This Broken Land

by H M Sealey

  “We have a moral code Kit, not that I’d expect you to understand.”

  “So can I have my money?”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Is that it?” Mahmud sounded tired. He rubbed his face with a big hand, he clearly disliked this man.

  “Almost. I’ll need an interpreter though. I don’t speak your filthy language.”

  “I can’t help you there.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can, if you try.”

  “Impossible. I can’t lend you any of my men. Nobody must know about this.”

  “You can come with me then.”

  Mahmud gave a long, cynical laugh. “I will not be seen going to an illegal auction. My job is to uphold the laws as they stand. I am not so much of a hypocrite.”

  Kit chuckled softly. “I think you sell yourself short there my friend. I think you’re one of the biggest hypocrites I know. Find me someone else then.”

  “I told you, there’s nobody.”

  Kit turned in his seat and gazed into the back of the truck.

  “What about the boy, since he’s listening to every word we say?”

  Mahmud shifted his attention to Asim. “Huh?”

  “Come on boy, get up.” Kit called. “I know you’re awake. Nobody holds their breath in their sleep like that.”

  Asim sat up slowly, pushing the oil-scented blanket aside, and gazed at the two men.

  “Did you hear all that?” Kit asked.

  Asim nodded. “Yes Sayyid.”

  “How much did you understand?”

  “Very little.”

  “You know what a slave auction is?”

  “Yes Sayyid.”

  “You know they’re illegal?”

  “Yes sayyid.”

  “Do you think you could come with me and translate?”

  Asim looked to Mahmud, uncertain how to answer. It must be the same auction to which Tariq ibn-Jack intended to take Uncle Baraq.

  Mahmud nodded his head. “I suppose I could alter the report.”

  “What’s he done anyway?” Kit asked.

  “Possession of haraam texts.”

  “Is that all?” Kit fixed his pale eyes on Asim’s. “What do you think boy? Help me out and you escape whatever punishment you’re facing.”

  Mahmud groaned. “You understand this isn’t something you can talk about? These auctions are illegal.”

  Asim nodded his head. “I understand sayyid. I would help the gentleman and not say a word.”

  “Well, you’ve been keeping those books a secret long enough. Reckon you can keep your mouth shut? You’ll escape a lashing.”

  “Thank you sayyid.”

  Kit smiled and his smile was utterly without warmth. “Then it’s decided. I’ll call to a make the arrangements. See he’s ready for me.”

  He pushed open the door and slid out into the night, without wishing either of them good night or good bye. Possibly he did not desire either of them should have a good night. He did not seem like a particularly pleasant man.

  Mahmud waited a few moments, then started the engine with a growl that sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.

  He tossed his head towards the empty seat.

  “Come sit in the front boy – Asim isn’t it?”

  Asim nodded and clambered over the headrest, dropping down onto the worn upholstery. Mahmud put the truck into gear with a crunch and the vehicle began to move with a shudder.

  “So, you heard all of that?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought it best to keep quiet.”

  Mahmud grunted. “Fair enough.” Asim noted Mahmud did not switch back to Arabic. “Listen, I’m not proud of what a did a few years ago. You know what apostasy is?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know the punishment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what it is to love someone so much you’d break a thousand laws to keep them safe?”

  Mahmud turned the truck onto the main road and glanced at his passenger. His eyes were quite different now, big and luminous as the moon, full of humanity that had been hidden until now.

  “Yes.” Asim said. “I do.”

  Mahmud laid a large hand on Asim’s head and smiled. “They’re your sister’s books, right?”

  Asim didn’t respond, but Mahmud continued. “It’s okay, you love her. I get that. Just get rid of them.”

  “Alaia – Alaia is clever. Cleverer than me.”

  Mahmud grinned. “I’d be surprised if she’s smarter than you.”

  “Why is it wrong for women to go to school? Mama said they used to, when she was young.”

  “A lot’s changed since then, and I don’t always agree with the changes. This country is finding its way Asim. Be patient with us because we’re all fools. We don’t want to end up like Old Britain, full of debauchery and immorality.”

  He gave a long sigh. “But, maybe we don’t want to go the other way either. Shariah should protect us. All of us. I know it seems wrong to cover up our women, to never let them leave the house without a man, but women are treasures Asim, and treasure needs protecting. Just like you tried to protect your sister.”

  Asim stared out of the windscreen and watched the murky land speed by. “There shouldn’t be anything to have to protect them from.”

  “I know. The human heart is an ugly thing Asim. Harsh rules are the only things that keep us in check. It’s why Allah – may He be exalted – gave us Shariah. Because without it we’d be like animals.”

  Asim nodded. “Yes sayyid.”

  “It’s okay. You won’t get into trouble and nor will she. The man who wants your help, Kit, he’s not a good man. Do what he says and try to forget it afterwards. You think you can do that?”

  Asim nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good lad.” Then he paused, straightened up in his seat, and switched back to Arabic as though the last half an hour hadn’t happened at all.

  ~

  Josh

  We set off early the next day, after a few hours in a comfortable bed in a room above the restaurant. Dad stays with us for the night, then gives us money and a good quality phone. River examines it carefully.

  “Does it have a camera?”

  “It has everything. The phones in the Border are top-of-the-range.”

  “Top-of-the-range prices too I bet?”

  Baraq shrugs his narrow shoulders and gives her a wry smile. “That too.”

  River pushes it into her bag and hugs him. I can see she’s fond of Baraq and he feels similarly towards her. He holds her tightly, the way he used to hold Rachael. Then he turns to me and places his hands on my shoulders.

  “Take care of yourself Josh.” He says. “I’m proud of you. Your mother would have been proud of you. You have my phone number and my address?” He makes me repeat them and I do, information is closely guarded, Family Matters can’t afford to write things down, and when they do, they do so in code. Then he hugs me so hard my ribs hurt. Twenty years of love is contained in that embrace and I can feel every moment of it.

  We catch a bus. I used to have a model of a red bus when I was a child, before it was considered abusive to give gender-specific toys to children. I’ve never been on a bus though, they only exist in the big cities now.

  The bus has soft seats upholstered in fabric and I stare out of the window, watching the streets and the people. There are factories on every side of me, factories and towers and chimneys belching smoke that reach up, out of the landscape like huge fists. The shops and houses seem to be contained within these monoliths of industry and I notice that the closer we pass to the factories, that people wear masks over their mouths and noses, like surgeons.

  “Why the masks?” I whisper.

  River keeps her face close to mine so we can talk, it’s noisy on the bus, but most people seem to be plugged in to their phones.

  “There aren’t any laws about pollution here. The environment doesn’t matter to anyone. The richest people
have their houses as far away from the factories as possible.”

  “Looks like they could do with some environmentalists.”

  River pouts. “Depends. Thing is, environmentalists and their stupid protests helped to destroy industry in Old Britain. They have clean air, but no economy.”

  “So what’s the answer?”

  “Why does there have to be an answer?”

  “I dunno. It just seems like we need to meet halfway.”

  River laughs. “They’re all zealots Josh. And zealots don’t compromise with the other side. The socialists will watch their society go bankrupt and people starve before they admit capitalism has a point, and the capitalists will work their people into the ground and mess up the environment until everyone chokes to death.”

  “I swear you paint a bleaker picture every time you open your mouth.”

  “Humanity is a fairly disgusting species.”

  “Present company excepted?”

  A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Maybe.”

  I return to watching the world pass by. For a while we leave the built up areas behind and the yellowy-green of the countryside comes into view.

  “Is that a farm?”

  “I doubt it. It’s more likely to be a park or a zoo. There are indoor farms, hydroponics and stuff, though the food they produce is almost tasteless. Still, the Border can afford to have food brought in from the USA. If you can call it food.”

  “Where do they get it? I mean, Old Britain has big ports on the North West coast, and down in the south, but the Border’s practically landlocked.” I looked at the maps last night, the Border’s much larger than I realised. I often thought about running away and heading up towards Liverpool or down to Portsmouth because there’s always work at the docks, but aside from Brighton, which is practically one big refugee camp, the Border has no ports.

  River looks at me with big, pitiful eyes.

  “The Border is rich River. The Border practically owns the ports of Old Britain. Both Old Britain and the BSI have moral objections to the way the Border does business but both of them crawl on their bellies to get the Border’s money. It’s repulsive.”

  We reach a new town, the sign welcoming us says Derby. I press my nose against the window and watch the factories and offices flash past, filling the landscape with grey, featureless blocks and huge chimneys that swarm on both sides.

  River wriggles in her seat and gathers her things.

  “Nearly there.”

  “Where?”

  She doesn’t answer in her usual, infuriating manner, and instead presses the little bell that causes the driver to stop the bus. We step off into a warm morning and onto a street that’s far removed from the industrial Hell through which we came.

  This street is all high railings and well-tended gardens. The tree-lined avenue is wide and clean and big houses sit neatly behind walls and gates on either side.

  “Come on.” River heads down the street at a fast walk and I follow in bemused wonder at a world I never knew existed. The street is called Logan Gardens and I wonder how many of those expensive looking plants in the picture-perfect gardens are artificial. The roses must be, surely? The white-fronted houses with their faux-Roman pillars and long drives belong to another reality and I try not to stare too openly as I pass. I wonder if money would save someone from a Rainbow Centre? Possibly it could. Money trumps even fervently held beliefs it seems.

  River pauses at one of the finest houses of all and taps a code into a pad beside the massive, wrought iron gates. They swing open and we follow the white-stoned driveway up towards the house. There are two cars parked outside, two. They’re beautiful vehicles, the sort I’ve only really seen on television programmes.

  River’s whole bearing has changed, her jaw his set, her eyes are resolute.

  With only a tiny moment of hesitation, River bends down and shifts a smooth, white pot that’s part of a display at either side of the double doors. Beneath the pot there’s a key. She smiles.

  “It’s still here.”

  “You knew about the key?”

  “Of course I did. This is home. Well, one of my homes. I always liked this one the best.”

  I watch in growing disbelief as River unlocks the door and marches in. Inside the house is as impressive as it looks from the outside and I find myself standing in a large, airy hallway with a high, coved ceiling and a glass chandelier that catches the sunlight easing its way through the big window to our right that’s only half shaded by floor-length drapes. There are paintings on the walls, subtle landscapes in watercolour framed with natural wood. Everything’s elegant and rich.

  “Who are you?” A girl in a neat, white blouse and black skirt hovers on the wide staircase, her hands on the polished banister. “I’ll call security!”

  River’s eyes sweep over her with disinterest.

  “Are you a new one? I’m here to see my mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Diana Lamont. Her car’s outside so I know she’s here. Probably licking her wounds after not winning the leadership contest. Where is she?”

  “Ms. Lamont is busy.” The maid looks confused, River doesn’t seem to care.

  “Busy in her study or her bedroom?”

  “She has an important visitor.”

  River sighs and asks again. “Study or bedroom?”

  The maid shrinks a little, for a reasonably small woman River speaks with remarkable authority.

  “B – bedroom.”

  “Thanks. Come on Josh.”

  River mounts the staircase, brushes past the startled girl as if she’s worthless and heads up to the landing. I offer the maid a smile.

  “Sorry about this.”

  River pads over the thick, cream carpet with silent footsteps. Up here the landing window is draped in gold velvet and looks out over the Japanese style gardens, all white boulders and smooth, curving lines.

  River stops by a door with which she is obviously familiar. Then, with one decisive movement, she flings the door open and walks into the room beyond.

  The woman in the bed gives a little squeal at the intrusion, and the man with her grapples with the sheets and pulls them over his lower body. River just stands there in the doorway, gazing at the huge, dishevelled bed.

  “Hi mum.”

  The naked woman stares at River and River stares back with a strange, unreadable expression in her eyes.

  “River?”

  For a few moments it’s as if a DVD has stopped playing and everything’s frozen. Then there’s a perceptible jolt and everything snaps back to life. The woman on the bed, still naked, throws herself on her knees across the carpet towards River.

  “River!” She cries the name in a voice breaking with emotion. “River! Oh my! River.”

  The woman wraps her arms around River and holds her more tightly than Baraq held me.

  “Oh...Oh River! Sweetheart! My own little girl.”

  “You realise you’re not wearing clothes?”

  The woman pulls away and lets the man, who has now acquired a pair of underpants, drape a peach silk dressing-gown around her shoulders. The woman rubs away tears and laughs.

  “I don’t care.” She declares. “My baby’s home. I don’t care about anything else.”

  Diana Lamont is a slender, attractive woman of fifty-five who could pass for thirty and frequently tries to. Her hair is blonde, mid length and curls on her shoulders. The man is Kai Clark, another shareholder in the laboratory that developed the double H vaccine and the Assisted Suicide drugs if River is to be believed and, God help me, I have no idea whether she’d to be believed or not. Kai is tall and skinny with a shock of slicked-back, grey hair and looks a lot better once he’s wearing clothes.

  Diana strokes River’s hair as if River is a small child. “I thought I’d never see you again.” She leads us all downstairs without even bothering to get dressed. Her face is flushed and her eyes full of tears.

  She calls to the maid for tea
and cake and leads us all into a vast living room with squishy sofas and a fluffy, sheepskin rug on the already thick-pile carpet. The bay windows look out over the garden and fill the room with bright, natural light.

  “Where have you been River? Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” Diana sits next to her daughter and clutches her hand. I sense genuine love from this woman, I don’t quite see why River’s been so hostile concerning her.

  “A Rainbow Centre.”

  Diana covers her mouth with a hand and her eyes widen, although I suspect she’s had something done to them because they look rather stretched until they’re cat-like in shape.

  “Oh no! River, what did you do?”

  “I said a few things against official orthodoxy in a Refugee camp.”

  “Under your real name?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh River, why didn’t you use the name Ash? I could have helped you. I would have had you out the moment I could.”

  “Because my name’s not Ash.”

  “I know, but you can’t be River. You know why you can’t be River.” She takes her by the shoulders and looks into her deep, dark eyes. “It’s to protect you. Protect us.”

  River gives a slight shrug. “Whatever.”

  Diana glances at me. “And you? Were you in the Rainbow Centre too?”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Oh please, Diana is fine. You brought my daughter back. I’ll have your sentence quashed.” She hugs River again. “Just stay here with me, please.”

  She falls back against the sofa and gives a little, hysterical giggle. “I’m just so glad to have you back.”

  “Rainbow Centres are pretty bad mum.”

  “Are they?”

  “They’re like Nazi concentration camps.”

  It’s Kai Clark who responds to that.

  “Now that’s unfair.” He tucks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Rainbow Centres are humane places where people with dangerous ideas have the opportunity to change.”

  River looks at him in disgust. “Have you ever spent time in one?”