Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  Ned opened his mouth to speak, but Peter just shook his head, closing the magazine, and thereby the argument. With that distinctive cover, Rebel in her yellow rain coat, red-and-white striped scarf waving like a flag, Peter couldn't help but wonder: 'I just wish I had a way to know she's all right.''I can't believe it,' I said, flipping back through the pages again. I read the article once, twice, three times, before it finally registered just how much shit I was in. 'Oh, my god, everyone knows who I am. They know what I look like!'

  At once, I dropped the magazine, hand grabbing my yellow coat. Thank god I had taken it off earlier. But Pietro just laughed, and when i scowled at him, he gestured towards the square. 'Look, Amelia. Look at what everyone's wearing.'

  It took me a second to understand what I saw. The bright splashes of yellow, all across town. People wearing yellow coats, just like mine, in broad daylight. On their phones, buying food, chatting in stores and cafes. Walking further into town, I thought I saw another image of myself flashing on a tv screen through a window. Everyone was seeing this. Everyone was talking about me.

  About Sokovia.

  'It's like…' I tried to put my finger on it. 'A sign of solidarity? A protest? This is so weird.'

  'Well, I like it,' Wanda chirped, smiling at me. 'It means you will be harder to find. The Crucible cannot catch us now!'

  We laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was true, it was amazing, it was incredible. It felt like an invisible weight had finally lifted off my shoulders. My feet were too light on the ground. That sense of being free, of finally being able to breathe without feeling like you're being choked. Like someone is watching your every move, behind your back.

  It was the best feeling in the world. No one knew where I was. No one knew how to find me. For now, that was the best thing I could ask for.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Pietro's stomach growling. We all looked at him, and Pietro placed a hand on his abdomen, smiling sheepishly. 'Hunger waits for no man. And maybe something other than water and dried nuts.'

  'We could steal,' Wanda said, casting a wary glance at me, apparently already sensing my protest.

  'Just,' I held up a finger. 'Before we do that, I think we should try something else first.'

  'What? Buying with our non-existent money?' Pietro frowned.

  'No,' I said, shaking my head, then pointing into an alley behind a bakery. 'Checking the trash. Me and my cousin did it all the time. It's completely legal — in America, anyways.'

  Wanda and Pietro exchanged doubtful looks, but I just waved my hand, beckoning them to follow me, as I headed into the alley. 'Come on, I'll show you.'

  In the shadow of the bakery stood a big green dumpster. It didn't smell particularly nice, but it was only noon, and I knew there had to be something in there. The twins trailing behind me, I flipped open the dumpster lid and peered inside. 'Bingo!'

  Reaching inside, I withdrew an entire box of powdered donuts. The twins gaped at me, and Pietro snatched it out of my hands, flipping the box open and taking a large chomp out of the first donut. With white sugar all over his mouth, he swallowed and exclaimed, 'It's still fresh! Why would they throw away good food?'

  'It's 'old',' I said, sitting on the lip of the Dumpster and making bunny-ears with my fingers. 'Probably made yesterday, didn't get sold. Bakeries and restaurants throw out day-old food, usually because they like keeping their products super fresh. Also — they're French. That's just how they are. It happens everywhere in New York. The best ones are behind the pizza places, they just throw out whole pies that someone didn't come to pick up.'

  Wanda trotted up to the Dumpster. Standing on her tip-toes, she peered in, and with a little bit of magic, withdrew with a box of croissants. Stepping back, she took a bite of the fluffy pastry, closing her eyes in contentment. Then she paused, opened her eyes, and fixed me with an odd look.

  'What?' I asked, as I grabbed some Danish pastries. Lemon, my favorite.

  'Why did you eat from Dumpsters at home?' Wanda asked. 'I thought everyone in America was rich.'

  I snorted so hard I nearly fell into the Dumpster. Catching myself, I lowered to the ground, saying, 'What? No, no, Peter and I, we weren't rich. A lot of people aren't. Most are just well-off, you know, just normal.'

  'So you were...poor?' Pietro asked, looking concerned, as if he didn't want to believe me.

  'I don't know, I guess,' I made a face. I didn't like the word 'poor'. It made us sound needy. 'It was just easier to find some food in the Dumpster, so we didn't have to pay for more later. We didn't do it all the time. Peter's got a bigger appetite than me. And we didn't just get food from Dumpsters. Usually we looked for old stuff people threw out, stuff that was still good but they didn't want anymore. It's technically fair game.'

  'So you're saying this is what we should do for now on,' Pietro guessed wisely.

  'Consider it an addendum to the 'don't steal until you have to' rule.'

  Pietro considered it for a moment, then shrugged. 'Sounds good to me.'

  We ate in silence for a moment, just relishing the taste of sweet, sweet breakfast pastries in our mouth. I was hungry, so hungry that I ate two of Pietro's donuts and one of Wanda's croissants, along with the Danishes I picked up. I couldn't remember the last time I ate so much sugar. In fact, I think that was the first time I had a croissant.

  Still hungry, I looked back down into the Dumpster, pushing away half-empty boxes, food that had already been picked through by customers. For the sake of sanitation and my own gag reflex, I didn't want something that had already been in someone's mouth.

  Instead, I found something else.

  'Nice,' I said as I pulled out what looked to be a Polaroid camera, its black plastic hiding well in the shadowy pockets between the trash.

  'Is that a camera?' Pietro wandered over, peering at it in my hands. It's strap was broken and the viewfinder cracked, but it still appeared to be fully functioning — there was still film inside. There was a small circular sticker in one corner by the lens, with the Star and Stripes printed on it. Maybe a tourist dumped the camera when it appeared busted.

  I tested the button, and the bulb went off. Pietro recoiled when the flash caught him right in the eye. 'Ah! Warning next time?'

  'Sorry, surprise selfie,' I laughed, pulling out the photo as the camera printed it. 'I told you there's good stuff hiding in these things. You just have to look.'

  I shook the paper until the little black square changed color, and Pietro's face appeared on it, the wide-eyed surprise the flash caused. I held it up, appraising. 'Hmm, not bad.'

  'Let me see,' Pietro jumped up to snatch the photo from my fingers, while Wanda took the camera.

  Holding the camera up, lens to her face, she asked, 'What is a self-ie?'

  'It's this,' I said, reaching over and pressing the button. Wanda gasped as the camera flashing again. 'A self-portrait.'

  Another photo printed — her image was mouth open, shocked, in what I considered to be a priceless expression. I handed it back to her, laughing. 'Ha! That's perfect!'

  'Ugh!' Wanda said, pushing the camera back at me, but looking more amused than offended. She and Pietro then compared photos, before looking at me. 'Now you take one.'

  'Pfft,' I said, knowing she wanted me to look just as silly and ridiculous as they did. Holding up the camera to my face, I used my free hand to make a peace sign, and took a picture. As the photo came out, I said, 'I'm calling this my 'Glad To Be Alive' selfie. Maybe I'll show Peter when I get back.'

  That was actually a really good idea now that I thought about it. Bring a camera back from my travels around Europe? Collect the craziest photographic documentary, of my life after escaping the KGB and starting a nationwide revolution? Images and pictures that could implicate me in a world-changing event that we had yet to understand the full implications of?

  Peter would love it.

  'You almost look as good as me,' Pietro said
when he looked at my photo, and flashed me a cheeky grin when I made a sound of complaint. 'What? It's a compliment!'

  I stuck my tongue out at him. 'At least that black eye is on your good side.'

  'Ah, you noticed!' Pietro said, a hand rising to test the skin under his right eye. It had remained after the fight on the train, once a violent purple, now yellow and green around the edges. 'I heard women love a man with scars.'

  I just rolled my eyes, the best I could do when I found myself unable to find a comeback. What could I say, I didn't expect my insult to backfire; Pietro's quick, cheesy charm got me blushing, and I was glad that Wanda finally spoke and interrupted that line of thought.

  'Victory,' Wanda snorted as she examined my picture, the hand gesture I had made. She threw me a quizzical look. 'Victory against who, the Chairman? You want to fight back?'

  'I — no,' I said, a little taken aback. Fighting the Chairman, really? It didn't occur to me that Wanda would misinterpret the sign. 'I'd rather just go home. It's supposed — it means peace, the V sign. Well, now it does. Running away from the Chairman is all the victory I need.'

  Wanda frowned before handing me back the photo. 'I guess it helps when you don't remember.'

  I threw her a look, trying to interpret the meaning behind that. Was it just me, or did she sound a little bitter? Maybe resentful? Why? She was the reason I couldn't remember in the first place.

  Pietro gave me a funny look. 'You do not seek revenge for what he did to us?'

  'To be honest, I'd rather forget about him,' I said with a shrug, still ruminating on Wanda's words. 'Keep forgetting, I mean.'

  Unfortunately, I'd have to save my thinking for later, because our meal was interrupted when the back door of the bakery opened. Out came one of the cooks with a bin of trash. He spotted us, roosting at his Dumpster, and dropped his trash immediately, shouting at us in blustery French. We booked it out of there before he could catch us.

  There was no real fear to it, and I caught Wanda's laughter as we danced and darted away from the cook, who was older and fatter than us. People turned and stared as we broke out into the street.

  Eventually we found ourselves down by the seaside. The buildings were shorter here, and the smell of saltwater prominent. It wasn't until we saw the harbors, the piers, though, did Wanda say something.

  'Boats,' she said, at the vast array of ships and vessels coming in. Sailboats, fishing boats, cruise liners, cargo ships. She pointed to one in particular, waving three different flags, one of which was American. 'You think we can get you home on one of those?'

  'On a cruise ship?' I said, a little skeptically. We stood at the top of the hill overlooking the harbor, salty wind blowing up from the sea. It was fresh and invigorating, and reminding me vaguely of Manhattan, of the ferry trips to Staten Island. 'That's pretty lux. I'm not exactly sure we'll fit in, looking like...well, like we do.'

  'You mean battle-hardened revolutionaries?' Pietro cocked an eyebrow. 'It's all right, you can say it.'

  'Yeah, yeah, sure,' I said, shaking my head, even though that wasn't what I was going to say at all. The words 'homeless', 'crazy', and possibly even 'criminals', were the first to pop into mind. 'Look, the point is, unless Wanda's going to Jedi Mind Trick every guard and employee on board, its not going to be easy.'

  'I don't know what a Jedi is,' Wanda said. 'But I was going to suggest just 'mind-tricking',' She made air-quotes here, and I had a feeling she was mocking me. 'The ticket salesman. They will not question us if we already appear legitimate, no?'

  That was actually a pretty solid idea, and I was a little embarrassed that I hadn't thought of it sooner. 'Oh, right. Yeah, that works, too.'

  Pietro elbowed me in the side. 'Hey, sister, you finally got Amelia to admit she is wrong. Perhaps not the brains after all?'

  'Still more brains than you,' I muttered, but with a smirk. So that was a little annoying, but I knew Pietro meant well. 'Well, tickets it is, then. Now where the hell do we get them?'

  It took some looking around; there were a lot of little shops down by the beach, which is where we found a swarming crowd of tourists, from a variety of nations. But none of the shops sold tickets, and eventually I just ended up asking the owner of a bodega, in my hesitant French, where we could book a spot on one of the cruises.

  He gave me a slightly suspicious once-over (Not that I blamed him, I still had scratches and bruises all over me), before giving me directions to a ticketmaster located on the docks. Wanda and Pietro, who were waiting outside in the fountain square, were pleased with this news.

  'So it is a real person,' Wanda said. 'Good. It shouldn't take long for us to get tickets then. I wonder how long it will take us to get to America…'

  'It must be weeks,' Pietro replied, scratching the back of his head, then gestured to the sea. 'It is the entire ocean. Do you think we might end up trapped on there? If something bad happened, there would be no place to go.'

  'Cruise ships are big, I'm there'll be plenty of space to hide if we have to,' I said to reassure them, even as a new dread appeared in my gut. I knew what they were afraid of: a rehash of the train attack, of being trapped in a dangerous location. On a boat, it'd be worse. There would be other people that could get hurt instead. And if the ship took too much damage…

  Pietro and Wanda seemed relatively convinced — at the very least, the idea of a luxury cruise as our way home was certainly not the worst thing that could happen to us. But once they started walking away, I came to a realization, and called after them.

  'Guys, w-wait, just wait a second. I, um, I wanted to talk to you about something,' I said, taking a deep breath. I rubbed my hands together, even though they weren't cold. 'About what happened on the train.'

  Wanda and Pietro exchanged silent looks, and I knew they were concerned. None of us had said a single thing about what happened since it...well, happened. Up until this point, I had been resolute in never talking about that again, but now that I've thought back on it, I realized I still needed questions answered. Important questions that might come up again, if indeed the worst of the worst happened on the cruise. I couldn't let it happen again.

  They looked back at me, waiting. I hesitated, before I said, 'It's about what the Komitet said to me. That, um, that trigger phrase.'

  'Amelia, you shouldn't worry about that,' Wanda said, her expression softening a little. Standing in the middle of the square, the three of us stuck out, and I had to clamp down on the paranoia that we were being watched. 'As long as you don't hear it, you'll be fine.

  'But I did hear it. Parts of it, at least. And I just — I want to know what it means.'

  'You don't…' Pietro frowned, tilting his head slightly. 'You don't remember them, do you?'

  I didn't blink as I repeated the phrase automatically. 'Buntar. Kolumbiya. Stremyashchiysya. Devyanosto. Bayukat—'

  'Amelia, don't!' Wanda pleaded, suddenly grabbing me by the arms and shaking me. Her eyes bored into mine, her expression filled with panic. 'Don't say it. If you have to say it, say it in English.'

  'What, why?' I demanded, trying to shake her off, but Wanda's grip was iron, and sent a strange tingling sensation up my arms and back. Wanda's reaction was unexpected, and it angered me. However, my anger was abated by the fact that she had a point, in a way — saying those words had rendered me inexplicably dizzy. The world swayed around my, and my tongue curled up and back, like those words had triggered my gag reflex. What the hell?

  I shook my head, just so the world would be even again. 'If I say it in English, it won't make any sense to you.'

  'It won't make any sense anyways,' Wanda said. 'It needs to be in English, so it doesn't work.'

  That didn't make any sense to me. Why would the words work in one language but not the other? It was all technically the same, wasn't it? Or maybe the sound of the words was just as important as their meanings.

  Well, Wanda seemed to know best, so I went with it.

 
'Fine.' I said, now in English, and Wanda nodded in encouragement. At least I could easily translate the phrase in my head, and so I said: 'Rebel. Columbia. Eager. Ninety. Cradled. There was more, but that's when you hit him. What does it mean? It's not a sentence. They called it a trigger, so what, is it some kind of code?'

  'Yes,' Pietro said. 'At least, we think so.'

  'You don't know what it does? What it's supposed to...trigger me into?'

  'No.' Wanda only shook her head, finally releasing me. She stepped back, her head bowed. 'We were never there when they used it on you. In the Crucible. But I could feel it. I knew those words hurt you. You hated it. Each time, you were scared. I could hear it in your head. The pain. Not physical pain. They never touched you. But it was there, and it was…' Wanda just squeezed her eyes shut, pressing a hand to her temple. 'I could not bear it. I could not stay with you, no matter how hard I tried. It was too much. Even now, I am surprised you are still as whole as you are.'