Grabus, the manager, comes stomping past, raising his chin, but saying nothing, on his way to open the doors of the shop. Gax is curious, how many people will come? He knows the larger bookshops at home can be very busy, but the smaller bookshops hardly ever have customers. This must be the only bookshop in the city, apart from the Bibliotheca, which he has seen on the map. On the other hand, if books are set by citizen status, maybe they won’t have many customers? Or are the books in this bookshop open to all? Gax has so many questions and he keeps reminding himself to be patient. He can hear Grabus stomping back, presumably to his own private office, so he makes himself look busy and hard working. Grabus stops, and says, “Good, I can see you are willing to work. Just keep this up, Inritia will deal with customers, if a customer has a question, just call her over.” He raises his chin and strides off, before Gax even has a chance to reply.
To his relief, the first customer appears as soon as the loud footsteps of the manager have died down. It is an older man. Gax moves to the table with magnets, pens and knickknacks. The man walks slowly round the shop, lifting a few books off the shelf with This Week’s Specials written on top. Gax wonders how many of this week’s specials will be written by Mr Durus, AMP. The man seems to be having trouble finding a book to his liking. Once he even pulls a face when reading a blurb on the back, hastily putting it back on the shelf. Gax notices the man sending quick darting looks over his shoulder when doing so. Gax makes sure he looks totally engrossed in polishing the box with cheerfully coloured rubbers. His mind is doing overtime though, for why should the man have such a guilty look on his face, just because he doesn’t like a particular book? Gax knows Falling in Love is taboo, but is having strong likes and dislikes taboo as well? Maybe he should ask Yulra what her favourite food is? On the other hand, he can’t afford to have another ‘We have noted…’ message!
The older man saunters over to the table Gax has just tidied up, and picks up one of the ‘farewell’ cards. He suddenly looks even older. Gax feels sorry for him, even though he still doesn’t know what the card is for. He’s anxious to find out, but the man looks so deflated, Gax doesn’t dare to approach him. And anyway, what would he say? “Hey, I noticed you picking up one of them cards, so who would you send it to?” That’s not going to end well, Gax realises that. The man walks to the till with the grey scale card, walking slower than when he first came in. Gax finds himself staring after the man, dust cloth in both hands, lost in thoughts. Inritia passes him with three books under her arm. “Come on, dreamy, don’t tell me you’ve not woken up yet.” She takes a second look at him, then rolls her eyes and Gax wonders why he ever thought she looked beautiful. “Never seen someone send a card to a friend soon going Downstream?” her well-formed upper lip curls up and Gax notices her very sharp teeth, giving her face a weird, cat like look.
Gax isn’t sure how to respond; he valiantly starts with, “Well, Um…” Fortunately for him, Inritia makes a hissing noise and walks away, humming some wild song to herself. Gax can feel his cheeks glowing, his forehead going taut and a bit sweaty. Did he look intelligent there! He returns to his dusting, feeling like a schoolboy who got done by the smartest girl in the class, instead of the Special Operator that he is. Mind you, when it comes to gathering intelligence, he isn’t doing too well. He has learned that the glaring guy on telly was Mr Durus, member of the top council and that the sad cards are for people to give to Downstream-going friends. That doesn’t actually mean a thing to him, so he hasn’t made much progress. He briefly wonders what his team members would say or think if they knew how little he’d managed to do in all this time. He hasn’t had one meaningful conversation yet and learned precious little about life in Elabi. Apart from finding out that falling in love is taboo. And that some people go downstream. Would that be literally down the stream, down the river, or is it a euphemism for dying? He rubs the back of his neck, trying to massage some good feelings back into his body.
The bookshop has only a few visitors that morning and Gax is starting to feel the strain on his legs. The hanging around is making him feel tired and dusting one bookshelf after another is getting a bit monotonous. Part of his restlessness is his sense of urgency. He is here as an operator, not just a bookshop assistant. It is his task first and foremost to speak to people, to get to know them. Instead, he can hear Inritia’s voice and her high, fake sounding laugh. He hasn’t spoken to a single customer. One man walked past him and raised his chin at him, that’s it! Gax feels himself becoming despondent. He knows he’s overreacting; after all, it’s not likely that he would make contacts his first morning here. But still, he doesn’t even get to speak to one single person. If he carries on like this, he could be here for months, dusting and tidying. He is glad when Grabus tells him to go and have his lunch break. He walks to the staffroom, struggling to walk calmly and not too eager.
After lunch Gax is dusting a tall shelf with books on DIY and self build projects, when he suddenly notices a light coloured door, standing open invitingly. He walks over to have a look. Then he sees a stand inside the door, at the top of some thick carpeted stairs. The sign says, in large letters, Access for A-Members only. No Members Of U, C or M Status. Gax stares. Does that mean that only the two top tiers of society are allowed through there? How will they check? That is when he spots the camera, staring at him from the corner of the area at the top of the stairs. Gax moves back slowly, hoping the camera hasn’t actually picked him up yet. Just to make sure he starts polishing the door post, and then moving along, slowly, unhurriedly, he moves up to the nearest bookshelf, staying busy, not daring to look back at the open door. So that is how they keep tabs on people, he thinks. What about the Mansit though, the lowest level in society? How do they check on them, for what is the reading difference between them and the Consuete, the next level up?
He soon finds out, hearing the manager’s voice from the front desk. Inritia has gone for her lunch break, giving him a nasty look on her way past. Gax realises that he probably has taken her lunch time slot. The manager took over from her, and now his voice can be heard saying “No, no, no!” Gax dusts a bit quicker, moving towards the till area whilst rubbing each bookshelf he passes, craning his neck. Finally he can see and hear what is going on. It isn’t hard to hear the manager, he is loud enough. But the gentleman standing in front of the till is much quieter. His face is red and he keeps pushing his black and grey hair back in a nervous gesture. Gax watches, remembering to move his hand along the shelves every now and then. “No, Mr Evaro, you cannot have that book!” The man raises his hand in a despairing gesture and answers that he always had books of this author, he’s had four already. “Yes, yes, I know, I can see that,” the manager snaps, tapping angrily on the computer screen. “I can see it in our system, but you see, that was before…before…well, before you know what happened.” He glares at the man, distastefully, making the man pull his neck in like a turtle in cold weather, blushing a brighter red.
“Yes, I understand, I realise,” the man answers, his voice hardly audible to Gax. “I know, but now I’m back, so I thought, you know, after all that time and…well, I just thought…” He stops, looking suddenly like a very old man, his one hand holding tightly onto the counter, as if his strength comes from there. The manager nods, looking only a fraction less distasteful, telling the man that we all make choices, and we’re not always aware of the long term consequences perhaps. Anyway, it is out of the manager’s hands, nothing personal of course. “Thank you,” the man’s voice only just makes it to Gax, before giving the counter a last squeeze, shuffling out of the shop, the metal bells above the door hardly touching each other. Gax feels his own shoulders sag, just watching the man leave. The manager is standing near him before he even realises.
“Always the same, these Mansits,” he says, his mouth turned down still. “This man, well, he used to be a Consuete, almost made it to an Umbo and let me tell you, reaching Umbo status is no small feat, no small feat at all! He almost made it. Then some
thing happened, I don’t rightly know what exactly, but anyway, he disappeared for a bit, not voluntarily, you understand,” and he laughs, elbowing Gax, making him gasp, his one ankle almost twisting at the impact. “Well, he did his time beyond the hills, now he’s back. He obviously thought he could just pick up where he left off, I mean, he hasn’t a clue, now, has he? Never heard of consequences, it seems.” The distasteful look is back. “We can all stumble, make mistakes. The logical thing is that there will be consequences. Some swift and immediate, some lingering and longer term. I’m not saying he can never get back up, I’m not saying that at all; just baffles me how people don’t count the cost before doing a bender, you know?” Gax hasn’t a clue what sort of bender the manager has in mind, but he nods sagely anyway. “Sad though, very sad, especially for relatives who often are left to pick up the pieces. That man for example. His poor daughter, studying, doing well, probably would have entered society as an Umbo. Very tragic indeed. Her young man stayed faithful though, very praiseworthy in him. Bit foolhardy nevertheless, but well, extremely virtuous.” Gax nods again, feeling totally and utterly out of his depth.
So you can go downstream or into the hills? Is either one by choice? And why wasn’t the girl an Umbo when entering society? And an indignant little voice in his head says, “Why shouldn’t her young man be faithful?” Gax is feeling exhausted, not just from cleaning more than he has ever done in his entire life, but from being around people who speak almost the same language, but without having any idea what they’re actually saying. Learning a completely new language can’t be much more complex than this?
Chapter 7
Gax is exhausted and his sigh is as deep as Inritia’s when the last customer finally leaves. The manager appears from his office, raises his chin at Gax in passing, telling him, “Feel free to go home, as Inritia and I will make up the till and lock up. You have done well for a first day. We will see you in the morning, same time as today.” Gax nods, somehow managing to smile as if he is delighted by the idea of returning for another day of dusting and tidying.
Inritia just about raises her chin at him, but doesn’t lower herself to take her eyes off the papers she is filling in. Gax slips out of the door, then gasps and blinks at the heat of the city. Being inside all day had made him forget how hot it gets in Elabi. He slows down immediately, breaking into a sweat. He looks around, trying to remember where the larger grocery store is located. Gax finally comes to the shop front, the words Grocery and Fresh still just about visible. The shop is closed, and obviously has been for some time. Gax stares at the blackened windows, the heaps of rubble inside. “What a mess. And how annoying, all that way for nothing. Thanks Linu,” he groans, then apologises to her in his head, for after all, she did her best.
The feeling that he isn’t as well prepared or well informed as he should be makes Gax feel nervous. When will he really mess up, due to misinformation? Preparation is essential to the success of a mission, and this time he is working in the dark. He knows he should show more trust, more faith, but Gax hates being unsure of the facts. He had set his mind on this shop, envisioned what he was going to buy and suddenly he finds he has to do a U-turn in his thinking. It leaves him feeling out of sorts. Suddenly an old, tired voice croaks behind him, “I hope it wasn’t a relation, young man?” Gax spins round, rudely awakened from his grumbling thoughts, shocked that he allowed someone to come up this close to him without realising! An old man stands just behind Gax, peering up at him with suspicious eyes.
“No,” stammers Gax, “no, I just wondered what happened to the old store, so I was just looking at it.” The old man nods, trying to look sad and serious, but Gax can see the flashing eyes, full of nosey interference. “What happened to it?” He asks, only because the old man is obviously itching to tell him the story anyway.
“It was sad, it was,” he starts promptly, nodding, still the grave look on his shrivelled face. “It was such a popular shop too, convenient you know, in the city and much larger than that little place out there,” and he points with his chin in the general direction of the gates. “Then he did something, discuss dangerous teaching, or pass on odd ideas. It didn’t go down well, it never does, but next thing we knew there was a notice on the door. He was gone, most likely beyond the hills, although he was nearing the age to go downstream too, so who knows. The shop was closed, then a week later, we found it like this. No one really knows what happened.” He nods, as if to make sure Gax got the story. “You see, spreading weird ideas, perverting people’s minds, well, it’s a bad thing, a very bad thing. We’re fortunate to have a very active Amplissimos that keeps an eye on citizens. Who else would protect us against evil influences?” Gax nods along with the man this time, noticing something beside the nosey gleam in the old man’s eyes that makes him more nervous than before.
He wonders whether the man has been posted here to watch for nosey passers-by. Or is his mind being too suspicious? Did the man see him staring, does he know that he is new? Does it show? Gax has a panicky feeling it’s another ‘noted moment’ for him. He nods again, tries to look as earnest as the man. “Tragic,” he mutters, “who’d have guessed.” The old man purses up his lips a little.
“Oh, one can usually tell,” he says, and Gax does his best to not take that as a threat. “You can tell by comments people make, you can. It shows that they haven’t really embraced a factual, pressure free lifestyle, you see. They still make old fashioned judgments, they do, without any logic involved. Fortunately, we see this happening less and less, especially now the older generation is going Downstream. You see, some of the older folk had imbibed the old influences, through no fault of their own, of course, but it’s wonderful to see a new generation of great thinkers springing up.” The man pulls his mouth in what obviously is meant as an encouraging smile, but failing miserably. Gax nevertheless nods, and smiles his most grateful smile back.
“I better go. I have some way to go, and it’s still hot.” The old man agrees, telling him that he never remembers it this hot when he was younger. Gax nods again, feeling a coward in a way, but then, what else is he supposed to do? “Thank you for your time,” he smiles, feeling more genuine this time, doing his best to feel compassion for the man, who is obviously fully behind the city’s teaching. Gax struggles though, as he has a bad feeling about him. “He’s not just a nosey old man, who comes to chat with whoever he can find,” he mutters to himself whilst beating his retreat. “I hope this doesn’t lead to another nasty lecture, or worse.” By the time he gets to the city gates he is sweating heavily, and slightly out of breath. As he walks past the guards huddled in the shade of the large stone gate tower, Gax feels their eyes burning holes in his shirt’s dark, damp spot on the back. He refuses to look back and calmly walks on and on, until a sharp bend hides him from their view. He releases the breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
Soon he is back at the little shop. The big guy is still at the till and Gax has a funny feeling of belonging, of familiarity. He starts his food shop, buying more vegetables this time. He gets to the cooler shelves and finds the cheese. There are knives next to each cheese and Gax chooses a light coloured, firm cheese. He cuts a chunk off, wondering whether he should put it in a glass container, when he sees the very thin, flimsy cloth next to the cheeses. He wraps one of the little squares around his cheese, then walks on to the next shelf. He hesitates over the meats there. The walk home is so hot, will the meat stay fine like this? Also, it looks expensive, even if he only takes a small piece. In the end, Gax decides to wait for his wages to get through before eating more luxurious food. He does get some eggs though, as he will need more protein. It won’t do to lose muscle.
The young, bulky man raises his chin, but shows no sign of recognition or curiosity. Gax hesitates. It’s his job to make contacts, to find connections, to speak to the locals. The young man looks intimidating, and Gax swallows when he remembers the blackened windows and totally ravaged shop in the centre of Elabi. He just hands over
his money, says thank you in as lilting an accent as he can and walks out, feeling that he has failed somehow. “You’re doing well in this mission, Gax,” he hisses to himself, ashamed that he didn’t even try to comment on the weather, the food, the young man’s muscles…nothing whatsoever. Gax walks home, feeling despondent. “Maybe the team leader got it wrong, we all got it wrong, and I wasn’t the right person for the job after all. Maybe I was never called to carry this operation by myself,” he whispers, feeling the weight of his Bergen increase with each step. “Why didn’t I say anything at all to the shopkeeper? When will I start, and how, if I can’t even talk to that young chap?!”
Gax is relieved to be back in his house. “Hi Yulra, did you have a good day?” He jokes, then snorts as his Automated Servant informs him that for those that choose right, every day is a good day. “Too true,” he says, preparing his meal, feeling ravenous after the walk, the heat and the endless day. “Some music, please Yulra,”he demands, impressed when the calm, smooth music comes on promptly. He can feel his stress levels go down with each tune and watching his dinner take shape helps to make him feel better too. He eats, feeling suddenly a little lonely. Nothing worse than eating alone, he thinks, but reluctant to start asking Yulra tricky questions again. He feels he has risked enough that day looking at the old shop too long and talking to the old man. No need to get noted every day, he tells himself.
After dinner and clearing up, Gax sits down with his special notebook, “Dear Diary,” he whispers, pulling a face. Gax hesitates with his pen hovering over the page, the day’s events flooding his mind. Where to even start? The bored looking guards at the gate? Would they stop someone leaving the city? In the end he writes down the names of the manager and his colleague, resisting the urge to pass judgment on them. “Be kind,” he mumbles, feeling guilty, as his mission is one of mercy, of grace and of forgiveness. He describes the grey cards, with their puzzling messages and writes whatever he knows about those going Downstream. “Not sure if it’s totally voluntary, or always voluntary,” he writes. Then adds, “The sending beyond the hills is definitely not of one’s free will.” He stares ahead, the calm music barely noticed, when he thinks through all the references to “beyond the hills” that day. “It seems like some kind of punishment,” he thinks, “but there is a way back, like that man in the bookshop proved. Although he had to start at the bottom of society’s ladder and so did his family.” He pulls a face. They obviously believe in punishing the children for the sins of the fathers.
Walled City (The Elabi Chronicles Book 1) Page 4
