The Hierarchies: A Novel by Ros Anderson

Author:Ros Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dutton
Published: 2020-08-24T23:00:00+00:00

BIRDS

Another nice time of day in Golden Valley is the early morning, when droids come to clean our rooms and all activity stops for an hour. This is when the bird couriers make their deliveries. For that hour, a change comes over the Valley. The exertions of our work pause, replaced by the soothing hum of the drones. Dolls sit on their windowsills or on the little makeshift balconies that past craftsmen rigged up. Arms dangle over sills, soaking in a little more sun, giving us all a pep, like a morning coffee. We wave, chat to the Doll above or below us. Sometimes Magg.ie will sing. And this is when the birds come.

You see them balanced on the wires above the roofs, gathering, waiting, folded paper clasped in their beaks. The bird that has a note for you will hover at your window, waiting for you to put out an arm for them to land upon.

They bring notes, letters, and—this is banned, strictly, but who can stop it?—money and gifts. From love-struck clients or lonely men who only frequent the bars and are trying to muster their courage to come upstairs. Sometimes no bird will come for you; sometimes a flock waits outside your window. I have seen Cook.ie, radiant as Snow White, chirruping back to a whole line of them arrayed along her outstretched arm.

I myself receive cards regularly. I have one client with whom I am playing a very slow game of chess, via notes stating our next moves, sent every few days or so. He calls me Deep Blue, the White Queen. He signs himself “A Loyal Knight.” I scent my notes with Doll lubricant, include strands of my hair.

Not all the notes are pleasant, of course. One writes regularly of his desire to pump me full of concrete till it spurts from my ears and spews from my mouth. His naivety about the structure of my interior amuses me, because of course my vagina goes nowhere, connects to nothing.

And some come from embittered women, either who object to us on principle or whose Husbands have strayed to us once too often. One called me a titted toaster. “You’ve made the one thing I had worthless,” it said. I tried not to take it personally. I can understand how, raging against an unfaithful Husband, one Doll could be made to stand in for them all.

And yet that is not the full story. Just a few weeks ago at recharge hour a Doll called Mais.ie showed us all a letter she had had from the wife of a client, thanking her for her services. “I was so sad for so long,” the wife wrote, “and no use to him that way while I was. I was glad to know he had somewhere safe to go, while he waited for me to come back to him.” I thought about the First Lady after reading that letter. Pictured how she too had once regarded me as something safe for her Husband while she was with the baby.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.