The Year of the Flood (MaddAddam 2)

That was why she's decided it must have been a hallucination: the blueness. And the crystalline, otherworldly singing. She'd seen the figures for only a moment. They were there, then they'd vanished, like smoke. They must have gone in among the trees, to follow the walkway there.

Her heart had leapt with joy -- she couldn't help it. She'd felt like running down the stairs, running outside, running after them. But it was far too much to hope for, other people -- so many other people. Other people who looked so healthy. They couldn't possibly be real. If she allowed herself to be lured outside by such a siren mirage -- lured into the pig-ridden forest -- she wouldn't be the first person in history to have been destroyed by the overly optimistic projections of her own mind.

Confronted by too much emptiness, said Adam One, the brain invents. Loneliness creates company as thirst creates water. How many sailors have been wrecked in pursuit of islands that were merely a shimmering?

She takes her pencil and scratches out the question mark. Hallucination, it says now. Pure. Simple. No doubt about it.

She sets down her pencil, gathers her mop handle and her binoculars and the rifle, and trudges up the stairs to the rooftop to survey her domain. All is quiet this morning. No movement out there in the field -- no large animals, no naked blue-tinged singers.

32

How long ago was that Mole Day, the last one Pilar was alive? Year Twelve, it must have been.

Right before it had come the disaster of Burt's arrest. After he'd been taken away by the CorpSeMen and Veena and Bernice had left the vacant lot, Adam One had called all the Gardeners together for an emergency meeting up on the Edencliff Rooftop. He'd told them the news, and when they'd grasped it, the Gardeners had gone into shock. The revelation was so painful, and so shameful! How had Burt managed to run a gro-op in the Buenavista without anyone suspecting?

Through trust, of course, thinks Toby. The Gardeners mistrusted everyone in the Exfernal World, but they trusted their own. Now they'd joined the long list of the religious faithful who'd woken one morning to find that the vicar had made off with the church building fund, leaving a trail of molested choirboys behind him. At least Burt hadn't done any choirboy molesting, or not as far as was known. There'd been gossip among the children -- crude remarks of the kind children made -- but they hadn't been about boys. Just girls, and just groping.

The only one of the Gardeners who hadn't been surprised and horrified by the gro-op was Philo the Fog, but he was never surprised or horrified by anything. "I'd like to try that shit, see if it's any good," was all he had to say.

Adam One had asked for volunteers to take in the families that had been so suddenly displaced -- they couldn't go back to the Buenavista, he'd said, because it would be overrun with CorpSeMen, so they should consider their material possessions as lost to them. "If the building was on fire, you wouldn't run back into it to save a few baubles and trinkets," he said. "It is God's way of testing your attachment to the realm of useless illusion." The Gardeners weren't supposed to be bothered by that part: they'd gleaned their material possessions in junkyards and dumpsters so they could always glean others, went the theory. Nevertheless there was some weeping over a lost crystal glass, and a puzzling fuss about a broken waffle iron with sentimental value.

Adam One then asked all present not to talk about Burt and the Buenavista, and especially the CorpSeCorps. "Our enemies may be listening," he'd said. He'd been saying that more and more frequently: Toby sometimes wondered whether he was paranoid.

"Nuala, Toby," he'd said as the others were leaving. "A moment. Can you go by there and check?" he said to Zeb. "Though I don't suppose there's anything to be done."

"Nope," said Zeb cheerfully. "Not a fuckworth. But I'll take a look."

"Wear your pleebland clothes," said Adam One.

Zeb nodded. "The solarbiker outfit." He strolled away towards the fire-escape stairs.

"Nuala, my dear," said Adam One. "Can you cast any light? On what Veena said, about you and Burt?"

Nuala began sniffling. "I have no idea," she said. "It's such a lie! It's so disrespectful! It's so hurtful! How could she think such a thing, about me and ... and Adam Thirteen?"

Not too hard, thought Toby, considering the way you rub up against pant legs. Nuala flirted with anything male. But Veena had been in a Fallow state while the flirting had been going on, so what had aroused her suspicion?

"None of us believes it, my dear," said Adam One. "Veena must have listened to some rumour-monger -- perhaps an agent provocateur sent by our enemies to sow dissention among us. I will ask the Buenavista gatekeepers if Veena had any unusual visitors in recent days. Now, dear Nuala, you should dry your tears and go to the Sewing Room. Our displaced congregation members will need many cloth items, such as quilts, and I know you're happy to be of use."

"Thank you," said Nuala gratefully. She gave him her only-you-understand-me look and hurried away towards the fire escape.

"Toby, my dear. Do you think you could

see it in your heart to take over Burt's duties?" Adam One asked, once Nuala had gone. "The Garden Botanics, the Edible Weeds. We'd make you an Eve, of course. I've meant to do that for some time, but Pilar has so appreciated your help as her assistant, and I believe you've been happy in that role. I didn't want to steal you away from her."

Toby thought. "I'd be honoured," she said at last. "But I can't accept. To be a full-fledged Eve ... it would be hypocritical." She'd never managed to repeat the moment of illumination she'd felt on her first day with the Gardeners, though she'd tried often enough. She'd gone on the Retreats, she'd done an Isolation Week, she'd performed the Vigils, she'd taken the required mushrooms and elixirs, but no special revelations had come to her. Visions, yes, but none with meaning. Or none with any meaning she could decipher.

"Hypocritical?" said Adam One, wrinkling his forehead. "In what way?"

Toby chose her words carefully: she didn't wish to hurt his feelings. "I'm not sure I believe in all of it." An understatement: she believed in very little.

"In some religions, faith precedes action," said Adam One. "In ours, action precedes faith. You've been acting as if you believe, dear Toby. As if -- those two words are very important to us. Continue to live according to them, and belief will follow in time."

"That's not much to go on," said Toby. "Surely an Eve ought to be ..."

Adam One sighed. "We should not expect too much from faith," he said. "Human understanding is fallible, and we see through a glass, darkly. Any religion is a shadow of God. But the shadows of God are not God."

"I wouldn't want to be a poor example," said Toby. "Children can spot faking -- they'll see I'm just going through the motions. That might be harmful to what you're trying to accomplish."