Atwood Margaret - The Heart Goes Last

“Oh Stan,” Charmaine breathes at him over the electric candles on their table for two. “It’s like a dream come true!” She picks up the rose from their bud vase, sniffs it.

It’s not real, Stan wants to tell her. But why spoil it for her? She’s so happy.

That night they stay at the Harmony Hotel. Charmaine has two baths, she gets so turned on by the towels. Less so by him, Stan guesses; but still, she comes across for him, so why complain? “There,” she says afterwards. “Isn’t this better than the back seat of the car?” If they commit to the Positron Project, she says, they can kiss that horrible car goodbye and good riddance, and the vandals and thieves can tear it apart, because they themselves won’t need it any more.

Night Out

The next day, the workshops begin. After the first one, they’ll still be free to leave, they are told. In fact, they’ll have to leave: Positron wants you to take a good look at the alternatives before deciding. As they themselves know, it’s a festering rust bucket, out beyond the Consilience gates. People are starving. Scavenging, pilfering, dumpster-diving. Is that any way for a human being to live? So each one of them will spend what the Positron Project hopes – what it sincerely hopes! – will be their last night on the outside. To give them time to think it over, seriously. The Project wasn’t interested in freeloaders, tourists just trying it out. The Project wanted serious commitment.

Because after that you were either out or you were in. In was permanent. But no one would force you. If you signed up, it would be of your own free will.

The first day’s workshop is mostly PowerPoints. It begins with videos of the town of Consilience, with happy people at work in it, doing ordinary jobs: butcher, baker, plumber, scooter repair, and so on. Then there are videos of the Positron Prison inside Consilience, with happy people at work in it as well, each one of them wearing an orange boiler suit. Stan only half watches: he already knows they’re going to sign the commitment papers tomorrow, because Charmaine has her heart set on it. Despite the slightly uneasy feeling he’s had – they’ve both had, because Charmaine said at breakfast, with lattes and real grapefruit, “Honey, are you sure?” – the bath towels clinched the deal.

Their night outside the wall is spent in a nasty motel that Stan wagers has been tailored for the purpose, with the furniture trashed to order, stale cigarette smell sprayed one, cockroaches imported, and sounds of violent revelry in the room next door, most likely a recording. But it’s enough like the real thing to make the world inside the Consilience walls seem more desirable than ever. Most likely it is the real thing, because why fake it when there’s so much actual wreckage available?

In view of the racket and the lumpy mattress they have trouble getting to sleep, so Stan hears the tapping at the window immediately. “Yo! Stan!”

Fuck, now what? He draws back the ragged curtain, peers cautiously out. It’s Conor, with his two looming sidekicks watching his back.

“Conor!” he says. “What the fuck?” At least it’s Con and not some lunatic with a crowbar.

“Hi, bro,” says Con. “Come out. I need to talk to you.”

“Fuck, now?” Stan says.

“Would I say need if I didn’t need?”

“Honey, what is it?” says Charmaine, holding the sheet up to her chin.

“It’s only my brother,” says Stan. He’s pulling on his clothes.

“Conor? Why is he here?” She doesn’t like Con, she never has; she thinks he’s a bad influence who will lead Stan astray, as if he’s that easy to lead. Con might get him into behaviour she doesn’t approve of, like too much drinking, and darker stuff she’ll never elaborate on, but she most likely means whores. “Don’t go out there, Stan, he might …”

“I can handle it,” says Stan. “He’s my brother , for fuck’s sake!”

“Don’t leave me alone in here!” she says fearfully. “It’s too scary! Wait, I’ll come with you!” Is this an act, to keep him tethered so Con can’t spirit him away to a den of vice?

“You stay in bed, honey. I’ll be right out outside,” he says with what he hopes is gentle reassurance. Muffled sniffling from the bed. Trust Con to turn up and mess with everyone’s head.

Stan slides himself out the door. “What?” he says as irritably as he can manage.

“Don’t sign into that thing,” says Conor. He’s close to whispering. “Trust me on it. You don’t want to.”

“How’d you know where to find me?” says Stan.

“What’s a phone for? I gave it to you! So I traced it, dum-dum. I tracked you on that bus, all the way here. Lesson one, don’t take phones from strangers,” says Conor, grinning.

“You’re not a fucking stranger,” says Stan.

“Right. So, I’m telling you straight up. Don’t trust that package, no matter what they tell you.”

“Why not?” says Stan. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it is, unless you’re top management, you can’t get out. Except in a box, feet first,” says Conor. “I’m just looking out for you, is all.”

“What’re you trying to tell me?”

“You don’t know what goes on in there,” says Con.

“Meaning what? Meaning you do?”

“I’ve heard stuff,” says Conor. “It’s not for you. Nice guys finish last. Or else they get finished. You’re too soft.”

Stan juts out his chin. That would have been the signal for a scuffle, once upon a time. “You’re fucking paranoid,” he says.

“Yeah, right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” says Con. “Do yourself a favour, stay outside. Listen, you’re family. I’ll help you out, the same as you helped me. You need a job, some cash, a favour, you know where I am. You’re always welcome. And the little lady, bring her along too,” Con grins. “There’s a place for her, any time.”

So that’s it. Con has his poacher’s eye on Charmaine. No fucking way in hell is Stan falling for that one. “Thanks, buddy,” he says. “I appreciate it. I’ll think about it.”

“Like shit,” says Conor, but he smiles cheerfully, and the two of them do the back pat.

“Stan?” comes the anxious voice of Charmaine from inside their room.

“Go comfort the little wifey,” says Conor, and Stan knows what he’s thinking: pussy-whipped .

He watches Con walking away, with his two bodyguards; they get into a long black car, which slides off into the night, silent as a submarine. Most likely the same car he saw at the trailer park. Guys like Con who score some money always want cars like that.

Not that Stan would mind having such a car himself.

Twin City

The next morning they take the final step. Stan barely even read the terms and conditions, because Charmaine is so eager to get in. After all, they’ve been chosen, she says, and so many have been rejected. She smiles mistily at Stan as he signs his name on the form. “Oh, thank you,” she says. “I feel so safe.”

Then the workshops begin in earnest; or, as one of the leaders quips, they’ve had the shop, now they’re getting the work. They are about to learn so many astounding new things, and it will require their full concentration. Men’s workshops over here, ladies over there, because there will be different challenges and duties and expectations for each, and besides, they’ll be separated for a month at a time when they’re in the prison part of this project – a feature that will be explained more fully to them shortly – so they might as well start getting used to it, their first workshop leader says with a chuckle. Anyway, abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, as he is sure they know from experience. Another chuckle.