Food

"I hope they hurry up and bring back some food," Blossom said, twisting her hands as she watched Oliver and Cheryl disappear into the whiteness above. "It must be way past lunchtime by now."

"I wonder if food is really what they're after?" Hanna mused.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Haven't you ever wondered what it might be like to be alone with a boy?"

"What?" Blossom was shocked. "You mean…. But that's immoral and dangerous! Didn't they ever tell you that? Why—"Peter closed his eyes.

He wasn't interested in their conversation, which, being naïve, he didn't understand anyway. He wanted to think about Oliver. Basically, it was like having Jasper back again. But no sooner had that thought entered his mind than another came and quickly contradicted it. It really wasn't like having Jasper back again, it was very, very different. His delight began to fade. It disturbed him, for instance, to see Oliver go off with Cheryl. He would even have braved the steps and bridges to be with Oliver, but clearly, Oliver hadn't wanted him to come, and the rejection was quite painful. It had never been like that with Jasper … Jasper … The old home. The room they had shared. The pictures came easily to his mind now, and they had undergone a change. The walls of the room swayed with rainbow colours, and the furniture seemed to be alive, each object with its own benevolent personality, murmuring comforting words to him, enclosing and protecting him. He let himself drift into it, cradled in the warm, underwater, rainbow-hued dimness that undulated around him. But suddenly there was something in the way. Something harsh and irritating. He tried to push it away, but it would not go. Something was flashing on and off, and there were strange sounds, and a girl screaming.

Reluctantly he opened his eyes. It was the food machine. Its screen, which usually glowed dully, was now flashing on and off with an intense, bright red light, so bright that it dazzled his eyes. And all around them were invisible, whispering voices, saying something indistinct that he could not understand. Blossom was hysterical, jumping up and down and pointing to the machine.

"What's it doing? What's it doing?" she shrieked, stopping to stick out her tongue frantically. "Maybe it's going to work now, maybe it will work, how can we make it work?"

Hanna, who had leapt to her feet, was oddly enough staring at Peter. "Peter," she murmured, in a strangely hushed voice, "Peter, what's the matter with you? You've been sitting there staring at that blinking light for more than a minute and you didn't even notice it."

"What?" he mumbled. "Staring? But … I was asleep, dreaming. My eyes were closed."

She was standing motionless, watching him. "They were open," she said, her voice still hushed. "They were wide open, Peter, your eyes were open the whole time."

"Who cares about his eyes?" Blossom shrieked. "What are those voices saying? Maybe they're telling us what to do. Maybe they're telling us how to work the machine! We've got to do something!"

"How … how long ago did the others leave?" Peter asked, ignoring Blossom. A prickling of fear was crawling up the back of his neck. It seemed to him that they had left about fifteen minutes ago and that the light had been flashing for only a few seconds.

"They left a couple of hours ago," Hanna answered, still staring at him.

"Why are you just standing there?" cried Blossom. "Do something, this might be our only chance!"

What were the voices saying? Peter wondered as he got to his feet, trying not to think about what Hanna had just told him. They seemed to be saying the same thing over and over again, but the different voices were not speaking in unison, and the individual words were blurred and indistinct. It was like a hundred people with cotton in their mouths, whispering the same thing at different times.

"I know!" Blossom cried. "They're saying, 'Food will be coming soon. Food will be coming soon.' Listen, can't you hear it?" Her eyes were darting wildly, and she clasped her hands together. "Oh, I hope they're right, I hope they're telling the truth! It's been so long since we've had any food."

"Shhh!" said Hanna, waving her hand at Blossom. "I'm just getting it…. And you're wrong," she went on suddenly. "That's not what they're saying at all. They're saying 'Nude in the house of the doomed.' It's obvious."

"But why would they say that?" Blossom cried shrilly. "It's meaningless." She spun around to Peter. "You can hear it too. They're saying, 'Food will be coming soon.' Aren't they? Aren't they?"

Peter shook his head. "I … It, it sounds like … 'Be careful in Oliver's room.'"

"What?" cried Blossom. "But you're both wrong. They're saying—"

"They're saying 'Nude in the house of the doomed,'" Hanna insisted. "Because that's what we are. We're helpless in this crazy place. Or at least they want us to think we're helpless. You just think it's food because that's all you ever think about."

"Stop saying things like that!" Blossom shouted, stamping her foot. "Stop being mean to me! Just remember, you said a couple of things this morning that I could always tell a few certain—"

"What?" Hanna stepped toward her. "What the hell are you talking about, you—"She was interrupted by voices from above, and hurrying footsteps,

"—it isn't," Oliver was saying. "Can't you hear them? They're saying, 'She gobbled him up in the womb.'"

"No, it's 'The dish ran away with the spoon,'" said Cheryl, sounding out of breath.

"It really is, Oliver." Hanna turned back to Blossom, stepping menacingly toward her. Blossom took a step back.

"What the hell did you mean about—"

For a moment they were all in motion: Hanna moving toward Blossom, and Blossom backing away; Oliver jumping to the landing and Cheryl, shaking her head, coming down a step behind him; Peter moving forward, almost involuntarily, to greet Oliver. And at that moment there was a whir and a click from the floor, clearly audible above the whispers rustling around them. Five hungry pairs of eyes focused instantly on the slot beside the blinking light. And out of the slot rolled a tiny ball, not a cylinder; a tiny ball hardly big enough for one small bite. They all started toward it at once.

"Stop!" shouted Hanna. And there was such urgency and command in her voice that they did stop. "Wait! Don't move. Listen." She was breathing heavily. "Stay where you are. One of us just did something that made it work. Nobody knows what it is, right?"

They nodded silently.

"So stay right where you are and do what you were just doing. That's the only way to figure it out. And don't grab the food! Wait till we know how to make it work!"

Hanna stepped toward Blossom again, Blossom backed away (not without a glance of longing at the little ball on the floor); Oliver went quickly back up to his step and jumped down, Cheryl shook her head behind him, and Peter moved toward him again. And nothing happened.

"Again!" Hanna cried. "Exactly like the first time!" The voices whispering around them, echoing through vast white spaces. The red light blinking in steady rhythm, falling rhythmically back at them from above in hundreds of pieces, so that they could not help but move in time with it. Now they were all watching each other, timing their movements to each other as well as the blinking light. And there was a whir and a click and another little ball rolling onto the landing.