Джош Малерман - Inspection

The boys of Voices took their seats.

Richard leaned toward the mic till he felt the cold metal touch his beard.

He delivered his speech.

“BOYS! I won’t take up too much of your time. I expect you’re hungry and can smell breakfast from where you sit. I thank you, each of you, for congregating on such short notice. These Body Hall events are, as you well know, rare enough that my calling them must mean something or must mean, at the very least, I’ve got something to get off my chest.”

Richard paused. He’d opened with “plain speak.” Gordon’s suggestion, many years ago: Relax them with something casual, Richard, then Trojan-horse the real message in.

“First I’d like to congratulate you all on some of the best Inspections we’ve had in years. Your frankness, your honesty, and your transparency are valued above all things. You’ve brought a tear to your D.A.D.’s eyes.”

“We love you, D.A.D.!”

F called it out. Funny F. Richard smiled and held up an open palm to quiet the rumbling the boy had inspired.

“Thank you, F. I love you, too. I love all of you boys and I feel particularly proud of you today.” He looked to J directly. J’s eyes were partially hidden by his black bangs. Richard could barely make out the innocent spheres that had looked to him for everything in this life. “But I wouldn’t be honest with myself if I claimed that it was only through the Inspections that I’ve concluded you are all, indeed, on the right path in life. I’ve observed you boys very closely, perhaps in ways you don’t even know.” Here, E and O looked to one another and Richard saw hope in their eyes. Has D.A.D. been watching us? Isn’t that exciting? “Why, before Inspection this very morning I overheard a wonderful conversation brewing between two of you regarding a possible alternative to gasoline, and I couldn’t help but smile. My boys. My boys! Oh, how I enjoy eavesdropping as two of my boys employ the powers of their blooming intellect, toying with the concepts of cures, alternatives, of process and progress, the same. Do you see? Are you able to recognize the virtue of such an exchange, no doubt considered flippant by the two participants, and how much more meaningful it was than the subject matter boys your age could be engaged in?”

Richard inhaled. That last line was what Burt called a thin-icer. Possibly too close to the truth of things. But Richard didn’t think so. His boys knew as much as he wanted them to know. And who cared how thin the ice was when the truth was twice frozen so far below?

“Can you believe we’ve all reached the point we have? It seems like yesterday little Y was asking…why?” Some laughter from the boys. “And now? Now I ask him. Why? And he might just tell me.” The laughter gave way to awe. It usually did. “We’ve accomplished so much, yet we have so very far to go! And, boys, my beautiful boys, this is what troubles me, this is what has brought me to call upon you…today.”

Richard thought of the losses mentioned in the morning’s Burt Report. A and Z. The bookends of the Alphabet Boys. A coincidence (of all the boys to lose, those two?) that nearly tore Richard’s stomach lining out with worry. It took many hours with the staff doctors, many days in the bowels of the Turret, the boiler thrumming near, the sound of two dozen toddlers a floor above, for Richard to be convinced of the probability, the likelihood, that two boys of twenty-six must meet an unhappy end.

The fact that he was responsible for those ends didn’t factor into his thinking.

“I’m going to tell you boys a secret.” Richard paused for effect. It seemed to work. “Long before you reached the age you are now, I had already dubbed these days… the Recasting Years . Just as you fine-tune your visions in the Effigy Meet, so will you recast yourselves here, in the Turret. Why? Why would I consider this age any different from any other? Why would I consider this era any more notable than your budding baby youth, when you couldn’t even lift your own heads? I’ll tell you why: Here…” The Delicate Years to the staff. The Recasting Years to the boys. “You have now officially begun the process of cutting your father-strings, becoming men of your own.” He paused, allowing for the gravity of this to sink in. The fear of being untied, too. “Observing you in the Yard and the Orchard. Observing you at mealtime. Reading over your reports and listening to your reactions to the latest Luxley novel. Your opinions are as sophisticated as mine. The thoughts you casually cast aside are as revealing as those you deem important. Your Inspections prove it. Boys! My boys! You are coming into your own!”

A and Z. A and Z. The bookends are what keep the books standing. But the bookends had been taken away.

Richard adjusted the collar of his coat.

“This is how it goes when it goes right, boys.” The boys in black. Some in turtlenecks and slacks, others in blazers and button-downs. But Richard spotted a dot of white. As he spoke, his eyes traveled to the small spot of color: T’s undershirt showing between the buttons of his shirt. Another omen? Like the coincidence of A and Z? “The mind takes its time, in youth, before it starts acting on its own ideas. Can you remember doing everything your brothers did? Do you recall the days when you would invariably spend the night with your floor mates? Almost incapable of taking some time alone, or simply not wanting to? You boys were inseparable. Why, there were times we had to physically pry you apart and place you back in your own rooms. And look at you now! You have individual interests. Individual theories. You’ve discovered the beauty of intellectual property. The gratifying essence, the root of real genius . You know I am right! Just as those early days were important for the bonds that were built and for the confidence you gained in seeing your ideas and actions approved by your brothers, these new days, now, this molting, has a fresh purpose of its own. Today can be considered tomorrow for how quickly you are growing! Your opinions are yours! They are not mine! Do you see? I taught you when you were small. But you are almost as big as I!”

Had he established an undeniable sense of fatherhood? Or were the boys, brighter than any boys in the world, instinctively aware that he was not blood? That he was not genes?

That he was not father ?

“I wish I could reach out to each of you with my mind alone; you’d understand how much I value the time you have before you, you’d see the great open expanse of an infinite Yard that needs great care. For any idea you have in these forthcoming years is worth noting, is worth writing down, is worth talking about with your floor mates or taking a short trip to another floor to partake in discussion with boys you don’t see as often. You might even be inspired to take a longer trip to my very quarters. I cannot stress this point enough, how available I am to you during these years, how interested I am in the smallest thought that may occur to you. Your trivialities are my life’s work.”

Many boys exchanged shocked glances. An invite from D.A.D. to his quarters? This was a big day, indeed.

Richard felt sweat dripping beneath the tank top under his jacket. He relished it. It meant he was working. It meant he was present. It meant he was burning with the things he’d said. Burning in front of the boys.

“You look as though you know what I speak of already. I see some of you are blushing. And do you know why the words I say are sinking in? Do you?” He paused. Tried not to look at the spot of white exposed at T’s chest. Tried not to think of omens. “It’s because what I say is the truth! And every one of you values the truth. A change is upon you! And here, you knew it already. You didn’t need me to tell you that your most recent thoughts are the most fascinating thoughts you’ve ever had. After all, you’re experiencing them on your own.” Then, suddenly, with no segue, “You will find a fresh notebook upon your beds following breakfast. It is blue. I encourage you to write these new thoughts down. The erasers have already been removed from your pens and pencils. I do not want to miss a moment of this, the Recasting Years.” Richard paused. He had them. Rapt. His boys. “Write it all down. Every word. Express your strangest thoughts. Nothing would please your D.A.D. more than to be presented with full blue notebooks, overflowing with your concerns and ambitions, the secrets you keep. Do you understand? I can see by your nodding heads that you do. And so I will leave you with this: Hide nothing. For as your intellects have grown, so has the space in which to hide. From me. From your D.A.D. And who among you would do that? Who here would hide what they know their D.A.D. prizes so deeply?”