CHAPTER 10
Ever since Josiah’s world expanded and ever since he had traveled to the Historian, he yearned to know what was hidden. He had been to each level of the world except one. He passed by that heavy steel door with every visit to his mentor. Level A.
Perhaps this place held more secrets, he thought. Perhaps more answers. Josiah, at the usual time safe from guards and watching eyes, traveled under the floors of the population, further and further away from the Captain. He turned through the many halls. The path had become natural to him. He came to the staircase and opened the door after inputting the code. A green light flashed, and a high beep sounded. He walked through the heavy door once again, and the staircase lay before him. He took each stair with ease, but instead of hurrying along to the Historian like he had always done before, he found himself still before the heavy door of the first level under. He stopped at Level A.
It was a risk. The steel door had the very same keypad that required a code for entrance. But what if it did not have the same code? He could only guess what would happen if it was the wrong code. He had always been extremely cautious when typing in the numbers. Very carefully. If he was wrong, maybe an alarm would sound. If the alarm was set off, then he would be found! What would they do to him if they found him in a place that no one should know even existed? Would they do to him as they did to the Historian, isolate him because he knew of something that could not be revealed? Would he forever be alone? Was opening the door worth the risk?
1-4-5-2-5. Green light. High beep. Click.
He pushed the door open slowly and cautiously. The last level of his world had been revealed.
It opened to a barren hallway, only this was much different than the hallways of Level B. It was lined with heavier steel doors, each staggered as to prevent one from facing another. He walked slowly, carefully placing each step to fall softly on the floor. Although he had looked and listened for signs of guards and found none, he was still paranoid at the thought of being caught.
He passed by each door and pulled each handle only to find that not a single one budged. However, every one of the heavy metal doors had a small window, high for Josiah, but level with an average man’s view. And every door had a slot near the bottom. He reached his hand to the slot and gave a small push. Nothing gave. Locked as well. Perhaps it was nothing. But it seemed that everything was different, everything opened to something else, and everything held a secret. The only way to find out was to look through. If any grown man could look into the window, it must not be a secret after all. So there shouldn’t be any harm for him to look. The boy tried to jump to see if he could catch a glimpse into the window, but it was too high. After looking around and walking down the hallway, he came to an intersecting hall which led to a desk and chair. He felt an uneasiness as he approached, continually looking behind him. All he wanted was to take the chair.
Upon reaching the desk, he noticed some neatly organized papers sitting on top. At a quick glance he saw that the papers contained photographs of people, though he recognized none. However, he cared more for the secrets behind the door than on top of the desk. He grabbed the chair by its back and lifted, but it was much heavier than the boy anticipated. He heaved it and carried it as far as he could, shuffling his feet into a quick jog before he dropped it. He wasn’t even sure why he was carrying the chair to the particular door that first caught his attention. There were other doors right beside him, but he kept going. The boy’s arms tired quickly, and he took to dragging the chair. It made such an awful screech that he immediately stopped. Had anybody heard? He looked around, trotted to the nearest hall intersection, peeked around. Nobody. Always nobody, the boy told himself. Never anybody. Just do it, he thought. A long, unbroken screech followed as he drug the chair. He didn’t bother to look around, but his footsteps quickened, and he hurriedly reached the strange door he longed to look into. He placed the chair and climbed up. As he was standing on the chair, he gave a quick glance around, then looked through the window.
A face stared back!
He lost his breath. He toppled back off of the chair, onto his back, the chair crashing down as he did. He only expected some thing, but there was no some thing. There was a some one! A someone in a small locked room! His head was spinning as he looked up from his back. He scampered up to his feet and ran, leaving the chair on its side at the bottom of the door. He ran down the hall, through the staircase door, and to the Historian. Despite only seeing the face for a quick instance, he could not put it out of his mind. A face? And a horrible face almost touching the window. Ghastly white with sickly green eyes staring so, so blankly. He kept running.
---
“Josiah,” the Historian prompted in his usual fashion, suddenly after long silences, “how long do you think we’ve been here?”
“A little over an hour, maybe.”
“No, not that. How long do you think this place has been here?”
“Well, it’s always been here, Historian. You know that.”
“I do not know that, Josiah, and neither do you. In fact, I disbelieve it.”
He went back to the book he had been reading. His eyes had not even settled on a sentence before he put it down once again.
“And how many names are on the Wall of Memory?”
“I’m not sure. A lot.”
“Will you do me a great favor? Before you return next time, I want you to study that wall. How many names are there, what is the first name, what is the last name, what names have you been taught about, what names have you known. Write down every single name if you can. Learn that wall.”
“But everyone knows that the wall wasn’t built that long ago, so I don’t think it will help in trying to figure out how old this place is. The first name was simply the first to die after the wall had been built.”
“What if I told you that the history you have been taught about this place was all wrong? I believe, based on all of this, that there is much more than this place. This place is just as old as the Wall of Memory itself, and the first name on that wall is, in fact, the first person to die here. It is such a ridiculous belief that they would not expect anyone to believe it.”
“They? Who are they?”
“Whoever knows the truth! I have my guesses, but that’s not what we’re after. We are after the truth, not those who hide the truth. I haven’t seen the Wall of Memory for quite some time, but I believe that most of those names on the wall never even existed.”
“Never existed? But why?”
“Again, I can only guess, but my guess is this. I believe that someone or some ones wanted things to appear as if this place had more history than it really does. I believe that they, whoever they are, want you to think this place is old. It very well may be, but that is not what these books say.”
“Then what do they say?”
“Very much the opposite, but let’s concentrate on that next time. I believe those names will help.”
Josiah sat with his book face down in his lap, completely confused about everything that the Historian had just told him. But more so than anything, he was always brought back to one question. This time he voiced it.
“Does this have anything to do with the sun?”
“Josiah, I know it may not seem like it now,” his voice was compassionate, “but everything has to do with the sun. Whether it’s hiding it or finding it, everything has to do with the sun.”
Josiah was then about to ask if the prisoners on Level A had anything to do with the sun but thought better of it. It might be that the Historian would not allow me to go back, he thought. From the moment he left running, he had already set his mind to return. Perhaps they did have something to do with the sun, or perhaps they were simply dangerous men not allowed to live with the others. He would never know, but he would go back if only to face his fears.
“Are you alright, Josiah?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I asked you a question, and you didn’t respond. I know what I have said may c
ome as a shock-”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
“What I was saying was that I want you to write.”
“Write what, Historian?”
“Your very own civility.”
“But I can’t. Nobody does, and I don’t know how.”
“Oh, but you can, Josiah. Just start writing. Write down things you remember from as far back as you can, especially your times with your dear aunt. Write about what has happened to you, what you have gone through, what you have thought, what you have felt. About every day.”
“Why would you want to read that?”
“It is not for me to read, Josiah. It’s for you. I will not read it unless you would like for me to do so. You see, I have my own. It is for no one but you, to remind you of what you have done, of who you are, untarnished by old memories and forgotten details. Though perhaps it will prove to be as useful to others as these are to us.
“And, Josiah, bring your school books.”
---
The bronze wall stretched from floor to ceiling and traveled a great distance, even wrapping itself around a corner. There were so many names, more than he realized. He walked the length of the wall, back and forth, and numbered the names before he began to write them. He wondered, with so many names already taking up so much space, if every wall would eventually be a part of bearing the names of past people. However, if the Historian was correct, then the wall was mostly a lie, and the very names that he ran his fingers across, were equivalent to the words he made up when he imitated his Aunt Junia. Throughout the week he visited the Wall to list the engraved names. He could only devote a couple of hours a day to this work in order to avoid drawing attention to himself. The first names were immediately recognizable, as were various others he had been taught and, of course, Junia was a name always in his memory. Despite several history lessons that used the wall as its source, he then realized just how unfamiliar he was with the names and the history of his world.
---
He was making that journey once again to the Historian, and once again the large letters of Level A pointed his attention to that great door which led to such strangeness. 14525. It all became second nature. Green flash, high beep, click. It looked the same. In fact, it looked too much the same. The chair was gone! Of course, it would have been gone. How long had it been since he last came? People worked here. Guards worked here, but there were none present at the moment. They had only ever seemed a distant threat. However, the missing chair proved their existence. He walked the same hall, turned the same corner, and saw the same desk with the same chair sitting behind. It was not missing, only returned to its rightful position. What scared him the most was knowing that they knew that someone had been sneaking around moving chairs. Someone knew that he had seen something he should never have seen. This thought put fear back into his bones. He didn’t dare take another look. It would be too risky to move the chair again. But the boy had passed by that familiar door. He couldn’t take his eyes off that window. There was a man, or at least a face, behind it. One he couldn’t see but knew was there, always there, just staring coldly, nose nearly pressed against the glass.
He simply had to. The chair seemed to be waiting for him. He grabbed it and began to move it toward that same door. What was he doing? There was somebody. Somebody had moved the chair back before. Were they watching him at that very moment? Before his thoughts stopped him, he dragged the chair. It screeched long against the floor. No one was in sight. No one at the moment, but soon he would see the face. He sat on the chair and pulled his knees up. He paused. There was something wrong with this. There was something awful in this whole thing. He stood up with his eyes closed. He didn’t have to open his eyes to see those that would meet his. They were still burned there. In the darkness of his eyelids, he shook in his skin. He just had to see them again, but he second guessed. His eyes still closed, he wished he had never done this. But what was he doing! He had forgotten that the man behind the glass could see him. His eyes flashed opened. Green! Hideously green! The boy caught himself as he was falling back. Just like before. Those eyes were staring straight into his own. Green into blue. Frightful green into frightened blue. Get a grip, the boy said to himself. He’s behind a locked door. He reached the handle just in case. Still locked. Yes, he’s locked behind the heavy metal door. With that thought, Josiah looked up again. He stared into the man’s face, but something was odd. The face was no longer terrifying. It was just open, looking. But it didn’t seem to look at anything. It just looked out. “He can’t see me!” The words came out so unexpectedly, the boy startled himself. He couldn’t seem to hear either. He was locked behind a door with a window, neither being able to see nor hear. The face then seemed more sad than hideous. The face was both soft and hard, hopeless and longing. Without knowing why, Josiah placed his hand on the window. When he removed his little hand he looked in more deeply, trying to see behind the face. There didn’t seem to be much to the room but white walls and empty space. Perhaps there was some furniture but not that he could see from the spaces between the window edge and the peering face. Josiah looked into his eyes again, but what then seemed to be the first time. The stranger’s face was deathly white, but those green eyes were no longer hideous. They were never hideous. Fear simply projects hideousness into unfamiliar spaces. Those green spaces were beautiful to the boy, still terrible but beautiful. Always beautiful. The boy knocked three small knocks on the window.
Quick retreat!
The man was startled so severely that he fell back and kicked to the farthest wall. The room then came into complete view. All white, padded walls, a single bed, a toilet. Blindingly white. The man had coiled himself into the corner. His thought showed incredibly visible on his face. Severe shock. It slowly turned to confusion and then to a soft curiosity. It was though the man had never heard a knock before, but despite that, he seemed to know the difference between a soft knock and a small knock. This had been a small knock made by small hands. A smile grew on his face. He sat relaxed on the floor. Josiah gave another three knocks. Small knocks. Childlike knocks. The man stood up, happiness apparent on his face. He walked to the window and knocked back, three knocks. Big knocks, but kind knocks. Then he put his ear to the window. Josiah knew what he wanted, and so he knocked again. Three times. The man looked out through the window with a childlike smile. Josiah knew that the man hadn’t smiled in years. For some reason, the man behind the locked door put his hand to the window. Josiah met the man’s hand with his. The boy’s mind filled with emotion and wonder. Never before had such a bizarre thing happened to him.
Josiah the Reformer Page 10
