"So what are your political views?" The curly-haired one asks coolly. 

"I like the Classicals myself. They have strong values." The thought-out lie leaves my lips easily. 

"And what are these values that you are so drawn to?" The straight-haired one has a hard edge to her voice. 

"Personal freedom. Individualism. Enterprise. Opportunity." I've heard the Classicals speeches when they came to our village. I hated those speeches but I clearly remember the words they brought up again and again. And so I just repeat them. 

"Do you favour any smaller parties?" The straight-haired one asks. 

"Smaller parties? No. They can't even organize themselves. How would they possibly be able to organize us?" I feign disapproval in my voice. I have to keep my emotions in line with my words after all. At least, outwardly. 

"And what of any new up-and-coming parties?" Her question seems especially pointed. I wonder if she knows more than she's letting on. 

"Up and coming parties?" I ask. 

"Yes. What do you think about the newer parties on the political scene?" 

"What new parties? The newest party is what, ten years old." I answer her question with this. And I hope it's a safe answer. Though I don't know if it is. They're really digging in this direction. 

"Answer honestly." 

What. The fuck. What the fuck. Terror seizes my heart and I feel as if I can't breathe. Do they know I'm lying? They must know I'm lying. How do they know I'm lying? All the scant bits of protection my community had crash down in front of me. 

"What?" Is all I can say. 

"You said you didn't know about new parties. Answer the question honestly." The straight-haired one's voice is laced with dismay. 

"I'm answering as honestly as I know how to," I say, having collected myself a bit more. 

"Okay I'll just get to the point," the straight-haired one states. Her hair is unnaturally straight. There isn't a single wave or curve to it. 

"Yes?" 

"What are your thoughts on Rached Zanviv?"

"Who?" My heart feels as if it's in my throat. Why do they expect me to know about her?

"The up-and-coming politician, Rached Zanviv." The curly-haired one seems a bit impatient. 

"I've never heard about her," I asservate. 

"See, we find that hard to believe," the curly-haired one replies. 

"Why?" It's almost impossible to keep the terror out of my voice. But I manage it. I have to manage it. My whole community depends on me. Depends on this. My whole community of struggling people the whole world over. 

I'm tired of speaking at this point. Tired of the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Tired of the stress. I just want to go home. But I can't. Not now. Not yet. 

"You see, one of our interviewees did know about her," the straight-haired one speaks to me. "One of our interviewees from this village." Her words feel like a heavy stone being dropped on my chest. 

"Who?" I manage to ask, straining desperately to keep my voice even. I don't know how I'm going to salvage this situation. 

"A young Iren McSavee, I'm sure you know about her." The curly one keeps her tone pointedly accusatory. I repress a shudder. 

"Her? Oh yes, I do know her. She always has to know everything about everyone." A lie takes shape in my mind. A lie that can perhaps save the whole charade. 

"Are you friends?" The curly-haired one asks. 

"Friends? No. But she has bugged me from time to time, wanting whatever gossip I could give her. She sure does love gossip. She annoys me. But she definitely has a way of getting anyone to say whatever she wants them to tell her. I try to not pay much attention to her but it's hard not to sometimes."

"Stay on topic, girl," the straight-haired one presses. 

"I'm not a girl. Anyways, I am on topic. Just let me finish. So," I pause a little moment to think. Just the tiniest moment. So small that it's imperceptible. Whatever words I say next will be critically important. Not just for my village but for all the villages all around the country, probably even the world. "Anyways, she gets all the gossip she can from anywhere she can. She gets people to tell her things. Everything, about our lives. 

"She even gets the people who work out in the cities to tell her things. When they're in the village in between jobs. Now who knows what information she got from them? They've been all around the country. Someone surely must know about this lady you are talking to me about. Surely someone must know about her. And if someone knows about her Iren does too."

"And this Iren," the straight-haired one begins cooly, the accusing edge mostly out of her voice, "does she spread the news she's heard to the others?" 

"It depends on what kind of news it is," I reply in fake calmness. "If it's about someone doing something wrong or taboo, then she will definitely tell everyone about it. But if it's not something like that, if it's something that doesn't really interest her, she won't tell most people."

"Does politics interest her?" The curly one asks. Her eyes glint hard in the low light of the van. 

"No, not really. She probably won't go around telling people about politics." 

"Then why would she want to know about it in the first place?" Her words carry a hard shine of accusation that sends chills down to my very bones. 

"She wants to know anything new," I reply. "Anything out of the ordinary. Anything that has the potential to maybe be interesting. Even in the political realm. She loves scandals and whatnot. Maybe she thought there was something cool about this new candidate but when she dug around for more info she found that this wasn't the case."

"You said she likes taboo topics," the straight-haired one starts. "Taboos such as what?" 

"Oh, you know." I keep my voice nonchalant. I dig through the list of fake taboos in my brain. "If anyone's been drinking, if anyone's been stealing, if anyone's been breaking the law. If anyone's been out alone with someone of the opposite gender who they're not related to. If anyone's been cheating on their husband or wife. Stuff like that." 

"I see," the straight one replies. 

Neither of them show any emotion. And I make sure to keep my own emotions closely hidden. I wonder if I've gotten myself out of this hole. If I've gotten us all out of this hole. I silently send a prayer of apology Iren's way, I made her out to be such a gossip. I'm sure she'll understand. 

"One last question," the straight-haired one states with a sort of disinterest. 

"Yes?" I respond, keeping my tone cordial and my eyes at ease. 

"Do you believe you are happy in your life?" 

"Happy? Overall, yes. I am very happy. I've got enough of everything to get by. I'm well respected enough. I have the sun and the sky and the moon and the stars. I do wish I had different people around me but at the end of the day I'm content."

I hope my answer was convincing enough. I hope they didn't catch even a glimpse of the pain and the rage and the hatred and the love that overflows like molten lava out of the volcano of my heart. 

They do not respond. Only write. 

They sit there writing and I sit there praying for what seems to be an eternity. I hope that I haven't messed everything up. I hope that I've been able to closely guard our secrets. To closely guard our power. 

They finally move out of their seats and unlock the van door for me. 

——— 

I emerge into the sunlight of my village. Into the dirt paths that I love and hate both at the same time. Into the brilliant blue of the sky. The brilliant blue that has acted as a backdrop to so much of my life. 

They don't follow me out, and I sigh in relief. Finally, I can breathe again. The hunger and the exhaustion still burns through me but finally I can breathe. Finally I'm returning. I wonder if this is what the people who work in the city feel each time they return to the village. 

Lieffen is there waiting for me at the edge of the block. He's the only one who can be here waiting for me. Anyone else is too risky. His face is drawn with anxiety and concern. There is worry sparkling in his eyes. 

I feel like I'm dying. But I also feel like I'm catching a glimpse of life. I beam at my lawfully-wedded husband - emphasis on the lawfully part - and he beams at me back. 

"How are you, Nanette?" He whisphers to me once we are walking in tandem. 

"Not too well. But relieved that it's finally over." 

"Did it go well?" 

"As well as it could have gone. There were no major problems. Though there is one thing I must discuss with the village."

"Okay. We'll do that then. You were very brave." 

"Thanks." 

People smile at us secretively as we walk by. The whole village vibrates with community. With spirit. 

If you like this piece check out my Mastodon my account is FSairuv@mas.to and I post about human rights, social justice, and the environment.