by Kolin Wood
“However, I see you saved the best for last! A stunning example of fresh produce, if I do say so myself. A little bruised, perhaps… but then, who can blame a man for trying out the wares, eh?’ Magnus’ eyes shone as he spoke.
The General studied him, trying to decide if the dark shade of his skin was pigmentation or just dirt from the street.
“So, my friend… you came to talk business…” Magnus continued with the happy disposition of a market trader, “So let us talk business! How much do you want for the little cutie in the back?”
The General took the final step backwards. The backs of his thighs now pressed against the cold door of the Jeep. With the rifle still raised, he weighed up his options. Magnus, although surrounded by undesirables, seemed like he may have a modicum of intellect, and therefore it was likely that he could perhaps be reasoned with. Also, he seemed very interested in the girl. However, he had just put a bullet in one of their friends; something that he was sure he would have to make atonement for. It was likely that the rifle that he was carrying right now was the only thing keeping him breathing. One wrong move and he was certain that he would be taken down where he stood.
“I want entry into the capital,” the General said firmly.
Upon hearing this, Magnus laughed heartily. He turned with his arms outstretched, addressing the crowd. “Oh… is that all?”
The rest of the gang laughed too and, for a second, the situation seemed to diffuse itself a little. The General, however, did not join in.
“My friend, everybody wants to get inside the New Capital.”
Magnus turned back to him but did not step closer.
“The cost of entry on the bridge grows higher by the day—only the finest of trading buys you a pass. As you know, the sale of transients is strictly forbidden in the New Capital. And anyway, what makes you think that this little slut is worth enough to buy you passage inside, huh?’
Magnus craned his neck to look into the back of the Jeep and nodded.
“She is fine though, I’ll give you that; far finer than my usual stock.”
He stepped forward and appeared to size the General up, starting at his feet and working his way up to his face where his eyes hovered on the bandage for a second longer than necessary. Eventually he spoke again. “I’m afraid, that what you ask for is impossible. The city is guarded on all sides, night and day. Even if I wanted to, I could not give you what you desire.”
His face now showed genuine concern.
“Perhaps you would care to see some of my other items of trade? Maybe, if you were to see something that you like, it will be enough to get your through the front gate on your own?”
The General shook his head. “I haven’t got time for maybes,” he said.
Magnus nodded. “Then, I guess our business here is concluded,” he replied with a mischievous look.
Beside him, the large, bearded man began to bounce again. Violence was again imminent. The General had to do something, and quickly. His only chance of trade was the girl and, from the look of it, the only way that she could be sold was through this dark-skinned trader and his links at the ‘Midway’.
Before him, the man’s eyes flashed greedily; he knew that his offer was being considered.
“How about I throw in the Jeep?’ the General offered. He knew it was a desperate attempt.
Magnus looked over at it, only considering for a second. “And you have fuel?” he asked. “Because if not, you see that there are many, many useless vehicles lying in wait around here. Every make and model that you could ever want to choose from! The problem is… there is no fuel left on which to run them all.”
Inwardly, the General cursed himself. The spoils from the scavenging trip had included three full drums of diesel fuel which the boys had stored in one of the holding cells by the rear entrance of the prison. Access to it would have meant a detour via the main staircase; a risk that he had not been willing to take at the time. Given his circumstances now, however, he may have reconsidered.
The words escaped his mouth before he had really considered them. “I know where there are more girls,” he said.
Immediately Magnus stepped forward, his interest piqued. “More girls, you say?”
With a look back to the gang which said ‘hold off for now’, he re-entered the guise of salesman. “And where might these little beauties be now?” he asked.
“Not far,” the General said, “And this one has been inside, take her and she can show you where they are kept.”
He was unsure of the truth to his statements. For all he knew, the prison was nothing but an empty morgue full of half-eaten corpses, but it seemed that negotiations were back on—for now at least.
Magnus smiled, clearly enjoying the bargaining. “Well then, it seems that we may have business together after all. How many transients are we talking about?”
The General arched an eyebrow. “What happened to no way into the city?” he asked, suspiciously “Even if you wanted to help me, you couldn’t?”
The dark-skinned man stepped forward.
The General’s arms, besieged with fatigue, ached as he pulled the stock of the rifle tight into his shoulder.
“There is always a deal to be done, my friend, if the terms are right,” Magnus said.
Reluctantly, the General lowered the rifle so the barrel was pointing to the mud.
“Fine,” he said. “Then let’s talk.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows and motioned toward the car.
Cautiously, the General reached behind and slipped the key in the lock, maintaining a hold on the gun with his other hand. He then stepped back to a safe distance to allow access for the gang of men.
The girl was dragged by her ankles from the backseat and lifted onto the shoulder of one of the group. The General watched as she was carried away. He did not feel anything. She was collateral, nothing more. Sooner or later, something like this would have happened to her anyway. All of the other members of the gang followed, except for Magnus and the man with the beard, who was watching him with hatred burning brightly in his eyes.
Soon the mouth of the empty shopping centre swallowed them and Magnus turned back to the General.
“Come,” Magnus said. “The Midway is not far. Let me introduce you to somebody who can help you. And on the way you can tell me more about where I can find the rest.”
4
“Hurry up, son! We’re going to be late, again!” Michael shouted up the stairs as he rifled through the green school-satchel which had not moved since being slung there on the way in through the door the previous evening.
An exacerbated look took over his face as he pulled out a sheet containing last night’s intended homework; something that John had neglected to mention.
“Argh, John! What’s this? You need to tell me if you get homework!”
From above, the sound of a children’s electric toothbrush started in the upstairs bathroom.
Michael set the bag down by the door and walked through to the kitchen where Juliana was watching him, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.
“That little boy is the reason I’m going bald,” Michael said, rubbing his hand over his head before picking up his own mug from the sink. He gave it a quick rinse under the tap.
“He’s only six, Mike,” Juliana said with a laugh. “I very much doubt it’s going to affect his career choices!”
She picked up the crumpled homework sheet and gave it an over-exaggerated flick while at the same time clearing her throat in an over-dramatized fashion.
“Please read the list of the following homophones. Then, try and come up with some of your own and include each suggestion in a sentence to show that you understand its meaning.” Juliana looked up at her husband, a confused look on her face. “Homophones? What the hell is a homophone when it is at home?”
Michael smiled as he made coffee next to her. “Not going to affect his career choices, huh?” he said with a playful tone to his voice.
&nbs
p; “Oi! Cheeky!” Juliana said as she punched him on the arm, “Do you know what a bloody… homophonic is then? Clever clogs?”
Michael simply smiled again as he stirred the cup and gave a small shake of the head. “Nope, and I don’t care either. Johnny, on the other hand? He needs to care. That Mrs. Cuttle will have his guts for garters! I mean, would you pick a fight with that woman in a dark alley? Because I most certainly would not!”
It was this soft, playful nature that Juliana loved most about her husband, and she reached over to stroke his arm where she had landed the blow. In all the years that she had known him (sixteen at the last count), she had never once seen him lose his temper or raise his voice to anyone, let alone those that he cared about. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she had heard him raise his voice ever! “If that man was any more laid back he’d be horizontal!” her friends would say at every opportunity. But Juliana didn’t care. She needed placid; placid helped to level her out. She had more than enough built-up anger and emotion hidden inside her for the both of them.
Fifteen minutes later and they were all through the front door and out onto the street. The winter sun was coming up between the houses and the sky was dappled pink beneath a smattering of purple and grey clouds. The cold bit at their ankles and wrists. The tarmac beneath their feet sparkled with a thin sheet of ice which made the going slippery underfoot.
Johnny, wedged in between his parents, swung on each of their hands as they walked, a big goofy grin radiating from underneath his Spiderman, woollen hat. Many of the neighbours were out scraping their windscreens or had left their cars running idle, and Michael nodded and waved at the few he had any rapport with. Juliana only offered small smiles and for the most part kept her head low.
At the end of the street, they crossed the road and turned down a narrow alleyway. Empty cans and sweet wrappers littered the pathway. On one side stood a tall, brick wall topped with broken bottles.
Juliana saw Michael look up. He had always said to her that it seemed a rather extreme way to stop people climbing your fence, especially in this neighbourhood. She, on the other hand, thought that it was a great idea, but had always kept it to herself; after all—they came from very different backgrounds. She knew the sorts of people that you would need to keep out of your garden using broken bottles—or at least, she used to.
The alleyway opened up into a recreation ground. A thin pathway ran all the way around a field, the centre of which contained a worn football field; no markings, a goal at either end minus their nets. On one side, on a raised patch of land, a rather run down children’s play park stood enclosed by a knee-high, steel railing fence. The grass shimmered like silver in the early morning light as patches began to melt at its centre. In the distance, several joggers ran circuits, their breaths puffing above them like steam clouds from a locomotive train.
“Ah, watch your step, Johnny!” Michael said, as he gently tugged on his son’s arm and pulled him backwards.
Both the boy and Juliana looked on as he then proceeded to bend down and scoop something up from the frozen path before them. When he turned back he was holding onto the stiffening form of a frozen earthworm. John was quick to pull a face.
“Ewww, Dad!” he said, his little nose wrinkled at the top, “What are you picking that up for? It’s disgusting!”
Michael did not reply.
Juliana—used to his ridiculous antics—rolled her eyes as her husband turned and walked to a bush at the side of the track.
“It’s just Daddy being soppy again, Johnny,” she said down to him with a small giggle. “The man can’t even walk by a bloomin’ worm on the ground without stopping and picking it up.” She looked across at Michael as he came to stand by them once again. “Always out to save something, your dad.”
This time it was Michael’s turn to roll his eyes. He stopped and dropped to one knee before his son.
“Do you think that the worm would have made it if I hadn’t thrown it in the bush over there, Johnny?”
John turned his head to one side, considering the question. “No?” he said, unconvincingly. “Probably not.”
“No. That’s right,” Michael replied. “And who do you think made this path that we’re walking on?”
“Erm, the builders?”
“Yes, okay… it was the builders, but broader speaking. Was it the birds?” Michael asked, in that slightly childish tone he used when he was educating their son.
“No,” John replied.
“The… foxes?”
“No!”
“No! That’s right, it wasn’t. So who made it then?”
John, still vexed by the question, looked around the park. “The… humans?”
“That’s right!” Michael said animatedly. “We—the humans made it; us.” He looked up to his wife with a grin that told her that he knew that she thought he was completely nuts. “So do you think that this poor worm should perish because we humans need a smooth surface upon which to walk or ride our bikes?”
“No?”
“No, of course not. All of the creatures in the world are special, son; big or small—they all have a part to play. And we must do our part to make sure that we protect as many of them as we can.” And with that he stood once again and turned back to face in the direction that they had been walking.
“Isn’t that right, Mummy?”
Juliana glanced down at her little boy who was now looking up at her expectantly, his face all scrunched up. Even though she certainly would not wish harm on another living thing—in fact, she would go so far as to call herself an animal lover—the journey to school was already hard enough without the added extra hardship of playing God to every befallen critter along the way. She glanced up at Michael who was smirking to say that he could read her thoughts, and she gave him a playful look.
Bastard, she said with her eyes. This was her daily routine, not his, and he knew it all too well.
The rest of the journey was painfully slow on account of John stopping to rescue every frozen worm on the path. By the time the three of them arrived at the gates to the school, the teacher was just closing the door for the start of the school day.
“Hold the door, please, Mrs. Cuttle!” Michael shouted, sprinting through the gate.
With an expression that could only read as disdain, the elderly, sour-faced woman pushed the door open just wide enough to allow a small child to enter.
Juliana kissed John on the head and gave him a hug. “Have a good day, bon-bon,” she said, smiling as he turned on her.
“I am NOT called bon-bon!” John said, his look suddenly serious.
“Go on, baby, I think your favourite teacher is waiting for you.” She winked and patted him playfully on the behind then gave him a gentle nudge towards the door.
With a roll of the eyes and a heavy step to his walk, John made his way into school, stopping to lean his head against his dad on the way past.
“Bye, son,” Michael said, with his usual, cheery disposition, “Have a good day.” And then in an exaggerated voice, he finished with, “You too, Mrs. Cuttle.”
Mrs. Cuttle eased back her slackening skin to reveal yellow teeth. It was meant to mimic a smile but left her looking more like an extra from a zombie movie. Then she pulled the door closed with a slam.
‘I think she likes us,’ Michael said with a laugh, as he walked back to his wife.
“I think its love,” Juliana replied as the two of them linked arms and strolled back through the school gate and out onto the street.
A car beeped loudly with Monday morning aggression and an engine screamed. Michael put a protective arm around the shoulder of his wife as a small car motored past at well over the designated limit. Juliana however, shrugged off the arm and stepped out into the road, shouting at the rapidly disappearing vehicle.
“THIS IS A FUCKING SCHOOL! IMBECILE!” she screamed.
Tires screeched in response as the car disappeared around the corner out of sight.
With a shake
of her head, Juliana stepped back onto the pavement. “What a fucking idiot,” she said under her breath as Michael slipped an arm around her waist.
She knew that her husband hated her swearing, but sometimes the situation simply meant that profanity could not be avoided. It was just the way she had been brought up; with a potty-mouthed tramp for a mum and a small-time, drunken crook and gangster for a dad.
Whatever Michael’s thoughts were, he wisely said nothing.
At the end of the street, the two of them turned into the park. The sun was a quarter higher in the sky and steam rose from the field as it thawed in the welcome morning heat. The joggers had since left, and the park now sat empty save for the hundreds of city birds who had descended upon the grass for breakfast.
Retracing their earlier steps, the pair followed the track around the outside, neither of them saying anything and simply content with the peace and quiet of the green, open space. On the corner of the path up ahead sat an old wooden bench, and Juliana eagerly pulled Michael over to it.
Empty plastic cider bottles littered the ground and Juliana kicked one aside as she sat down. Following the lead of his wife, Michael did the same. “Jimbo dicked Alyson on this bench,” he read aloud. “Classy.”
But Juliana ignored him, pulling her coat up around her neck.
“I used to come here when I was a teenager,” she said after a silent pause.
Michael turned to her and smiled, “What?” he said, with his usual sarcasm. “Here, here? With Jimbo?”
Juliana whacked him playfully again. “No! Idiot! To this park. It wasn’t so different back then.”
She stared out over the field. Michael had never really understood this type of life; the city, the oppression of a chicken-shed existence, the struggle of poverty. Things for her now were a world of difference away from what they had been like back then. Although they did not have much now, they were still rich compared to the squalor of her past. Life in the city had forced her to grow up quickly. It had taught her how to embrace the violence and survive amongst the gangs; to do things which she now looked back on with some regret and tried not to think about too often.
