Memory of the Color Yellow 1-5

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “This from a little runaway, looking for a piece of blind ass in hell,” the driver said.

  The woman stood up and went to the back of the van. “Shut up, moron,” she snapped at the driver. “Don’t pay any attention to Billy,” she said to me. “He’s just jealous.”

  “Do you live in Tiresias?” I asked, forgetting it wasn’t called that any longer.

  “Oh boy, you can sure tell you’re from a hick town,” Billy the driver said, laughing out loud.

  “I’m from Europe Town,” I replied, insulted. “It’s a nice place. Where do you live?”

  “The security staff lives in Detroit,” the woman said.

  “Detroit?” I asked, frowning. “I thought Detroit was long gone.”

  “Not where we’re going,” she said.

  I completely missed it that I was going to Detroit, too. It didn’t occur to me that they were telling me information that was privileged, that only someone who worked for the government would need to know.

  “You’re security? I thought you were a nurse,” I said.

  “I’m a doctor,” she answered. “But that’s not important. Now do you want to tell me what happened? I mean from the beginning.”

  Slipping into the seat next to me again, I automatically cringed when she slid her arm across the back of the seat. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to squeeze your cheeks again. By the way, you’re lucky, you know that? You could be in a lot more trouble than you are. You could’ve been forced to stay there, and trust me, you don’t want to, ever. I hope you’ve learned a lesson.”

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

  “We’ll ask the questions,” she answered. “I’m Connie, by the way.”

  Billy, the driver said to me in Greek, “Don’t trust her. Don’t tell her the truth. Just stick with what happened today. Pretend that today was the first day, although we know it was not, don’t we? Don’t answer me.”

  I looked her right in the eye. “Hi, Connie. I’m Steve.”

  “How’d you end up at Eremos?”

  Uneasy, I decided to take Billy’s advice. If I got caught lying, I couldn’t be in any more trouble anyway. “Today was the first day of school. All my friends were lined up at the kiosk, waiting for the school bus. A white van was parked across the street. When I got to the bus stop, my friends shouted at me that someone was looking for me. I walked across the street to the van and he pulled me inside.”

  If my friends were questioned, they wouldn’t tell that story but I didn’t care.

  “Did you ever see Jim before?” Connie asked.

  They must have known the driver of the van was Jim because of Penelope. I still had to figure out how they knew about Penelope.

  “Never,” I said.

  “Are you going to tell my parents?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about your parents,” Connie said. “You never have to worry about your parents again.”

  Words that sent chills down my spine, I started to cry, no longer able to hold back. “Will my parents be killed because of this?” I asked.

  “No, nothing like that.” Connie answered, patting my hand. “Shush, now. It’s nothing to cry about. You’ll see.”

  “We knew where you were before the guard even called for back up,” Billy said. “Your mother called The Council Police as soon as she found out Jim took off with you. The white vans are delivery vans, and that meant it was headed for the depot. When the guard made the call, we were already on our way.”

  The school never called my mother. Instead, Paul risked his life by disobeying the rules, left the bus lineup running as fast as was possible, crying, screaming all the way to my house that I’d been kidnapped. He didn’t know about Penelope, so of course, they’d think I was an innocent victim.

  Rose was kneading bread dough and Yiayia had already started her chores in the garden when my mother heard the racket Paul was making. Reaching the front door, Rose saw Paul flying toward the porch, distraught.

  “He took Steve! Steve got into the van and the guy drove away,” Paul cried, clinging to my mother as she pushed the screen open.

  “Paul, calm down! What are you talking about? Who took Steve?”

  “Some guy in a white van,” he said, trying to get air, gulping, the hysteria taking its toll. “He was waiting at the bus stop for Steve.”

  “Did he ask for him by name?”

  “Yeah, and when Steve got there, to the kiosk, he went over to the man and got into the van. The man drove off before the bus came.”

  “And Steve was in the van?” Rose asked, horrified.

  Before Paul could answer, my mother screamed for my grandmother so loudly Paul said that his ears rang. “Eleni!”

  Dropping her trowel, my grandmother ran around to the front of the house. “What’s wrong?” she cried.

  “Steve’s gone! Paul said someone in a white van took him!”

  “Get inside,” she said, grabbing on to Paul and Rose, pushing them through the door. “Paul, start writing down every single thing you remember about the van. Rose, call The Council Police.”

  Hesitating, my mother knew she had to make the call theoretically to secure my safety, but in reality, the consequences of it were more harrowing than we could have ever imagined. Slowly reaching for the phone, she closed her eyes and asked God to protect me and use whatever was happening for my good. Her prayer would be prophetic.

  Memory of the Color Yellow

  –

  Three

  Chapter 9

  Minutes counting, the shot Connie gave me tingled and burn. “How much longer will this hurt?” I begged, close to tears again.

  “When we get home, I’ll get an ice bag for your arm,” she said.

  “Home?” I prayed she meant Europe Town.

  “Our home,” Connie replied. “We’re we live.”

  The area was foreign to me, with the sun behind us we traveled on a vast concrete road, acres and acres of it, a street sign spelling out Tireman. The setting was similar to what I’d seen hiking to Tiresias, only on a larger scale. In the straggly woods stood unoccupied buildings, some blackened, most in states of disrepair, but all teeming with oranges and reds; vines and overgrown landscaping changing into autumn colors. Rusted hulks of cars piled everywhere, most buried in the vines. The vines made a huge impression on me. I’d never seen anything like it in the pristine, manicured neighborhoods of Europe Town.

  “What happened out there?” I asked, pointing to the vast devastation.

  “Used to be everyone drove a car. No more though,” Billy said.

  “Not the cars,” I replied. “The buildings. What happened?”

  “The rebellion happened. The peeps burned their own cities and when the new government came in, they gave the citizens a helping hand.”

  “Why here? What’d these people do wrong?”

  “It’s not just here,” Connie said. “It’s like this all over the United States.”

  Not completely familiar with the term United States, I figured she meant this place, this world we lived in.

  “What’s it called out there?” I pointed out the window.

  “Those are the suburbs,” Billy said over his shoulder. “South End.”

  “Metro Detroit,” Connie added.

  “What’s that?”

  “Detroit? It’s the City!” Connie said. “It’s America to you. It’s not officially called Detroit. That’s an insider’s name. Your father drives a bus in Detroit. He takes a different route in, of course. No one sees this.” She swept her hand across the windows, indicating the mess I was looking upon was special, just for our eyes.

  “Should we move over to Michigan Avenue?” Billy asked, looking at Connie in the rearview mirror. “It’s not so depressing.”

  “Sure. Do you want to see the way your dad takes to work?” she asked me, her voice gentle.

  It bothered me, like they were going to show me something worse, although I didn’t see how that was possible unless there wer
e dead bodies all over the place. They turned south onto a street named Wyoming, I saw a mangled street sign, Wyoming crossed with Tireman. Wyoming was worse than Tireman, the houses segued to what I now know were once vital industrial buildings, but as I looked, they were simply frightening, huge abandoned properties with hundreds of broken windows, surrounded by more of the rusted hulks. On one building, an acanthus tree grew on the roof. A light, fall rain started to fall and suddenly, I really missed my family, the pain was excruciating.

  “When do I get to go home?” I whined, more than willing to face the consequences if I could just see my mother and father again.

  “We’ll talk about that later. Now isn’t this better?”

  She pointed out the window again, and the contrast was shocking. Michigan Avenue, she called it, was beautiful. It appeared to be immaculately maintained stores, although I didn’t see anyone shopping.

  “It’s all a façade,” Billy said. “Fake City, we call it. Pretty realistic, isn’t it? My father helped build this. After the rebellion, when things settled down, the new government worked fast cleaning up the mess. But only the mess outsiders might see. And it wasn’t just a mess from war. People lived like pigs.”

  “Who would see it?” I asked.

  “The old airport is out of town. Visitors come in this way. It’s important,” Connie said. “You’ll understand some day.”

  “Where are all the people now?” I asked, looking around the clean streets, devoid of human life.

  “Careful Billy,” Connie said. “Don’t want to upset our guest.”

  It was too late. I’d answered in my mind; the people who used to live here were all dead. It had to be the only answer. I was getting sick, my stomach acting up, terror, sadness, the unknown, all critical to a child. “I need to use the toilet,” I said, choking back tears again.

  “Hang on, kiddo,” Billy said. “We’re almost there. You can go at the guard house. Can you wait that long?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  The false store fronts transitioned to actual lavishly appointed, gated apartment buildings. “This is where the young, rich people live,” Billy said, pointing up.

  “The rich young white people,” Connie mumbled.

  “Wow, do you live here?” I asked in my innocence.

  “Ha! Us? No way. We live in government housing,” Billy said, Connie laughing.

  I’d never seen anything like it. The landscaping was beautiful, with lush grounds, beautiful trees in the very early stages of color change, swathes of fall color in flowers I couldn’t believe were real. I wondered what my dad thought of it. I wished I could tell him what I was seeing, that it was the same thing he looked at every day and night.

  “Did your father ever tell you about this?” Connie asked.

  I shook my head. “The only thing he told me about work was the interesting people he saw every day. A lot of people in costume. I think that’s what he said. Dignitaries.”

  “Yep, that’d be dignitaries. Detroiters wear regular clothes, most wear uniforms.”

  “We wear regular clothes in Europe Town, don’t we?” I asked, looking down at my jeans and t-shirt.

  “You do,” Connie asked, but I could tell she was being nice, placating me.

  The van reached a tall gate with a guard house. “Do you still need to go?” Billy asked.

  I shook my head. The feeling had left me for the time being. A man with black skin and a dark blue uniform came out, flashed an object that reminded me of a squirt gun at a label on the window and raised the gate.

  “What’s wrong with his skin?” I asked, twisting in my seat to watch the gate lower. I wondered if I was going to be trapped in Detroit, now.

  “Whose?” Connie asked, frowning.

  “That man’s skin. Why’s it black?”

  “He’s supposed to be that way. He’s an African,” Billy said.

  “Where does he live?” I asked, but I knew the answer before Billy even spoke.

  “Africa Town. African people have black skin. Latin people have brown skin, Asian people have pale skin. You and I have olive skin. Old Connie here is a whitey. You’ll see lots of different people in Detroit.”

  “You certainly will,” Connie said.

  “But where’s Africa Town?”

  “Oh, not far,” Connie replied. “There’re towns all over the place.”

  I looked down at my skinny arm. My skin was olive? Since when? Paul’s grandfather with his stump of an arm came to mind and I shivered. I prayed there’d be no one armed, blind people in Detroit.

  “And your dad never mentioned the people with different colored skin?”

  “No. That’s why I can’t believe it.”

  “Your dad follows all the rules, I guess,” Connie said, snickering. “He’s a good Coalition citizen.”

  “But not a member,” I said, remembering what Peter said. Only the fourth generation could join. “I can’t be a member, either.”

  “You’ll be a member,” Billy said with finality.

  “Shush, big mouth. Not yet,” Connie hissed.

  I didn’t know what they meant, but it was something else that scared me. I didn’t want to be a member of anything that didn’t include my mom and dad. The increasing separation from my family packed dread into an already traumatizing day. I’d been with Connie and Billy for less than an hour and it seemed like days. Once again, I wondered what my family was doing.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Almost lunch time. Are you getting hungry?”

  “Lunch time? Is that all?”

  My father wouldn’t even be home yet, would he? I saw my mother and grandmother alone in the house. They wouldn’t know what had happened to me. Trying to imagine the scenario when they discovered I wasn’t on the school bus was impossible; Mrs. Polsky’s murder kept taking over my imagination.

  Chapter 10

  Europe Town

  Earlier that morning, Rose Manos dialed The Council Police when Eleni told her to do so. As if in slow motion, she did it by rote, following the rules. Paul Junior sobbed in the background with his head down on the kitchen table, unloading secrets neither woman would repeat to police about his father sharing the mysteries of the community and the midnight run he introduced to Steve.

  Rose watched him blubbering, a nice kid, but not the smartest. He was probably indirectly responsible for whatever trouble Steve was in. She admonished herself; it was her son who had been kidnapped. The problem occurred when smart children were introduced to too much information, too soon. The phone was finally answered by a man. “Council Police, do you need a squad car?”

  “Yes,” Rose said, anxiety mounting as she spoke the horrific words. “My son was kidnapped at the bus kiosk in Europe Town this morning!”

  “How do you know this?”

  “A classmate came to the house to tell us. Please hurry.”

  “He should have used the kiosk phone,” the voice said. “The kidnapper could be miles away by now.”

  “He said it was a white van,” Rose added.

  “That narrows it down. All delivery vans are white. We’ll send a car around. Don’t worry about your boy.”

  The voice ended the call, and like an automaton, Rose stopped worrying. The Council Police would know where Steve was. They’d find him and bring him home. The alternative was unthinkable.

  “All’s well. Since it was a delivery van it narrows down where Steve is headed,” Rose informed Eleni.

  “It was a delivery van? Of course. Relief,” Eleni said, slapping her hands on her legs and standing up. “Let’s have tea. Paul, you’re going to have to go back to school.”

  “Okay,” Paul said, wiping his face with his t-shirt, fear of reprisal strong.

  Handing him a towel, Eleni instructed him to use it instead of his shirt. Rose went to the door, looking out over the neighborhood, waiting for the patrol car. The street was always quiet during the day, young children kept inside. A distant lawnmower could be
heard if she listened intently. Not the norm to mow unless it was a weekend, but someone might have received a warning. The Council Police were looking in backyards, now, too. Hopefully that meant some of the weedy, junk filled lots would soon be cleaned up or hefty fines paid, sometimes imprisonment.

  A newer patrol car pulled up, and Rose went out on the porch. The officer got out but didn’t come up to the house. “You’ve got young Antoni in there?” he asked.

  “I do,” Rose said. “Do you want to come inside and talk to him?”

  Somehow, he knew it was Paul. Rose couldn’t remember sharing Paul’s name over the phone. Maybe the school also called the police. Wondering why the man wasn’t approaching the house was even more frightening. Would they concentrate all their efforts on punishing Paul for leaving the line up instead of searching for Steve?

  “Just send him out. I’ve got to get him back to school. An inspector will be around to talk to you later today. A team is on its way to get your boy, so you can relax.”

  His words had the opposite effect. “Where was he taken?” Rose asked, anxiety building up, fears growing.

  “I’m not sure,” he lied. “Someone will call you soon.”

  “When will he be brought back home?”

  “I can’t tell you that, either,” he said. “Someone will call you.”

  With no way to contact her husband, Rose waited, trying to stay as busy as possible when the wellbeing of one’s child is unknown. By the time the school bus returned that afternoon with a bus load of students that didn’t include Steve, she and Eleni were beside themselves with anguish. Standing in the door, they watched Paul Junior walk by the house with a red, swollen face, look up solemnly without addressing them and they knew he’d been warned, or worse.

  And then the worst, when the worker’s bus arrived at seven, George walked toward home with the others, heads down, stony, Paul Antoni Sr. not among them.

  “Get inside,” George hissed when Rose came out to meet him. Turning around quickly, she moved through the door, pushing Eleni back inside.

  “We need to tell you something, George,” Rose said, catching a sob. “Something horrible.”