by Ann Benson
She rested there for a little while, and listened as the fire brigade arrived to investigate the alarm. Looking back down the passageway to the street, she saw the bobbing flashlights of emergency personnel as they dispersed into the area. She knew she had to move to avoid detection, so she got up onto her hands and knees and crawled painfully in the direction of a darker area a few buildings down the alley.
When she thought she was out of sight and beyond the range of suspicion, Caroline lay back, panting to catch her breath and shivering from the chill. Suddenly all of the aches and pains that had been overshadowed by her fear and urgent flight came blaring back again. Her feet stung, and she realized that she had not remembered to put her shoes on. Her head throbbed, and her neck was so stiff that she could not turn her head without wanting to cry. Still, she knew she had to assess her situation, and turned her body so she could take a look around. Tears poured down her cheeks as she did so.
As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she became aware of the distressing fact that she was not alone in the dark place; there were several motionless forms nearby. Whether they were male or female, drunk or dead, she couldn’t tell, but it was clear to her that none were citizens of the average, normal sort. She stayed very still and watched for a while to be sure they were all asleep.
The half hour it took for the emergency crews to determine that the hotel had not been on fire seemed like an eternity to her. Finally, they left, and the roaring sound of their powerful vehicles faded into the distance. She tried to stand, but fell back from dizziness. Landing firmly on her buttocks, she felt a jolt of pain surge through her diseased body, especially concentrated in her neck and groin and armpits. Finally she gave up on walking and crawled quietly to the nearest sleeping resident of the alley. Carefully, without waking him, she removed his shoes and put them on her own cold feet. Forcing herself to stand and walk, she lurched clumsily toward the end of the alley, in search of someplace safe.
The scruffy man whose shoes she’d stolen quietly got up and slunk over to his nearest compatriot. He tapped the equally scruffy woman on the shoulder and said, “Come on. She’s moving out now.”
The woman sat up immediately and rubbed her eyes. They both got to their feet, but kept themselves in the low shadows as they quietly followed Caroline.
Just outside the alley Caroline leaned against a light pole. She held on to keep herself from falling and looked around to get her bearings. She didn’t dare remain in the open for long, but she could hardly move. She saw the scrubbed faces of well-dressed diners through the window of a nearby restaurant, their skin softly lit by candle glow. They were doing something she’d done a hundred times, quietly enjoying themselves in a public restaurant, laughing, drinking, having a wonderful time. She was hanging on a light pole, wearing stolen shoes, and barely clinging to life. How was it that she had come to be so different from those people in such a short time? I’m watching a film of how my life used to be, she thought; I’m not part of it anymore.
A man came out of the front door of the restaurant. He was well dressed and clean, and his steps as he moved toward her were firm and determined. He’s coming to help me, Caroline thought gratefully. He’s not wearing a uniform! As he neared her she decided that he was the sort of man who could be trusted to help, and she tried to smile.
The two followers hung back, invisible in the shadows, and watched with concern as the man approaching Caroline drew nearer. “What do we do now?” one asked the other.
“Just watch,” the companion answered. “And stay close. There’s not much else we can do.”
They stayed hidden and heard Caroline say, “Oh, thank God, I really need your help.”
But the man grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re beyond help!” he said angrily. “Bloody Marginals! How many times do I have to move you away from my window?!”
Before she could rally herself well enough to protest, he was guiding her weak, stumbling, coughing form down another alley, where he deposited her roughly onto the cracked pavement.
Shaking his fist at her, he said, “And don’t come back, or I won’t bother to call the police. I’ll just take care of you myself.” As he walked back toward the restaurant, he brushed his hands together and wiped them on his pants as if to cleanse them. The watchers both gasped as the man coughed into one hand and then ran it through his hair in an anxious gesture.
Caroline lay stunned in the alley and slowly drifted into unconsciousness. The watchers waited until the restaurateur was completely out of sight and then slunk anxiously down the alley, hunkering in the shadows, until they were within sight of her. The scruffy woman stayed behind and sat hunched by a wall as the ragged man slowly crept nearer and nearer to Caroline’s sleeping form. He sat down a few feet away from her and pretended to try to sleep, all the while keeping a slit eye on her.
When Caroline finally came back to consciousness, the thin light of dawn was just beginning to come into the alley. She dragged herself to a sitting position and looked around, her eyes settling on the dozing man nearby. Had he been there when she’d passed out last night? I can’t remember … she thought. Why can’t I remember?
She took in a long deep breath, preparing to stand, and as the air streamed into her lungs, her chest muscles tightened in revolt. The sudden tight pain made her cough, and she hacked out a short burst of wheezing barks. When her coughing settled, she struggled to her feet, but fell back to the ground almost immediately.
I’m going to have to crawl out of here. She got onto her hands and knees and moved slowly and steadily past the vile-smelling man beside her, heading toward the end of the alley, her too-big stolen shoes dragging behind her.
As soon as she was safely away, the smelly man crawled back to where his female companion waited. “She’s heading for the end of the alley,” he whispered to her. She nodded and said, “I’ll just get the cart and be off, then. Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” he said, and watched as she took off in the opposite direction.
As Caroline half crawled, half stumbled to the street she saw a bench. To her dazed mind it seemed a worthy goal, an improvement over her current situation, which was near desperate. It was unoccupied, and she thought she could rest there for a while with her ravaged body off the ground while she tried to think of what she might do next.
She dragged herself up onto it, and curled up on one side of it. A flock of pigeons swooped in and settled at her feet; she made a halfhearted attempt to shoo them away. Rats with wings, she thought. Welfare mentality.
“I don’t like ’em much myself,” said an unfamiliar voice. Caroline looked up and saw a ratty-looking woman standing there. She was curiously dressed and had a tattered brown bag hanging from one shoulder. She smiled and leaned against a rusty, dented shopping cart, empty but for a few weathered newspapers. “Mind if I join you for a rest? I’m feeling a bit tired.”
Caroline shrugged weakly and gestured to the woman that it was all right to sit. The woman’s ample form filled the remainder of the open space on the bench, and it sloped noticeably after she sat down.
“You’re looking tired yourself,” she said to Caroline. “A bit under the weather, perhaps?”
And although she had little energy left for polite conversation, Caroline responded groggily, “A bit.”
The, ragged woman smiled. “Been a long night, has it?” She leaned closer to Caroline and said, “I’ve had a few long nights in my time, some quite memorable, some I’d rather forget!” She laughed heartily at her own comment and slapped her own knee. “Mind you, I was younger then, and still pretty enough to turn a head or two.”
With some effort Caroline looked up at her and wondered how long it had been since this woman could still have been called “pretty.” The woman saw Caroline’s look and continued, “Oh, I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re wondering how this stinky hag could ever have turned a head. Well, you must always be prepared for what you don’t believe to suddenly become true.�
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Oh, God, Caroline thought, if only I could remember what I believe.… A tear slid down her cheek.
Seeing the tear, the woman placed a hand on Caroline’s arm and said, “Oh, dear, now I’ve gone and upset you. Please forgive me.”
Caroline tried to look at the woman, but her vision went in and out of focus for a few moments. When it finally clarified, she saw that the strange woman was smiling down at her. The woman’s appearance would not have made her feel particularly comfortable under normal circumstances. Her clothes were grimy, her hair haphazard, her age indeterminate, and her smile was full of gaps where there should have been teeth. Not my usual circle.… Still, she felt oddly comforted.
A port in the storm, she thought. She shook her head to let the woman know that she’d done nothing untoward.
“Well, something seems to be upsetting you. Are you lost, then?”
With great pain Caroline nodded. Then she grimaced.
“Been lost myself a few times,” the woman said, “but somehow I always find myself.” She patted Caroline’s arm. “I suspect you will, too, in good time.”
Good … time … find … The words ran together in Caroline’s mind as she slowly slipped out of consciousness. The burden of wakefulness was suddenly too much for her ravaged body to bear. It wanted to be rid of the burdens of thought and movement, for those simple activities somehow seemed to take more energy than she had.
The woman said nothing and did nothing, but waited patiently until she was sure Caroline was asleep. Then she reached out a chafed hand and stroked Caroline’s oily hair. “You rest now,” she said, “and I’ll take care of you.”
With hands clasped firmly on the brown bag resting in her expansive lap, she sat in silent vigil over her sleeping charge, watching as people passed. Prosperous Londoners paid them no attention whatsoever, for most would rather not acknowledge their disturbing presence; to do so might necessitate a sympathetic response. Now and then she checked Caroline’s breathing and, when it had taken on the cadence of sleep, got up from the bench and placed her belongings in the bottom of the cart. Gently, and with surprising strength, she lifted Caroline up from the bench and placed her in the cart on top of the other items. She whistled softly and looked down the alley, where her companion waited. He waved back at her in acknowledgment.
She dug around in the pocket of her filthy dress looking for some crumbs. After tossing a few handfuls to the milling pigeons, she grabbed the handle of the cart and, mumbling incoherently to herself, headed down the street with her dreaming passenger.
A smiling woman in an abbreviated version of the green Biocop suit entered the pedestal room through a sliding mirrored panel in one wall.
Bionurse? Janie thought. Para-Biocop?
The woman pushed a metal cart of medical-looking supplies forward. Despite her fear Janie looked curiously at the contents of the stainless steel tray resting on top of the cart. There was an odd and somewhat threatening assortment of long metal probes and clamps, a few adhesive patches, and other such items, none of which inspired Janie to feel particularly comfortable about what would happen in the next few moments, but every one of which caught her interest.
“Please remove your transfer suit,” the woman said.
“But I’ll be naked.”
“Yes, madam, I understand that.” The nurse looked sympathetic but sounded firm. “I apologize for any discomfort this might cause you, but you will not be able to wear clothing during the procedure. It’s just like any other medical examination. Clothing can lead to inaccurate results.”
How many naked patients have I stood over on operating tables? she wondered. Have I always treated them with absolute dignity? She remembered one male patient on whom she’d performed lower abdominal surgery. When they’d prepared him, she and the other members of her team had noticed his small penis and she recalled with shame how they’d all snickered, knowing that the patient was under general anesthesia and couldn’t hear them. Probably couldn’t hear them, she thought, feeling even more ashamed.
She tried to think of what was about to be done to her as just another medical procedure, but her efforts to fool herself weren’t successful. Karma, she thought unhappily, payback. She looked nervously around the small room, staring into the mirrored panels. She felt the invisible eyes of the guards staring back through those mirrors and burning into her as she slipped the plastic suit down around her ankles and stepped out of it. The woman picked it up immediately and stuffed it into a yellow plastic bag.
Then the woman handed her a shower cap and a clear plastic necklace with the name “Ethel J. Merman” inscribed in it. “Please put your hair into this cap and place the identification necklace around your neck, then stand on the pedestal and remain stationary. You’ll be getting a cleansing rinse now to sterilize your skin.”
Janie heard the scraping noise of a door sliding open overhead. She looked up and saw a large panel disappear into the ceiling. As soon as it was gone, a big circular tube not unlike a miniature missile silo descended and settled itself around her. Thousands of minute nozzles lined the inside of the tube.
“Please reach up and take hold of the overhead hand grip. Close your eyes and keep them closed until the spray stops.”
The tiny jets of bluish liquid, the same temperature as her skin, bombarded her body. She’d neglected to take a deep breath before the jets began to spray and she was near to sputtering when the liquid stopped needling her. Strong blowers came on and hard bursts of dry air forced the blue liquid off her body onto the base of the pedestal. A vacuum drain opened and the blue pools were sucked down into the base. Then the blowers softened, like a hair dryer on a cool setting.
When Janie’s body was quite dry, the woman handed her a thin blue towel of light fabric and instructed her to dry all the folds of her body that the air might not have reached. “You probably won’t like the next few minutes, but I’m going to have to ask you to cooperate,” she said. Janie thought she saw another look of sympathy in the woman’s face. “It’s best if you don’t resist. Then it will go very quickly. And they’ll get a good picture. You don’t want to have to go through this again.”
And then all those probes she’d seen on the tray were inserted into every available cavity in her body. Each properly shaped probe was fitted first with a thin plastic cover—machine condoms, Janie thought—and then lubricated before being slipped into every available orifice. Adhesive patches were affixed to her navel, to several places on her chest, over her closed eyes, on her nipples, and to the tips of her fingernails. Each one was a mini-transmitter, designed to radio out an image of the area to which it was attached.
“Almost ready now, try to stay steady,” the woman told her. “It’ll all be over soon.”
Janie tried to remain calm but she couldn’t entirely contain her shaking. She could no longer see what was happening to her, but she heard the woman say, “Just one more thing now.”
The woman stepped up on a stool and removed the cap from Janie’s hair. She pulled the hair up to the top of her head, and it was sucked up into a vacuum cap. As if to comfort Janie, the woman said, “We used to have to shave the heads. This is better, don’t you think?”
All Janie could say with the bulb-shaped probe in her mouth was “Gluph glunk.”
“Here we go, Miss Merman. Almost done now …”
Eight panels descended slowly from the ceiling opening and settled together into a new silo around Janie’s body. Janie couldn’t see them, or clearly hear the sounds they made, but she felt the slight vibration of the pedestal as the heavy objects were lowered.
She wanted to scream, but it was impossible. She wondered how the real Ethel Merman, a wonderfully gutsy broad, might have reacted to such a horrifying situation as this.
She’d sing, of course, Janie thought. Songs of comfort started playing in her mind. When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high.… I simply remember my favorite things.…
Soon there was a soft whi
rring sound as thousands of tiny metal prongs slid out from the panels. Each one stopped automatically when it reached her skin, forming an exact mold of her body.
“Now stay very still, please! Just a few more seconds.”
But trapped as she was in the machine of her nightmares, touched menacingly by ten thousand electronic probes that would record all her secrets, Janie could not have sung if her very life depended on it. She was immobilized by the metal protrusions, and as she stood there, unable even to tremble, she heard several clicks and whizzes as the transmitters sent out their data.
And so she remembered a favorite thing, her sixteenth birthday, when her aunt, a successful jeweler, had given her a single strand of perfectly graduated pearls. In the privacy of her childhood bedroom Janie had stripped down to her underwear and stood in front of her full-length mirror wearing the luminous necklace. Laughing into an imaginary microphone, she’d said, “I’d like to thank the oysters of the world for their help in making this day possible.…”
She called on that memory to preserve her sanity as she stood there naked, encased in metal prongs, wearing not pearls but a necklace of clear plastic. She gripped the overhead strap, white knuckled and afraid. She imagined she was that young girl, firm and innocent and hopeful, in the early bloom of eroticism. To be where she was, a middle-aged woman, cold and slightly sagging, in this bare room being stared at by unseen strangers with questionable intent, was unimaginable. As the tiny metal prongs sent a buzz of current through her skin and into her body in perfect synchronization, recording every cell, every molecule, every atom of her physical being, Janie cried inside for the loss of that innocence and the death of her hope.
