Карин Тидбек - Amatka

She entered a hallway with coat pegs along the walls. The gray door at the far end was marked DOOR TO THE LIBRARY. Vanja hung her anorak and hat on one of the pegs and opened the door.

The room was small and lined with bookcases, with just enough room for a reading table in the middle. Behind a small counter next to the door sat a plump, bespectacled man with an auburn beard and curly, thinning hair. He was filling in small index cards.

When Vanja closed the door, he put the pen down and looked up with mild brown eyes. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” Vanja remained where she was and looked around the room.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I’m a visitor,” Vanja said. “From Essre.”

“And you’ve come here.” The librarian brightened visibly. “Are you familiar with Amatka’s authors?”

“What? No.”

The librarian rose and walked over to a bookcase in the middle of the far wall. He cocked his head and scanned the shelves with his index finger until he located a thin volume. He pulled it out and brushed the cover gently.

“Poetry,” he said. “If you want to get to know Amatka, you must read our poetry. This one was written by Berols’ Anna. Very concise, very typical of our culture.” He offered Vanja the book.

She turned the book over in her hands. About Plant House 3 had been published twenty years ago: three hundred and sixty-five poems describing Plant House 3 in minute detail. Vanja opened the book to a random page.

“Is it popular?” Vanja asked.

“Very, very,” the librarian replied. “Not as popular as About Plant House 5 , that’s the most popular one by far, but it’s on loan at the moment. But you can read them in any order you like. They’re written so that the reader can start anywhere.”

According to the endpaper, the series consisted of eight books, each one describing a plant house in the outer ring.

“It took Anna ten years to finish the series,” he added. “The final book is the most advanced. Extremely dense. Extremely dense,” he repeated, nodding for emphasis. “I recommend starting with one of the others.”

Vanja held on to the book as she walked along the shelves. The selection was very similar to Essre’s. Most of the shelves were filled with nonfiction, histories of the colonies and biographies of the Heroes: citizens who had excelled in their service of the colonies through their actions and sacrifice. Vanja took down About the Colonies, For Children from the shelf. They had read from it in class. Vanja had always wanted to go see the other colonies. She had fantasized about sitting on the shores of Balbit or seeing the great factories in Odek.

Colony One, Essre, is the administrative center of all the colonies. Here, the main committee makes decisions that affect all of us. The committee is made up of delegates elected by the people in all the colonies.

Colony Two, Balbit, is a place of science and research; our scientists work tirelessly to find safe and sustainable ways of advancing our quality of life. Balbit sits on the shore of the Southern Ocean. Your teacher will provide any necessary information about the Ocean.

Colony Three, Odek, is the center of industry. Here is manufactured everything a citizen might need: furniture, clothing, tools, and much more.

Colony Four, Amatka, is the agricultural center. Mushrooms of many varieties thrive in the caverns below the colony. Depending on species, they can be used for everything from paper to food.

Colony Five was once the second agricultural center, which exported grains to the other colonies. This colony has suffered catastrophic failure and no longer exists. Your teacher will provide any necessary information.

Vanja turned to the poetry section. It had no equivalent in Essre. Berols’ Anna’s poetry cycle was just one of many. Other titles were About Eight Mushroom Chambers by Idars’ Ivar, About Bodily Variations by Torus’ Britt, and a thick volume bound in red and marked only with the words About Trains .

She returned to the nonfiction shelves and chose a small volume entitled A Short History of Amatka . After asking for and reviewing Vanja’s papers, the librarian printed a small library card and registered her loan. Then he returned to his index cards and seemed to instantly forget all about her.

The street outside was almost empty; it was not yet time for the midday break. Vanja walked homeward.

Thunder rolled, and Vanja sat upright in her bed. It was morning. The room was freezing; her breath came out in white puffs. Vanja pulled trousers and a shirt on over her sleep clothes. It was too cold to even think about washing.

Amatka felt just as desolate as their parents’ collective. Each time Vanja and Ärna went to visit their parents, Ärna seemed comfortable about the whole arrangement; she would move around their parents with ease, accepting the change of environment without complaints. Vanja would miss the dormitory and the noise of other children. Their mother, Britta, was withdrawn and forbidding. She spoke to her children in commands: eat , sit up straight , go to bed . She didn’t touch them unless she absolutely had to. Lars was different. He would let Vanja hold his hand, even crawl into his lap sometimes, but he let her down again when other adults were around. He shouldn’t coddle the children, Britta said. It would make them neurotic.

At night he would always tuck his chidren into bed. This one time, Ärna had fallen asleep straight away. Lars bent down and smoothed the hair from Vanja’s forehead. His beard tickled her cheek as his face came even closer. His whispered words smelled of alcohol: No one knows where we are. But we’re not allowed to say that.

That night, he had remained seated on the edge of her bed, studying Vanja’s face for a long moment. We understand each other, you and I , he’d said. And then he seemed to sober up and began to tell her a story about how people had found a hole in the world, and passed through, and ended up in this place. But where “this place” was, no one knew, not even the committee.

Downstairs, the kitchen was empty. She found some leftover porridge in the fridge, which she fried and ate in solitude. A formal-looking note on the table informed her that the requested material was now available for collection at the commune office.

The receptionist inspected Vanja’s note and papers and went to get a thin brown envelope. Vanja accepted it and exited the central building. The eatery next to the huge arc that was the clinic looked inviting. The interior was simple and tidy, small tables and chairs upholstered in green set along the row of windows. The menu offered coffee and alcohol, pickled mushrooms, a handful of warm dishes. Vanja ordered a pot of coffee and sat down at a table to open her envelope.

The list of manufacturers she’d requested a few days earlier turned out to be very short, with no names other than those she’d already found. She could add information on corporate organization, founding date, and revenue to her notes. All three manufacturers had reported stable revenues for several years. People didn’t exactly seem to be clamoring for new products. Vanja sighed to herself.