was this going to be the new normal? Her children's visits already consisted of more silence than conversation, would her husband also drift away? "I should have expected that," she said, trying to not show how frustrated she was. "We talk maybe once or twice a year. We're forgetting each other."
"Forgetting how?"
"How to hold a conversation. It's like we're growing apart," Donna realized. The isolation was making them go their separate ways. "I don't want him to drift away," she said desperately.
"You write to each other weekly, though," Dr. Chu pointed out. "People do manage to maintain relationships over long distances from time to time."
"How does that work?" Donna asked. "I've only ever heard of relationships falling apart when one of them is in prison."
Dr. Chu wrote something down. "There are many other situations where people who are very close to each other stay in touch while living apart," the psychologist said. "One of my friends escaped Eleven when just thirteen. She made it to Thirteen, and managed to stay in touch with her best friend through a friendly Peacekeeper and a courier who lived in the Wilds. They wrote to each other weekly for forty years until the Rebellion broke out and they were able to meet face-to-face again. They're still best friends right now."
"That's amazing," Donna said. To change so much and yet still be so attached to each other? "But I think that doesn't really apply here."
"Why not?" Dr. Chu asked, tapping her pen. "You and your husband are apart physically, but still write to each other regularly."
"You know exactly why," Donna snapped. "He's out there, living his life, while I'm in here." She gestured to the stark-white walls that shone like the sun under the light of the lightbulb. "Nothing happens to me. Every single time he asks what I'm up to, I have the same answer."
"Are you worried that he thinks you might be insincere and trying to dodge his questions?"
That had never even entered her mind, but it made perfect sense. "Yes," Donna said gratefully, pressing on the sides of the ball slightly to make it look like a cube. "That's what you do when you don't want to answer, right? You say you're fine. But I'm telling the truth. There's nothing else for me to say."
"You do plenty of things, though," Dr. Chu pointed out.
That was not an option. "I can't start describing to him the intricacies of potato-growing," she said, "and neither can I tell him about books he's never read and doesn't have the time to read now. There is nothing else I'm allowed to talk about."
"Out of curiosity, what did you talk about today?" the psychologist asked.
"Dem talked about our children a lot." Dr. Chu jotted something down. "How are they doing, how's school, stuff like that. Mostly, he just told me things, and I asked for details. My parents are renovating Cynthia's family's cottage."
Dr. Chu wrote all of that down, or at least that was what it seemed like. "How old are your parents?" she asked. "I forgot."
How old were they? "They're in their late sixties."
"That's impressive," Dr. Chu said. "Neither of my parents lived to sixty."
Donna shrugged. "The average person in the Capitol lives to ninety. You just had terrible healthcare. If I remember correctly, the life expectancy at birth in Eleven was forty-something, though, of course, the life expectancy of an adult was much higher than that." In the outer Districts, the extremely high infant mortality had made already low life expectancies even lower. During the famine of 31-32 in Nine, the life expectancy at birth had been five years.
"I suppose so," Dr. Chu said. "You told me before that your father is retired, right?"
"And my mother never worked, yes." They had been over her family several times now.
"How are they finding their new job?"
To Dr. Chu, the thought of a very rich retired couple (after all, Donna's mother had never worked!) renovating a house by themselves must have been very strange, Donna realized. "Well, Dem didn't say much, but apparently, they are enjoying the peace and quiet. I have no idea how he and Cyntha are coping with the kids by themselves."
"I'm sure it's nice to enjoy some silence after eleven kids."
"That's the thing!" Donna said. "There's roosters crowing at three in the morning and drunks singing late into the night. It's only silent compared to eleven kids."
Dr. Chu looked extremely confused. "The spouse of a minister came from that sort of family?" she asked. "I thought only the poorer people had cottages in the villages."
"I was surprised, too." Donna said. "As far as I remember, her maternal grandparents had actually lived there permanently. Her mother worked in the trades, I forget which one, and so did her father, and they kept the house as a cottage so they see nature from time to time. Cynthia met Theodosius at some Games event when they were in highschool, and the higher he rose, the more she pushed away her family. That kind of background was the kind of thing you either owned or hid," she explained, "and they were able to hide it."
For some reason, Dr. Chu was writing that down. "And what happened to her family later?" she asked.
"Her parents died in a car crash ten years ago. I know what you're thinking," Donna rushed to explain, "but the rumours are vastly exaggerated. You'd have to be a personal enemy of someone highly important to actually get killed off. Even Snow preferred to just forcibly retire people. It's just that everyone wanted to make their enemies look bad, so they made stuff up." Donna shrugged, kneading the ball. "Of course, it's possible. I think she's in touch with her siblings, but I don't even know how many she has, which says a lot."
"That is very interesting," Dr. Chu said. "Did you interact frequently?"
"No, that was mostly Dem, and even he barely knew her before 76. Theodosius and I were never close before, the only time Dem and Cynthia met were at the social functions where spouses were invited. I think they got along even then."
"I'd sure hope so," Dr. Chu said with a smile, "given that they're living in the same house now!"
"Oh, they're like siblings now. The kids aren't necessarily that close, though. Our eldest sons don't get along at all."
"That's a shame." Donna nodded, kneading the ball. "Is it still the same conflict?"
"I don't know," Donna said. "I barely have contact with them." Dr. Chu said nothing, waiting for her to speak. "That's the thing, too," she said, kneading the ball. The blueness of the ball turned into clearness sprinkled with glitter. "I'm reliant on what they tell me. I'm sure there's plenty of things they never mention for whatever reason, so when I'm unaware of them, it makes them feel like I don't understand them."
Dr. Chu tapped her pen. "What makes you suspect that?"
"I do it, too," Donna explained. "Things that I know they won't understand, I don't mention. But what if they do the same thing, and I miss out on important information?"
"Have you tried telling your husband that?"
"I don't think he'd take it the right way."
"That sounds like a vicious circle!" the psychologist exclaimed. "The less you tell each other the harder it becomes for you to hold a conversation, which makes you even more reluctant to speak honestly about what is going on in your life."
Donna shrugged, flattening the ball in her hands. "So what do I do?" she asked.
"I still think you should be honest with your husband."
Easier said than done, but Donna nodded. Maybe today, she could send a little note to Dem. He would probably be upset about the visit, and maybe if she said the right thing he wouldn't be so sad.
A/N: Here is a photo that fits closely with my mental image of Theodosius imgur a/2lbDEym . Imaginary points to anyone who can tell me who this photo is actually of.