The Ward Crucible: Even the strong will be broken

by Grayson Crew

  Soon, many other wards, all from different bunks, are led to the block. The camera men move around, focusing on certain ones. The auctioneer comes out and begins examining the wards, directing the cameras toward specific shots.

  “We’ve already sent you her measurements,” he says into a device. He grabs the crying girl’s face and turns it, “Zoom in here” he directs.

  He passes along to another ward and examines her, she receives a bid. It’s quickly replaced by another. A second ward receives a bid, then a third and fourth. The others stand still and watch their numbers on the display.

  “This bidding will end in 60 seconds,” he says.

  The crying girl says something but I can’t hear it because her voice is shaking. The bidding restarts and quickly ends. The wards that were bought are guided to an exit behind the auctioneer.

  Another session opens. I look at my bunk's section on the wall when three letters appear next to my name.

  I look to Hiro, he looks surprised.

  A pain builds in my stomach. It’s hard to breathe.

  The auctioneer must be calling my number, but I can’t hear.

  Hiro looks my way.

  I can’t move.

  It doesn’t matter, I’m led to the block anyway

  The Freezing Sea

  On cold days, when you dive into the freezing sea, there’s a moment--the smallest part of a second--when the pain of the cold is so intense that it makes you exhale all the air you have left.

  All you want is to escape and feel something warm, something safe. But there isn’t anything warm and there isn’t anything safe. I feel the same thing right now.

  The bidding starts and the auctioneer walks over to me. “Turn to the side please,” he says while directing the camera man to get a full side-shot. He pulls out a measuring tape and wraps it around my chest. “Thirty six chest, twenty eight waist.” He moves to the guy next to me and measures him. The camera man follows and gets close-ups.

  I try not to think about who might place a bid on me, or what happens when we’re led out of this room, where we go.

  “Turn around please. . . stop . . . turn again. Okay,” He pinches my stomach, gets a measurement.

  “Smile,” The Auctioneer says. “No not like that. . . just smile.” But I don’t. Not because I won’t, but I just can’t, I’m trying, but my muscles aren’t listening.

  The time allowed for this auction comes to the final minutes before closing bids are made. So far I’m bid free. I look at Hiro. He nods.

  What does that mean? It’s okay? He’s got this? I’m safe?

  ”60 seconds” announces the auctioneer. Still no bids.

  “30 seconds.”

  I look back at Hiro and he nods again. I’m clear. He took care of it for me. I exhale and close my eyes. But it’s too soon, because in the next second I receive a bid.

  My chest heaves heavily up and down. I try not to let my eyes water because I know Hiro and Jael are watching, but I can’t help it.

  “three,”

  I receive more bids, my price climbs.

  “Two”

  More bids. The analog numbers are flipping rapidly.

  “This session is closed.”

  The guy next to me is led to the exit. He received a closing bid. I wait for them to come back for me, but they don’t come. Instead I see Hiro.

  He leads me off the block and back to my platform. I’m mumbling something.

  “Stop mumbling. Stand here.” he says.

  “I got a bid,” I say and look at him.

  “I got you a reserve and it wasn’t met.” He walks away and out of sight.

  I want to follow him and say thank you until my lips go numb. My cheeks feel wet. Another two sessions are opened and finished. The Auction House is closed and we’re led out.

  Guardians Will Be Guardians

  At breakfast the next day, the boys are mostly quiet, but a few are speaking low. “Hiro’s really looking out for you, West,” Jael says to me.

  “I guess so--”

  I’m interrupted by a Guardian that comes behind Jael. The whole table goes quiet.

  Jael’s body stiffens as he puts his hands on her shoulders. The way he rolls his hands down the sides of her arms makes me sick.

  Her face reddens. He grins and slithers away. The wards at my table are all looking at Jael.

  “You don’t have to take anything from him,” I say.

  “Get real. They can do anything they want,” she snaps back. “I’m not safe and you aren’t either. Between the Guardians and the low-end trollers, we don’t stand a chance.”

  The auction system is set up by a sort of status system. Each bidder is given a ranking based on their status, though I don’t really know much about how status is determined. I know that wards aren’t even on the map.

  Black-level is the highest, then platinum, gold, silver, bronze. Each category comes with its own set of bidding rules that locks the bidders into only bidding for certain level wards. A black-level bidder can only place bids on wards that have made significant achievements and earned a certain amount of points.

  I guess this prevents them from buying low, then later selling high. Other than buying our way out, every ward’s goal is to make it to the black-level bids, but hardly anyone does. Our points are determined by some sort of combination of our grades, judgment of character, and appearance. Wards aren’t informed of their points, only our guardians know.

  “Your Guardian’s just trying to intimidate you,” I say to Jael. “Don’t let it work.”

  She doesn’t say anything back, but in her eyes, I see more words than she’ll ever say.

  How We Grieve

  The weeks pass and the humdrum of the Facility pushes on. Today, at the docks, we’re waiting longer than usual after we finish. One of the wards got fifteen laps.

  If he was an older ward, stronger, maybe he could do it, but this kid’s only in his third year. He gulps in mouthful after mouthful of seawater. I have to look away.

  From everyone else’s expression I can tell that he’s not swimming anymore. I look and see him face down in the water. A girl cries out for him.

  The guards pull her into the guard post and shut the door behind them. I keep looking down.

  We’re corralled into the lift and sent off to our next class. No time to digest what just happened. Because stuff like this just happens. There’s no reason, no solution, it just is and we’re to accept that.

  The Gift

  I enter Hiro’s class and he hands me a manila folder. “You’re ahead on today’s lesson. Why don’t you go ahead and file these for me.”

  “Yes sir.” Taking the manila folder, I leave class. Most weeks I look forward to this small flit of freedom, but I feel sick today, sick for the boy, sick for the girl who screamed, sick for the crying girl at the auction. It’s hard to stand straight and walk, like there’s a chain pulling me to the floor. I want to lie down and curl up, but there’s no safe place to curl into.

  When I go into the storage warehouse, the lights are all off, which means they’ll have to warm up, something that usually takes a good ten minutes. But I don’t really need them, so I grab a flashlight off a shelf and find the cabinet I need.

  Dust floats through the beam, revealing rows and rows of metal filing cabinets. Old desks and broken chairs with some other stuff I can’t even identify are piled up in the corners of the section I use.

  The dust makes me cough as it floats through the damp air, past the cabinets and behind the piles of rubbish to a rotting, out-of-tune piano.

  If I hadn’t seen pictures of pianos in books, I wouldn’t have known they had white keys. The dirt and dust have discolored them so much that they’re both the same shade of dirty brown.

  Hiro always gives me a thick enough stack of papers to file that no one wonders why I’m gone for the whole period. But the papers aren’t important. I doubt they really even need filed.

  The first few times I came down here
, I went through every single paper, making sure that everything on Hiro’s list was checked perfectly. Then, one day something was between them, a photograph of clean ivory and black piano keys. On the back was written two words:

  “Try it.”

  That’s the day I found this old thing. I didn’t know how to use it. I didn’t even know it was out of tune. I didn’t know what tune was. But over the past few years, Hiro has slipped in bits and pieces into the envelope to help me figure it out. The first thing he sent was a whistle.

  It took me a while to figure out it was used for tuning. The next gift he sent was a set of some really complicated wrenches. Tuning wrenches. I didn’t have instructions, and I still don’t know if I’ve tuned it right, but I’ve got it so at least it sounds better than it used to.

  I look in the folder. No gifts from Hiro today, just papers to file. I sign off on the checklist and file them without looking, then take a seat at the piano. The storage room is tucked in a forgotten corner of the Facility, so I can play as loud as I want and no one will hear.

  The keys are as cold as ever and covered in dust. I use a rag to wipe it down before resting my fingers in place. I can’t read music; but I’ve learned the names of the notes thanks to some sheets Hiro slipped to me. Shutting off the flashlight, I place it on the piano top, then play notes to spread through the dark room.

  I can only play one song. It’s a slow melody, which lowers my pulse, slows my breathing; but it’s repetitive too, so whatever it is it makes me feel, it gets built up with each repetition.

  It’s not monotonous for me, playing the same notes over and over, because I change them just a little, to add an extra relief, or an extra jab if I’m angry. Either way, I feel a little better and a little worse every time I play.

  Time’s up so I close the keyboard’s lid and make my way back into the dusty walkways of the Facility.

  Eventually

  A new semester is starting today. Jael keeps getting assigned more laps than me, but she’d never say why, so I don’t ask.

  I finish swimming and wait for her. She finishes and climbs the rusted rungs of the ladder, her thick hair falling in waves down her back.

  At the top we shiver, staring out at the swells as they send spray over us. Her arms are curled around her knees.

  “They stopped my medicine,” she says.

  My mouth is open but nothing’s coming out.

  “They want me out.” Her cheeks are wet. I don’t know if it’s from the spray or from tears.

  We all get sold. Eventually. But that’s the key: eventually. Because, eventually makes it seem so indefinite, like maybe it won’t ever really happen. Like maybe we’d never really be separated.

  But now, eventually is being taken away.

  I slide closer to her. We don’t touch, but it’s enough. I’ve said the only thing I know how to say in the only way I know how to say it.

  Tonight, when I sleep, I dream of folding myself around her and never letting go.

  No More Heroes

  Hiro asks me to stay behind in class until all the wards have left.

  He takes a seat next to me and crosses his legs. “I was given some rather bad news today” he begins. “I’m going to be reassigned to a different facility."

  He breathes deep and grips his knee. "It wasn't my choice, but they're sending me to Krung Thep regardless. I’ve requested that you and my other top wards be moved with me, but the request has been denied.”

  I feel sick, like a pound of rotten food is sitting in my stomach.

  “It won’t go into effect until after the next auction, but we have to start preparing now. I have your reserve as high as can be set for your level, but it’s not going to be enough to hold you through future auctions. We’ve got to raise your value, or you’ll be sold in your seventh year. I’m not okay with that.”

  My hands are clenched tightly around each other, sweat building between.

  “Are you listening, West?”

  “Yeah,” I say while staring hard at the ground. I start counting the scuffs on my shoes, then the scuffs on the floor.

  “You’re the top ward in my class, but you’re only leveling average marks in your others. You’ve got to get those marks raised before I’m reassigned.”

  While my counting loops, the reality of this place sinks deeper into me, biting through my skin and my muscles, piercing my bones. There are no heroes, even if they want to be. There is no escape, even if we dream it. There’s just barbed fences and water.

  Cold, raging water.

  “I’ll try harder,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  He puts his hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re a good kid and you will make it to a high bid. I’m just preparing you for what might be coming.”

  What might be coming is a guardian more like Jael’s. A guardian who picks a few favorite stars among his wards--usually the better looking ones--and polishes those. The rest of us will serve as the pedestal for their display.

  He hands me a late pass. I pause at the door. “I’m going to miss you,” I say in Japanese, then exit before he can respond.

  I don’t go to class. I go to the bathroom, lock myself in the stall and pray.

  I don’t know who to pray to or how to do it, but right now, I need something. So please, someone, something, anything.

  Please. Help. Me.

  The Song

  Today, while I play the piano, I paint a story in my head. Even though it’s the same song, I play it in a different way. I paint a different picture. That’s how I usually play: each note is a picture, a scene, a story.

  Today, the story is Jael. She’s floating on the surface of the sea, her dress and hair spreading out around her. I’m far below--hundreds of feet down, waiting amid corals.

  Jael is sinking slowly, falling down to where I am. Her eyes are closed, but she’s breathing, breathing in the water and the salt. She lands next to me and the corals hold us in their arms calmly, safely.

  But it’s only a song and the song has to end.

  Do I Stay or Do I Go?

  “Girlfriend’s gonna get sold,” One of the boys says to me at lunch.

  can’t tell if he’s provoking or just stating fact. Either way, I’m best to stay quiet.

  “With Hiro getting the boot, might be best for you to go with her.”

  For the rest of the day my thoughts topple from one option to the other. Stay, and take my chances with the new Guardian, or fail out now and maybe get sold with Jael.

  Even though there’s no guarantee that we’d be sold to the same bidder, the chance is good we would be if we’re on the same level.

  I think of facing laps alone, of losing Hiro, losing my piano.

  I can’t take this place alone.

  Touch

  Storm clouds are over us, hailing rain and sleet across the docks. Small chips of ice bounce off the cement and into the sea.

  In a rush of impulse, I take Jael’s hand in mine. It’s the first time I’ve felt her skin. It’s warm.

  I gasp for breath. My face turns red.

  She squeezes.

  I don’t feel the small hail pricking my skin. I don’t feel the wind gusting me toward the edge of the platform.

  I feel her.

  My doubts dissolve. Indecision sinks below the waves around us.

  I know exactly where I’m going and I know exactly why.

  Today is the Day

  When I wake up, my sheets are on the floor and I’m wet from sweat. I rinse off, but I don’t shave, and I don’t comb my hair. Looking at my reflection in the water I see sunken eyes.

  Today is the day I stop trying.

  I don’t wear socks. I don’t straighten my tie. When breakfast comes I don’t take my pills.

  Hiro gives me classwork, but the page is still empty at the end of class when I turn it in.

  Withdrawal

  A few days later, after laps, Jael and I sit together, but I can’t stop scratching my a
rms. My head hurts and I’m nauseous.

  “You don’t look okay,” Jael says.

  “They took away my pills,” I say.

  Her eyes are vacant as she looks away from me and over the sea.