Covington read from a page on her desk. “I believe it was—what is the ultimate goal of the Rebirth?”

Jones nodded. “Yes, Article 3, Section 1 of the Niagara Compromise, justifying the Rebirth. Open your readers. Let’s take a closer look.”

She wrote on the chalkboard in her furious manner. “Having observed the benefits of the Animus Rasa, we establish the annual Rebirth to further American peace and prosperity.” She turned back to us. “Operative words?”

Jetson signaled. “Peace”

She underlined the word peace. “Very good.”

Covington signaled. “Prosperity.”

She underlined that too.

East Keep signaled. “Animus Rasa.”

“Excellent.” She underlined this word twice. “Animus Rasa. What does it mean?”

One of the West Keep twins sat forward, her eyes fixed on Jones’ expression. Watching Jones’ face, we all knew, was the best way to gauge for an unpleasant reaction. West Keep cleared her throat. “In light of our discussion, I suppose it means altering the memories?”

Teacher Jones wrinkled her nose; indicating West Keep’s answer was wrong.

The other twin spoke up, eager to get a good comment in early. “Could it mean something about forgetting your troubles?”

Another nose wrinkle. “Anyone else?”

From my left, the Vine Keeper’s voice. “It means ‘spirit scraping.’”

I shivered. His tone reeked of defiance.

The room fell silent.

Jones shifted her girth, and barked. “What was that?”

The Vine Keeper maintained his tone and volume. “Animus means mind, spirit, consciousness, courage. Rasa means scraped.”

Her gaze fixed on him. Then, suddenly, she smiled, her eyes hard above the balls of her cheeks. “Correct, Master Vine. The bare Latin is as you say. Now, perhaps someone will interpret the phrase for our purpose. Arika?”

I floundered, unprepared. I looked down and grabbed the last note I scribbled. “The section’s operative words are peace and prosperity.”

Jones’ face remained clear, but expectant.

I went on, improvising. “So a scraped spirit, while seemingly harsh, is actually beneficial for the workers.”

To my relief, Jones nodded. “Thank you, Arika. How?” She scanned the room.

Jetson signaled. “How is the scraping beneficial?”

She nodded again.

He continued. “Perhaps the benefit has something to do with the limited nature of their minds. If their minds can only hold so much information, then clearing their memory makes room for more useful ideas.”

“Is that all?” His answer was not satisfactory.

He thought. “Over the years, thousands of memories are lost entirely due to misfire. So, I guess, the pill has the benefit of unsettling any negative memories, along with the good.”

“Yes, yes, go on.” She eyed him, greedily.

“Which means the workers forget things that, perhaps, we don’t want them to recall.”

“Like what?”

Jetson shrugged.

Covington signaled and chose to provide an academic challenge, a wise move as Jones encouraged debate—so long as she had the final say. “Is it even true that the workers’ minds are physically more limited than ours? I thought that hypothesis was unproven.”