About Sisterland Read Online Free PDF Page B

Silence, who was present in every corner. Still, maybe it was for the best. There were days when she didn’t want to think about Silence.
    It was a boon to be allowed to stay by the riverfront, she reminded herself. Constance found it therapeutic to stare into that unhurried mass of water, or pace the riverbank, alert for the swivel of fish. Beloved had urged Sisterlanders to model themselves on the river’s harmonious interaction with the urban environment. “The river doesn’t go through obstacles, it goes round them. It doesn’t crash through barriers, it smooths them away,” she had said, in a landmark speech learned off by heart by every young Sisterlander.
    Once, stately herons were common among the reeds, but no herons had been spotted by the river for decades. It was rare to see any wild birds in Harmony. Sometimes, flocks were sighted in the sky, migrating across Sisterland, and people rushed outside to marvel at them. Nobody knew where they originated, or where they were destined. They never seemed inclined to land. Some sisters kept caged birds, but they didn’t last long – and they never sang.
    Constance stuck her hands in her pockets, resentful at being confronted by two disagreeable prospects at once: moving and mating. She wished she had asked Silence more about mating. Like whether it would make her feel physically sick. That question wasn’t included in the Mating Board’s frequently-asked list. The authorities seemed not to realise that Constance had no-one to discuss this with. Maybe they didn’t care.
    With time on her hands before going to matingplace that night, she decided to pay a visit to her source. She had mated with a man – Constance was the result – and must have some guidance to offer.

    Constance found Devotion 2723 perched on a ladder, attending to her window boxes. They were planted with heathers in muted tones of lavender and coral – she never varied what she grew, and was scrupulous about keeping the soil acidic and taking regular pH readings. Once, Devotion had made a brush from her heather, sweeping out the twoser with it. When Constance had asked why, she had said she had taken an N and a nostalgic memory had been restored to her: her own source sweeping with a heather brush. “Sometimes we don’t know why we do things, but we feel compelled to do them anyway,” Devotion had said.
    Constance remembered those words as she watched Devotion three floors above. She wore a tool-belt round her front, its pockets full of gardening equipment. Constance noticed the innate grace with which her source worked – fingers floating through the air, the way underwater plants waved through the river.
    “Shouldn’t someone hold that ladder?” Constance called out.
    Devotion peered down. “Constance! What a pleasant surprise. I’ve wedged a couple of rocks against the legs – I couldn’t wait for Goodwill to come home.”
    Constance held the ends of the ladder anyway, while Devotion descended.
    “Making time for Togethertime, ladybird?” There was a hint of reproof – Constance’s visits were sporadic.
    Constance ignored it. In greeting, she raised both hands, palms outwards, and Devotion responded by pressing hers against her daughter’s.
    “Shall I help you put away the ladder?”
    “Leave it for now, I’ve more to do later. Come inside for some of my setting-sun wine.”
    Devotion dropped the weeds in her pocket into a mulch bin, and led the way upstairs. Once indoors, both women removed their skins, and siphoned off the moisture on their clothes with a vac-pump. Devotion looked askance at the careless way Constance set aside her skin.
    “Don’t leave your skin on the window-seat, ladybird. You might sit on it. I’ll find a spare container.” She left the room.
    Constance picked up her skin which was made from plant extracts. She knew she was lucky to have it, rather than one of the cheaper, non-organic versions where the weave was visible. But sometimes it felt