“These are problems you want to have, people you want to see,” the counselor said.
The counselor didn’t say when further monitoring would stop.
It’s fully dark when Frida senses Tucker beside her. Jeremy is delighted to see Emmanuelle. They sit down and begin playing.
“I got clobbered at the first station,” Tucker says.
“I made it to station two. Your prognosis is good. Maybe you’ll be fine.”
“That’s not how this place works.” Tucker looks at her tenderly. She never thanked him for taking care of her the other day, for soothing Emmanuelle.
Without another word, they take off their gloves and brush fingers. Frida glances behind her. They’re not safe. There’s light from the highway, other parents, guards.
Tucker notices the cut under her eye. He tries to touch her face, but she leans away.
“I wish I could protect you. When we get out, I’ll protect you.”
She wants to say she’ll do the same. She wants to make promises. Three weeks remain. What then? She touches her fingers to her lips, then presses her fingers to his palm. He does the same. They pass three kisses this way before Emmanuelle asks what they’re doing.
“Passing hope,” Tucker says.
17.
BEFORE COMING HERE, SHE NEVER thought about trees much. Neither trees nor childhood nor weather. She used to make her father carry her over wet leaves. As a child, she found the texture of wet leaves disgusting. She’d stand on the sidewalk and reach up to him and make demands, cling to him as he struggled with his umbrella. He always said yes, though she was too old to be carried, must have been three or four.
How heavy is a three-year-old? A four-year-old? Outside, the trees are dripping. Frida has wet leaves stuck to her boots. As she watches the rain, she realizes that she won’t have any more time with Emmanuelle outdoors. Emmanuelle has no idea about the season. She may never again experience daylight, not with Frida.
This morning, the instructors distribute plastic robins with trickles of blood painted on their beaks and daubs of red on their breasts. It is November, and the mothers have returned to their classrooms to begin Unit 9: The Moral Universe. Using these props, they’ll practice a morality-building protocol. They’ll have the doll notice the injured bird, then ask the doll to help. They’ll teach the doll to pick up the bird and bring it to her mother.
The instructors will observe the depth of their motherese, the depth of their wisdom, the quality of their knowledge cultivation, whether they’re situating this exercise in a larger framework of moral responsibilities. During these final weeks, they’ll teach their dolls about altruism. Success depends on their own moral fitness, the bond between mother and doll, whether they’ve given the doll their values, whether these values are correct and good.
Tucker has been added to Frida’s file. So has a third trip to talk circle. So have citations for flirtatious body language, sexually suggestive touching, disobeying her counselor, and ignoring her doll. The counselor thinks Frida is cracking. Besides suicide and self-harm, forming romantic attachments during training is the height of selfishness. Pursuing a romantic attachment suggests a desire to fail.
In the first hours of morality training, birds are licked and bitten and thrown and pocketed. Emmanuelle drops her bird down the front of Frida’s uniform. Frida retrieves it and cradles it in her hand. She asks Emmanuelle to notice the bird, notice the red.
“What does red mean? Red to the bird is like blue is to you.” She reaches behind Emmanuelle and taps on her blue knob. She talks about big creatures helping small creatures, humans helping animals.
Though Frida is smiling, Emmanuelle senses something is wrong. She keeps asking if Mommy is okay.
“You sad.” Emmanuelle presses on Frida’s black eye and swollen cheek. “Mommy body hurt? Mommy body sad? Mommy big sad? Mommy tiny sad?”
So many things hurt. Every parent failed yesterday’s evaluation. Frida claims to be fine though. She asks Emmanuelle to focus on the bird. The bird is more important than Mommy.
“Remember, we’ve seen birdies outside. This is a pretend birdie. Can we pretend? Do you think the birdie feels scared? What kind of feelings do you think birdies have? If you were the birdie, how would you feel?”
Emmanuelle thinks the birdie feels tiny sad. The birdie’s chest has a boo-boo. The birdie needs a Band-Aid. The birdie needs to go outside.
“Up high. Birdie, you fly! Fly fly!” Emmanuelle tosses the bird in the air. She points to the window. “Mommy come!”