Teen Mom pokes her doll’s forehead. She receives a warning for language and an unmotherly touch.
Emmanuelle’s eyes dart wildly. She has the trapped, terrified expression that Harriet would get whenever she had to have her nose suctioned.
Frida apologizes for leaving, promises to come back soon. She gazes intently at Emmanuelle, hoping to register her concern, which is genuine, as much as she’d feel for a dog tied to a post while its owner eats. Emmanuelle can be her pet child, her pet human. Hurrying to join the other women, she looks back at the trapped dolls, unnerved by the five pairs of frightened eyes.
Fear keeps the mothers quiet, keeps them moving. Now bonded by calamity, they no longer self-segregate. The cohorts sit together in the dining hall. Frida and Lucretia hug.
The mothers are sick of surprises. First the uniforms and the women in pink lab coats and Ms. Knight and the guards and the electrified fence and now this. The cohorts trade rumors about where the money might have come from, where the dolls came from.
“They must have come from the military,” someone guesses.
Another mom suggests it was Google. “Everything creepy comes from Google.”
Beth says, “It could have been a mad scientist.”
Frida wonders if Beth met any in the psych ward.
Lucretia, still shaken from seeing her doll pucker, thinks it was an evil inventor. “Someone in South Korea. Or Japan. Or China.” She looks over at Frida. “Sorry, no offense.”
“What if we get electrocuted?” Beth asks. “I am seriously not good with technical stuff.”
Lucretia worries the dolls will turn violent. She used to be a sci-fi nerd. She knows how these stories go. In movies, robots always rebel, dolls always turn out to be ax murderers.
“This isn’t a movie,” Linda snaps.
“It’s not like you know any better.”
Frida, Beth, and Teen Mom eat quickly while Lucretia and Linda bicker. Frida wants to know if the blue liquid is toxic, if it can burn them or blind them, if inhaling it will increase their risk of developing certain cancers. If Gust and Susanna knew about the blue liquid, they’d never allow her near Harriet again.
Yesterday’s sadness gives way to anger. The mothers’ complaining grows impassioned.
Lucretia shreds her napkin. “I would bet money the dads don’t have to do this.” They probably have workbooks and multiple-choice quizzes. All they have to do is show up. Isn’t that always how it goes? They definitely don’t have to deal with any robot babies or blue goo.
“Tell me they’re going to make some dude stick a spoon in a kid’s cavity,” Lucretia says.
“Thanks for putting that image in my head,” Beth mutters.
The women in pink lab coats tell them to lower their voices. Frida suggests they go outside. They turn in their trays and approach the dining hall guard. It’s certainly starting to feel like prison. What she imagines of prison. Permission to leave the room. Permission to eat. Permission to use the bathroom. Activities monitored and preordained. Someone else deciding how her time will be spent and in what room and with what people.
Outside, near the bike racks, they run into a distraught Black mother who’s sobbing on one of the benches. Today is her daughter’s fourth birthday. They huddle around her and shield her from the cameras. They link arms. The mother is inconsolable. She sputters and wipes her wet face on her sleeve. Linda rubs her back. Lucretia hands her a half-torn napkin. Then it starts. Someone whispers her daughter’s name. Someone else follows. Carmen. Josephine. Ocean. Lorrie. Brynn. Harriet. As they say their daughters’ names, it sounds like the roll call after an accident or a school shooting. A roster of victims.
7.
THAT AFTERNOON, THEIR CLASS BEGINS Unit 1: Fundamentals of Care and Nurture. The instructors introduce the concept of motherese: the delightful high-pitched patter that goes on all day between mother and child.
Using Linda’s doll, Ms. Khoury narrates an imaginary trip to the grocery store. Her voice dips and curls, conveying a constant state of wonder.
“What kind of bottled water should we buy for Daddy? The still kind or the bubbly kind? Do you know what bubbles are? Bubbles go pop-pop-pop! Fizz-fizz-fizz! Bubbles are circles! Circles are shapes!”
The mothers must pay attention to both pitch and vocabulary. A component within the dolls will tally the number of words spoken each day, how many times the doll responded to questions, the amount of conversational give-and-take. The recordings will be analyzed for the number of encouraging phrases versus the amount of warning or scolding. Too many noes will cause the word counter to beep like a car alarm, and only the instructors can turn it off.