"So," Alex said with a grin. "You know, I don't think we ever really talked about what it means that you went to prison."
Donna sighed. "I wrote to you every week." They were sitting in a sushi restaurant and poring over menus. They were in a discreet corner and speaking in a low whisper, but still. "Is this what you went all the way here to discuss?"
Alex filled in his card. "That's not what I meant. I know you kept a diary. There's got to be some juicy things in there," he said in a wheedling voice. The sparkle in his eyes somehow fit well with his mostly-gone white hair and wrinkles.
"What kind of juicy things?" Donna wondered what half of the things in the menu even were. She picked the ones that sounded familiar, circling the options. "You really want to know what I daydreamed about when I was bored? Which was always?"
Alex nearly fell off his chair. "I don't want to know that stuff," he said hastily.
"Oh, did I tell you that the other night I tied Dem to the bed and-"
"Shut up! Shut up!" Alex hissed, waving his hands around. In a quieter voice, he grumbled, "How is the pharmacy not out of ED meds yet, with Theodosius and that husband of yours around?"
Both Dem and Theodosius swung between being mortified by their bodies' dysfunctionality and not caring. In general, the less clothes Donna was wearing, the less Dem cared about needing pharmaceutical assistance to perform that way. "Bit hypocritical of you to get so prudish when you're the one who stole porn mags when we were kids and showed them to me."
Alex nearly choked. "You remember that?"
"Of course." Donna often missed those days when they had had a normal sibling relationship. "You also tried to explain to me how to wank but forgot about the differences between female and male anatomy. I had to go to the library and read a textbook on human anatomy, which made clitoral stimulation sound like the most boring thing ever. And the diagram of male-female penetrative sex grossed me out."
"Why am I not surprised," Alex said with a chuckle. "You doing research. Even about sex."
"Well, with you as the only person with alleged authority I could ask-"
Alex drank some water and rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes, the ancient days when you listened to your big brother. But you're changing the topic. Come on, there's got to be something crazy."
Most of the crazy stories would be of no interest to Alex. "The time I got drunk?" she offered.
"What?" he hissed. "You?"
Oh, right, they had only talked to each other once or twice when Donna was in university before she began her part-time job, and even then, their conversations had been limited to Alex's demands for money. "In my defense, Dad's the one who told me to join the student organization, so I blame all of my misdeeds on him. Remember that time I came home covered in bruises after a fight?" Alex was shaking from silent laughter. "Parties were put on hold once little Donna insisted on existing, and then I just didn't. Until that one time when someone smuggled in a flask of something." She paused, noticing a gleam in his eyes. "If you tell Mom and Dad, I'll-"
Alex was by now gasping for air from laughing too hard. "You covered up for me so much," he wheezed, "I'm willing to return the favour." He took a deep breath and sat up straighter. "So you can get in trouble," he said affectionately, knuckling her head. Before Donna could point out the idiocy of that statement, he continued. "Don't worry. I will protect you from the wrath of Mom and Dad." He paused. "Oh no. You've got five kids and I don't know how many grandkids you're supposed to be a role model for."
There was nothing funny about that, but Donna burst into laughter. Role model? Really? The best she could hope for was to have some naive teenager dreaming of being an engineer read her words and understand what mistakes to not make. "Let's not tell them, too," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
Alex squeezed her tighter. It was less of a hug and more of being crushed alive. "Your secret is safe with me." He let her go, Donna shivering at the sudden chill of the air. "Any more juicy stories?" he asked in an expectant tone?
"Let's order first," Donna said.
Both Donna and Theodosius had given plenty of interviews already, but this one would be different. Today, they would be meeting up with Slice and watching a documentary about their trial.
The driver pulled into a nice neighbourhood of the sort Donna would have once thought to be beneath her. She came to a stop by a house under construction, and both Donna and Theodosius leaned out the open windows, trying to see Slice.
"I wonder if Slice will also ask me about the biography," Donna said.
Theodosius chuckled. He had enjoyed poking fun at her, but knew that his turn was next. Lisiewska was also interviewing him, which made the entire situation that much more awkward. For Theodosius, it was like being interrogated all over again. "I think she's too worried about the movie."
"Aren't we all."
The journalist in the front spoke up. "Let's go," he said. Donna and Theodosius climbed out of the car and followed him.
"Where's Irma Slice?" he asked the first person he saw.
"Let me get the boss, people move around too much to know everyone by name."
The boss, fortunately, was able to get Slice. "Is that her?" the journalist asked as an older woman began to walk towards them.
As the woman got closer, Donna realized that had to be Slice. She had beige skin, dark round eyes, and grey hair in many tiny braids held back with an elastic. Donna remembered how Slice had missed her braids during the trial. Slice's face was wrinkled and weathered, and she was holding a helmet under one arm. She was wearing work boots, jeans, and a plaid shirt - not at all the drab suit Donna had seen her in last.
"Oh, wow," Slice said, twirling a braid with her free hand. "You two really changed."
Theodosius winced. "A quarter of a century in prison does tend to do that to someone, yes."
They shook hands. "How's life been treating you?" Donna asked as they went to the car.
"Can't complain. Now, who's going to sit in the middle?" The middle seat was much smaller than the left and right. The two women eyed each other, trying to decide who was smaller. Theodosius happily climbed into his seat. "I'll go," Slice suggested. "You're skinnier."
"Thank you." Donna got in after her.
The driver punched new coordinates into her GPS. "That's just half an hour away." She began to drive. The journalist turned around, looking at the three of them.
"Is this your first time seeing each other?" he asked.
Donna swallowed a sarcastic retort about how much she had seen Theodosius and simply nodded.
"I've read about you," Slice said. "In the media. It's an outrage they weren't all released. They're dying one by one in there!" Two more had died recently - Zelenka from kidney failure and Oldsmith from cancer. There were only fourteen Supermaxers now.
"You think that's wrong?" the journalist asked.
"Keeping non-violent criminals in prison past their ninetieth birthdays? Of course that's wrong!"
The journalist nodded thoughtfully. "What did you think of that article Hryb's son wrote?"
According to the article, all members of the family were unapologetic revanchists, not that the son could be blamed for being angry at his father's continued imprisonment. "The conditions are nowhere near as bad," Donna said.
"Others disagree."
Theodosius nearly choked. "We were actually there. Let me assure you that I have seen with my own eyes that they were nowhere near as bad before the changes."
The journalist realized he had made a slip and winced. "The others don't talk about it," he said, "but you do. Why?"
To that, neither of them had an answer. "Maybe we're just chatty," Donna suggested half-seriously. "Look, you've read Lisiewska's book. You know we were the most prolific writers. Nobody else drafted their memoirs in there, as far as I know."
"And how's that going?" Slice asked. "I've been writing, too, but only about the trial and imprisonment."
Theodosius leaned back and tried to extend his legs. He failed, because there was no room. "There's already a lot of memoirs. Everyone from judges to journalists wrote down their memories. And now we're going to have defendants."
"Are you going to-"
"No," Theodosius cut her off. "Seems almost insulting, really. I know people from different trials did it, but I don't."
"Huh."
The interview was to take place in the office of the journalist. There was also a photographer sitting nearby, but for all intents and purposes, the journalist had them to himself. He was going to write a review of the movie and spice it up with quotes from them.
Donna felt her heartbeat speed up as the journalist set up a projector screen, turned off the lights, and began the movie. The narrator described the old regime and what she called 'the Panem civil war', text stark white on a black background. The first thing that appeared on screen was a group of soldiers walking towards a house. "That's archive footage," Slice said. "Just listen to the sound."
The sound was indeed off. They could hear the wind blowing and the sound of boots on the pavement. On screen, the soldiers were complaining about the weather as they reached the house and knocked on the door. Donna winced, wondering who was inside. At least she hadn't been taken in front of her family.
When the door opened and Dovek stepped out, all three of them gasped. The onetime Minister of Internal Affairs was long-dead, so to see him on the screen as he was was a shock. "To whom do I owe the honour?" he asked. The older man was slight and slender, but he lounged in the doorframe like someone much bigger. At that point, he still had his brightly-coloured clothing, makeup, and body modifications.
"Are you-"
"Yes, yes, that's me."
Donna shook her head at the audacity. "I thought he was exaggerating," she said.
"Apparently not." Slice was twirling a braid with each hand.
On screen, the soldier with the camera walked inside as Dovek was arrested. Donna remembered when she had lived in a house like that.
The footage then changed to a five-second clip of Oldsmith's arrest, and then that of Theodosius, who hid his face in his hands. Donna braced herself, but nothing worse than a brief clip of herself in handcuffs appeared on screen.
"I see they left me out," Slice said.
Overall, the trial was presented well, in Donna's opinion. Only a few of them were even focused on - after the front corner was dealt with, only Donna and Theodosius merited any sort of examination, and Slice wasn't even mentioned, much to her relief - but what they did say was good. Both Donna and Theodosius were presented in a relatively positive way, which was a Pyrrhic victory after Lisiewska's book. The atrocity footage was used sparingly, and when the sentencing occurred, there was no voyeuristic focusing on everyone's faces, even if Theodosius falling over was hilarious. The final scene was footage of an interview with Irons.
"What do you think this will mean for the world?" the interviewer asked.
Irons shrugged. "Depends on what everyone makes of it. I hope we didn't put that eight in prison just to release them in a few years."
Theodosius chuckled humourlessly, as did Donna.
"And if they aren't released?"
"Then they might remain the sole remnant of a long-discredited process until they are released or die. It all depends on how the other trials go, and if Depuration works." She smiled at the camera. "We'll just have to wait and see."
"And what about other countries?"
Hopeful music began to play. "That's up to them, isn't it?"
The screen faded to black. The words After the Lodgepole Trials, there have been several national and international trials of warlords and dictators. appeared before also fading away.
"That was better than I expected," Slice said as the journalist turned on the light.
Theodosius nodded. "Same. I expected more unflattering videos of us at lunch."
"Maybe they couldn't squeeze it in," Slice speculated. "I once saw a half-hour video on the Web that was just the prosecution mispronouncing Dijksterhuis' name. There's also a six-hour one where someone put together every time the prosecution said something funny."
Donna wondered if there was a compilation of weird things the defendants had said on the stand.
On second thought, she didn't want to imagine the comments section there.
"So," the journalist said, "you three ready for the interview?"
"I'm always ready for an interview," Theodosius said with a laugh.
"So," Primus said, "what do you think of Two so far?" The young man looked like a mix of Theodosius and Cynthia, with her dark skin, his eye shape, and wavy black hair that could have come from either one.
"Looks nice," Donna replied, staring out the window of the bus. She and Theodosius were on the way to meet their mutual grandson for the first time. Lars was busy with work and Primus only had the time to accompany them to the prison, or 'juvenile correctional facility' as it was officially called, which meant that they'd have to make their way back on their own.
The kids hadn't lied, it was indeed nice. The part of Two where their sons lived was close to the Capitol, so it looked much the same, but it was late spring now, and the new leaves on the trees formed a beautiful green wall. Donna tried very hard to not think about the Supermax, even as every single one of her many interviews unfailingly went there. She was tired of saying, over and over, that none of them were a threat to society in any way, shape, or form. But nobody cared. The average person in the Capitol grumbled for a while when reminded and then went to trounce the reactionaries in elections, and even revanchists couldn't do much with people who hadn't done anything more interesting in the last two and a half decades than crocheting plush toys.
The bus slowed as it went off the highway and onto a smaller road. Donna went back to her crocheting. She and Theodosius were both working on sweaters for their kids. They had sent in a parcel with a sweater, hat, mittens, and scarf for Joel, who was allowed outside clothing as a reward for good behaviour, but it hadn't arrived yet.
"When does he get out?" Donna asked.
Primus shrugged. "Should be in three years. He's stopped fighting in the last few weeks, but if he picks it back up again, they'll just push his release date back more and more." The bus made another turn, and Donna could see a prison complex in the distance. She had worried about going back into a prison, but it was completely different. There was a single chain-link fence topped with barbed wire around it and a couple of bored guards, nothing more.
A person who had been sleeping close by woke up suddenly. She rubbed at her eyes and looked at them strangely. "I've never seen you before," she said in a Two accent. "Is yours new?"
"No," Donna said. "We just haven't had the chance to see our grandson yet." Realizing that would give the woman the wrong impression, she added, "We're in-laws. Our sons are married, and their son is in here."
"He's my father," Primus said, gesturing at Theodosius. "And she's my mother-in-law."
"Oh," the woman said. "Well, my daughter's here, so I wouldn't know him." Now that they were closer, Donna could see that the low, sprawling building was symmetrical, a barbed-wire fence connecting with the midpoint and splitting the field in two. A few teenagers in beige short-sleeved shirts and loose black trousers or knee-length shorts waved at the bus, and a few people waved back. Some of them were dressed similarly to Donna and Theodosius, and the rest were downright shabby.
The bus stopped, and everyone climbed out. The prison sent a bus to the nearest city once a week and they even mailed out daily transit passes once a month, so that everyone could see their kids. The bigger issue, however, was time, due to the long distances, and also the fact that few of the kids had someone who cared about them.
Bags slung over their shoulders, Donna and Theodosius walked behind Primus, who waved at a few of the people. A CO scanned them with a strangely shaped rod at the gate, a door in a chain-link fence, before waving them through to a small building where they signed in. Primus then led them to the yard and they walked to a table where three boys were chatting about something. "Guess who's here?" he said.
One of the boys looked up with a start. Donna recognized Joel, but barely. When he leapt up, he was taller than her, and looked eerily like Primus even though he was adopted. "Da!" he said, hugging him. "Where's Da? And is that Grandma and Grandpa?" The boy looked at them strangely, clearly not recognizing them.
Primus hugged him tighter before letting go. "Your Da and I are busy today," he said, "but I brought you your grandparents. I have to go now."
"Aww." They hugged again, and Primus left with a wave.
"I didn't know Joel has grandparents," another boy said. He was one or two years older than the fourteen-year-old Joel at the most but he already had a neatly trimmed short beard.
The other boy scratched his head. He had red hair and green eyes, giving him an exotic sort of look. "Wait, are you his biological grandparents or his actual grandparents?"
Joel rolled his eyes. "That's Da's Ma and that's Da's Da." Donna wondered if her hearing was worse than she had thought. She hadn't been able to catch the difference. "Remember I told you they're in prison? Well, they're out now."
The boy with the beard nearly fainted. "I read Lisiewska's book!" he exclaimed.
That was quite possibly the last thing Donna had expected anyone to say here.
"Who the fuck is Lisiewska?" the red-haired boy asked.
"He's a historian!" the boy with the beard said enthusiastically. "He wrote a book about her!"
"Wow. Who did you kill?"
"Don't bother," the boy with the beard said before either of them could answer. "He doesn't know jack about history."
"Oh, shut up." The red-haired boy shoved his friend playfully. "So, what's it like in prison? You're from the Capitol, right?"
Donna took a seat, wondering how to explain it. "Boring," she said, trying to be vague. "Stressful. Everyone's always antsy, always tense." Looking around, she could see that while the yard looked similar to prison yards in regular prisons Donna had seen pictures of, it was much bigger, and clearly meant for twelve-to-eighteen-year-olds. It even looked cheerier, but it made sense that beaten-down and cynical fourteen-year-olds would still have more energy than they would ten or twenty years later. Nearby, tiny boys lifted tiny weights, struggling to lift dumbbells that weighed as much as the ones Donna used without any difficulty.
The boy with the beard nodded thoughtfully. "We won't bother you now," he said, standing up. "Let's go." The red-haired boy protested but did as instructed.
"Sorry," Joel said awkwardly. "Oprescu likes history."
"I noticed," Theodosius said uneasily. "So, uh, how's life in here? You barely even wrote a sentence!"
Joel shrugged. "I've been fighting less," he said. "I kept on getting my sentence prolonged before, but it was little things - two weeks, a month. I'm trying to be good so that they let me out early, that's also a thing."
"You should use the chance if you have it," Donna agreed. "We weren't so lucky."
"How's school?" Theodosius asked.
Joel shrugged again. "Fine." He may have only been adopted a few years ago, but his mannerisms were already eerily familiar.
"That's not an answer," Donna said. "You know, your Da always said the same thing to me, and it was very frustrating."
"And you said it to your parents," Theodosius reminded her.
Joel laughed. "That's amazing."
"So, how's school?" Donna insisted. "How are Math and Science?"
"I'm in the advanced class," Joel bragged. Given that the non-advanced classes were for kids who hadn't bothered to show up in years, that wasn't much of an achievement. "I even tutor people who are older than me! When I get into university, I'm gonna march right down to my elementary school and brag to the principal. Asshole always told me I'd be an elementary-school dropout. Also, Great-grandma and Great-grandpa both said they're proud of me."
There was a lot to take in there. Donna was glad Joel was helping other kids and considered university a matter of 'when', not 'if' - not all of even Donna's highschool classmates had been able to talk in a similar way, and they had all been from rich families - and it was to be expected that her parents could be placated with a stellar report card. "What do you tutor them in?" she asked, deciding to leave the bit about the old principal for later.
"Math. I like math."
Theodosius winced. Donna laughed. "Math is the foundation of all sciences," she said. "Physics, chemistry, even biology - you need math for that."
"And that's why I took the humanities," Theodosius muttered.
"Physics are cool," Joel said. "I looked at a textbook once. The problems were confusing. Balls rolling down hills or something." He fidgeted around madly.
"Your aunt always liked those," Donna reminisced. "Also, why don't we go for a walk? It'll be interesting to see the place."
Joel bounded to his feet. Donna and Theodosius took a longer time to stand up. "Which aunt?" he asked. "I've got six."
"Your aunt Donna, the engineer."
"I want to be an engineer," Joel said confidently.
Theodosius ran a hand through his hair. "You do know that you'll have to get out of here first, right?"
"Course I do. I'm not fighting anymore, am I?" He walked towards the building. "We have a garden in the back. You want to see that first, or the school?"
Donna had zero desire to go back to a prison garden. "The school."
The school was right in the middle of the building. "Are you allowed to interact with the girls outside of school?" Theodosius asked, also noticing that.
Joel nodded. "If we behave well, we're allowed to chill in the neutral lounge on weekends. Some of the others only behave well for that. But I like both girls and boys, so it's not as big of a deal. Or if you're harassing someone, they'll make you do schoolwork in your cell." He led them into the building, and Donna began to feel overwhelmed by all the things she had to do in this short span of time. She needed to somehow see how her grandson was living in here.
"Uh, Joel? Where are you going to take us after this?" she asked.
"Show you around school, then where we live, and talk to the guidance counsellor. That's what Da and Da always do."
"You can move around so much?"
"'Course. It's visiting day. There's always that one rich parent who wants to make sure their precious offspring isn't being murdered here." His face twisted into a grimace. "Back in jail - now that sucked ass, holy shit that sucked - it was all poor kids. Maybe one kid with a rich accent would appear for a few days before getting released. I remember one time, some kid that stabbed his father to death while he slept was let go after a month. We were all pissed, and then it turned out his father had been raping him and his little siblings for years, so it was self-defense."
"Poor boy," Donna and Theodosius said.
"Yeah." He paused. "Well, I guess I'm a rich kid now, too, I just can't speak the accent. Nobody else here has a doctor parent. Anyway, Grandma, Grandpa, let's go!"
Donna ran the schedule through her mind, reassuring herself that everything would be done in time. When they left the stairwell, they nearly collided with a guard, and Donna and Theodosius both doffed their caps, muttering apologies.
"No, no, it's alright!" the guard said reassuringly.
"Sorry, CO," Donna said, "we weren't looking where we were going."
"Uh, Grandma? Grandpa?" Donna remembered where she was and put her cap back on shame-facedly. "Why the caps?"
Theodosius sighed. "In prison, we needed to doff our caps and stand up straight when a guard approached."
"What?" The guard looked confused. "Where was that?"
"The Supermax."
Fortunately, the guard looked even more confused. "I've never heard of such a designation in my life."
"It's a unique institution," Donna said sourly. "We were released just months ago. Spent twenty-five years there."
The guard's expression softened. "That's a lot," he said. "Have you seen Joel before?" Both of them shook their heads. "He told me his bio family's mostly locked up, but I didn't know-"
"Uh, yeah," Theodosius said. His face was slightly red. "Our sentences were just, though, so we can't complain." Donna remembered one of Lisiewska's comments on her draft. He had said that she said that too much, as if trying to convince herself. "Uh, we need to get a move on. Talk to his teachers."
"He's a smart boy," Donna added. "Advanced classes."
The guard smiled. "Yeah. I know."
They went on, Joel looking a bit confused. "Were the guards assholes?" he asked.
"Not really," Donna replied. "Some definitely relished having power over us, but in a naive way - stealing the berries, stuff like that. Most were, if anything, too friendly."
"Huh. I'd punch a guard if they stole my cucumbers."
"It was strange," Theodosius said, preferring to ignore the last remark. "I expected they'd want to get revenge on me, but they didn't. Though, I suppose, seeing me shirtless and barefoot and covered in mud from head to toe was revenge enough."
Joel laughed. "I saw a photo once. Of you two. Gardening." Before Donna could reply, he pulled open a door and walked inside.
"Ah, my favourite student!" a feminine voice said. "Your parents?" Donna and Theodosius walked inside the small classroom where a middle-aged woman with one artificial arm was sitting at a table. "Your grandparents, then?"
"That they are." Joel flopped into a chair. "Could you show them my test?"
The test was duly revealed. "I remember I worked on the same material at his age," Donna said appreciatively, flipping through it. Joel had gotten an A+. "He's a smart boy."
The teacher nodded. "We don't have very many of those. Our institution specializes in children with chronic behavioural issues, and not many of those are still interested in school at his age."
Joel laughed. "My great-grandparents don't care what I do as long as I get good marks. The choice is obvious."
"I'm sorry, but whose-"
"He means my parents," Donna explained. "And they're a force of nature. My father started out obsessed with the idea of having his eldest become an engineer like him. That fell through, so I ended up with the weight of expectations on me." She raised her right hand and showed the teacher the ring on her pinky. Dad had been so proud when she had received it. "And then when my eldest was suffering from depression and her marks fell to a high D average, he took it as a personal insult. When she got better just in time, he nearly went delirious with joy. And then he actually went delirious with joy when she got her PhD." Her daughter had told her all about that. Listening to her children talk about their childhoods was a melancholy sort of happiness. There was so much she should have been there for.
The teacher nodded sympathetically. "My parents were like that. They're both doctors, so my eldest sibling was pressured relentlessly into also becoming one. Fortunately, once that was done, the rest of us could do whatever we wanted."
"I was an only child," Theodosius reminisced. "That made it easier, but also harder."
"That must have been very different. I know Joel's an only child."
Joel nodded shame-facedly. "I'm too much of a handful. They wouldn't have time for another."
"It was strange," Donna said. "My parents and my brother clashed so much when we were teens and young adults, I was left alone to do whatever I wanted. It's a good decision our sons made. It's difficult to live in the shadow of near-constant chaos and feel like you're obligated to somehow cheer up your parents with a succession of near-perfect tests and university acceptances."
Glum-faced, Joel nodded. "I get good marks, though."
Theodosius ran a hand through his hair. "You're wasting it. You're so hard-working, so dedicated. Can't you just stay away from situations where you know you won't be able to stay in control?"
"He's gotten better," the teacher said. "Hasn't been written up for anything for weeks now. The counsellor will explain it better, though."
The counsellor was a young man who must have been right out of school. "I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked. Joel was hovering outside and chatting to some friends. He had just shown her his cell, where the 'when life gives you nettles, make nettle soup' drawing Donna had returned to her daughter hung. Apparently, it had been quite the hit.
"I'm Joel's father's mother and he's his other father's father," Donna said.
The counsellor looked at them warmly. "How nice that he has a family that cares for him. Why don't you sit down?" He then proceeded to describe the sorts of things Joel had to do in there, therapy sessions and programs and the like.
"Is it normal for them to have so much time outside?" Donna asked.
The counsellor nodded. "Afternoons and weekends, weather permitting. If they behave well, they can go jogging in the mornings."
"They're too lazy to deal with us," Joel said with a grin. "So they make the outside guards do it as much as possible."
"I was thinking more about letting you burn off energy outside and not bouncing off the walls and killing each other," the counsellor said without missing a beat, "but I suppose that's also a reason."
"Aw, come on, you know we can kill each other outside just as well."
"Grass is softer than the floor, wouldn't you say?" The counsellor may have been young, but the way he spoke indicated the bottomless reserves of patience he had. Donna wondered absently if he had children of his own or if he considered the little inmates to be his children.
This was nothing like what former inmates had said on the witness stand, but then again, the country was very different now. Touchscreen remotes and imported food had been a shock, but this was a more subtle shock that she experienced every day. At the deepest levels of the systems of society, things were very different, and Donna doubted she would ever get used to it.
"Finally," Dem muttered as the route taxi slowed to a stop. "I feel like I'm in a pressure-cooker." They had been meaning to go to the cottage for weeks now, and Theodosius had in fact been living there for the past two weeks, but something had always come up for Donna and Dem. It was now mid-June, and boiling hot. Everyone's birthday party would be next week.
"Yeah." The sliding door of the van opened, and people began to climb out. It was mostly pensioners, but there were also families with young children, and three young adults who had spent the entire trip discussing how much vodka they needed to buy. Picking up her backpack with one hand, Donna carefully climbed out, stretching after the long ride. Dem had a muzzled Dusty on a leash.
They were standing on a dusty paved lot. There was a bus shelter of sheet metal and a grocery store, and not too far away the cottages began, ramshackle two-story constructions. The road out was surrounded by a line of trees, after which fields of corn began. Many of the permanent dwellers here were involved in the corn growing. Others were pensioners.
"Let's go buy the oatmeal he asked for," Dem said, walking towards the store. On the bench by the door sat two women in their eighties who waved to Dem as he pulled the door open.
Inside the store it was much cooler thanks to the functional air conditioning. The options were scanty - flat bread and loaf bread, a small selection of cheese and meat, ready-made meals, some basics like salt and flour, and a small fridge off to the side with alcohol. A larger fridge held water, juice, and soft drinks. There were also fruits and vegetables, but only what was in season right now. Some things were cheaper here, while others were more expensive.
The queue in front of them wasn't too long, and soon enough, they reached the front. "One box of oatmeal, please," Dem said, "and that small stack of flat bread." Once, summering at a cottage had meant luxurious lakeside houses and only the best food. Not ramshackle shops with one oatmeal and two types of bread - flat and loaf.
Walking out into the bright sun was painful after the air-conditioned space. They headed down the unpaved and pothole-covered path. Dusty seemed livelier and kept on trying to run ahead, and Dem had to restrain her. Donna took out her prescription sunglasses from her pocket and put them on. That made it better.
"Hot, huh?" Dem asked.
"Not as hot as you," Donna joked in reply.
Dusty seemed to approve, wagging her tail happily.
"Actually," Dem said, "it's over forty right now. So hotter than me." He met her eye, and they laughed.
After a few twists and turns, they reached Friendly Street, on which their cottage was. On a small board several announcements were attached - one reminding people to pay their fees by the first of the month, another offering the services of a roofer, and a third warning everyone of the penalties for dumping recyclable trash. A small creek flowed on the other side of the road perpendicular to the street. It was slow-moving and covered in green algae, and there was a makeshift bridge made of two boards across it in case someone was too lazy to walk ten metres to the fork from under which the creek began. There was a bit of trash in there, but it wasn't too bad.
As they walked down the road, everyone waved hello to Dem, who knew them all. "How's that grandson of yours?" a doughy old man asked as he got up from weeding dill. Due to the extreme heat, he was wearing only a pair of swimming trunks.
"Straight A's," Dem bragged.
"Very good, very good. And who's that?"
"My wife."
"No way." The man froze. "So Mrs. and Mr. Donna Blues are united at last!"
That drew the attention of his neighbour from across the street, a woman around Donna's age who was wearing a bikini. "It's very nice to see you!" she said, taking off her gardening gloves. "I saw Cynthia's husband earlier, but I didn't realize-"
"Very nice to meet you, too," Donna said, relieved to not be recognized. By accent, the two were lower middle-class - the kind of people who had inherited village shacks from grandparents and turned them into places to send the kids away from the city in the summer.
The man crossed his arms. "Demetrius."
"What?"
"Fess up. Where did you and Cynthia dig up your hotties? Is there a sale I missed?"
Dem flushed, and not from the heat. "Your wife's perfectly good-looking."
"My wife doesn't run marathons," the man said, gesturing at Donna's tank top. It was emblazoned with the name of a race she had run the other month. "How did you do, by the way?"
"First place in my age category." Donna had been as shocked as everyone else, except her brother and self-proclaimed brother, who had claimed they had seen it coming. Granted, Theodosius had seen her run in prison, so he had known she was good at it.
The man's eyes widened. "So that's where you were - running marathons!" He chuckled. "Now, now, Demetrius, this isn't fair. Some people have all the luck!"
"You're right," Donna said.
The process repeated several times (though with less casual references to Donna's looks - before, it had been Dem whose appearance had been commented on, and it was strange to have the boot be on the other foot) until they finally reached their cottage, which was painted blue and had a rusty roof. In that, at least, things hadn't changed. Here, people still painted their shabby houses bright colours to make it livelier.
The entire thing was quite small - two greenhouses, some vegetable patches, a plum tree, a cherry tree, two apple trees, several berry bushes, and a small patch of grass too small to jog around. There were also flowers growing right under the windows. And in a patch of potatoes with his back to them was Theodosius. He looked up when he heard the gate open and grinned. "There you are!"
"There we are," Dem agreed, letting Dusty in and taking her muzzle and leash off. She immediately headed for the nearest quiet corner and lay down there. "How are you liking the place?"
"The neighbour is eyeing me, but the food's much better, even if I had to beg Cynthia to help me over the phone until she came to put me out of my misery!"
Drawn by the voices, Cynthia walked out from behind the house. She had arrived shortly after Theodosius. It was a Friday, and the four of them would be spending the weekend here, with her parents (with Inky) and Emilia and her family also arriving later that day. "He's hopeless when he's on his own," she said.
"Same," Donna said, approaching the house. The door was open, but a curtain hung for privacy. "Dem's been whipping me into shape, but on my own, I burn water." She pushed it open and walked inside. It was exactly the same as in the letters.
The first thing she saw was the tiny kitchen, which was so close to her, she could reach out and touch the stove. Left of the stove was a small table, shelves of cookware, and then a window. The corner window was open to let in the nonexistent fresh breeze. Donna took off her shoes and socks and put them down before going right, where there was a table and cupboard on both sides of a narrow corridor. Before the cupboard was a door to the living room, with a couch that could fold out, a bookshelf, a closet, and a television. Donna put down her backpack on the chair and took out the food inside. A bag of rice - cupboard. Marinated meat Dem had made that day - fridge in the corner, on top of which was an ancient radio playing classical music. Tea - cupboard. Sunflower oil - fridge. As Dem began to unpack his own bag, Donna headed up the stairs, holding on to the railing for balance. Under the stairs was a door leading to the bathroom. The shower was outside.
There were four more rooms on the second floor. The first was a small sliced-off segment to the side, to reach which one had to literally climb, opening the door and holding on to the frame to hoist themselves in. The stairs led to the main bedroom, with two beds and a closet. On the far side was a door leading to an equally small chopped-off segment, and there was a ladder leading to a trapdoor. The living room would be for her parents, the main room - for Emilia and her family, and the accessible side room was for Theodosius and Cynthia. Donna and Dem had the attic to themselves. If more people were to arrive, the fold-out cots would be put up in the tiny basement and wherever else they could be shoved in.
Carefully, Donna climbed up the ladder. It was clean in the attic, and the light was on. There was a single bed and a nightstand, and a hinge in the roof so that they could get some fresh air or even sit on that barely-sloping section of the roof. Donna would leave that for the younger generation (namely Sooyen). She opened the trapdoor, which was at about head height, to let in some fresh air. The entire attic was barely tall enough for her to stand up straight.
Donna put down her bag and took out her things - some spare clothes, her glasses and medications, several particularly challenging sudokus as well as a more general book of puzzles, and her laptop. There was no Web here unless one absolutely had to, but she had a document with suggestions from Lisiewska, and that was enough. She changed into more appropriate gardening clothes, swapping her trousers for knee-length mesh shorts and taking off her tank top, staying in just a sports bra. She then put her cap back on and went outside, feeling the dry grass with her bare feet.
"Like old times, isn't it?" Theodosius asked as she joined him. Outside the low fence, children in flip-flops ran around, chasing the neighbours' cats. The neighbours were perched around their antediluvian wreck of a car, trying to fix it. Dusty was napping in the shade under a tree.
"Not really. We don't have to ask permission to go to the bathroom, after all."
Theodosius laughed and pulled out a weed. "The most important thing."
The plan had been to have sex in the attic, but it was so horrifically hot, their bodies stuck to each other, and it was impossible to be close.
"A new sex position," Donna said as she tried to move away from the furnace that was her husband. "The square root of negative one. Because the only sex we can have here is imaginary."
Dem laughed at that. "Very true." Donna tentatively put a hand on his knee. Then his thigh. Then higher up. No reaction. It was simply too hot, even for just using their hands. She took hers away and sighed. "The mind is willing, but the flesh is sixty-three," he said with another chuckle.
"That's a good way to put it."
They lay in silence for a few minutes. "We can make it a thing," he said. "If one of us isn't in the mood, time for the square root of negative one."
Donna laughed out loud at that. "Have you taken your pill yet?"
"No - I hoped the change of setting would do the trick, especially since we haven't done it for four days." He reached for his bag and took out the pills and water bottle.
"Change of setting?"
"Let me be delusional in peace."
They lay in silence for some time, enjoying each other's presence.
"Alright," Dem said. "I think this might work, but the less contact, the better."
Perhaps they were still not on the same letter as before, but they were definitely on the same page. Donna didn't need any more hints to realize what Dem was suggesting and lay down in a more comfortable way to give him a blowjob.
It was very fun to listen to Dem enjoying himself, so fun that she dismissed the noises from downstairs until she happened to look up - and came face to face with Mom.
Who cursed and immediately climbed back down the ladder. Donna belatedly sat up as Dem tried to cover himself with a sheet. "Why is my ninety-year-old mother climbing ladders?" she complained, feeling her face burn.
"I don't know!" Dem buried his face in his hands. "This is so humiliating. Your own mother. I didn't realize they'd be here so early!"
"We have five kids, so it's not like it's a surprise," Donna tried to reassure him, but didn't feel very reassured herself. So stupid. Why couldn't Mom have knocked like a normal person?
The entire next day, Donna couldn't look Mom in the eye, not when she came back from the jog, not when eating breakfast, not when mushroom-hunting in the forest (it was as fun as Aulus claimed), and not when weeding parsley just metres from each other. She knew it was stupid - Donna was sixty-three, after all - but there was nothing she could do about it. Her therapist would die laughing.
As it began to head towards evening, Donna covered up against mosquitos, ignored Alex's texts in which he made fun of her, and sat down in a lawn chair to work on her memoirs, Dusty by her feet (and Inky lounging on his special cushion by the porch, deigning to be petted by only the chosen ones of the neighbourhood kids). She was currently editing the section where she analyzed her early relationship with Snow. Even the rough draft was quite good, thanks to the hard work of Dancer who had arranged the chaotic snippets into a narrative. She was thinking of dedicating it to him, or maybe to Tia. Or Livia. Or Lisiewska, just to keep the upper hand she had managed to eke out by unreservedly agreeing with his horrifically insulting analysis.
It was annoying that there was no Web here, so she had to highlight things for later verification, but at least it meant that she wasn't being bombarded with emails. Donna was sick and tired of telling revanchists to read a book and stop spewing nonsense, and it was hard to read the words of teenagers who just wanted to understand why she had done what she had done. On top of that, her address had gotten out, so she had all sorts of people dropping by for a visit. She was giving interviews what felt like every other day.
She also had a correspondence of sorts going with Johanna Mason. The survivor of the Seventy-First Games had even met her once, in a cheap restaurant in the Capitol. Donna still felt awkward around her. After all, she had built the Arena in which the then-girl had been forced to fight for her life. Despite that, Mason was nothing if not polite. During their meeting, Donna had not dared mention the possibility of forgiveness and Mason had avoided the topic as well, but the load on Donna had become a little bit lighter since that day.
Of course, that load would never go away. Most of her victims could not forgive her, because they were dead. And Donna couldn't imagine anyone forgiving someone who tried to murder them - if that had happened to her, she'd have wanted to cut that person from her life and live on without letting them occupy even a single one of her brain cells.
Making the logical conclusion from that thread of thought was impossible.
"You know," Theodosius said, looking up from his crossword, "if that book of yours sells well, I'll publish my own stuff."
"What brought it on?" Donna looked up from her screen and shook her head, trying to break out of her thoughts.
Theodosius sighed and stretched out his legs. "The world is so different now. And the kids - they just don't understand what it was like. Even Sooyen thinks it's something she can turn into a comedy. Maybe if I explain it, it might help someone."
"And the fact that Lisiewska is planning a grand expose of everything you ever said has nothing to do with it," she needled him.
"That too," he said with a laugh. "He should have been born a quarter of a century earlier. Would have made a great prosecutor."
They worked on in silence as, in the little patch of free space behind the far greenhouse, Dem and Cynthia were barbecuing skewers of chicken, mushrooms, and vegetables together with Mom and Dad. The sun was staring to set, and the air was pleasantly cool. The mosquitos harassed everyone, a gang of youths was loudly partying a few houses down, and a tiny kitten darted by outside. It was truly beautiful out here, beautiful and calm. Donna hadn't expected to like such a place, not after the enforced gardening in prison, but much to her surprise, she was loving it. She was seriously considering spending her entire summer there.
Emilia and her husband Irji were carrying out the table. As Donna wrestled with the past on the screen of her computer, the present beckoned her with the amazing smell of barbecue. The twins were sleeping already, as they had exhausted themselves that day by running around with a slightly amused Dusty. Even without them, folding chairs had to be dragged out of the basement. The table was laden with bread and fresh vegetables, and three large bowls were waiting for the chicken, mushrooms, and vegetables Dem was carrying. He used a fork to remove the pieces from the metal skewers into their respective bowls.
"Alright, you two!" Dad said. "Time for dinner!"
Donna and Theodosius stood up, stretched, and took their seats at the table. Dusty approached, smelling the meat, as did a small grey kitten dubbed 'Sleet' by Mom. Inky, of course, did not debase himself by asking for treats - they were brought to him.
The food was all amazing and disappeared almost instantly from the table. Donna went light on the meat, which was amazingly juicy, and preferred the vegetables and mushrooms, which were soft and flavourful. It was so much tastier than behind bars.
Then, tea and dessert was brought out. Dem's cookies, snack cakes Donna had been horrified to discover now tasted sickeningly sweet to her, and homemade jam. Donna spooned some apple jam on a digestive and ate the entire thing in one bite. It was amazing.
Everything at the cottage was amazing. The weather was great now, pleasantly cool with a light breeze. The sunset was beautiful. Her family was with her. Donna wished that, many years ago, she hadn't thrown out her life by applying to work on the Hunger Games. But then again, the cottage had belonged to Cynthia's family, which meant that this was only possible thanks to the trial bringing her and Dem close to each other.
Donna took a sip of tea and tried not to think about that. She couldn't change the past, and Theodosius was right that they were both completely out of place in this world. On one hand, her excellent life now was almost obscene compared to her past actions. But on the other, she was still alive, which meant that she could sit and watch the sunset with a cup of tea in one hand and her husband's hand - in another. The tribunal had sentenced her to twenty-five years, which meant that anything after that was hers.
A/N: If you start to feel happy for Donna, remember that she oversaw a massive program of forced labour, is responsible for whippings and executions, and was the engineer who built the Hunger Games Arenas. Sure, her tranquil life is adorable and fluffy, but there are thousands of people who will not be able to grow old with their spouses because Donna killed them.
Joel's remark about the boy who killed his abusive father is inspired by the Khachaturian sisters case in Russia: wikipediaorg/wiki/Khachaturian_sisters_case (sorry about FFN eating the link)
One chapter left! Can you believe it?