by John Marsden
I'd been thinking, of course, of ways of making a dramatic escape. At one stage I'd thought of telling Major Harvey that there really were New Zealand commandos, and I'd take him to them. Then, when I was out in the open air, I'd wait for an opportunity to grab a gun or something, or run away. One of the many problems with that was I could hardly escape from the prison and leave my friends inside.
I told myself it would have been easier if I'd known definitely that I was going to be killed. Then I'd have done anything, even staged a suicide escape attempt, because I'd have had nothing to lose. But while there's life there's hope, I guess, and I couldn't bring myself to accept that my execution was such a certainty.
Another escape method would have been to take a hostage. Hold a knife to a soldier's throat and make her lead me to the front gate and let me out. There were a few problems with that too, one of them being the fact that the only weapons they'd given me so far were plastic forks.
After tea I did my exercises again. For one thing, I wanted to wear myself out physically, so I'd have more chance of sleeping when the lights were turned off. So I did more aerobics, flinging my arms out, kicking my legs, chanting songs to myself. This time I just ignored the camera.
When I was pretty puffed I sat on the bed. I realised that what I wanted most was something to read or, failing that, something to write on. I decided to try getting the guards' attention. I was curious to see what would happen and, again, I didn't have much to lose. So I went to the door and banged on it with my fist. The door was so thick and heavy that I couldn't make a loud-enough noise. So I tried shaking it, which didn't work either, as it was too solid, too well fitted. Then I yelled for a bit, first at the camera, then through the door. I wondered if my friends could hear any of this. I hadn't seen or heard a glimpse of them since we'd entered our separate cells. But it didn't seem likely that anyone would hear me as my voice sounded so muffled, even to me. It was frustrating, and a bit scary. I felt so cut off, and wondered what would happen if there were a fire in the prison. It wouldn't be a healthy place.
I yeiled for ten minutes. There wasn't much else to do; it helped pass the time. Just as I was about to give up I heard the locks start to rattle. The door swung open and I found myself looking at the two younger women who were always there when my meals were brought. One was standing well back, with a gun trained on me. The second one, the officer, who'd laughed at my Big Mac joke, was right at the door, and she spoke. To my surprise her English was very good.
"Stand against the wall."
I went back a few paces but she waved me further, till I was touching the furthest wall from the door. Then she came in a couple of steps, though her buddy stayed out in the corridor.
"Now," she said. "I teach you correct ways. You want guard, you press button there." To my surprise she showed me something I'd never noticed: a white button beside a ventilation panel close to the door and up high. I felt sorry for short prisoners. She continued: "Then you go to back wall, you stand there and wait, OK? You understand?"
I nodded. I understood.
"Some things you not allowed. You not allowed make noise. You not allowed read books. You not allowed make mess in room. You not allowed make names on walls. OK? You understand?"
I nodded again. No making names on walls.
"Can I have a shower?" I asked.
"Sorry, no shower. Maybe tomorrow."
"Can I see my friends?"
"No, no friends. Maybe tomorrow."
"Can I get a toothbrush?"
"Toothbrush, yes, OK, I bring."
"And soap?"
"Yes, yes, toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, towel, all those things, I bring."
"Can I have some paper, and a pen?"
"What for?"
"Um, I want to, I want to write..."
I was trying to think of some good lie that would satisfy her, but I couldn't think of anything, so ended the sentence, rather lamely, with the truth. "I don't know, I'll go crazy if I don't have something to do."
There was a silence while she considered my request. It was obviously outside the guidelines. But then she made up her mind. "OK, pen, paper, OK. That all now?"
"Yes, thank you. Thank you very much."
It was two hours before the things she'd promised arrived, but it was very exciting to get them. They were brought in by a different guard, one of the ones who'd marched me off to meet Major Harvey. It was like Christmas. I pored over each item in turn. The toothbrush was blue, with twenty-eight clumps of bristles, nine rows of three plus one at the tip. The soap was small and yellow, the size of a matchbox, with a strong, unpleasant smell. The toothpaste was Colgate, in the familiar red, green and white colours, but apart from the word "Colgate" nothing else on it was in English.
I also scored a thin frayed lemon handtowel with a green stripe running across it at each end, a vinegar-coloured comb, and a cheap plastic disposable cup. So many possessions! I felt rich.
The most important things, though, were the paper and pen. There was just one sheet of paper, lined, very thin, and a cheap blue ballpoint pen that ran dry on almost every downstroke. It was frustrating but it was better than nothing. Suddenly long empty night that stretched ahead wasn't so long or empty any more. I sat at the desk and in tiny writing, filling the paper as slowly as possible, I wrote a letter to my parents. I knew the chances of their getting it were as good as those of bark in a bushfire, but it was something I wanted to do, so I did it.
Next day there was still no call from Major Harvey. After being in such demand from him it seemed that now I wasn't wanted at all. The morning dragged by, a minute at a time. Breakfast was delivered with a joke from the older lady. As she put down the tray she said, "No Big Macs today, I sorry," and We both laughed. There was no sign of the shower I'd been promised though, and when I pressed the button late in the morning and asked for one I was given the brush-off very quickly. It was the same officer who'd brought me the paper and pen, but today she seemed unfriendly, uninterested. With so much time to think, I wondered if maybe I was going to be executed soon, and she was distancing herself from me, like I would have done in her situation.
Lunch came and went, and the afternoon passed even more slowly than the morning. I wrote a poem on the back of the piece of paper and decided I'd start a short story that evening. My writing was so small I could hardly read it myself, but I still had three-quarters of one side'left. I did my physical and mental exercises again, but my head felt stuffy and my whole body was slow and lethargic. I wondered even more about my future. To die would be such a terrible, unthinkable, unfair thing. But to be locked up in a cell like this for years and years, maybe decades ... that would be completely unbearable. I suspected these people weren't like us. I didn't know much about them, but I guessed they'd think little of throwing people into a cell and forgetting them. At least in our system you got a proper trial and you knew what was going to happen to you—usually, anyway. Maybe Major Harvey thought our country had become too slack, but I knew which set-up I preferred.
Nothing else really happened and I got more and more depressed as the evening ground on. I couldn't wait for the lights to go off so I could get some sleep, but when they did and I lay down I didn't seem able to sleep at all. It was a miserable rotten night; I probably only slept for two or three hours and I did quite a lot of silent crying—silent because I didn't want to give the guards the satisfaction of knowing how deep I was sinking.
Despite the warning about "making names on walls" I used the top of the biro to make some little scratch marks on the base of the bed, to show how many days I'd been there. If I was going to be there for ten years I didn't want to lose count of the days.
If I'd known then that there would be no real change in my routine for the next week I'd have been even more' depressed. But seven little scratches had been added in the shiny white paint before anything interesting happened. The only highlights were two showers that I was allowed to have in a little shower room in our maximum-se
curity block; the grudging gift of another sheet of paper halfway through the week; and the middle-aged lack- who brought my trays in and out giving me a packet of chewing gum one day and telling me I was a "brave girl."
Her kindness moved me very much.
I spent a lot of time thinking about the other five and wondering how they were doing. I was so afraid for them. I could picture Homer, frustrated and angry, walking round and round the tiny cell, banging his head against the wall, quickly going crazy. I thought Fi would be like a heron suddenly locked in a cage, sitting there timidly and in her mind's eve still seeing the sky and the hills and the wild places. Robyn I didn't know about. She seemed to have been cracking up again in the last few weeks. Sometimes, if I hadn't seen evidence of it for a while, I forgot just how angry and depressed she could get.
I thought Lee would be a danger both to himself and the guards. I pictured him getting more resentful by the hour, sitting in the middle of the floor brooding,' and then suddenly leaping at a guard's throat in a fit of madness. And Kevin, in my imaginings, would be a mess. I couldn't sec how he would occupy his mind for all these weary hours. lie relied on other people so much for his interests, not seeming to have ideas of his own. He needed lots of action, things happening around him all the time, or he quickly became bored. These cells weren't made for people like Kevin.
They were the mental pictures I developed as I thought about my friends. But I thought about many other things too, of course. The poem about God carrying the person along the beach. My family and the people of Wirrawee. I started to understand why they had become so depressed and sour, locked for month after month in the Showground.
I thought more than anything about death; my own, how much warning I would get, how I would face it, what it would feel like, and what would happen to me afterwards. I did a lot of thinking but I also became very sullen. I couldn't help it. I so badly needed to breathe fresh air, to see the sky, to do physical things. I even thought about suicide but the irony was that even if I'd wanted to commit it there was no possible way of doing it.
Twenty-six
When they came for me an hour after breakfast I had no idea what to expect. Desperate for any change to my routine, I followed them eagerly. The shock of fresh air on my face was so strong that I felt like a corpse coming out of a grave. The air was viciously cold—it was a freezing day—but I could have kissed it as it bit at my face.
The route they took me along was what I was used to: straight along the covered walkway to the building where Major Harvey had questioned me for so long. I lingered as long as I could on the walk but the guards had no interest in the bracing air: to them it was just a nasty winter day; I guess. They hurried me into the building and down the corridor to the same office, and there he was again, the same dark face and dark eyes. He seemed more jumpy, more nervous, his eyes not settling on me when he spoke, but looking away all the time, to places around the room. I thought he'd lost weight, too.
"Ah, Ellie," he said. "This won't take long, just a small duty I want von to perform. Take a look at this, please. In fact you can read it to me."
He handed me a sheet of paper with a couple of typed paragraphs on it. I took it and began to read it out loud: I am making this statement voluntarily to apologise for my actions in recent months. I have been involved in terrorist activity which has led to a great deal of property damage and caused injury and death to main- innocent people. In acting in this irresponsible way I have insulted those who are helping to rebuild my country and who I now realise are creating a new and better society for us all.
"Unfortunately some misguided people in other countries are still engaging in attacks on us. I must ask them to desist. They are causing a great deal of unnecessary-suffering. They are committing war crimes in violation of international law. It is time for everyone to work together in our new society for the betterment of all people. I ask for the support of all people in achieving this."
I threw the paper back on the desk. "What a load of crap," I said.
The Major picked it up. lie didn't look bothered. "Now come with me," he said. We went further down the corridor, and he ushered me into a small room at the end. There was a stool, an umbrella, a couple of lights on stands, and a big television camera operated by a woman wearing headphones. The umbrella was like a big parasol. It was on a stand and seemed to have something to do with the lighting.
"Sit clown," Harvey said.
I hesitated, then obeyed. He handed me the sheet of paper again and I took it.
"Now, just read it again, for the benefit of your New Zealand friends," he said. "Look up at the camera from time to time. No funny business, thank you, and no silly-facial expressions like some of your immature young friends attempted. It just means we have to start again, and waste more of our time."
I was ecstatic to hear him mention the others. It was the first news I'd heard of them in more than a week. I'd asked the guards every day but no one would answer. It was obviously a taboo subject. I didn't know if I should read the statement or not, but the others had made it easier for me; sort of taken the decision out of my hands. Of course, Major Harvey could have been tricking me, but I didn't think so. He must have been a great actor if he was. The way he mentioned them came out so naturally.
I still wasn't keen to read it, but I sat there on the hard cane chair thinking about my choices. If I didn't read it, what would happen? I guessed they'd use tougher, rougher treatment on me. I didn't think I could stick that. I was having enough trouble coping with things as they were. I couldn't have borne it if they'd got worse. So if I did read it, what would happen? I'd feel ashamed; that'd be one thing. But forget about me: what damage might it do? Well, none really. It'd be so obvious to everyone that it was a fake. I couldn't imagine that people in New Zealand, or anywhere else, would take one look at this and think, "Oh well, we'd better stop helping them because they're obviously happy with the new arrangements."
Major Harvey was getting impatient. I said to him mainly to make myself feel better about the decision I'd already made—"What'll happen to me if I don't read it?"
With no emotion at all he answered, "Don't make things any worse for yourself, Ellie."
The woman nestled in behind her camera and I heard it whirr into life. Major Harvey switched on the lights. The room instantly became extremely bright and extremely hot. I held the sheet up and read it quickly, without expression. At the end I thought Major Harvey would tell me to do it again—I knew I'd sounded like a robot—and he did stand there silently for a minute after I'd finished. But then he switched off the lights and went to the door and called the guards.
When they came, I followed them back out towards the exit. Major Harvey, who was ahead of me, turned into his office without so much as a backwards glance, but I couldn't bear to let him go without trying to find out something, anything, about my future. I figured he was the most likely one to know, and I figured I would rather know than not know. So I stopped and asked him.
"Major Harvey, can you tell me what's going to happen to me?"
He was moving around the desk towards his chair but he stopped dead when he heard my voice. There was a long silence, a terrible silence. My heart started pounding fiercely, and I broke out sweating, wishing now that I'd never asked the question. Without looking around he said, "You have to accept the consequences of your actions, Ellie."
It was not only the words; it was the way he'd said them. I knew now. My legs were so weak they wouldn't move. It was like the hones had been taken out of them. A guard nudged me from behind and I staggered forwards. This time I didn't even see the sky. My head was down, my legs were dragging, I felt like I was going to be ill, like I had some serious illness creeping up on me.
But I knew the name of that serious illness. It was called death.
Back in the cell I fell on my bed and lay there. For the first time I didn't show any interest in lunch when the lady brought it. Inside me,' I was hoping that she'd notice how upset I
was, and that she'd come over to the bed and give me a cuddle and ask what was wrong, and comfort me. Just like my mum. But she didn't. She put the tray down and left the cell. I cried bitterly when I heard the door slam. "I'm too young," I kept thinking, "I'm too young."
It seemed so unfair that by a fluke I'd escaped being captured when the invasion came and so I'd been forced into a certain course of action, and because of that I was now going to die. Why couldn't I have been captured at the start, like everyone else? Why did I have to be the unlucky one?
I conveniently ignored the fact that one of the soldiers we'd killed didn't seem any older than me.
I lay there for about two hours, I'd guess. If I'd had a way of killing myself I probably would have done it then. The fact that I didn't has taught me something very important about life: that you never know what the next minute might bring. If you kill yourself, it might be seconds before something wonderful happens. What that afternoon brought mightn't seem so wonderful to others, but to me, at that moment, it was.
The door was unlocked and I heard the voice of the officer who'd brought me the toothbrush and paper. She said: "Exercise now. You come."
I thought it might be a trick, and that this might be the execution I was now certain was coming, but I got up anyway and went listlessly out into the corridor.
We took the same route as usual: down the corridor enclosed by wire, past the dull green lawns and the tennis courts. But as we came to a gate leading into a small section of the grassed yards I saw a group of people standing together talking. I would have known those people from a kilometre away, let alone from thirty metres. I let out a great gasp of pure joy, then quickly tried to bite it back, in case the guards changed their minds. But I'd made enough noise. The little group broke up, as they turned to see who was screeching at them. I saw with relief that all five of them were there. The guard started unlocking the gate as Fi called out: "Ellie! Oh Ellie!"
