He sighed and said, “We had the internet. We decided to stream.”
She said, “What is this internet?”
And he said, “See, I did make a utopia.”
DAY THREE
A VISIT—CROWN TAKES NONA TO SCHOOL—IMPORTANT NEWS—HOT SAUCE AND NONA HAVE AN ADVENTURE—THE TWO PRINCES—THREE DAYS UNTIL THE TOMB OPENS.
11
THE NEXT MORNING CAMILLA pushed the button and said, “Start.”
Nona did not close her eyes this time, but stared hard at the black mould marks on the ceiling, as though for inspiration, and began: “I’m holding something down in the water. It’s the same water, the good water. But whatever I’m holding doesn’t want to stay down, it keeps coming back. To the surface, I mean.”
“What are you holding?”
“The girl with the painted face.”
“Tell me about the girl.”
“She’s under the water. She’s not drowning, she’s lying there. Her eyes are closed, I think. The water’s cloudy. But then there’s the arms still around me … I think. I’m mixing parts up.”
“Show me where.”
Nona wriggled around in an attempt to embrace herself: she rolled over frontways on the mattress and attempted to get one arm slung over her neck, the other over her waist. Camilla said to these efforts, “Demonstrate on me.”
Delighted at the opportunity, Nona immediately sat up—ignoring the brief wave of dizziness—and wound her arms around Camilla. She paused halfway and said, “It’s a bit—are you sure?” and Camilla said, “You’ve shown me before. Show me again.”
Nona concentrated on how it felt in the dream, as strange and multibodied as it was: she was good at the hand and the mouth, she was good at this, but she hesitated. She said, “I can’t do it by myself,” and took Camilla’s arms. She put Camilla’s hand on her hip, put Camilla’s other hand on her other hip, splayed her fingers, said, “More. No—there,” as Camilla kept up, then reached out to Camilla—like she was drowning; like she wanted to drown. It was nice to be this close to Camilla. Camilla’s hands on her were a little clinical, a little unsure.
“Okay,” said Camilla, once they were locked in this clinch. “Anything else?”
“No. Was that useful?”
“Everything’s useful.”
Camilla detached one hand from Nona’s hip to reach out and depress the button of the recorder, but kept the other in place. Nona liked seeing Camilla up close: liked seeing the lines of her collarbone through the unbuttoned part of her shirt, the naked parts of her arms, her ears. Camilla was so sweetly handsome and good. Nona always wanted to be close to her. Pyrrha said it was puppy love, but Nona knew that puppy love was different, it just made you want to open the puppy’s lips and play with the puppy’s teeth.
“It’s pretty nice like this,” Nona said now, and a little doubtfully. “It’s funny—I never feel like that in the dream.”
“Hmm,” said Camilla, and: “But you’ve said you like it.”
“It’s not sexy, though.”
Camilla’s eyebrows went up a little way. “Since when do you use the word sexy?”
“The other day Honesty said he thought nice shoes were sexy, and Beautiful Ruby said what just the shoes, and Honesty said no there had to be feet in them, and Born in the Morning got mad and said that Honesty was just being cheap, everyone had feet.”
Camilla tilted her head, unwound herself from Nona—Nona was a little disappointed, Cam’s hair smelled so much like nice dust—and took the clipboard back. “Okay. What do you think is sexy?”
Nona cheered up immediately at being asked.
“The huge old poster up on the side of the building at the end of the street—the one the dairy’s in. The old poster for shampoo.”
Camilla looked at her for a few seconds too many. “The painting of the two flowers,” she said.
“I think they’re very sexy flowers,” said Nona. “All right, your turn! Tell me what you think is sexy.”
“Eating breakfast,” said Camilla.
Nona lifted up her voice in despair. “You don’t. It’s not fair. We’re having a heart-to-heart, I’m sharing deep personal thoughts, and you just want me to eat.”
“Yes. I’m going to talk to the Warden.”
“Well, ask him what he thinks is sexy.”
“No. I already know.”