Contrary to the behavior of the women, the male youth were star struck by their presence. They trailed closely behind the two strangers, enviously eyeing the weapons slung across their backs. The children pointed at them and smiled. And on several occasions a few of them nearly ventured into the invisible sphere only to be hindered by the nearest apathetic adult. None of the boys spoke a single word to them. They just watched and followed with an almost eerie reverence that bordered on worship.
Free to wander wherever they desired, it wasn’t long in their journeying through the congested streets before Sofia and John realized that they had become completely lost. Isolated from the indigenous population, separated as outcasts, there was no way to tell if they could be understood through verbal communication, as none of the adults exhibited the slightest hint of recognizing their existence.
Approaching another crowded intersection, and perplexed by the circumstances at hand, they made their way to one of the street’s corners where a cardboard overhang looked to provide some shade. Stepping up a crumbling, concrete slab underneath it, they leaned back against the plywood dwelling that faced into the throng. In accordance with the treatment that they had been receiving, the occupiers of the structure immediately separated themselves from the two sojourners, covering the nearby windows with old, stained cloths.
As the two of them began to take their rest in the cool of the building’s shadow, the rumbling of a wheeled transporter, its horn rhythmically belching out to a continual series of faint screams and cries, could be heard somewhere in the distance making its way towards their position.
“Do you hear that?” Sofia asked. “That doesn’t sound good. Maybe we should find a place to hide.”
“Let’s see what it is first,” John said, standing upon his tiptoes, attempting to catch a glimpse of the vehicle over the heads of the masses.
From his perspective, the source of the commotion was causing a dispersion of the crowds. Basket-burdened heads were moving aside in rapid succession within a cloud of wailing children and distorted banter.
Climbing up a rusty pole that protruded from the dry soil supporting the wall of the nearby building, John could see the women parting ways around a speeding military transporter. Scurrying out of its path, the throng was behaving as water does, separating before and reuniting behind, just as when a man moves his hand through a pond’s glassy surface.
The blaring of the machine’s horn was putting the fear into the populace as the masses unhesitatingly gave the right-of-way to the vehicle that was rumbling through it. Intermittently making contact with some of the women, the driver appeared to have little regards for the lives of the citizenry. Bouncing off the thick metal of the vehicle’s front end like rag dolls, lifelessly hurtling to the ground in puffs of dust, the bodies fell twisted and tortuous on the hard, dirt road. The contents of their baskets were left in the vehicle’s wake, a temporary memorial to the insignificant existences of the fallen women. As the machine moved past, the crowds unflinchingly regrouped, continuing on with their former business.
The vehicle was drawing within a distance for clear sight, and John could see that the transporter was identical to the Security vehicles of Labor, with the exception of its purplish-red stained grill and headlamps, and the manned, long-barreled, automatic weapon mounted on its rooftop. It was fast making its way towards the intersection below him. Scanning about for a place for him and Sofia to run, John could see that there was nowhere to hide, especially due to the fact that the women would not allow them to blend in with their company.
“It looks like the Security’s heading our way,” he said, hopping down and taking Sofia by the arm, escorting her back into the throng.
“What? The Security? Here?” she questioned.
Ignoring her words, John led Sofia into the middle of the crossroads where the concentration of the citizenry was the heaviest. The vehicle was closing in, and he was at a loss as to what he should do next.
“What are we going to do?” Sofia called out to him.
“Just follow me,” he unintentionally snapped at her under the duress of the moment.
As the vehicle entered the intersection, the women began pushing against one another in order to remove themselves from its destructive path. Rushing Sofia into the masses, John was hoping to buy them a little more time before the women realized that the couple had delineated from their demeaning bubble.
For the moment they were concealed within the hordes of panicking women as the armored body of the vehicle rushed by with its trail of death left in its wake. Continuing on its straight course, the crowds rapidly recovered from the trauma, swallowing the vehicle up at the rear. As the bubble suddenly began forming around the two foreigners, the rooftop gunner, disappearing behind the closing wall of baskets, turned around, and for one fleeting moment he met John eye-to-eye.
As the transporter exited the intersection John could hear its tires grinding to a halt, tearing into the thick crumbling dirt, straining under the burdening weight of its metallic shell. The idling vehicle was engulfed in the growing dust cloud that it had stirred up. Spreading out like a blanket over the basket-covered heads of the women that surrounded it, the dispersed light of the Savior gave the appearance of elongated spokes of a golden wheel reflecting its image off the surface of a shimmering pool.
Attempting to remain anonymous, John began to steer Sofia out of the intersection. But his plan was shuttered by the sudden, thundering burst of gunfire that sent the peoples scrambling to clear the streets. Falling to their knees at the edges of the road, the women covered their heads, shielding themselves with their arms. The broken baskets and produce littering the street, brought fruit and other raw items rolling at the feet of John and Sofia, who now stood alone, staring up the barrel of the transporter’s gun.
Crying children and weeping, whimpering women huddled close together against the walls of the street’s buildings, while John and Sofia woefully held their position, desperately trying to maintain a neutral stance. They were hoping to avoid provoking the men of Security to violence.
“Drop your weapons,” a voice boomed through the vehicle’s side-mounted speakers, echoing throughout the walls of the city.
Slowly reaching over their shoulders, the young couple slid the rifle slings over their heads, dropping their weapons upon the ground, followed by the side arms that hugged their thighs. Cautiously reaching into his pocket, John removed his knife, letting it fall to the dust at his feet.
“Empty the rest of your pockets into a single pile in front of you. Then, turn your pockets inside out,” the voice burst out.
Following the official’s orders, they were soon standing before a small heap of items. These were the few belongings that they had reserved for, what should have been, the final leg of their journey back on Labor: ammunition, food, the handheld computer, the little black book and a few odds and ends. There would be nothing left in their possession now were it not for the clothes that they wore.
“Take two steps back and drop to your knees, placing your hands on top of your heads,” the voice commanded.
Distancing themselves from their last few remnants, John and Sofia eased down to the ground, the hot soil under their knees painfully pressing into their skin. Clouds of dust kicked up into the air by the wind as the door of the transporter drew open. A group of heavily armored men descended from the rear compartment, guns drawn, heads helmeted, eyes glassed over by their reflective goggles. They were calculating and cold, only moving under the hand-initiated queues of their lead officer.
As the agents were closing in on them, John knew that soon he and Sofia would be separated. He hung his head low, ashamed and defeated in spirit.
“Sofia,” he whispered.
But she did not answer. Eyes closed and silent as death, the tears dripping off the ends of her cheeks were speaking for her.
With the barrels of the Security’s carbines pointed at their heads, the two wanderers were forced to lie face
down upon the street, the taste of the soil’s dust strong and bitter in their mouths. The metal cuffs ratcheted firmly around their wrists, securing their hands behind their backs, leaving them helplessly at the mercy of their captors as they lay under the burning eye of the Savior above.
John was nearly a half-meter away from the pile of their belongings. He watched a Security agent tossing the items, one-by-one, into a black canvas sack. Curiously eyeing the handheld computer before dropping it into the bag, the agent turned his masked face toward John. Fearful for their lives John immediately removed eye contact from the man.
From one of the side streets that crossed the intersection, the rumbling commotion of another approaching transporter was making its way towards their position. Distant gunfire, followed by women wailing and screaming, began to rise throughout the distal parts of the city.
“We’ve captured two of them. Deserters from Red, I’m assuming by their uniforms,” the Commander spoke into the mouthpiece that wrapped around the side of his head, attaching at the helmet’s orifice beside his ear. “Yes, sir… Affirmative… That’s affirmative. No, sir, we’re processing some of them on the north end. ETA: one hundred twenty minutes. Roger that. Out.”
Sofia was still shutting the external world out of her mind. John could see that she was mentally distancing herself from the horrors of their captivity by removing all traces of reality. It was the only thing she could do to cope with their terrible predicament. With his face to the ground, he too closed his eyes, hoping to walk with Sofia in their forested home on Labor, throwing away all the evils that he had brought upon them. The whispering of the Security officials amongst themselves was an incomprehensible wind blowing about the canals of his ears. What it was they were communicating between one another was of no consequence to him. John knew that he and Sofia were going to be sent back to the City, back to their home planet. They would never see each other again.
The crunching of dirt under the feet of several men brought John’s eyes to a meeting with their black boots as he and Sofia were hoisted up to their feet.
“Two detainees. Captain wants them separated during transport,” one of the agents said into his microphone.
Motioning to the Commander, the Security official that had just finished bagging their property reopened the sack. Extracting out the handheld machine, he handed it over to his superior. The Commander looked it over and made a quick glance towards John and Sofia before dropping it back into the bag. Leaning his head beside the agent, he made an inaudible verbalization to which both men immediately cast their sights back at the young couple before departing from one another.
Speeding into the middle of the intersection, the second armored transporter arrived in a trail of dust. Its freshly adorned grill was covered over with crimson splashes and hair-tangled flesh.
Exiting the vehicle, several agents approached the young couple. Assuming their duties from the Commanding Officer, they set about forcing John and Sofia upon two separate paths. Escorted to the first vehicle, John watched with heartfelt suffering as Sofia, her chin upon her chest, willingly obeyed their orders. Struggling to make the climb with her hands bound to her back, the steep ramp at the rear of the machine was a challenge for her petite frame. Disappearing into the blackness of the transporter’s personnel compartment, she was followed closely by her captors.
With his prisoner quarters idling just ahead, John conspicuously gazed around at the cowering women and children as he stepped over the bloodied body of one of the transporter’s victims. Passing by the closing doors of Sofia’s wheeled cell, the men of Security behaved mysteriously, communicating sometimes through their microphones, but mostly in hand gestures and whispers.
Nearing the vehicle ahead, John watched as its steel ramp extended from its underside by the influence of a hidden motor and its grinding gears. The rear door simultaneously opened upwards, revealing the dark mouth to which he would soon be subjected.
Behind him, Sofia’s transporter was turning itself about in the middle of the intersection. John attempted to look back, but was hindered by a gloved hand that grabbed him by the face, preventing him from engaging in even that simple act.
With the light of the Savior reflecting off the soil and into the fully open cabin of the transporter, the interior of the vehicle was dimly illuminated. Its walls were lined with a single, metal bench seat that extended along its entirety. He could see that it was padded over with a thin layer of plastic-covered foam that protruded through the cracks and tears created under its years of abuse. The floor was stained in a brownish-red hue that was putrid in odor, releasing an iron taste upon the tongue that intensified with each breath.
Entering in, and compelled under threat to take a seat in the middle of one of the benches, John could see the dark, splattered liquid along the ceiling and walls that had dried in variously sized patterns and drippings, like bizarre tears running down a rusted face. He was cognizant of the fact that he was not the first prisoner to enter into the vehicle’s belly.
As the Security agents took their seats beside him, the door began to close. John felt the dusty breeze of air that entered into the cabin as the men turned back, pulling open the metal sliders, revealing the slits in the walls of the cell that performed the actions of ventilating windows.
The vehicle began to vibrate as the motor revved up. And soon they were in motion. Through the openings that were ventilating the interior, John could see the passing buildings and basket-carrying women speeding by. The horn of the transporter was loud and overbearing. The sensation of motivity was heightening. They were only a mere seconds into the drive when the screams began, and the knocking of bodies off the transporter’s front side could be felt, heavy and cruel.
The agent in front of him was either sleeping, or staring down at him through his reflective goggles. It was difficult to tell which it was. Already anxiety stricken, John was made all the more uncomfortable by the presence of his faceless escorts.
The ride to their destination was, he assumed, to be at least two hours away, if he understood the Commander’s words correctly. It had been years since he and Sofia had truly been apart. His companion was nowhere to be seen. He wanted to plead for help, not for himself, but for her safety and consoling. Could he ask it of the Savior? Was He listening? A being that actually watched over all the events of the material world, and had an actual hand in its destiny and functions, seemed remotely untenable under the circumstances. How could such hardships be a reality under the hand of such Benevolence, John thought. But there was no other choice. All his options were depleted the moment that the gunner spotted them. Closing his eyes, he began the inner search of desperation.
“I’m such a weak man,” he said within himself. “If You exist, as it appears You do through our many ventures and their outcomes, please, look upon us once again and help us.”
His words were silent, but sincere. Deep into the pleasure of communing with the Unknown, John subconsciously let his final words break forth from his tongue, “More than myself, please, help Sofia, my love. And let her know that I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to her.”
The particles upon which the vibrations of those words were carried, released from his lips, sailing through the powdery air, wrapping around the dust of the cabin. The turbulent draft threw it wildly about the walls and ceiling, tossing it through a slit-window, where it was captured and borne along by the atmosphere’s fluid matter. Retreating from the transporter, falling under the determinate control of the Savior’s light, it hasted through the streets, filtering through the weavings of the baskets, passing through the throngs of women. It sailed above the blood stained dirt of the roadways and passed through the nostrils of a recently deceased woman, who, to the astonishment of the basket carrying crowds, sat up with a sudden gasp. Piercing through the hairs of their heads and along their children’s exposed skin as they playfully ran through the crowds, it shuttled down the alleys and across the rooftops, over the buildings and th
rough the doorways. Out one window it entered another. Swirling through the many rooms of the makeshift hut, it passed over a stillborn infant held in its weeping mother’s arms, giving a burst of life to the child, who awoke with a sudden cry. Out the door it fled, over the railing, freefalling towards the busy street below, swiftly gliding along the swarming, dirt walkways, causing a glorious uproar as several more women and children awoke in the streets from the slumber of death. It fled from the village, riding upon the waves of the breeze that crossed the green of the flatlands where hundreds of thousands of women were working the fields. It whistled through their veils and the handkerchiefs that wrapped about their heads like a song of joy. It shuttled across their dresses and through the vines. It crossed amongst the leaves and around the dangling branches of the trees, ushering a bursting forth of fruit from the orchard. It wafted across the water-filled channels that brought its life saving fluid to the rich farmlands, streaming towards the dirt road that ran along the flatland’s periphery, chasing the billowing dust that followed a lone vehicle. It raced through its tire driven cloud and around its spinning wheels. Upward it climbed, catching a ride on its armored hull. It sneaked in through its windowed slit, leaping across the shoulder of a Security agent that swatted at an unseen pest. It hopped upon the waving hair and bobbing head of a meditative young woman whose body moved under the influence of the jostling ride. Upon entering into the canal of her ear, Sofia opened her eyes to the voice of John.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The perpetual dripping by an unseen water source kept Sofia in a state of mental numbness, captivated by its hypnotically consistent tapping. Rhythmically persistent, it was like a torturous metronome: precise and unforgiving.
Aglow in the murky flood of a dim, pumpkin-orange light mounted directly above her, the interrogation room was chilled and damp. Its cold, concrete floor sucked the heat from her body through the thin, tender skin of her bare feet.
The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey Page 20
