Butler, Octavia - Parable of the Sower

“If we survive long enough to grow anything to sell,”

Mora muttered. “If there’s enough water, if the bugs don’t eat our crops, if no one burns us out the way they did those people over the hill, if, if, if!”

Allie sighed. “Shit, it’s if, if, if anywhere you go. This place isn’t so bad.” She was sitting on her sleepsack, holding the sleeping Justin’s head in her lap. As she spoke, she stroked the boy’s hair. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that no matter how tough Allie tried to seem, that little boy was the key to her. Children were the keys to most of the adults present.

“There are no guarantees anywhere,” I agreed. “But if we’re willing to work, our chances are good here.

I’ve got some seed in my pack. We can buy more.

What we have to do at this point is more like gardening than farming. Everything will have to be done by hand— composting, watering, weeding, picking worms or slugs or whatever off the crops and killing them one by one if that’s what it takes. As for water, if our well still has water in it now, in October, I don’t think we have to worry about it going dry on us. Not this year, anyway.”

“And if people threaten us or our crop, we kill them.

That’s all. We kill them, or they kill us. If we work together, we can defend ourselves, and we can protect the kids. A community’s first responsibility is to protect its children— the ones we have now and the ones we will have.”

There was silence for a while, people digesting, perhaps measuring it against what they had to look forward to if they left this place and continued north.

“We should decide,” I said. “We have building and planting to do here. We have to buy more food, more seed and tools.” It was time for directness: “Allie, will you stay?”

She looked across the dead fire at me, stared hard at me as though she hoped to see something on my face that would give her an answer.

“What seed do you have?” she asked.

I drew a deep breath. “Most of it is summer stuff-corn, peppers, sunflowers, eggplant, melons, tomatoes, beans, squash. But I have some winter things; peas, carrots, cabbage, broccoli, winter squash, onions, asparagus, herbs, several kinds of greens… . We can buy more, and we’ve got the stuff left in this garden plus what we can harvest from the local oak, pine, and citrus trees. I brought tree seeds too: more oak, citrus, peach, pear, nectarine, almond, walnut, a few others. They won’t do us any good for a few years, but they’re a hell of an investment in the future.”

“So is a kid,” Allie said. “I didn’t think I would be dumb enough to say this, but yeah, I’ll stay. I want to build something too. I never had a chance to build anything before.”

Allie, and Justin were a yes, then.

“Harry? Zahra?”

“Of course we’re staying,” Zahra said.

Harry frowned. “Wait a minute. We don’t have to.”

“I know. But we are. If we can make a community like Lauren says and not have to hire out to strangers and trust them when they shouldn’t be trusted, then we should do it. If you grew up where I did, you’d know we should.”

“Harry,” I said, “I’ve known you all my life. You’re the closest thing to a brother that I have left. You aren’t really thinking about leaving, are you?” It wasn’t the world’s best argument. He had been both cousin and lover to Joanne, and he’d let her go when he could have gone with her.

“I want something of my own,” he said. “Land, a home, maybe a store or a small farm. Something that’s mine. This land is Bankole’s.”

“Yes,” Bankole said. “And you’ll be getting the use of it rent free— and all the water you need. What are those things going to cost you farther north— if you can get them at all farther north— if you can get yourself out of California.”

“But there’s no work here!”

“Not to work in those places. The women warned me.”

“I’ve heard of places like that,” Bankole said. “They were supposed to provide jobs for that northward-flowing river of people. President Donner’s all for them. The workers are more throwaways than slaves. They breathe toxic fumes or drink contaminated water or get caught in unshielded machinery… . It doesn’t matter. They’re easy to replace— thousands of jobless for every job.”

“Borderworks,” Mora said. “Not all of them are that bad. I heard some pay cash wages, not company script.”

“Is that where you want to go?” I asked. “Or do you want to stay here?”

He looked down at Doe who was still nibbling at a piece of sweet potato. “I want to stay here,” he said, surprising me. “I’m not sure you have a hope in hell of building anything here, but you’re just crazy enough to make it work.” And if it didn’t work, he’d be no worse off than he was when he escaped slavery. He could rob someone and continue his journey north. Or maybe not. I’d been thinking about Mora. He did a lot to keep people away from him-keep them from knowing too much about him, keep them from seeing what he was feeling, or that he was feeling anything— a male sharer, desperate to hide his terrible vulnerability? Sharing would be harder on a man. What would my brothers have been like as sharers? Odd that I hadn’t thought of that before.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” I said. “We need you.” I looked at Travis and Natividad. “We need you guys, too. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“You know we are,” Travis said. “Although I think I agree more than I want to with Mora. I’m not sure we have a prayer of succeeding here.”

“We’ll have whatever we can shape,” I said. And I turned to face Harry. He and Zahra had been whispering together. Now he looked at me.

“Mora’s right,” he said. “You’re nuts.”

I sighed.

“But this is a crazy time,” he continued. “Maybe you’re what the time needs— or what we need. I’ll stay. I may be sorry for it, but I’ll stay.”

Now the decision is acknowledged, and we can stop arguing about it. Tomorrow we’ll begin to prepare a winter garden. Next week, several of us will go into town to buy tools, more seed, supplies. Also, it’s time we began to build a shelter. There are trees enough in the area, and we can dig into the ground and into the hills. Mora says he’s built slave cabins before. Says he’s eager to build something better, something fit for human beings. Besides, this far north and this near the coast, we might get some rain.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 10, 2027

Today we had a funeral for Bankole’s dead— the five people who died in the fire. The cops never came. At last Bankole has decided that they aren’t going to come, and that it’s time his sister and her family had a decent burial. We collected all the bones that we could find, and yesterday, Natividad wrapped them in a shawl that she had knitted years ago. It was the most beautiful thing she owned.

“A thing like that should serve the living,” Bankole said when she offered it.

“You are living,” Natividad said. “I like you. I wish I could have met your sister.”

He looked at her for a while. Then he took the shawl and hugged her. Then, beginning to cry, he went off by himself into the trees, out of our sight. I let him alone for an hour or so, then went after him.

I found him, sitting on a fallen log, wiping his face. I sat with him for some time, saying nothing. After a while, he got up, waited for me to stand, then headed back toward our camp.

“I would like to give them a grove of oak trees,” I said. “Trees are better than stone— life commemorating life.

He glanced back at me. “All right.”

“Bankole?”

He stopped, looked at me with an expression I could not read.