Thinking about Dad got me thinking about Moss, the man who had taken me in after he died. I hadn't seen him in so long. I decided to pay him a visit and just deciding it gave me such a feeling of relief that I knew it was a good idea.
17.
On my way to the Green, I was full of doubt. I hadn't spoken to Moss for months. I was afraid he would ask what I had been doing. I rehearsed a few laconic answers; “Cleaning”, “Working with Trash”, that I hoped would stop any further questions.
I got there and he was the first person I saw. He was sitting by himself on a bench. I sat down next to him, wondering how I could have been scared to meet my old friend.
“What do you think of the garden?” he asked.
“Not bad,” I said.
“I was sorry to hear about your books Tag, really I was.”
The word books made me wince.
“Thank you.”
“You remember Fahrenheit 451?” He asked.
I remembered it alright, disintegrating in front of my eyes.
“Yeah.”
“You remember the book people?”
I did, characters who memorised books to stop them being destroyed.
"That's you, man!"
We both laughed. I was starting to feel better. Moss always had that power.
“Let me see your hand,” he said.
I had been hiding the small X with my sleeve. He took my hand and inspected it.
“Hmm, not bad. I guess we all gather a couple of extra marks as we go through life.”
The sun was just setting and the sky was taking on a warm looking red glaze.
“Here, I have something that will cheer you up,” Moss said.
He produced a small red canister with the words “Dr. Pepper” emblazoned on it in suggestive white script.
“I found it behind some paint cans this morning.” He said, grinning.
"By the War, I didn't think there were any left." I said.
“It's your lucky day.”
Moss pulled the tab with a hiss that brought back memories.
I glugged back the drink in one go, almost suffocating.
"Thanks for offering me some, asshole," he said.
"No problem," I said, belching.
Then I did what I always used to do. Placed the can on the ground and stomped it into a flat disc.
I placed the disc between us proudly.
"How's trash detail?" Moss asked.
"Garbage," I said, laughing.
"Yeah yeah. You know, for an archaeologist the trash heap of a culture contains some of their most vital clues. Ever think of that?"
"Nope."
"So what have you learned about the America-that-was?"
“They drank a lot of soda. They liked putting people in prisons, what's there to know?”
He didn't say anything. I felt bad, I knew he was just trying to make me feel better.
“Sorry I haven't visited more often,” I said contritely.
“Too busy feeling sorry for yourself down in your trash heap?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you better catch me while you can. I won't be around forever.”
Moss was one of the oldest prisoners, born right after the mutant attack of ‘52. Getting old was a tricky proposition. If you couldn't work you had no right to food. There was a chance your family would look after you but Moss had never remarried after the death of his wife. A voluntary exit, by way of lethal injection, was his best option.
“You know who else might not be there when you need her?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Don't make her wait. She loves you, but don't test her.”
“I know.”
The million reasons I had for not seeing Sophie melted away and I could see them for the bullshit they were. I wanted to go and see her right then and there but I would have to wait.
"You see that plant over there?" Moss said pointing.
It was a big, primeval fern.
“Are you going to use it as a metaphor?”
“Shut up you might learn something.” he said kindly.
"You can plant it anywhere, forget to water it, doesn't matter, it needs minimal care to survive."
"I see."
"It's unkillable. Now do you see the one next to it?"
It was a small, delicate looking white lily.
"Yeah."
"That one’s different. You water it too much, it dies. You water it too little, it dies. You speak harshly to it, it dies. It's like it wants to die and we have to do everything in our power to stop it. Get the picture?”
“Uh-huh”
“Now can you guess which one you are?”
“The tough one?”
He shook his head.
"No, Son, you're that little white pussy there."
I laughed.
“Now if you look after that little flower, treat it right, you get something very beautiful. It's worth the effort. You look after yourself, Tag and if you can't then let us help you.”
“Okay,” I said, tearing up.
"Go see Sophie. Oh and tell me what archaeological finds you come across in your dig Tomorrow."
"I will, thanks, Moss."
"You're welcome."
It was dark in the Green. Moss went back to his cell and I did the same.
18.
In the visitor room, Sophie stared at me from behind the plexiglass.
"Don't ever do that to me again," she said fiercely.
Sophie had been in the dark about what happened to me. There were rumours in G wing that I had died in the cage. Her sisters thought that kinder than telling her I was a Trasher.
"I don't care if your job is scraping shit off the Chief's shoe,” she said, “I'm just glad you're alive."
I didn't tell her what had happened in the Boneyard. I told myself it was to protect her but really it was to protect myself. She was my only hope for a better future. A happy life. I couldn't lose that.
"What will you give me when we get engaged, a plastic ring from a milk carton?" she asked.
It was traditional for a Prisoner to give something they had worked on, the only time such a thing was allowed. Some of the Trashers had found pretty nice things for their betrothed.
"No, something better."
The rest of the hour we spent doing our silly face game. We tried to outdo each other with who could make the most bizarre face. Sophie always won. I badly hurt the muscles in my face but she had one that looked like a constipated Gargoyle that was the clear winner. I laughed so hard that I forgot about my betrayal for an instant.
"Goodbye, sweet man."
"Goodbye."
~
I was sifting through the trash that evening when I decided to take Moss’s advice and keep my eyes peeled for anything interesting.
Sure enough I did found something, glistening away in the middle of a ball of newspaper. It was a ring, it had a heart-shaped red gem, set into a gold band with what looked like four little gold arms holding it.
Perfect for a proposal, I thought, and shoved it quickly in my pocket before going back to work.
19.
I was in Yard D. I had finally made good on the offer to train with the Defense. Meeting with Moss and Sophie had given me the feeling that I could do anything and I didn't want to waste it. The trainer, John, was demonstrating his Aikido moves on the other men. The men came at him, he moved like living smoke and then they were on the ground, staring at the sky. It was something to watch.
They all bowed and then broke up into pairs to practice the moves they had been shown while the sensei walked around giving them guidance. Steeling myself, I walked over to the teacher, making sure to approach him from the front. Despite his fearsome combat skills he had a kind look. He shook my hand warmly.
"I'm glad you're here, Tag,” he said, “we have odd numbers so we could really use you."
"Thank you," I said, surprised to be welcomed so easily.
"You'l
l spar with Mark."
He pointed to a friendly looking man whose uniform was open at the neck. Mark bowed gently and I did the same. He wasted no time in flipping me over. The ground was made of a semi-spongy material but it was still a massive shock every time I hit the ground.
I wasn't used to being this close to another man, grabbing hold of his sweaty, hairy arms made me uncomfortable. The hardest part was concentrating. I would get distracted by what joke I was going to make next and forget the movements. John took me aside.
“Tag, you’re putting up too much resistance,” he said kindly, “be like the reed that bends with the wind.”
I went back to the exercises and this time just went with the flow of the movements. To my surprise, it worked and the moves came much easier.
Aikido is about using your attacker's strength against him. In theory a little old lady could take out a juggernaut. If our enemies really were super strong then we could use something like that up our sleeve.
In the old days the philosophy had been: make a shank and then see how many times you could stab the other guy in a minute. John was still trying to convince the Board of the usefulness of other methods.
We changed partners a few times and I was impressed with how patient everyone was with me. One guy, Barry, got on my nerves. He was huge and fit to a tee the stereotypical image I had of a Defender.
“You're Tag, right? The psycho!”
“That's me,” I said, forbearingly.
“Hey come on, we need that psycho style!”
There was a time something like that would have really pissed me off but I could see he didn't mean anything by it. What was the point of getting pissed off anyway? I was enjoying myself.
In the middle of sparring I glanced up and saw that Paul was watching us from his tower. I gave him a hasty salute and he smiled back. As I was being flipped through the air I felt happy. Paul and I hadn't spoken for months and I had privately accepted that our friendship was over. Now I could see it would just take a little effort.
The class ended and I couldn't wait to go back again the next day.
20.
That night I had a dream. A woman came for me over the wall while everyone was asleep. She had raven black hair and smelled like Earth. She lowered a rope as fine as a spider’s web over the wall and I climbed over it to freedom.
Out in the desert I met her clan. They slept in tents made from the skin of creatures that swam under the sand. If they sensed the slightest step they would strike you dead. There was one woman who didn't fear them. A tall hunter with red hair. She could stay in the same spot for days, without moving or breathing, waiting for them to appear so she could kill them with her spear.
One night he lay in my tent with the heat sickness. I was so thirsty but I didn't have the will to get up and find water. The black-haired woman came into my tent and offered me a canteen and I drank long and hard of the sweet water.
I woke up, the sweat on my body cold. There was something about water and a nice feeling. I tried to hold on to it but it didn't belong in this world and faded away. It was early so I dressed and waited impatiently for Morning.
21.
It was April 18th, My Birthday. Birthdays were always a good opportunity to think about everything that had gone wrong in my life. For example: I was 21, most people my age were already married.
I thought about the only Birthday I had enjoyed. I was 16 and at the time there was a tradition of giving 16 punches to the Birthday Boy. By the end of the day my arm was dead. I didn't mind. It was fun. Now the only thing that could be celebrated was contributing to the Effort. Everything else, everything normal and human, was slowly being eradicated.
I went up to the food counter in the Morning and was handed a secretive brown package along with my slop. Sitting down to open it I found a big brown muffin. Sophie. I couldn't believe it. She could get in real trouble for something like that. I ate it before anyone could notice.
~
Given a mood boost by Sophie's cake I resolved to pay Paul a visit. It would give our friendship a boost as well. I used my remaining cigarettes to bribe one of the Trustys and made sure I picked a time when I knew Barton wasn't patrolling.
~
Paul filled me in on all his news.
“I've put in a request for a transfer,” he said.
“To where?”
“Trustys.”
“Moving down in the world, huh?”
He gave me a birthday present too. It was one of my own books that Paul had discovered while cleaning. I ran my hands over the cover. Inverted World by Christopher Priest. I hadn't read it in years. It was a far out tale about a city on rails. I went back to my cell and read it until the sun went down. It was so long since I read it that I forgot how it ended.
22.
I was sitting in Assembly, feeling better than I had in years. I never missed my session with the Defense and John had told me “Your Aikido is good” which left me floating for days. I was even enjoying my work with the Trashers. Once I got used to the men they weren't so bad.
I got to know John a little better. He confessed he was a secret reader and was fascinated with books about Japan. He lent me one about Aikido called Angry White Pyjamas that was really funny.
I had an unfamiliar charged up feeling, an excitement about what could happen in life. It made a nice change from my usual low-level dread. Life had been a long slow slog through a long dark sewer but now there was laughter up ahead.
Carried away with my own thoughts I only caught the end of the Chief's announcement:
"...it has come to the attention of the board that some Prisoners have been going outside their areas and involving themselves in the work of other Details."
Well, shit on a stick, I thought.
"I would like to be the first to commend these Individuals. We should all be prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty. Always Ready!"
"Always Ready!" we answered in unison.
I stood still while the Assembly broke up around me. I had received a commendation. Informal yes and not mentioning me by name but it was definitely me. I would have to tell Sophie about this. I skipped back to my cell. Life had never been so good. I should have known something terrible was going to happen.
23.
Not everyone approved of my extra-curricular activity of course. Barton, obviously hoping for a few brownie points himself had asked John could he join in the sparring. John being a good kind of guy said yes.
We both showed up for the same session. It was obvious he still hated me. He’d done his best to convince everyone I was crazy and here I was training like nothing had happened. It disturbed him deeply.
When the training was over I bowed to John and went to change. Barton waited till John was out of earshot before he started ranting.
"What is this pussy shit? Aikido? Do they teach you how to make a sushi roll while they're at it?"
"Aikido is a noble art, my friend," I said equanimously.
"Smartass. You think you're hot shit just because the Board gave you a pat on the back."
"What do you want, Barton?" I asked angrily.
"You and me have unfinished business. I want a rematch."
I should have just walked away. Had a quiet life. But who wants that?
"What kind of rematch?" I asked.
"Old school Prison, not this Taekwondo shit. Shanks, first blood wins."
Did he not remember our fight? He was the one who was screaming for it to end. The problem was the minute he asked me I knew how to win. I was doing so well at life and I thought I could do more. Being greedy always gets you in trouble.
"Sure, I said, what time?"
24.
The fight was set for noon. Barton was there before everyone else, strutting around topless. All the better to show off the Trusty's star above his right peck. He was repeating a mantra: "I am an invincible warrior." He was a joke but he didn't know it. People were sitting crosslegged around the circl
e with food in their laps. They had sacrificed their lunch to see this, they remembered my antics five years ago and were hoping for a sequel.
I went through the motions of stretching and twisting, preparing my body. But the real preparation had already gone on in my head. The Ref signalled for us both to step into the centre of the ring, putting me eyeball to eyeball with the man who hated my guts.
"I've been preparing for this fight for 5 years," Barton said.
Poor guy, I thought, you've been preparing to lose.
The Ref handed out the shanks, mine was an ugly one made out of melted plastic, it would do.
“No groin attacks. No eye gouging, fish hooking....”
I wasn't listening, just going over the plan.
“...or joint manipulation. No chokes lasting more than 30 seconds. First fighter to draw blood wins. Ready?”
“Yes!” we both shouted.
“Fight!”
He had barely finished saying the “t” in “fight” when I tumbled backwards, took aim and flung my knife like a shuriken. Barton was entering a fighting stance when the shank hit him just above the belly button. His hand went to cover the area, a look of confusion on his face. The shank clattered onto the dusty ground.
“Remove your hand, Prisoner!”
There was a tiny wound, about the size of a paper cut, welling up with blood. The Ref held up my arm in victory. The crowd applauded although it was clear that once again I had robbed them of any real satisfaction. They hadn't even had time to unpack their food.
It was so easy, I hadn’t even used my Aikido.
"What happened?" Barton asked, rubbing the scar as if he hoped to erase it.
Once more the ring had been a place to demonstrate my genius. Prisoners came up to slap my back and congratulate me. No one paid attention to Barton. I didn't take my eyes off him. There was a good chance he would still try to stab me to death. I had taken everything from him. I knew his only way back would be to destroy me.
~
Word got back to the Board about how I had handled myself in the fight. It seemed they liked the idea of a smart fighter who could outwit the enemy. I received another commendation, this time mentioning me by name. It was pratically assured that I’d get my Stripe now. It was time.
The Earth is My Prison Page 5
