The Heart of Mary Murphy

Once again, Minimis woke before the "Awakening Anthem." Despite having spent three years – three years that seemed to hold an eternity in each - in the Gracilias community, she still felt that she was a colorful and curvy entity jammed into a grey, angular mold. She doubted that her cohabitants lay on their cots daydreaming of life during the Incidental Era – especially not on a daily basis.

Others in the community seemed to savor the uniformity. They spoke of the inner peace that freedom from material things had gifted them. Last week, Minimis’ field partner, Concordia, had teary eyes when she spoke of how grateful she was to have The Guiding Routine to govern her life.

Don’t get me wrong, Minimis thought to Second-Self, a mind-friend that she had created to replace the diary she wished she could keep. (Sometimes she thought that Second-Self was the only thing that kept her from going crazy with boredom.) I am appreciative of not having to be hypervigilant like I had to be during the Incidental. It’s nice to have regular meals. And, it’s great to know that no one here has the virus. But sometimes I feel like I am spending every single day in solitary confinement. I can’t connect to anyone here at Gracilia. If I had a real friend, it wouldn’t be too long before everyone discovered me to be a nonconformist.

Gracilia was an enormous community that covered three former states and portions of others. Ironically, it was a scene of mass destruction towards the end of the Incidental. Those infected with the virus who were beyond hope had been driven by soundwaves to this area in hoards, as if they were no better than cannibalistic deer. Then, when they were contained, the government had unleashed its mitis bombs, bombs that annihilated every living thing and turned every structure to ash. However, these bombs had been propagandized as “kinder than atomic bombs” because there would be no radiation left behind, resulting in land that was flattened and in perfect condition for farming.

Minimis was fourteen when her family first heard of Gracilia. (That was the last year she still had her own name, Mary Murphy.) The Murphys had noticed that they had been having fewer and fewer run-ins with the infected, so they had braved an excursion from the mountain where they had been hiding to a town in the valley. There they had met some people who were heading a walking caravan to a community that was supposed to be like heaven on earth. By the time they had reached Gracilia, Minimis had been able to empathize with the ancient Creek Nation and its Trail of Tears. She had seen so many buried along the way, including her mother and grandmother. Her mother’s last words had been, “Mary, my love, it will be worth it all when you get there,” and Mary hadn’t known if her mother was referring to Gracilia or Heaven because her words had reminded Mary of the lyrics to a hymn.

Now Mary Murphy and the remaining Murphys were a distant memory. When they had reached Gracilia, the Murphys had been split up and given new names. They had had to throw all of their possessions into one of the continuously burning funeral pyres that were Gracilia’s monuments to its motto Peace from the Ashes of Industry. Hence, Minimis’ room in her bungalow looked exactly like every other sleeping place across the territory. It contained a cot, a blanket, and a wall hook on which were hanging three uniforms.

The gentle melody of the “Awakening Anthem” began; a flute playing triads that gradually ascended a major scale, as the volume increased. By the time it was over, Gracilians for hundreds of miles would have risen, folded their blanket in an equilateral triangle and placed it exactly in the center of their cot, just as Minimis was doing. And that was just one of many morning rituals.

Minimis joined Concordia in the western field just as the sun had reached its solstice position in the sky – she was right on time. They each grabbed hoes from the field shed and reported for duty. Lately reporting for field duty was Minimis’ favorite part of the day. She could count on one hand how many men she had interacted with since being assigned to a community. So, when she had first seen that a male had been assigned to field leadership, she had had a hard time masking her surprise – and other feelings.

Like other leaders, this one’s facial expressions never veered from disinterested. His directives were given in a deep monotone. Nevertheless, Minimis found his golden eyes and dark, chiseled features fascinating.

Unlike other leaders, this one would assign duties, and then begin to work himself. Minimis all too often found herself marveling at the power contained in the tall, stern package. The first day that he had worked alongside them, she had seen him accomplish three times her work in a third of the time. Since then, she had been delighted in the secret competition; she had begun to narrow the margin between his output and her own.

Two weeks ago, she had absentmindedly let go of a shovel when she reported for duty. The leader had retrieved it and when he handed it to her, their hands had brushed together. Minimis knew her mouth had widened in shock at the sensation. Such a trivial thing had taken on such importance in her interminable boredom – especially since daily this leader had seemed to make a point of working nearer to Minimis than he had prior to their hand-brushing.

Today I am going to stand in the middle as a test. Yesterday I stood on the right, and he started assigning duties from the left. The day before the exact opposite happened. This is just an experiment, Second-Self. She imagined Second-Self giving her a wink.

“Planting strawberries in this section,” the hero of Minimis’ thoughts announced. “Rows need to be eighteen inches apart. Hoe continuous mounds about a foot high. Carry all rocks to the end of your row. Throw all fallout remnants in the field pyre. When your row is prepared, report to me and I will call for your plant allotment. While you are waiting, you will have your ration break. Any questions?”

The large group of ladies just stood silently.

“Alright. Make sure you stay hydrated. Refill your flasks as needed. It’s a warm day.”

The leader began assigning rows starting from the left. He was about three people from assigning Minimis a duty when the pen he had been using to record names and row numbers on a clipboard appeared to run out of ink. He then excused himself to go back to the leadership transport vehicle.

When he returned, he began to assign duties from the right. Once again, Minimis was going to be one of the last women to have an assigned area. Second-Self gave Minimis another mental wink and Minimis had to fight the urge to grin.

Soon Minimis was tilling the earth with all her might. She had learned to use the first rocks she uncovered to help keep her row aligned. She would move them every ten yards or so and keep them as a point of measurement.

The handsome male leader was working the soil two rows to her right. Despite her steady pace, he was ahead of her as usual, though not as far ahead as had been before hand-brushing day. Minimis tried to focus on the job at hand, and not on him so she could keep up.

Now that Minimis had her undercover competition going, the fallout remnants were no longer so appealing. It was annoying to have to put the bits and pieces of human life from before the infestation into the buckets at the end of their rows. Besides, she had learned not to ponder the shards of bone, metal, plastic, and enamelware that were common in the fields. When she had found something interesting, it had often been a struggle to submit the object to the pyre. Over time, she had begun to catalog her findings in her brain, and then to mentally let them go.

Minimis already had quite a pile of rocks at the end of her row; her remnant bucket was almost full; and the male leader was about thirty yards ahead of her when her hoe struck something gold. It wasn’t the first time Minimis had found something that was possibly valuable, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Value wasn’t an issue – every object went into the pyre – a common Gracilian quote was “Value is abstract, yet it distracts and destroys.”

Minimis reached down to pick up the golden object and caught her breath when she saw its smooth heart shape. It was a locket. It was much like the lockets that both her mother and grandmother had worn.

You have to keep it! Second-Self shouted in her thoughts, Throwing that in the pyre would be like throwing Mom and Nana away.

Minimis kept the locket in the center of her hand, then grabbed a couple of stones she had unearthed. She made her way to the end of the row and nonchalantly placed the rocks on the mound that she had started. Furtively she raised her head to see if anyone was looking. No one made eye contact with her. It appeared that everyone was hoeing or carrying rocks.

Minimis reached down, deliberately scratched her ankle and slid the locket into her shoe. It would be a long, uncomfortable day working with an object rubbing into the bottom of her foot. It will be worth it, Second-Self assured her. A little pain for a treasure no one else has – and there is no way you will get caught.

Minimis straightened back up. As she glanced over the field, her eyes were caught in a golden gaze.

Oh no! He must have seen you! He’s not looking away. He’s waiting to see what you will do! Put it in the bucket! Hurry! Second-Self had so quickly changed her tune.

Instead of listening to Second-Self, Minimis resolutely made her way back down the row and resumed working the soil.