Sudden Lockdown

by Amos Talshir

  Veronica’s arms wrapped around his waist and hugged his stomach. She clung to his back from behind, her breathing slightly labored from the effort of running around the stadium. He quickly turned toward her, removing her arms from his body. Physical contact in public was prohibited, and they both knew it. Charlie leveled a scolding look at Veronica and she smiled at him, stroked his face, took his hand and placed it on her little belly, which had grown slightly rounded. Then she looked at him with the appeal of a mother expecting her pregnancy to be acknowledged, and Charlie melted his irritation into an encouraging paternal smile. Veronica suggested they stroll in the sunshine for a while and Charlie welcomed the opportunity to disengage from the distress of his thoughts of escape.

  “I know how to free Rose,” Veronica whispered, continuing to map out the route of their walk among the thousands wandering on the turf.

  Charlie’s blood was suddenly boiling in his veins. He was convinced he hadn’t made the third wish. He couldn’t have been that careless, getting distracted and confused and sacrificing the third wish toward saving Rose. Otherwise, how had Veronica suddenly come up with a solution?

  Veronica tightened her forbidden grasp on his hand, awaiting Charlie’s impressed reaction to her initiative. She was surprised by his chilly response, and even more startled by the frightened look she recognized in his black eyes, perhaps because she was expecting to once more see the warm gaze he directed at her at night before they went to sleep. She would tell him how her day in the stadium had gone, and he listened patiently, stroking her head. She told him about the poems she was writing and he was enthusiastic, praising her for the pretty words, which, she explained to him, rhymed in French. When they made love in the burrow, she also felt that he was not snatching and trampling, but rather touching her in a sensitive, humble way, gratefully, and she was moved. With him, she felt herself to be a charming woman.

  It didn’t take much to undermine her self-confidence and send her to places where she felt inconsequential or, to phrase it more accurately and painfully, felt that she was considered stupid. She wouldn’t allow Charlie to decide in advance that it was impossible for her to have an idea, especially now that she was carrying their baby in her belly. It was true that she hadn’t initially required him to claim responsibility for the pregnancy and was even mentally prepared to have him exit her life if his escape plan had ended in success. But now that he was here and might be present for the birth, she expected a more pleasant, supportive attitude from him. Perhaps even for him to love her. She might be going too far, but she certainly wouldn’t allow him to belittle her and treat her as if she wasn’t capable of saving Rose.

  She let go of his hand and changed the route of their walk. She was making such a mistake, she thought to herself as she recalled the stupid scenes she would make when she was young. Even back then, when Nicola, whom she had loved in high school, wouldn’t stay by her side all through the party, she’d storm off to the other end of the dance floor, hoping he would rush after her. It didn’t happen back then, either. She would slant a look behind her and see him smirking with his friends, who had tracked her huffy departure from the dance hall.

  Charlie remained standing in the middle of the pitch, seeing Veronica walking away, her stride angry and her shoulders stiff. Sorrow flooded his heart. Tonight he would tell her about the three wishes and listen to her opinion on what he should do with the third wish. Even if she laughed at him and thought he was a moron who believed in fairy tales, he would insist that he had to dedicate the third wish to the success of their escape.

  36.

  The suspended cage swayed in the darkness of the following night as it descended upon the emptying pitch. The crowd turned toward the stands, preparing for lights-out. The oblong shadow of the cage was cast by the stadium’s floodlights in all four directions. There were several more seconds before lights-out. Simon and Charlie were sitting in their seats, gazing in despair at the cage carrying the wretched Rose. Veronica was not beside them, and worry was affecting Charlie. Perhaps he should have treated her in a more understanding manner, maybe asking about her idea for freeing Rose. He wondered what was going on with him. He had gotten that woman pregnant, that young woman was suspended in a cage, perhaps on the verge of dying, while he was telling himself fairy tales about three wishes. If his son knew he believed in that stuff, he would lose him as well. Or perhaps he, Charlie, was underestimating Simon, the way he was underestimating Veronica, who had told him she had an idea how to save Rose. He would tell Simon about his third remaining wish, deliberating along with him on whether to sacrifice it for Rose or save it for the hour of their escape.

  The floodlights went out and, much to Charlie’s concern, Veronica did not return. Suddenly, he saw her. Everyone saw her. She burst out onto the turf in a naked run, holding her pregnant belly in her hands. Her long blond hair swayed around her bare shoulders in the moonlight like a golden cape. Despite her new pregnancy, her body was still flexible, the long muscles along her back and legs protruding with the effort of the run. Only her rump displayed a slight sag due to her pregnancy.

  All of the stadium’s inhabitants rose to their feet. A hundred thousand people violated the lights-out rule and began to clap and whistle in honor of Veronica as she crossed the pitch and paused under the cage, still suspended in the air. The floodlights came on again, bathing Veronica’s nude, heavily breathing body in light as she pointed with both her hands at the cage above her. She began to scream in French-accented Spanish that she was willing to turn in the members of Rose’s resistance movement if the promise to free Rose was fulfilled. The stadium was silent, and her screams scratched at the quiet enforced upon all the stunned fans. Nothing happened. The sky did not fall, the snipers did not shoot and no negotiations commenced. The PA system remained silent.

  Veronica’s body began to shiver in the freezing chill of the evening. The floodlights went out and one giant spotlight was aimed at her from the top of one of the light towers. The sharpshooters on the roofs of the stands aimed their sights at Veronica as the blinding beam of light caught her gradually faltering in the center of the pitch. Once again, she yelled out her offer to turn in the members of the resistance, her voice weaker this time. She got down on her knees and tried to hug her body to defend herself from the cold and hide her nakedness. Her shout pierced through the deathly silence hovering over the stadium. Her nude body, glimmering in the light, was speckled with dozens of red beams of light flickering on her skin as the chill turned it blue.

  Simon realized the Others didn’t believe that this naked woman with her French accent could inform on the resistance. They were waiting. They had time for another nutcase running naked and freezing in the cold.

  The announcer’s voice sawed through the night from the loudspeakers, declaring that the forces of the revolution always kept their promises. This reaction recharged Veronica, and she stood up once more, trying to shield her belly, of all things. She yelled out that she demanded that the deal take place at that very moment in order to spare poor Rose even another minute of suffering. The announcer agreed. It was now Veronica’s turn to hand over the members of Rose’s resistance movement.

  “Simon, forgive me,” Veronica yelled out in the Mediterranean language. “I don’t know who they are, but I’m sure you do. You always remember everything. Tell them who the members of Rose’s resistance movement are. Don’t be mad at me and don’t feel bad. They betrayed her first. Quick, Simon, Rose is freezing to death up there.” Veronica burst out in tears. Another spotlight came on, locating Simon, who stood up upon his long legs at the top of the stand. Some of the snipers’ sights were diverted to him, his head flecked with red spots of light. The red dots continued to flicker on his head and on Veronica’s body.

  Charlie looked at his son, who was scratching his shaved head and looked once again like the boy waiting for an invitation to play soccer with the kids on the beach. Here, at the stadium
, Simon had matured in front of Charlie’s eyes, almost causing him to forget about Simon’s life outside, his real life. The sound of the tracks of another truck equipped with a claw arm originated from under the posts of the stand, and Charlie spotted Veronica directing a frightened look at him.

  “Dad, what should I do?” Simon asked Charlie.

  “Do you know who the members of her resistance movement are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love Rose?”

  “But she left me.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “She doesn’t love me.”

  “There’ll always be someone who loves you less than you love her.”

  “What should I do, Dad?”

  “Do you love her?”

  “I love her.”

  “Save her.”

  “But we’ll run away from here to Mom, right, Dad?”

  “I promise.”

  As loudly as he could, Simon yelled out the row and seat numbers for David and his group, retrieving the mental snapshot he had taken of them when he’d visited Rose where she sat. The claw-arm truck stopped on its way to Veronica. The snipers’ sights veered away from Veronica’s naked body toward the resistance members who were sitting next to David, shielding their eyes with their hands as they were blinded by the spotlights aimed at them. The fans in the visitors’ stand all turned their eyes toward Simon. The sense of a terrible mistake brought the taste of rust up from Charlie’s throat into his mouth. He hugged Simon, commending him for his courage with his gaze. Two gray blankets were tossed out of the truck parked on the turf, and Veronica quickly gathered them up, wrapping herself in one of them. A sharp hum of moving gears rang out as Rose’s cage began to descend into the center circle on the pitch. The announcer instructed David and his gang to come down from the stand and walk to the truck. Rose’s cage landed on the grass. No motion was apparent inside the cage. Wrapped in a blanket, Veronica hurried to the cage, extending her hands to offer the second blanket.

  David and his group marched toward the truck, the red beams of the snipers’ rifles flickering on their heads. Veronica gathered Rose from the cage that had been lowered onto the turf and wrapped her in the blanket. The two of them began to cross the turf toward the restroom facilities. The announcer instructed the resistance members to go down to the pitch and get into the cage, which had remained standing there, empty. David and his seven friends began to move toward the stairs as the red dots remained fixed upon their heads. Charlie and Simon tracked them with their eyes, like the other tens of thousands of fans. When they reached the stairs from their rows, their path was blocked. Hundreds of local fans streamed toward the stairs, creating a human blockade that prevented them from going down to the cage.

  No one was prepared for this new occurrence. Suddenly, as if following a mysterious command, the fans streamed to the aisles, disrupting the unquestioned order, the obedience acquired since the stadium was locked down, the peace maintained. The red dots of the snipers’ sights grew confused, beginning to wander from the resistance members to the other fans mingling among them, causing them to lose their identification of David and his friends. The announcer demanded in a tense voice that the resistance members obey the instructions and continue advancing toward the cage. He ordered the rest of them to return to their seats. It was now impossible to distinguish between the resistance members and the hundreds of fans flooding the aisles. Silence broke out following the announcer’s declaration. In the meantime, Veronica and Rose had disappeared under the posts of the stands. A sudden shrill voice was heard from the crowd huddling in the aisles: “Traitor visitors!” It was impossible to identify who had started the fire.

  The red dots sought out the speaker. The floodlights directed beams of light at the source of the sound. Fear took over the crowd. It was obvious to everyone that the snipers could begin to fire indiscriminately. Suddenly, the call sounded from a different direction. “Traitor visitors!” someone else screamed, then another, and others joined them, the call becoming a massive fan chant, which turned threatening and mighty. Fists were thrust in the air, and the throats of ninety thousand fans shook the stadium with an impassioned tune from the repertoire of familiar stadium songs. The visitors’ stand looked pathetic and wretched as its ten thousand dwellers took in the attack of the locals, the likes of which they had never experienced before. This time, it seemed as if the locals did not intend to stop at merely singing.

  It was obvious that the sharpshooters had not expected such a mass outburst. Up to that day, it had been convenient for them to hit defined, isolated spot targets. The situation began to veer out of control when the human walls began to push the locals at the outskirts into the visitors’ stands. David and his resistance group melted seamlessly into the crowd. The rows of friction between locals and visitors could not withstand the pressure applied by the masses pushing from behind. The live barricade began to invade the visitors’ territory. The locals’ singing drowned out the visitors’ counter-calls with a deafening howl. The helicopter flew into the space of the stadium, trying to disperse the aggressors with the thrust of its spinning blades.

  Charlie asked Simon whether he had seen Veronica since she had taken Rose with her. Simon soothed him, saying Rose was probably directing Veronica to her hidden sleep burrow under the stand.

  The locals began to beat the visitors standing at the edge of their stand. The growing commotion became a mass brawl throughout the length of the border between the local fans’ and the visitors’ rows. The cries of the wounded and the calls for help became a medley of screams and stadium cheers. No one was rushing to the aid of those sitting at the ends of the visitors’ stand. What could a few people do opposite so many, other than be grateful that they were not the ones sitting at the end of the stand bordering on the rows of the locals? The helicopter ascended and flew off, unable to intervene in the mass brawl. The writhing bodies of the visitors began to be plucked from their spots and carried over the locals’ heads into the heart of their territory. The bleeding visiting fans were helpless, their yellow team jerseys torn from their bodies. Panic crossed the line between the stands and spread to the core of the visitors’ rows, inflaming the locals’ passion. The pressure on the stand increased, and the visiting fans began to escape to the pitch. The locals began to conquer the emptying seats, looting backpacks and other possessions left under the chairs.

  “Dad, I’m not scared,” Simon told Charlie.

  “That’s really good. Be alert and we won’t be hurt,” Charlie soothed him.

  “I knew it was a matter of time.”

  “What?”

  “The war with the locals.”

  “Why?”

  “War always breaks out between the majority and the minority,” Simon declared.

  “Don’t blame yourself.”

  “No, they would have found some other reason to attack.”

  “Now we have to escape,” Charlie said. “You’ve singled yourself out as an enemy of the locals by turning in the resistance.”

  “Dad, you promised we’d escape anyway.”

  A unified, rising call in the local language was borne up by with rhythmic voices. Their eyes gaped open in hatred, they barked out the two words that were incomprehensible to the visitors.

  “They’re shouting ‘traitor visitors,’” Simon translated for Charlie.

  Beaten visitor fans were led to the turf by the marauders, who dragged them out of the stand. Circles of hate formed around the wretched victims who were stripped of their club uniforms and dragged bleeding to the center circle. Now, suddenly, the red dots appeared on the heads of the rioters. The sharpshooters came to their senses. The silenced shots pierced black, smoking holes in the heads of the marauders, and they fell, one after the other, on the bodies of the visitors they had dragged. This was the signal for a mass retreat back to the enforced order. Thousands of local
s dashed madly back to their seats, leaving behind the bruised visitors, lying limply on the turf or stumbling back to their seats in the stand. Veronica took advantage of the chaos and returned to her seat. Charlie hugged her. Trails of blood stretched out on the grass, marking the paths of the wounded. The locals’ bodies remained on the pitch, smoking from the cavities gaping in their heads, sprawled out in impassioned poses. Fisted hands were raised above their heads, their bent legs frozen in the momentum of a mad dash. Within seconds, the shot bodies remained isolated on the turf. The locals had returned to their seats and the wounded visitors also had time to return to their places.

  The quiet that had been reestablished was disrupted once more by the announcer’s voice, calling David and his group to come down to the players’ tunnel. The claw-arm truck collected the bodies, and lights-out took place for the second time that night. Within seconds, the hushed flurry of the bats’ wings was heard as they glided en masse over the spilled blood left on the turf. They managed to alight and lick the blood with sickening alacrity. The sprinklers came on, washing the blood left behind after the bats’ meal from the blades of grass, glistening in the moonlight. The bats fled, whistling silently, and returned sated to their perches.

  37.

  Veronica insisted that a doctor see Rose that very night. She, Veronica, had seen and felt Rose from up close and knew that her condition was dangerous. She asked Simon to take her to the doctor and bring him to Rose. Charlie explained how hazardous such a disruption of the established order might be: they shot anyone leaving their seat after lights-out. Veronica replied that she could not believe the most important person in her life was so heartless. The man who was her entire world, the one whose son she wanted to bring into the world, was letting her down, and she hoped his son wouldn’t inherit that cruelty from him. She produced a piece of paper from her pocket, waving it in front of his eyes.