After my meeting with the councilwoman, Pearl, my next stop was the senior center. My yellow bike stood in brilliant contrast to the wall of red tulips that formed a red cross, signaling that this was a place of healing and care.
I liked teaching my history classes at the senior center because unlike my young students, my old students were very knowledgeable.
Today seven showed up, and they greeted me with love and appreciation when I entered.
“Is it today?” My favorite senior, Marie, asked with a hopeful smile that made the edges of her eyes soften with wrinkles.
“Maybe,” I said teasingly. “But I won’t tell you before you’re all sitting down.”
Marie quickly got her friends to sit down and pay attention, and a pregnant silence filled the room. The seven seniors were giving me their full attention and when I lowered my voice and said, “Today is the day,” excited murmurs broke out among them.
My seniors were no different from my young students. Everyone wanted to hear about the forbidden subject of the Nmen; the men from the Northlands that we weren’t allowed to talk about in public.
“What you’re about to hear today is for educational purposes only. You cannot repeat what is being said in this class, nor can you record it and play it to others. I trust you will treat this information with great care and secrecy,” I said solemnly.
Seven heads nodded back at me.
“As you know, we have about one point five billion people left in this world. We all live in harmony and peace, and our only adversaries are the descendants of the original men who opposed the protective laws of banning men from positions of power. Many of them had strong opinions of women being inferior, and they didn’t agree with the monetary system being replaced by the fairness system or with the council being women only. Ultimately, they gathered up north in what was formerly known as Alaska and Canada, and after thirteen years of their violating every new law and causing trouble, the council finally decided to let them live the way they pleased and built a border to protect us from their violence and hatred.
“Some women who already lived in that region got caught with them, but because there were so few females the men were desperate enough to kidnap women from the Motherlands. The council stopped that with the first peace treaty.
“We refer to them as Nmen, which is short for Men of the Northlands, but we do not speak of them in public. We do not write about them. We do not allow them access to our lands. They are blocked from accessing our Wise-Share network and we only allow men to trade with them. The Northlands are rich in natural resources, and we supply them with fruits, vegetables, medical technology, and specialized knowledge among other things.
“That’s not true,” a lady in the back called Martha who was normally quiet during my classes called out in a raspy voice. “It’s not only men who trade with them. My friend is a trader and she’s a woman.”
“Yes,” I cleared my throat. “I know there are a few women who trade with them, but a permit is only granted to old women who volunteer for the job,” I elaborated.
“That’s right. My friend says it’s only old crones that can trade with the Nmen,” Martha said.
I nodded and looked around and smiled at the sight of the seven old people looking intensely at me.
“Nmen see women as less than men, and if they could have it their way men would still be ruling the world,” I clarified.
A few of the seniors shuddered at the thought.
I brushed my hair back. “I could talk about them for hours but I know what you’re all anxious to see. Pictures, right?”
With a conspiratorial smile, I used my wristband and heard gasps when a picture of two savage-looking men with long beards and bulging muscles appeared above my hand.
Marie leaned closer to see better with her eyes wide open. “Do they all look like that?”
I changed the picture to a close-up of a grave-looking man with a gray beard and a leather tunic.
“It’s hard to say, Marie, since the most recent picture we have is this one and it’s twenty years old. This is the previous ruler – Marcus, who came into power thirty years ago in a bloody coup.”
“How many rulers or kings are there now?” Marie asked.
“Currently only one. His name is Khan Aurelius and he’s the son of this guy, Marcus Aurelius.”
“What happened to him?” Marie pointed at the image of Marcus.
“He died three years ago and then his son took over.”
“Only one man to decide everything?” Maria asked. “Why don’t they have a council like we do?”
“I don’t think they’re very good at making compromises. There have been countless wars for power within the region. In fact, our council has records of a high number of men declaring themselves kings, presidents, emperors, and rulers of the northlands, and often several men at the same time. Most of them didn’t keep their title for long, but the current ruler Khan Aurelius and his father before him have stayed in power for more than thirty years combined.”
“So, there’s no wars now?”
“Not at the moment, and the Northlands are prospering from the peace – which we’re pleased about.”
“Why aren’t there any newer pictures?” Marie asked.
“Because of the law that prohibits anyone from taking pictures of them,” I explained.
Martha lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have some.”
All heads turned to her and then back to me, waiting for my reaction.
“I’m sorry dear, what did you say? You have some what?” I asked to clarify.
“I have pictures of the Nmen,” she said, holding her chin high.
I fiddled with my wristband, unsure how to handle the situation. “That’s brave of you to admit, but surely you understand that you just confessed to a crime,” I finally said.
Martha shrugged. “I’m one hundred and five years old; what are they going to do about it?”
“Show it to us,” Marie encouraged with eagerness, and my curiosity overpowered my duty to prohibit the sharing of unauthorized pictures.
“Only if you all agree to keep it secret,” Martha said.
Promises were given and she came closer, walking stiffly on her old legs and taking her time to work her wristband.
“Oh, this cursed thing – my grandchildren got me a new band five years ago, but I’m still struggling to get it to work.” She was making commands but nothing happened.
“Maybe you didn’t charge it,” a man named Carl suggested.
“It’s charged from movement,” Martha muttered.
“Exactly,” he said with a smug smile.
Martha gave him a dirty look before she started banging on the wristband. “Show me pictures.”
A picture of a small child came up and it made her light up. “Oh dear, that’s Joy when she was a child.” Martha paused to admire the little girl until the man pushed at her hip.
“You said you had a picture of the Nmen.”
“Yes, yes, let’s see.” She focused. “Show pictures from the summer of ’32,” she said and an album came up. “Find pictures from the border.”
I took a step closer when a picture came up.
A man dressed in black leather and fur with a serious scowl on his face was in conversation with an old woman. Five more pictures followed of him and two other men.
“Fascinating,” Marie whispered. “Look at how barbaric they are. Not only do they kill living beings but they wear their skin like a trophy – or is it a warning to others?”
“What do you mean?” I asked greedily staring at the pictures myself.
“Maybe it’s a way to signal that they aren’t afraid to kill, you know, to scare potential attackers off.” Marie elaborated.
“Could be,” I agreed slowly.
There was silence as the pictures flickered from one to another. We were all in this together and collectively knew we were breaking the law by seeing this, but Marie had been right: it was truly fascinating to see something so odd, like discovering a prehistoric primitive tribe.
“I heard they’re cannibals,” someone whispered.
“I heard they keep women chained in cages,” Martha muttered low.
“That’s true, I’ve heard it too,” Carl testified.
“They look huge,” Marie said and I couldn’t decide if it was fear or excitement in her voice.
“Martha, where did you get these pictures?” I asked her.
“I visited a friend close to the border and she brought me along to see them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Her community trade with the Nmen. Since the men aren’t allowed to access our Wise-Share network, communication is limited to traders from both sides who meet to negotiate. Once deals have been made, drones make the deliveries. They get fruits, vegetables, electronics and other things from us and pay us with gemstones, wood, and other natural resources.”
“And you took these pictures?” I asked, having never seen Martha so animated. The woman usually sat motionless in the corner when I taught, but now her eyes were shining as she had our full attention.
“I took the photos secretly, yes. And I wasn’t afraid of the men, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“How could you not be afraid?” a fragile-looking old mouse asked.
“Because I’m too old for them to take an interest in me. My friend is too,” Martha said. “That’s why it’s only men and old crones that are allowed to trade with the Nmen.”
“Did you talk to any of them?”
“No, but I heard them speak and they spoke English like we do, but with an accent.”
“Yes, I could have told you that,” I said, realizing that I was no longer teaching this class, I was being taught; everyone was looking at Martha.
“Weren’t you scared they would kill you?” Carl asked her. “They’re unpredictable and cruel, you know.”
“Tsk,” Martha wrinkled her nose. “Why would they kill an old woman who didn’t pose a threat in any way?”
“You can’t keep the pictures, Martha; if someone finds out you’ll be in big trouble,” I pointed out.
“Why are they anatomically so different from normal men?” Marie interrupted me.
“Well…” I turned to look at the pictures of the large males with their long hair, big beards, and muscled chests and arms. “It’s not that they are anatomically different from our men, it’s just that our men would never be this muscled or be so ungroomed. Nmen look strange to us, since our men take great pride in their appearance and typically have all their facial and body hair removed. In the old days, muscles and beards on men was normal. There was even a time when men were considered physically superior to women because they were bigger and stronger, but these days fit women are often stronger than most men.” I looked to Carl. “Why do you think that is?”
He shrugged. “I suppose modern men wanted to separate themselves from the power-hungry Neanderthals who led us into the toxic war.” The old man was skinny and held a hand to his sunken cheeks. “I had my facial hair permanently removed when I was seventeen, so I never bothered with a beard, and I would have rather died than have bulging muscles like that. They look like gorillas.”
Martha furrowed her brow. “It’s a mystery to me why Nmen would need to grow muscles in this day and age. What’s the purpose of being strong? Don’t they have robots to do the heavy lifting?”
I tilted my head. “As far as we know, they have robots, so maybe their appearance is a fashion statement. It’s hard to say.”
“My friend told me they import lots of sex-bots,” Martha said matter-of-factly.
“Which is good,” I added, “Because remember that the peace treaty was made to stop them from kidnapping women for sexual and procreative purposes. Now we supply them with enough boys to sustain their population but not grow in numbers. We also supply them with sex-bots to satisfy their sexual needs. It’s a good peaceful way to settle things.”
“I delivered a son,” a little fragile woman said suddenly.
We all bowed our heads in respect to her. To voluntarily carry a Nchild was seen as a great sacrifice. We didn’t have soldiers who fought wars, but we honored the peacekeepers who kept us safe from the Nmen by giving birth to boys already destined to go to the Northlands.
“We thank you,” I said and took her hands.
“Can we see the picture of the ruler again?” Marie asked, insensitive to the emotional pain of the other woman. I reminded myself that Marie wasn’t a bad person, she was just slipping back into childhood with her lack of manners and disregard for anyone but herself.
“Of course.”
I showed the picture of the previous ruler Marcus again and didn’t know if I should be amused or shocked that Marie looked almost taken with him.
“He’s got beautiful eyes,” she muttered low enough for only me to hear.
I stared at the picture feeling that same old curiosity that had landed me in trouble a few years back when I’d wanted to explore the rituals of the Mayan Indians, specifically the part about human sacrifice. It wasn’t that I was a disturbed person, fascinated with violence, but more that I wanted to be like my heroes from the past and go on adventures to discover hidden secrets. I had seen old documentaries about archeologists uncovering Viking graves and hidden burial sites of the ancient Egyptians and Mayan Indians. My two favorite heroes were the archeologists from the last millennium whom I had studied and even written my dissertation about. With the content on the old Internet partly lost and partly falsified from cyber-attacks during the war, it was hard to get a clear picture of their lives, but movies had been made to honor their work and I had found video clips that testified to their bravery and adventures. I wanted to be the kind of archeologist that lived in the old days. I wanted to be like my idols Indiana Jones and Lara Croft.