Finally her timing was right. There they were.
“Hello there!” Claire called.
The man looked up, recognized her, and eased his bicycle to a standstill, balancing it with his right foot on the path. “How are you?” he asked cheerfully. “It’s Claire, isn’t it?”
She was pleased that he remembered her name. She wasn’t wearing her nametag—it was still pinned to the lab coat she had hung up when she left work. And it had been three months now since they had seen each other.
“Yes, that’s right. Claire.”
“Nice to see you. It’s been a while.”
“I stopped by but they said they didn’t need me to help out because the newchildren had all been assigned.”
He nodded. “All but this one!”
Claire hadn’t wanted to look directly at Abe. Not at first. But now, since he had mentioned the infant in the child seat, she turned her attention there and smiled at the child, who was busily examining a leaf in his hands. He must have pulled it from a bush as they rode past. She watched as he held the leaf to his own mouth and tasted it with a puzzled, uncertain look. She could see that he had two teeth.
“You’re still taking him to your dwelling at night?”
The nurturer nodded. “He still doesn’t sleep well. It annoys the night workers at the Center, especially now that they have some newborns to tend.
“But my family unit enjoys him. My daughter—her name is Lily—tried to convince me that we should apply for what they call a variance.”
“A variance? What’s that?”
“An exception to a rule. Lily thought we should try to convince them that three children would be appropriate for our family.”
“And did you apply?” Claire asked.
He laughed. “Nope. My spouse would have applied for an annulment of our pairing if I had! This guy will be assigned to his own family next time around. He’ll be fine. But in the meantime, it’s fun having him at our dwelling nights.” He turned to look behind him at the baby. “Oh, great,” he groaned. “Eating a leaf. Well, I’ve been trained to sponge away spit-up. Part of the job!”
Claire could see that he was beginning to shift his balance and move his right foot toward the bike pedal. “Are you allowed to use his name in public now?” she asked quickly, trying to keep them there for another minute or so. “I remember that you were using it secretly.”
The man hesitated. “Actually,” he said a little guiltily, “we do use it at home. But we’re not supposed to. He’s still just Thirty-six until he’s assigned.
“So I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it is. But it’s a good one.”
“I’m sure it is. They always choose carefully, don’t they? I like your daughter’s name. Lily. It’s pretty.”
He smiled. “I have to be off. He’s happy now, with that leaf to chew. But wait till he wants real food. He’ll start yowling. And it’s almost mealtime.”
“It was nice to see you,” she told him.
“You too. I’ll tell my daughter that you think her name is pretty. She’ll love hearing that.” He rolled his eyes, as if it were too silly for words. “And of course, just to be fair and equal, I have to tell you that my son has a nice name as well.”
Claire laughed. “I’m sure he does.”
The nurturer started off slowly on the bicycle. Behind him, strapped into the little seat, his mouth speckled with leaf fragments, the infant looked back and grinned at Claire.
“It’s Jonas,” the man called, referring to his son, and pedaled away toward the group of dwellings where he lived.
Thirteen
She arranged her days so that she would see them often, the man and the infant on the back of his bicycle. She became accustomed to the times, morning and evening, when the two of them made the short journey to and from the Nurturing Center, and she took walks then, after breakfast and before the evening meal. Often she encountered them, and usually the man stopped to chat, though sometimes he was rushed and had to hurry on. Little Abe (though she carefully referred to him as Thirty-six) knew her now, and grinned when he saw her. The man had taught him to wave his small hand when she said “Bye-bye” and they rode on. It became something to look forward to, a pleasant interruption to the long hours of lab work, which held little interest for Claire.
He imitated her. She poked her own tongue into her cheek, making a bump. He stared at it, then pushed his own small tongue into his own cheek. She wrinkled her nose. So did he. Then she did the two things together, her tongue into her cheek, her nose scrunched; solemnly he did the same, and they both began to laugh.
He was growing. Though he was technically now simply a One—every newchild born his year had become a One at the Ceremony—she calculated the months from the day of his birth. It had been, now, ten months.
“He’s trying to walk,” the nurturer told her one morning.
“He’s strong,” she said, gazing at the sturdy small legs dangling from the child seat on the back of the bike.
“Yes. We hold his hands and he takes steps. One day soon he’ll be on his own. My spouse will have to put things high up on the counters. He grabs at everything.”
“You have to be careful,” Claire said, almost talking to herself, thinking about how difficult it must be to care for an infant.
“Of course that was part of my training,” the nurturer explained reassuringly. “And I’ve taught my spouse and children.
“Hey!” he said suddenly, laughing. He turned. The newchild was tugging at his uniform. “Don’t mess me all up! This was just delivered from the laundry!”
He turned to Claire. “Could you reach into that carrying case and get his hippo?” He pointed to a zippered case behind the child seat.
“His what?” Claire pulled the zipper open.
“His comfort object. It’s called hippo.”
“Oh.” She reached in and took out the stuffed toy. All small children had comfort objects. They came in various shapes. Hers, she remembered, had been called badger.
The newchild’s eyes lit up when he saw it. “Po,” he said, and reached for the toy. Claire handed it to him; he hugged it with a satisfied sigh and began to chew on one of its small ears.
“I think they might be ready to have you stop by and help again,” the nurturer suggested. “We have a batch of new ones.