Dust of Eden by Thomas Sullivan Page A

more or less the way she was just before she died. Infirmities made her a better person, don’t you think?"
    "Yes, I do. I really do. We all know that. Ruta probably knows it too—deep down."
    "So I’ll ask you again. Why are all of you afraid of me?"
    "No one's afraid. They're all . . . grateful."
    "Grateful?" The word came out with clinical precision. “How did we get from afraid to grateful?
    "Ariel, you're mixing me up! What if we are a little afraid? You've given so much back to us . . . it's natural to be afraid of losing it. You can understand that."
    "Then"—Ariel cupped her chin in her white fist, pretending to ponder—"they think I might take that away?"
    "I don't know."
    "What about you? Do you think I might take it away?"
    "Don't do this to me, Ariel. Haven't I been loyal? I'll do whatever --"
    "Stop!" Ariel’s white hand flashed in a gesture of restraint. "Not another word. I don't like playing God, Molly, but I had to decide. I had to re-create you. I did what I thought was best. Do you think I want to make a mess of my life a second time? Whatever you did to me—whatever all of you did—each of you has a second chance now. I have a second chance. That's why I need you to be honest with me, and to tell me what each of you needs, what you want, and what . . . you're thinking."
    "I have."
    "But you say Ruta is jealous, and I didn't know that. What exactly makes you think that?"
    â€œOh, it’s silly, really. She complains about her looks, and I think she wants her megavitamins and herbs. Nothing is directed toward you personally."
    "I can do better than her pills with my paintbrush, if she earns it. What else?"
    "Nothing else."
    "Surely someone wants something?"
    "Another television set, maybe. The men don't like soaps."
    "I'll think about it."
    ". . . And . . . and phone calls would be nice."
    The hawkish gray head shakes adamantly. “You know we can't contact anyone—people who would know, people who were at your funerals!"
    "You asked. I'm just being honest."
    "Be honest."
    "Naturally, everyone wants to learn about their families—you can understand that. The Seppanens both passed over ten years ago, and now that they’re back they want to hear all the things that must have happened to their grandchildren."
    "No one can go back to their families."
    "They know that."
    "It would jeopardize everything, create a sensation. Who in the outside world wouldn’t scheme to live forever or become young again? And given that the resources are limited, that could become very ugly very quickly. We'd be targeted and dragged on stage, and . . . and I don't know what would happen then, but it would all be over."
    "Over?"
    "Over. Finis. Kaput. What did you think I meant?"
    "I didn’t know."
    "We couldn't hold up to scrutiny. Quickly or slowly it would end for our little family."
    "We don't want it to end, Ariel."
    "Then keep me informed, Molly. It’s one thing to miss one’s grandchildren, but I need to know if anyone starts talking foolishly."
    "None of them want to go back to where they were before you brought them here."
    Ariel leaned forward very slightly. "And where was that?"
    A look of weary dread sprang into the plump woman's eyes. "I – I can’t describe it."
    "Evidently everyone was aware of their surroundings. Was it good, was it bad? Heaven or hell, Molly?"
    "Please, Ariel . . ."
    Ariel’s right palm flashed up again. "It couldn’t have been heaven, because then you wouldn't be afraid of going back. And if it was just nothingness, you wouldn’t be afraid of that either." She turned her left palm up. “So, is there a hell, Molly?”
    Molly’s fleshy cheeks fluctuated like small bellows but nothing came out.
    "Maybe it will clarify for you after a while, Molly. Then you can tell me. I’m depending on you. That’s why I’ve given you . . . responsibilities. And rewards.   Speaking of which, is there