Lulu stood at the window of the spacecraft, gazing out at the marvelous world which had just unraveled before her eyes. She was given the sudden, fleeting impression that she was looking at a painting, only she'd never seen art take form on a canvas quite so vast. To think that Lulu would be landing there in two days' time, on that strange blue and green planet in front of her which was rumored to inhabit human beings outside of Premus . . . She could hardly believe any of it, could hardly even believe she'd crossed the whole universe with her father just for this opportunity—
"Darling, can you come down for a minute?"
I was startled back into reality. It was Mother's voice, calling from two floors below but as loud and clear as it would have been if she'd spoken standing right next to me. I paused for a moment before turning back to the book I had been reading, choosing to assume that of her two daughters, Mother was calling not for my help but for the help of her eldest, my older sister Lia.
It had been a particularly quiet Onesday. I had been lying on my stomach in bed all day, propped up on my elbows as I made my way through the irresistible stack of new books I'd picked up that morning while running errands. They now lay in a heap on my bedside table, each waiting for its turn. Such rare mornings of privacy and leisure hardly ever found its place into my typical five-day week, and so as much as I was willing to assist my mother normally—given that it was me she was calling for—today I wasn't as eager. Turning back to the book in my hands, I scanned the page with my eyes and found the line where I'd left off.
Lulu imagined her mother at home in Chronicles, who would probably be waiting with both anticipation and anxiety for their return. The thought of arriving back in Premus, ready with fascinating stories about the blue and green planet—or as everyone back home called it, Finis—was nearly enough to make Lulu forget about the guilt about having to leave her mother behind. But guilt put aside, there were still lots of things on her mind, worries that hadn't simply subsided with the mere arrival of her curiosity.
"Darling!" came Mother's voice again.
I suppressed a groan and closed my book, knowing there was no denying that she was calling me. Lia, the obedient and dutiful daughter she was, would have already been downstairs by this time had it been she Mother was asking for. What exactly were the matters and worries on Lulu's mind, I would have to wait till later to learn. I got up and walked to the end of my attic bedroom, where an open doorway stood waiting to admit me.
"Sweetie, did you hear me? Sweetheart—darling—oh goodness, this is getting repetitive. Darling, we're in the kitchen, Lia and I. Come down!"
"On my way," I yelled down the ladder. As I descended, the voices of my sister and mother conversing downstairs grew more and more distinct, so that I could recognize instantly what the topic of their little argument was about: me.
"Honestly, Mother," said Lia's voice, "seeing how she's not getting used to responding to such vague terms, I really think it would be better if you found a specific name to use."
"Well, she doesn't seem to want it," said Mother with a sigh. "I'm not forcing her to do anything she doesn't want to, this included."
"I'm telling you, a nickname would be best, like the one I use to call her. . . ."
"'Cricket' is not a proper name for a human child, Lia!" said Mother indignantly.
I started down the last flight of rickety steps, snorting with silent laughter, just in time to hear my sister reply, "She's not a child. And besides, it's affectionate, Mother. As long as she doesn't mind being called by it, there's no problem, is there?"
"Of course not," I said as I strode into the kitchen, stepping from the swept wooden floors onto clean kitchen tile. Instantly their voices ceased.
Feeling the weight of their eyes, I looked up and glanced back and forth between the two disputants. One, my mother, was tall and lean, with graceful features resembling a swan's and a face that would have radiated beauty and youth had it not been for the lines, wrinkles, and grimaces of disapproval which had so often dug thin cracks into her clear skin. The other, standing next to her, was my sister; with an alluring beauty that could be recognized even in the dark and a soft and gentle approach to everything, she and I had been born with complete opposite personalities and appearances. Lia had inherited Mother's good looks, and I many of Mother's characteristics, such as her determination, her passion, and, of course, her obstinacy.
"Having the same classic debate over my name again?" I said with a smile. It was an argument that happened often in our house.
"Darling," said Mother, looking at me, "you're sure you don't . . .?"
"No," I said, more sharply than I intended. "Mother, we've been over this."
She nodded absentmindedly, like she hadn't been expecting anything anyway, and murmured faintly, "Yes, yes, I just thought . . . since you're turning fifteen this year . . ."
A beat of silence passed.
"You called for me," I reminded Mother.
This got her attention.
"Yes, I did, and several times. What kept you?"
I shifted uncomfortably. For a second the answer "I didn't know it was me you were calling" formed on my tongue, but then I thought better of it and replied simply, "I was reading."
"Not 'Lulu' again?" said Lia, raising her eyebrows.
My cheeks warmed as I offered her a slightly bashful smile.
"Maybe you think I spend too much time reading unnecessary things," I said breathlessly, "but it's not nonsense at all. Besides, you know how much I'm interested in astronomy, and the stars, and—and the universe, all of it." By the returned smile on Lia's face, I knew she was marveling at the excitement shining in my eyes as I spoke. "Really, Mother, it's absolutely wonderful," I continued, turning to my next target. "It's about a girl my age who travels across the universe with her father—she's from Chronicles too. And oh, it's so breathtaking, Mother, the descriptions and everything. It's as though the author traveled to Finis herself."
"Finis?" said Mother. "Not the planet?"
I watched my sister and mother exchange looks.
"I know what you're thinking," I said quickly, regretting saying anything.
Finis, the blue-green planet described in the tale of the girl named Lulu, was an unknown planet located across the universe from Premus that astronomers and scientists from our side had been observing from afar for decades. Our lack of information on the planet's features and forms of life had given Finis its name, which meant "undefined" in our language.
"Darling, the information in that book will most likely be incorrect," said Mother. "No one in Chronicles has yet traveled out of Premus yet, let alone to another galaxy."
"You never know," I argued. "Lots of people are fashioning and building their own spacecrafts these days. It's almost the trend, actually, since there are plenty of our citizens qualified enough to make functioning space vehicles. One of them could have launched without the government knowing—it's not impossible."
"Gosh, I'd like to see who tries to do that right under the dictator's nose," said Mother. "Even international travel is banned at this point; what's there to say that someone will find a way to travel outside the planet?"
"Our people are smart," I said hopefully. "They'll find a way, if they haven't already."
"Enough talk," said Mother, who had already turned back to her work in the kitchen. "I didn't call you down to hear about your thoughts on space travel. There's an errand I want you to run." She took a large glass jar from the countertop and pressed it into my waiting hands. "Go catch some glowphids for me. There should be plenty at this hour."
My mouth opened in protest.
"But I was reading. . . ."
"I heard, and I won't stop you, but the glowphids come first, then dinner," said Mother, wiping her hands on her apron. "Go on."
I looked toward my sister for help, but Lia simply gave a weak shrug and looked away. I shot her an angry glare.
"Mother," I whined.
"Do I really need to explain this to you?" Mother gave a sigh. "I need some light to make our supper, I can't read the labels on the bottles otherwise. And I have some cleaning I need to finish, so no, it can't be me. Hurry and get going."
"Didn't I just go out to catch glowphids yesterday?" I mumbled.
"Well, I woke up this morning and they were dead! I wouldn't send you out for them if we still had a supply, you know."
"What in the filthy, horrendous name of Drew Erebus—"
It was always nice to use the dictator's name as a curse when I was annoyed. Sure enough, Mother cast me a dark look, so I proceeded to changing the subject.
"I—" What to say, what to say?
"What kind of glowphids die out so quickly?" I said at last, and could hear the stupidity in my voice with each syllable.
"Why don't you go and trap some of their friends in the forest? They might be able to tell you the answer," said Mother, her nostrils flaring.
I stood, rocking on my feet and chewing the inside of my cheek as I thought of what to say next. Mother had already turned to the broom propped against the fridge door and was sweeping the floor. Lia glanced between us, no doubt questioning how a simple topic of glowphids could turn the atmosphere so icy.
"I don't need any more than two or three," Mother said, indirectly addressing me. "Just a few will suffice. Please, don't make me tell you twice," she added, as I didn't move.
But I hadn't given up yet. I'd try a little more and if that didn't work, stop pushing it then.
"Can't I just read the bottle labels for you?"
"Darling."
The way she was made to use such an affectionate term with frustration in her tone gave me some guilty amusement.
"Oh, Mother, why can't I? I have much better eyesight than you, I can read just fine in the dark," I protested.
"Cricket, just drop it," Lia said quietly.
"Or—or—" I turned toward my sister, just reminded of her presence. "You know, Lia can go instead of me. . . ."
Mother's eyes flashed. Lia blinked, surprised, then bit her lip as the words sank in. I looked at the two of them, my mouth open in what I knew was a mortified expression. Inwardly I cursed myself, my lips for opening at all, my tongue for forming the words.
"Sorry, Lia." I said this very quietly. "Is it bad today?"
"It's fine, Cricket," she said gently, but by the way she was leaning hard onto her good foot, I knew I had caught her on one of her more painful days. "Just go and get the glowphids. We'll be getting ready for dinner," Lia said.
I nodded, grateful to have an excuse to leave. Shooting a frightened glance toward Mother, whose eyes were closed in exasperation, I snatched up the glass jar and hurried out the door, slamming it behind me and stepping out into the frigid, bitter air.
･･･⛧･･･
Not every Specter in Chronicles was nameless, like me. Most families named their second and third and fourth children anyway, even whilst knowing they wouldn't be able to get it officially registered. For a time, I'd had a name of my own, too: Adeline, the name of my late paternal grandmother, whom I was said to have taken after in many aspects. But no sooner had I accepted this name than I rejected it. Unable to stand the inconsistency of the vowel and consonant sounds, I'd begun to demand being named again. And again. And again. The names and identities I'd collected over the past years were endless. From names that took after a relative's to names that rhymed with my older sister's, I thought it was pretty safe to say that there was no name that I hadn't tried.
But each time a switch happened, I was made to let go of whatever name I'd chosen shortly after, knowing that although I had nothing against it, the word just did not define me. I couldn't find that so-called connection with anything I tried out. Others fit their names and meanings perfectly; why couldn't I?
By the time I was ten, I'd stopped naming myself, and switching those names, altogether. Naturally, I had grown tired of having to replace and choose so many names for myself. It seemed like a much better option to remain unnamed—and so I refused to be called anything.
Mother, it turned out, objected more to my decision than I expected. She constantly bombarded me with name suggestions, urging me to select one quickly. But when it became clear that I wasn't in a rush, she quickly overcame her disappointment and moved on to coming up with terms I would be able to recognize, like "daughter" and "darling." Lia had long ago decided that "sister" was too formal, and instead had taken to affectionate nicknames like "Cricket," given to me for my tiny, bony figure and the way I seemed to chirp when I spoke.
One day, I knew, a perfect name would come to me. What I needed was time.
And until the right moment came, I would just remain nameless, undecided, biding my time without a care in the world, completely and utterly, as I liked to think of it, free.