Ким Робинсон - The Ministry for the Future

Finally she found a place because Badim knew she was looking for one. Someone who had been working for him in the ministry had to move back to Ticino to care for her father, and when she heard from Badim that Mary was looking for a place, she wanted Mary to take it. It could be an informal arrangement, she said, a kind of sublease; the board had heard her appeal concerning this plan, and liked the idea of having Mary Murphy among them, and so had approved it. It was just several blocks from her old place, south past her usual tram stop at Kirche Fluntern and along Bergstrasse to an odd three-streeted corner where the co-op took up one wedge of the intersection. A little twenty-apartment co-op, four stories high, well-maintained like every other building in Zurich, all except for the old wreck across from the tram stop one down from Kirche Fluntern, which was some kind of special thing.

The woman subletting it to her met her at the door of the place. Trudi Maggiore, she said.

“Mary,” Mary said, shaking her hand. “I’ve seen you around the office.”

The woman nodded. “I worked two buildings down, but I took notes for Badim at a lot of your meetings. I sat against the wall with the other assistants. And I went with you on a trip to India.”

“Ah yes, I remember now.”

Trudi led her up the broad stairs of their stairwell. On the top floor she unlocked the door of her place. “It used to be the attic,” she explained as she opened it. “I hope you don’t mind. You get used to it.”

It had been a very small and low attic, Mary saw at once. It was a single room, tucked under the big roofbeam of the building such that only under the roofbeam itself could you stand upright. To left and right of it the ceiling sloped down until the walls to left and right were only about two feet high. The left side of the room did have an interior wall sticking out into the room, and a door in that wall opened on the bathroom, which likewise sloped down to a low wall. It was hyperclean, like any Swiss bathroom, of course, but as with the rest of the place, about half its volume was far less than head high. The toilet was located past the sink; kind of a woman’s apartment in that sense, in that you could sit on it, but if you stood before it you would have to duck.

“I like it,” Mary said. “It’s funny.”

Trudi looked pleased. “I like it too. I’m sorry I have to leave. But I’m glad you’ll be the one in it. I admire what you did.”

“Thank you,” Mary said.

She walked up and down the midline. Past the bathroom the room widened again to the left, and there lay the bed, set right on the floor. To lie down on it, it would be easiest to sit first on a short chair set next to it, and then roll on. Once in bed it didn’t matter how low the ceiling was, as long as you didn’t leap to your feet in a dream or something like that.

The kitchen was back against the wall next to the front door, just a counter with a sink in it, and to the left a stove and a short refrigerator. All very functional.

“I’ll take it, of course,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Me too,” Trudi said.

After that they went out for coffee in a bakery next door, and traded a bit of their stories. Trudi watched her curiously, as if trying to correlate her with the minister she had known in the office. Mary resisted an impulse to explain herself.

So she had a place. Her Swiss security team helped her to move, checking out her room as they did so. Priska and Sibilla were none too impressed. Thomas and Jurg thought it was funny.

Once settled in, she tried to form a new rhythm for her days. No more going to work; she didn’t want to intrude. She hoped they might ask her for help in some capacity or other, but in fact, now that she had seen how things had gone at the meeting in San Francisco, she realized that there was probably little help she could give. The authority of her position had been a big part of her effectiveness. That was a little chastening, but no doubt true. Now that she was a private citizen, it was an open question what she could do to help them, or anyone.

Well, she could always get her habits back. Up in the morning, tram down to Utoquai, walk to the schwimmbad, into the locker room, go to her locker, into her swimsuit, kissing the ghost of Tatiana, so beautiful, feeling the pain of her death and then encysting it again, chilling it off by stepping down the metal steps into the water, brr! and out into the lake. Thinking of someone gone kept them just that tiny bit alive, maybe. The Zurichsee, blue and calm, cool and silky. Offshore swimming freestyle, until she could look back and see the near shore properly; then a few circles of breaststroke, to see the whole city, now looking so low and far away. It was a big lake. If she felt strong enough, she could join the swim across the lake at the end of the summer, see what that felt like. It felt good to be out there. Of course this part of her habit set would only work from May or June through October. In the other months both water and air were just too cold. But as a summer thing, a beautiful way to start the day.

Then back up to her place, join the communal lunch in the co-op, talk to people, if they wanted to, but it was important not to impose English on them, and as the talk around her was usually in Schwyzerdüütch, guttural and sing-songy, she didn’t start conversations much. She liked being in the midst of their talk without being part of the conversation, it was soothing. She could feel her body, relaxed from her swim, slope down into her chair like a cat, satisfied just to be among people, unconcerned with the content of their chatter.

Later that year she began to go to the UN Refugee Agency, the UNHCR, which was headquartered in Geneva but had a small office in Zurich. Issuing UN passports to refugees, closing the camps, or rather opening them, emptying them, had made for a lot of work. Naturally the Swiss were intent to get it done, so when she presented herself at the Zurich office they were happy to give her things to do. In fact they wanted to use her fame to rally more volunteers, and she agreed to that, but only if she could do some basic work too. The local work also kept her carbon burn low. Because that too was a project she wanted to pursue.

Almost everyone in the co-op was part of the 2,000 Watt Society, so staying low-burn was not that difficult. The communal meals were vegetarian for the most part, and calculations were made for everything they did, so that she could keep a personal count easily enough, and always had people around to answer her questions. If she stayed in Zurich, if she traveled in Switzerland, in Europe, even around the world—they had all these rated for energy costs and also carbon burn, though the latter was getting lower and lower, especially if you stayed in Switzerland and used public transport. Together the occupants of the place owned one electric car, and there was a sign-up sheet for it, often almost empty, but not always. Most of the people living in the co-op actually traveled quite a bit in Europe, but factoring that in they still came to the end of the year having used well less than the amount of kilowatt hours the 2,000 Watt Society was calling for. The whole country was getting closer to hitting that usage goal; the world would then have a model to follow. Her housemates were sure other countries would then match them.

Mary was not so sure, but did not argue. She just lived the life. Quickly her habits clicked into place, day after day the same. She lived through the week trying to feel if she liked it, trying to figure out how to do more at the UNHCR, and so on. Day after day, week after week. Never had she been so immersed in Swissness. Before she had been an international person living an international life. Now she was a foreign-born Zurcher, living in Zurich.