Sudden Lockdown

by Amos Talshir

  “Annette,” he blurted out abruptly. “Actually, I’m not sure. I’ve been imagining myself with her, because I saw something.”

  “That’s not enough,” she said with a smile. “You have to be sure you love her, and then maybe it’ll happen. A girl wants to be sure the guy loves her.”

  “Right,” he mumbled. “The best thing is when you’re in love, I think,” he said, hoping she would continue to tell him how you got to sleep with a girl you loved.

  But she trained a focused look on the roofs of the stands, as if the two of them had not just had a special exchange about love and sex. Simon really liked her, thinking that she was truly special in not making a fuss about stressful things, talking about them calmly and also pausing the conversation because she didn’t feel like talking anymore, rather than because he had said something wrong. That woman’s really cool, Simon thought. And she made a fuss about a light coming on, of all things.

  “I need to be told when a light’s about to come on. Don’t things like that scare you?”

  “No.”

  “What does scare you?”

  “I think that if they tried to kill me, I’d be scared.”

  “Why are you saying that?”

  “Because they could kill us here.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Did you see the snipers kill that guy?”

  “I did, but he had it coming. They said he tried to rape some girl.”

  “It was scary.”

  “He deserved it.”

  “I thought that’s why you were tense, and that’s why you startled when I sat down next to you.” Simon was now truly sorry for being an idiot and steering the conversation in this direction. He would have wanted them to keep talking about sex and turning on the light after sleeping together.

  “You know, I once watched a French movie on a website for old movies. You’re French, right?”

  “Yeah, sweetie, I was. Now I’m a Spaniard living in the Mediterranean Coalition.”

  “I saw a movie where a man and a woman finish making love and he turns on the light next to the bed and smokes a cigarette in bed. Have you ever seen anything like that?”

  “I don’t smoke after I make love, and I don’t know any men who smoke after sex. But I know people used to do that.”

  “Does it bother you that I’m talking to you about it?”

  “No, not at all. It’s actually interesting to be here without anyone knowing where I am. My mother must be losing her mind because she can’t nag me and tell me I shouldn’t have just taken off like that with a man I don’t really know.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m thirty-three. You still have a mother at that age.”

  “And you don’t really know the guy you’re with?”

  “The thing is, that’s actually more complicated, and I don’t think I can talk to you about it.”

  “Are you having a nice time here?”

  “You’re a little odd, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, that’s what they say.”

  “You’re a romantic. Watch out.”

  “Is that weird?”

  “Not that part. You only talk about what you want to. You didn’t ask me why I took a trip with a man I don’t know. Actually, you’re a bit like me. But with me, it’s because I’m a little stupid. You seem pretty smart to me.”

  “You’re not so stupid if you noticed that.”

  “That’s nice of you to say. Your dad’s really nice, too. Very different from you.”

  “You’re really nice, too. I hope you’re also different from your mom.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “You said you were happy to be far away from her.”

  “Yeah, I shouldn’t have told you that. You’re a mama’s boy, after all. That conversation of ours might have been inappropriate, too.”

  “That one?”

  “You know.”

  “I do, but I really want to thank you for that conversation. I’d like us to talk about it some more. It’s fun with you. Hey, why are you crying all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know, it just came over me,” she said, sniffling like a little girl.

  Those questions assaulted Veronica from the inside. She had no answers. Never mind the crying and the tears next to this strange boy, but the worst part was the snot that burst out like that when she was truly sad. She was ashamed and tried to hide her face, which only made the drip worse. Simon handed her the tissue that was always in his pocket to clean his lenses and his smartphone screen. That made her cry harder, this niceness from that wonderful boy. Maybe it was the tension of the last few days in this odd madness, whose end no one could predict. Even though she was saying that she was having a good time here, there was still a disaster going on, and she didn’t know what would happen. Why did she always feel good even though everything around her was being destroyed, such as her life, for example? He handed her another tissue and collected the used ones into his backpack, mumbling that she better not litter, because people here were very sensitive about any kind of disorderly conduct. She began to laugh and hugged his shoulders since she could not reach his head, which was taller than she was. He tentatively put his arms on her shoulders and she realized why she was crying. She so wanted him to be her boy, to at least have a boy who was good to her. To at least have something that was truly hers.

  “Is everything okay with you?” she heard him whisper over her unwashed curls.

  “Yeah, except for the little things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Peeing, showering, washing my hair, sleeping. I miss the gym, but I’ll manage with this field. It is a stadium, after all.”

  “It doesn’t scare you that we’re locked up in here?”

  “What does it matter? I’ve gotten stuck in elevators plenty of times. I’m used to getting stuck in elevators. At least here there’s plenty of people to get to know.”

  “You’re not bothered by who’s keeping us here?”

  “Who’s keeping us here?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “So what’s the use of being bothered by it?”

  “This could go on a long time.”

  “I can exercise on the turf.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Now I’m actually a little concerned,” Veronica said. “I noticed these little things hanging on the edge of the roofs of the stands.”

  “Those are the sharpshooters.”

  “What, you think I’m that stupid? I know there are sharpshooters there. I saw something under the sharpshooters. When they turned on the lights, I got scared and I looked up and saw them?”

  “Who?”

  “Those swinging things. Why are you looking at me like that?” Veronica asked.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand you. I’m not that used to talking to a woman… to adults.”

  “You’re actually okay. I’m used to people looking at me like that, but I’m not what I seem like. I just felt comfortable asking you, because you’re a kid and I thought you’d answer me and I’d understand.”

  “I think you talk like a kid. Like a girl. That’s why they look at you like that. It’s unexpected for an adult woman to talk like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “A hundred thousand people are afraid of being killed, and you notice the little things swinging.”

  “You’re cute like your dad, you know. Way to go for what you did for that naked girl on the grass there.”

  The way Veronica was talking about Rose made Simon feel flustered. It was true that she had been naked as she had been streaking, but Veronica said ‘naked’ and it just sounded like naked.

  “You don’t have to blush, buddy,�
� Veronica said. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Then you should be blushing. I’m thirty-three and I blush sometimes. I blushed when your father helped me wash myself by the sink and I think he snuck a look.” Veronica laughed.

  Simon looked down. He noticed that she had on quality running shoes.

  “You have good shoes,” he said.

  “Are you going out with her?”

  “Where could I go out to?”

  “Still, you know, why don’t you go out? You don’t have to hide the fact that you like her, and it shouldn’t bother you that everyone’s already seen her naked.”

  “It doesn’t bother me.”

  “You’re not jealous?”

  “Why?”

  “Because all the men saw her naked.”

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “So you like her and you’re all dazzled by her and you could have a good time together. Are you going to try and fall in love with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a good thing you admit it. The most important thing is to be honest with yourself. Especially when it comes to love. So what are your plans?”

  “To meet the president of the coalition.”

  “What are you talking about, what president?”

  “The president of this coalition is also trapped in the stadium.”

  “What does that have to do with the naked girl?”

  “We’re planning to meet the president of the country together and find out what he knows.”

  “You’re going out with her to meet the president of the country?”

  “That’s what seems to be going down,” Simon said, looking in Veronica’s eyes and trying to see whether she’d caught his wordplay: going out, going down. It was clear to him that this was not her native language, since she was one of the people who had been uprooted by the state coalitions. But Simon hoped he might have managed to make her laugh. His father, Charlie, always managed to make women laugh. Not with wordplay and puns, more with gestures he aimed at them, thinking Simon did not notice, and they laughed and loved to be with Charlie.

  “That’s original, going out to meet the president on your first date. I usually like to be taken out to dinner. I don’t really eat, because I really watch my weight, but when someone invites me to dinner, I know I’m being treated seriously. I’m such a dummy. I talked about food and now I’m suddenly hungry.”

  “Here, I saved a bunch of rectangles. They look healthy, like they’d suit you.”

  “You’re such a cutie. If you’re taking her out to meet the president, then you must be serious about her. What’s your name?”

  “Simon.”

  “I’m Veronica. Thanks for the compliment, about me looking healthy to you and about these suiting me. They really do look healthy. For years now, I’ve been living on oats and pampering myself with granola.”

  Simon was charmed by Veronica. He really wanted to know whether she truly did not understand the difficult situation in which they found themselves, or was at least concerned, but he let her be. How could he explain to her that meeting the president wasn’t a date, if she was frightened by a man turning on the light after she’d slept with him? Simon wanted to tell her that they had been waiting for a few days now next to the VIP box, and the president hadn’t come out to see them. Maybe she would have a simple take on the situation and would explain to him that everything he did from now on had to do with him liking Rose. That his entire world had been reduced to actions that would bring him closer to Rose. He was dying to talk to someone about Rose. It definitely wasn’t Dad. He used to talk to Mom, like he’d talked to her about Annette, when Mom had told him to be patient and to be willing to accept a no as well. But with Veronica, it suddenly seemed to him it might be okay.

  “When the president tells you two what’s going on, tell me too—promise. Because I tell you everything. Let’s agree, okay, we tell each other everything. I’ve told you about the little things swinging on the roofs.”

  “I promise.”

  “Did I also tell you that I blushed when I was bathing with your father by the sink?”

  “And you also told me about the men who turn on the light after you sleep with them.”

  “Was that wrong?”

  “It was a little too much information,” Simon said, hoping that this time she’d get it and laugh. “Why do they turn on the light?” he asked.

  “They turn on the light to see what time it is,” she said.

  “I’ll tell you about the president, and also find out what those little things swinging from the roof are.”

  “And also ask the president if he wants me to teach him to dance,” she implored him.

  That really made Simon laugh. She looked at him, surprised, and Simon thought that it was interesting that he found her so funny but he couldn’t manage to make her laugh. Some people were like that—funny but not quick to laugh.

  17.

  The monotonous rattle of the sprinklers, turned on once the lights went out, was the last thing Simon remembered before he fell asleep sitting up in his chair. He tried to invite Rose into his thoughts and to love her, but he couldn’t. Rose, along with her friends, was preoccupied with resistance business, and he couldn’t get close to her. He had tried to invite her along to lurk in wait for the president next to his box, but she had replied angrily that she had no expectations from that corrupt crew. In his dream, he tried to talk to her about love, but she talked about revolutions. He told her excitedly that because the Others had carried out a revolution and the president had been deposed, maybe her resistance movement should redefine its goals. Rose insisted in her dream that even when they were deposed and pathetic, they were still patronizing, and they had to be fought.

  Simon did not have the dream for which he was yearning. Rose did not appear naked from the darkness. Instead, a quiet, nearly inaudible whistle invaded his ears, waking him from his sleep. Next to him, all twisted in their seats, sat his father, the banker and funny Veronica. The whistle drew nearer and drifted away but remained sharp and hushed. He had grown used to the infrared points of light from the sharpshooters, roaming randomly on the heads and chests of the sitting-sleepers in the stadium’s seats. The sharp, hushed whistle was new to his ears. He pinpointed the direction from which it was coming. Simon lightly shook his father, who woke up, and asked him whether he could hear that whistle, more like a chirrup, Simon clarified.

  “I can’t hear your whistling either.” Charlie cleared his dry throat and fell asleep again.

  Simon carefully extracted his digital telephoto camera, knowing what he had to do in order not to expose it to the snipers’ eyes when he turned it on. The compartment of tiny tools in his backpack included a roll of opaque electrical tape. He cut off a small square with his fancy Swiss Army knife. It was no mere pocketknife and included tools for every purpose. Phillips, Allen and star-bit screwdrivers, as well as tiny screwdrivers for using on eyeglasses and watches, tweezers, tongs, pliers, pincers and scissors, along with leathercraft tools, files, and knives of every kind, a magnifying glass and a toothpick. He took care to store the pocketknife in a separate piece of checked baggage. His father had told him that since 9/11, pocketknives discovered in carry-on baggage were confiscated. He affixed the square of electrical tape to the red bulb that lit up over the camera’s lens.

  Simon directed his camera lens toward the source of the whistle, adjusting the zoom. He stabilized the camera with a skilled hand and saw what he knew he’d been looking for. Along the edge of the stadium’s roof, thousands of bats hung swaying next to each other, discreetly masked by darkness, creating a lengthy chain under the positions of the snipers lying on the roofs. Simon had known since the annual field trip to the bat cave that he was one of the few, in fact rare, people who could hear the pitch of a bat’s whistle. The students
had crawled in utter silence in order to discover the hanging bats, while he had to block his ears due to the whistling that only he could hear.

  After the trip to the cave, Simon had found answers to all the questions intriguing him on internet sites dedicated to bats. He was surprised to discover that the many movies produced about them had not made use of their most interesting trait. Bats transmitted a sonar soundwave at a high pitch that humans could not hear and used the returning echoes to estimate the distance at which they had to watch out for an enemy, or from which an attack could be carried out. He thought it could be interesting if Batman could do that. The part he found most interesting was about vampire bats, which were the inspiration for all vampire tales. Even there, he uncovered an error that actually aggravated him. In contrast to what the books said and the movies showed about vampires biting down on their victims to suck their blood, the vampire bat actually licked the blood of the victims it attacked, rather than sucking it. This difference seemed important to him. He could like a bat that licked blood, but not a bloodsucking one.

  The whistle attracted his attention. He had read that some people could sometimes hear certain pitches of bat sounds, resembling the inhale whistle he produced and that others couldn’t hear. Mom and Dad saw his lips purse when he did it and assumed he was whistling to himself while staring at the computer screen. He had realized, even back when he was a child, that he was in fact producing a whistle at a bat frequency.

  Suddenly, a terrible noise rang out, followed by a volley of shooting. Simon turned the camera’s zoom lens toward the source of the noise, which had woken up masses of sleeping fans into a state of panic. In the curve of the eastern roof, he saw a man’s strapped body dangling down toward the stadium, suspended dozens of feet above the heads of the frightened fans in their seats. Simon stabilized his camera in the direction of the suspended body and recognized a sharpshooter in uniform, hanging by the straps that secured him to his previous prone position. His body swayed in the air as he tried to hang on to the straps. His hands were covering his face while his sniper rifle dangled down from a strap on his neck. The whole incident lasted mere seconds. The body slid from the roof with a massive noise. An alert fan with an overdeveloped reactionary instinct rose and climbed the steps. A different sharpshooter aimed several shots at him, propelling his head off his body, which continued to run headless for several more stairs before collapsing.