The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(86)

The older girl grabbed a waste basket and stepped forward. She began tossing Zoe’s books into the trash. “You won’t need any of these where you are going. You’re not allowed to attend class anymore until further notice. You’ve been given work detail. And this.” She held up the book of poetry that had been given to her by Mrs. Bidwell, whom Zoe still felt uncomfortable calling by her first name, Alyce.

“All poetry and fiction have been declared contraband. The school marshal has determined they will only weaken your mind and confuse you.” The girl threw it in the trash.

Zoe snatched the book of poetry from the waste bin and returned it to her now-empty bookshelf. “Can I at least get dressed?”

The girls stared at her, and for a moment Zoe was astonished that she’d actually asked permission. She got dressed, shaking her head at how quickly people changed.



* * *



Zoe was escorted to a large shed and told to wait inside with a handful of students. The other children—none older than twelve—who’d been rousted from their sleep and brought to this field at sunrise were Karan and Neysa, a brother and sister from India, Koji from Japan, Zofia from Poland, and Ethan, Samuel, and Naomi, who were all Jewish. Much to Zoe’s surprise, there was also Theo, the handsome lad whose tongue-in-cheek suggestion that they operate the school as an authoritarian regime had been taken seriously and started this Sisyphean ball rolling. He’d arrived under escort as well and looked dejected, resigned to be among them.

“Are you here to supervise us personally?” Zoe asked. Her voice was a cannon loaded with accusation, her fuse of anger lit and burning.

“No. I’m here living with my regret, mainly,” Theo said. “I was elected to be the leader for the duration of this exercise. We spent a few hours drafting a constitution. We even planned rules for class attendance, work, and chores, and how meals would be prepared and served. But it didn’t take long before members of our group began pointing out their concerns. That they didn’t like how some of us chose not to attend class, the ones who liked to lie about all day. Then someone complained about the students with no interest in math and science. So, music, art, and literature were banned. French and Spanish would no longer be taught, only the Queen’s English, for efficiency. And no one likes chores, of course, so we created one group to do them exclusively. You all come from a class of people subjugated by British rule, so by extension, that group is you.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Zoe asked.

“Oh, that,” Theo said as he looked about. “I thought I had a plan for organized, benevolent rule. It didn’t seem that terrible of an idea, until I was set upon at five a.m. by a group of boys, who bound and gagged me. Apparently, someone else had another meeting after I went to bed. While I slept, they gathered another group, within the whole. I should have seen it coming.” He sat down and scratched his head. “The maiden voyage of our new government hadn’t even set sail and there was already a mutiny.”

“Led by who?” Zoe asked, though she suspected she already knew.

“Good morning.”

Zoe turned and saw Guto standing in the light. He wore a crisp white shirt and a black tie, tucked between his breast buttons. He was flanked by other boys and a few of the younger girls, who all wore white shirts and black ties.

Guto held up a fistful of black ribbons. He tossed them on the ground. “These are for you. Each of you needs to wear one around your neck, day and night. A collar, so to speak, so we know who is in charge and who is not.”

“Oh, this is nonsense,” Zoe said. “I don’t have to go along with any of this. I’m not playing your silly game.” As she spoke she wondered where the grown-ups were. Where their schoolmaster was? “The teachers will put a stop to this.”

“Most of the teachers and staff are in town,” Guto said. “I’ve given them a forty-eight-hour holiday. Those who didn’t take me up on my magnanimous offer are confined to the faculty residences, including the headmaster. It’s just us for now.”

“Fine, you can do what you want, but I’m leaving.”

“You could leave.” Guto held up the book of poetry that had been given to her by Mrs. Bidwell. “But since you left this behind…” He opened the cover. “Look, there’s even an inscription from one of the teachers.”

Zoe froze.

“May you be released from grueling anxiety and be my ally in love’s battle.”

“That’s a gift! It belongs to me!”

“And you wrote something quite interesting beneath, shall I read it to everyone?”

Zoe fell silent as she remembered what she’d written. The words were almost like a prayer, an ablution that she recited in her mind in the morning, all day, and into the night. Dear Lady, don’t crush my heart with pain and sorrows. But come here, if ever before, when you heard my far-off cry.

“I’ll take care of your possessions and your secrets,” Guto said, closing the book. “All I ask is that you show your allegiance by doing as you are told.”

Zoe stared him down until he looked away, then she tied the ribbon around her neck. As did Theo. As did their younger classmates, all following suit, all falling in line.



* * *



Zoe, Theo, and the others were led to the school garden, a fenced acre of squash, zucchini, cabbage, endive, carrots, Brussels sprouts, turnips, parsnips, and onions. There were also rows of tomatoes and strawberries. Guto knelt down, plucked a ripe berry, and took a bite. Then he wiped his chin and threw the rest away.