As Far as the East is From the West (Servant of Light Book 2)

by Jeremy Finn

  Mark accepted the big bag numbly and stood to follow Jim like a zombie. As the group of mostly teenagers approached, Jim launched into the usual narrative about the effectiveness of the fields and the evolution of their development. Mark opened the bag. It was full of strawberries and a few bottles of water. Of course, the strawberries were quite old and bore patches of white mold.

  “Mark!” Jim called and he realized he was not paying attention. “Could you show them a feeding, please?”

  “Sure,” Mark mumbled and reached his hand into the bag of soft fruit. He walked down the line of pipes and dropped one berry in each. The first few were silent, but then he dropped one down a pipe and seconds later a maniacal roar echoed through the tube. Mark recoiled and saw Jim try to hide his amusement.

  “Now would anyone else like to try?” Jim asked the group. A few hands actually went up and a couple older boys reached into Mark’s bag to secure a berry for the condemned. After this, the group posed for a few photos and left.

  It was a relatively quiet day, Jim observed, and few others passed by during the remainder of the afternoon. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jim explained his shift was over and he would be leaving Mark alone for the night shift. Major Clemente passed by as well on his way home to check on him.

  “How was it today?” he asked in good spirits.

  “I don’t exactly want to say good,” Mark answered, “but I guess at least I learned a lot.”

  Clemente slapped him on the back and took off with a parting piece of advice, “Don’t get spooked by their moaning tonight. Remember there’s no way they can get out of that ground.”

  Darkness fell and Mark munched hesitantly on a paper plate full of food Clemente had brought from the mess hall. His appetite was still not healthy. The day had seemed long, but was nothing in comparison to the lonely night. He grew tired, but there was no chance of dozing off with the constant ghostly chorus of whining, moaning and occasional hysterical fits rising up from deep below his feet.

  The next morning another guard showed up at daybreak with breakfast in hand. He identified himself as Todd and explained he had been working the fields for over five years. He didn’t seem quite as friendly as Jim or as positive about things in general, so Mark didn’t speak with him much. The number of visitors was just a bit higher than the day before, and since it was the day the park closed early for grounds keeping, they spent the late afternoon without guests.

  “Hey,” Todd said tapping him on the elbow when they passed each other on their constant circuit. “You want to see something funny?”

  “What do you mean,” Mark asked dreamily. The heat made him feel even more lethargic as his legs ached under him.

  “Here, I’ll show you,” Todd said with a devilish look on his face. He walked over to the nearest pipe and stood on top of it, balancing on one leg.

  “What are you doing?” Mark asked.

  “What do you think?” Todd said. Mark walked over and Todd motioned to the pipe. “Now put your ear down there near my foot.”

  Mark gave him an odd look, but complied. Todd lifted his foot suddenly and Mark heard a sudden, hollow gasping sound as if the ground were attempting to suck in the clouds above. The sound turned to rapid panting and then a series of screams and expletives. Mark just lifted his head slowly away from the pipe. “What if you had killed him?” he asked.

  “Well, that’s why I don’t do this any old time my friend,” Todd explained. “Kill one of these slugs early and you’ll get a beating from the old man for sure. Now check out this one. I bet none of the other guards have the guts to do this.”

  Todd glanced around guiltily to be sure no one else was watching, then unzipped his fly and began to urinate in one of the tubes.

  “You’re going to drown him!” Mark exclaimed.

  “It’s a her, actually,” Todd said finishing his business. “And so what if I knock ‘em off early? Isn’t that mercy? Besides, long as you don’t rat me out, no one will know. This one’s been in here six days. She’s probably hours from eternity anyways.”

  Mark bent over to listen to the tube, but heard nothing. He didn’t like Todd’s character or attitude toward authority. Maybe he should report him to Clemente. Todd settled down, though, and just paced the rest of his tour. He left at dusk like Jim had the night before, and Clemente brought him his supper once again.

  “I have a little surprise for you tomorrow,” Clemente promised. Mark just nodded his head as his bloodshot eyes bobbed up and down.

  Of course the second night seemed longer than the first. This time Mark did have to fight off sleep. He had to sit at times or his leg muscles would completely fail him. Even when he was standing, he would suddenly jolt and stumble as his body began falling asleep while he stood.

  The morning sun brought Clememte and his surprise was himself. He was going to pull the day shift with Mark this last day of his seventy-two hour duty. Much progressed as before, though Clemente often asked Mark to take the lead in briefing the visiting groups. It helped keep him awake, but he felt as if he was spouting a line about the greatness of this system which he was very much beginning to doubt.

  Later that afternoon, Mark felt certain he was no longer comfortable with his duty. During his brief time at PUNDIC, he had grown to respect Clemente the most. When the last group of the day had finished listening to his lines about the necessity and value of the PUNDIC system, one man in the crowd took a pull on his cigarette and asked why we thought we had the moral authority to torture fellow human beings. Major Clemente put a hand on Mark’s shoulder before he could answer and strode over to the man. He pulled the cigarette out of the man's mouth with a quick motion and stepped back to the concrete floor.

  “First of all,” he announced in an authoritative voice, “smoking is not allowed at PUNDIC or anywhere on the grounds. The man looked irate, but the major continued. “And why do we have the moral authority? Because these dregs of society forfeited their morals when they killed, raped and tormented their fellow human beings. They have no moral grounds to stand on, so we as the representatives of this great country are automatically in a position of moral authority over them.” He walked over to one of the pipes. “This man below me here. If he kidnapped your – what is she, five years old? – daughter, and brutally murdered her, would you have any objection to me doing this?” He took the smoldering cigarette and flicked it into the pipe. After a short pause, cries of anguished pain emerged from far below them. The man in the crowd did not answer, but pulled his daughter close to him as she covered her ears.

  The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. Major Clemente kicked Mark’s leg as he sat on the bench and he jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry! I had no idea I was nodding off.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Clemente said. “I know it’s been a hard few days. Here’s your dinner and a cup of joe to help you through your last night. I’ll be by first thing in the morning to bring you to the colonel. After reporting to him you’ll get a chance to finally lay yourself down in a bed. Oh,” he added with a slight smile, “and get a shower too.”

  Mark was able to pass the night through to midnight alternating between hitting his head on a tree and pacing up and down the pathways. His feet were numb and he no longer felt tired. His head seemed hollow and stretched like a weak rubber band. After midnight, he had no idea how the evening passed. He might have dozed off for hours or minutes. It was impossible to tell. Once he even dreamed or hallucinated that the men and women rose from the ground below him with hungry eyes and grasping hands. They looked at him with accusatory stares and piercing condemnation.

  By the time the sun trickled through the treetops, Mark had made up his mind he could not perform this duty. He would see the colonel and explain to him he was just not cut out for this kind of work. He was too weak. He knew this would mean career suicide and a rejection by all those he had just gotten to know, but he could not struggle with his consciousness any longer.

  The major show
ed up and suggested they go straight to the colonel before grabbing breakfast together. Mark began to explain to him what he was going to say to the colonel, but Clemente cut him off and told him to save it for the colonel.

  They entered the waiting room and the secretary told them the colonel was ready to see them. Mark walked in and stood before the colonel’s desk. Clemente remained by the door. Mark saluted crisply and reported. The colonel stood to return the salute.

  “So,” he began, “understand you made it through your three days and nights of hell, huh?”

  “I did, sir, but I think there is something I really have to tell you.”

  “Really,” the older man said with a look of consternation on his face. Major Clemente cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well this better be something good. You’ve proven yourself fit for the duty and there is no need to be wasting my time with idle stories or comments.”

  “No sir,” Mark replied wearily. “It is not an idle comment. In fact I have given it much thought. I know you are going to be disappointed with me greatly, but I just ask that you forgive me for wasting the unit’s time. I thought I could handle this, but in the end I’m sure I am not the man for this type of duty. I’ll accept any reprimand you see fit, but I must plead for a reassignment.”

  “And why exactly can’t you handle it?” the colonel asked dangerously.

  “Well, sir, nothing to say about the value and necessity of the system or of PUNDIC. I guess they have proven their effectiveness through the reduced crime rate and all that. It’s just that I personally can’t be the one doing this to people. It doesn’t seem human to me and I am afraid it will change me forever if I do this thing. I know I am a failure and I will accept my punishment.”

  The colonel sighed and walked around the desk to face Mark. Mark tensed as he expected the senior officer to strike him or begin a verbal diatribe. Instead, though, he put his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Congratulations Mark. You really get it.”

  Mark’s eyes shot up from the floor in surprise. “What do you mean…sir?”

  The colonel turned toward the window and put his hands behind his back. “PUNDIC is a deception, mostly. From the beginning, we have fooled society into believing we were ruthless and barbaric with capital punishment. Those people you see entombed in concrete – when we put them to sleep in order to seal them in the molds, we really kill them. They inhale a poisonous gas and they die on the spot.”

  Mark was astonished and was torn between believing the man and suspecting he was cruelly toying with him. “But I heard their screams and lived for days with their pleading and cursing.”

  “All part of a somewhat elaborate deception,” the colonel explained. “We put boxes in the molds with sensors, batteries and speakers. They create the noises that make it all seem so realistic.”

  “So it’s all a ruse!” Mark exclaimed. “But why?”

  “It’s obvious if you think about it,” the colonel explained. “Before PUNDIC, our society was rife with violent crime and murder. The streets were not safe to walk in broad daylight. The government instituted the death penalty, but it was rarely enforced and quick and painless even when it was. No one feared it. No one respected the law. So, PUNDIC was formed. We advertised the method and means of capital punishment. We made it visible to the whole country and aired the burials on television. Within a year violent crime was cut in half and it’s decreased down to three percent of its original level today.”

  “But all of this rests on a lie,” Mark observed. “Is it morally acceptable to lie to the nation?”

  The colonel turned back to face him. “Which is more morally acceptable to you? Would you allow the lie, or would you allow the killers to run rampant and tear apart the fabric of our society? It’s not a question of what is moral and what is not, it’s a question of how the least damage to our moral structure can be maintained. I think your experience has shown you this is not only true, but necessary, wouldn’t you agree.”

  Mark nodded.

  “Now there’s one more little secret I need to let you in on,” the colonel added. “Come over here by the window.”

  Mark walked to the colonel’s side by the window and looked out. The sun shone on a hedge of bushes and several guards passed by on a walkway below.

  “Right there,” the colonel pointed. “Do you see that mould?”

  Mark looked beyond the hedge. Two pieces of a concrete mould lay on the grass open to the air. The form of an adult was hollowed into the cement. It was the same as the one he had seen the first day when they buried the prisoner. “Sure, it’s one of the moulds. But I’ll see it a little differently now that I know the truth.”

  “Well, here’s the catch,” the colonel said gravely. “That one’s the real deal. It’s never been used, but it is designed to truly bury a man in the fields. It is set aside for just that purpose.”

  “But I thought you said it was all a deception,” Mark questioned.

  “It is,” the colonel confirmed, “And it must remain that way. Should any guard leak the truth about this place, he will be buried alive in that mould as evidence to the people that PUNDIC is the place they imagine it to be.”

  James felt sick to his stomach and he realized there would be no turning away from his duty now. He could tell by the man’s voice, his eyes, his very manner, that this was the truth and would be carried out in the event any guard released information.

  “The very fabric of our society depends on this lie,” the colonel said softly and paused staring out the window. Then he turned to Mark and clasped him on the shoulder again. “Welcome to the team. We are relying on you. You are free to go.”

  Mark ate breakfast with Major Clemente and spoke little about what had transpired in the colonel’s office. As he left to walk home, he passed the mould lying open by the hedge. He reached out to touch it with the tips of his fingers and suddenly withdrew his hand. He wasn’t completely convinced lying to the nation was the right thing to do, but he was completely convinced he would never be the one to expose the truth.

  Insight

  I understand this is a dark, probably disturbing story. I wrote it with two purposes in mind. First, for some reason when I was a kid I wondered about what would be the worst way to die. I came up with the idea this story is based on and shared it with my friends over lunch. Their reactions were pretty strong and some looked at me a bit differently after that. Then I started to think it might not be a good idea to spread the story, not just because people might think something is wrong with me, but also in the off chance that someone actually enacted the method and I became a victim. Since it was a striking event in my childhood, I wanted to somehow craft it into a story. Next, I conjured the idea of mixing it into a societal dilemma story. While capital punishment is a debate unto itself, what if the state lied about it? Is a lesser wrong acceptable to prevent great harm? What would be the implications of this? What paths do you think this fictional society might tumble down? I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you won’t think too poorly of me (or decide to put this practice into effect!).

  UNSEEN BURDENS

  Yes, hello. Please come in. Have a seat on the couch while I finish this one email, if you don’t mind.

  Ok, done. Now I can give you my undivided attention.

  I’m sorry, what was that you said?

  Oh, yes, my marble collection. Well, I do get a lot of questions about it. I guess people think it is odd that I have so many and that they all look the same – just small clear glass balls. You would think a collection would be varied and diverse, huh? Well, actually it is, and it is not a collection per say in that I do not accumulate them for the sake of accumulating. In fact, they are ever increasing and decreasing. Sometimes I don’t even really want one at first until I learn the value or necessity of obtaining it. But then I am rambling on. I know I must seem odd to you and you must want to get to the business at hand.

  Really? You don’t say? Are you truly interested? I could tell you the story of
how this whole collection of mine began, but honestly you might think me quite the fool.

  Well, if you insist; and if you have the time to spare.

  Ok then. Let me start from the beginning. I can remember the event clearly despite it occurring years ago. Of the many different marbles I have picked up, the first was actually quite a simple one. Here it is. I still have it. It has not gone away yet and I am not sure when, if ever, it will. You are probably wondering how I could select this clear ball from among all its doppelgängers with such confidence. Well, I’ll get to that, but now back to the first finding.

  I was in a department store big enough that it had its own food court. I was sitting alone at a table finishing the tepid remains of the cup of coffee I had been nursing while I waited for my wife to finish shopping. Most of the other tables were empty and one of the store workers was wiping them down. I watched him casually for lack of anything better to do and noticed there was something wrong with his right hand. It appeared he was born with some sort of deformation that locked his wrist at an awkward angle. Poor fellow, I thought. He probably would never be able to get a better job. He finished his task and walked back toward the kitchen and I finished my coffee and decided to scout out my wife. I was passing by one of the tables he wiped on my way to the trash can when something caught my eye. Barely visible, a small clear glass marble was lying in the depression of one of the plastic chairs at the table. Odd that I found it curious enough to pause for a look, but I did. I picked up the small, unremarkable orb and rolled it between my thumb and forefinger against the light. At first, I saw nothing, like gazing at an ice cube, but then the tiny form of the man appeared in the glass. I could clearly see his hand hung at an unnatural angle as he walked slowly. I lowered the marble from before my eyes fully expecting to see the man across the room just as I had seen his image passed through the tiny glass ball. However, he was nowhere to be seen. Odd, I thought, that he escaped so fast. I held it up again for another look, only secretly admitting to myself that I half expected, half dreaded I would see him again. And you know what? I did. Of course I did. Otherwise I would not be telling you this story now. It’s getting a bit too weird for you? Should I stop?