Dreadful Young Ladies and Other Stories by Kelly Barnhill

Author:Kelly Barnhill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2018-01-02T20:21:12+00:00

1. Now.

The Vox sputters to life, on schedule, at four a.m.

Even the chickens are asleep.

“CITIZENS!” it shouts. “ROUSE YOURSELVES! THROW OFF YOUR BEDCLOTHES! PREPARE FOR A MESSAGE FROM THE MINISTER HIMSELF. TODAY, BELOVED CITIZENS, IS A GLORIOUS ONE! RUB YOUR EYES! CLEAR YOUR THROATS! THE ANTHEM IS AT HAND!”

Every citizen has a Vox. It’s the law. Everyone knows the schedule by heart. Still, the jangly arrival of the announcer’s voice is a jolt in the nationwide quiet. In households across the country, traitorous pillows cover otherwise patriotic ears. And in the darkness, thousands of children feel their inconstant eyes well up, mourning the loss of yet another night’s rest.

The junk man’s daughter stares up at the scattered stars, the harsh glint of planets cutting into the black. The hay under her back has clumped and matted over the course of the night, and everything is damp. Her father—well, her foster-father—is lying on top of the heap of gathered treasures, head below hips, arms splayed over cracked urns and dead radios, skinny legs hanging over the side in unlikely angles. He snores prodigiously, and even from where she lies a few yards off she can smell the decaying drunkenness; her eyes burn from the alcoholic cloud emanating from his mouth and off-gassing from his skin.

He calls it whiskey, but it is not whiskey. It is a homemade alcohol that he brews in a boot and distills in small batches in a miniature coil that he designed himself.

His daughter is amazed that he hasn’t gone blind. Or blown his hands off. She knows that it has something to do with the unintentional protection that she affords him simply by existing.

What will happen to him if she is discovered? How will he survive without her? Who will take care of him if she is gone?

(Not if, her heart knows. When.)

The junk man groans in his cart.

“Did you say something, my Sparrow?” he slurs.

“No, Papa,” she says. “Go back to sleep.” By the time she finishes the word papa, he is already snoring. Still she says it. “Papa.” Her voice is like the clasp of fingers curling around a living heart and holding on for dear life. He has been her papa since she opened her eyes for the second time, fifteen years ago. But will he even remember her when she is gone? She doesn’t even know.

The anthem blares—a long, plodding, minor-key affair, like a funeral dirge. It is sung this time by two old men, their voices tired and sagging.

Former generals, the girl knows without trying. And today is their last day.

Being a general is a risky business, after all. Little failures are more likely to catch the Minister’s eye, and no one wants to catch the Minister’s eye. Not if he wants to keep his own head. The two men heave a great sigh the moment the song ends. One begins to sob.

“DO YOU SEE, BELOVED CITIZENS, HOW PATRIOTISM STIRS THE HEARTS OF EVEN THE MOST HARDENED OF MEN? LET US

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