Woman Scorned

by Fritz, K. Edwin

  Obe chuckled at the thought of a woman’s head mounted on a wall, her angry eyes frozen open in a death scream. He already liked this man.

  “So… Obe… how’ve you been making out? You’re alive and wearing blue, so I guess not too bad, huh? They chase you much, or are you one of those shadow men that gets lost in the muddle of it all?”

  “No,” Obe found himself saying, “they chase me. I was just transferred a few days ago. I made out fine at first, but in the grocery alley…” he paused, expecting the man to say something, but only silent listening came. “I got the shit beat out of me,” he said, “and not a banana peel to show for it.”

  “God yes!” the stranger said. “Grocery day! That’s a hoot. Hey, listen. Don’t worry about it so much. We all turn on each other when we’re desperate. Here, take this. It’s my last one, but I can get more. You’ll just love it.” Obe didn’t get a chance to speak before the man reached an arm around the side of the bridge and tossed him a big red apple. Obe caught it in his gut, noticing the black sleeve on the man’s arm.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’ve done my share of days without food, and I know it’s no picnic. Wait a minute. ‘No picnic.’ That’s funny, right? Because there’s no food!” Obe smiled politely. “No?” he sighed. “Oh, never mind. I can never tell a joke. Everyone says so.”

  Obe thought of Sta, the insane man in black who had accosted him the day before, and of the warnings he’d heard to stay away from pleas to join the ranks of the mysterious men of the black sector who supposedly plotted against the women. This man didn’t seem anything like the stories he’d heard.

  “You guys tell jokes?” he asked.

  “Oh sure,” the stranger said. “Lots of ‘em. At least, the others do. I get the words wrong myself, but we have our laughs.” Obe pictured a circle of men at a midnight campfire telling stories and laughing.

  Quickly the fictional image was replaced by a real one, a memory of an actual campfire with his older brother- then not yet in high school and Obe himself only a pre-teen. He could almost remember the joke they’d shared. The punch line might have been ‘Superman’ or perhaps something Superman had said. He suddenly wished the stranger would go away so he could concentrate on this new memory and recall it all.

  “So you’ve only been wearing blue for a few days, huh? Then you’re really new. Not that it feels that way to you, I’m sure. What’s your tag say?”

  At first Obe didn’t understand the reference, then he remembered his jumpsuit’s animal name.

  “Oh, uh, GOPHER. I don’t like it. Gophers are slow and fat.”

  “GOPHER, huh? Can’t remember having seen that one before. I was VOLE in my blue days. Talk about a morale-killer, right?”

  “I guess,” Obe agreed, smiling.

  “Did those guys in blue sector tell you about their family yet?”

  Obe’s ears perked up. “Yeah,” he said. “It sounds really nice, everyone looking out for each other like that.”

  The stranger hesitated. “It can have its perks, sure, but I wouldn’t be too gung-ho about it if I were you. The family isn’t the only organization with power in those parts.”

  “What… you mean like gangs?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. There are wars sometimes. The family… they’ll be nice at first, but soon they’ll try to recruit you. So will their opposition, if they get wind of you. The important things to remember is that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Remember that. A guy like you would be better off making it on your own, I’d say. Stick to those shadows if you can. Wait your time, be polite. You’ll be all right in the end, if you make it long enough to become elder then come join us one day.”

  Obe thought of the newly-familiar term. And ‘elder’ was a man who had survived a hundred runs while wearing the blue jumpsuit. They elicited respect and ran the blue sector. Doov, the head elder, had told him there were currently three in the Family of Blue.

  Obe had entertained the idea of making it that far one day, pride already surging within him at the spectacular run that had introduced him to the group. Sadly, he realized that even this morning’s escape had marked only his second run. He had a very long way to go. Longer, perhaps, than his road to mental health.

  “I’ll tell you something else, Obe, and then I have to be going. Much work to do. You’re wearing the blue jumpsuit now, I know that, but trust me, if you only got it a few days ago you’re still seen as a green by the family- a ‘greenhorn’ as they call it- and will be for a while.

  “You see, there are some things you haven’t worked out of your system yet. Like introducing yourself before the other guy gets a chance to breathe. It’s a nice thing, sure, but sometimes strangers are just meant to be strangers. Sometimes you can have a great conversation with someone and not need their name. That’s something the women don’t understand.”

  Obe nodded, wanting more. The stranger provided it.

  “Here’s another one. I bet you had to fight the urge to spell your name for me, didn’t you, even though you know it’s not your real name, right? That’s not natural. And you probably only have a few memories from your real life still in your head.”

  “I remember my brother!” Obe blurted.

  The stranger paused, seeming to assess the validity of Obe’s claim. “Do you now? Well that’s good. I’m glad for you. That’s a great start.” He paused and the moon seemed to swell behind him. Obe gently rolled the apple in his road-rashed hands.

  “But there’s a lot more, isn’t there? See, you’re still under their influence. All those drugs and pressure tactics. Like it or not, you’re still just a single sheep released from the herd. Those wolves in blue sector will eat you alive if you let them.”

  “Drugs,” Obe marveled. The notion had never once occurred to him. “I never realized…”

  The stranger was slow to reply. When he did, his voice had softened. “I know what you’re feeling. That betrayal on top of everything else. They claimed their training was pure, natural and all that. But believe me, they cheated, even by their own rules. What do you think was in that slop they served? That funny taste… and the way you went dizzy in your box sometimes… it was so easy to convince yourself that was all from the torture and the sleep deprivation.”

  Obe thought of his brother, so recently removed from that horrible place and so likely to die soon. The morning sunlight was brighter now, but the stranger’s eyes still hid in shadows.

  “My brother,” Obe said. He wanted to tell the stranger in black everything. Maybe this man who so casually talked of such incredible things as truths behind the façade and men hunting women would understand.

  “What about him?” the stranger asked.

  Obe pictured the other stranger from earlier in the night, the man who had come to him in even deeper shadows by the Cliffs of the Moon and told him of his brother’s presence on the island. “I want to see his face before I die,” he said instead.

  A short silence lingered. Obe feared laughter that didn’t come. “Well then,” the stranger said, “you’ve got to make him your focus, your motivation for getting out of here.”

  “I already do that.”

  “Do it some more, then. You can’t give up halfway through. I’ll tell you one secret I’ve learned about this place. Lots of men have the skills to outrun the women, but most of them still get taken eventually. It’s because diligence, persistence, is more rare and more powerful than skill. The truest skill is being able to keep at a thing day after day, month after month, even when you’re down, even when you’d rather just die. You’ve just been transferred to the blue sector. That’s a hell of an accomplishment. Now you’ve got to work on making it to black. Then maybe you’ll make it home.”

  Obe thought of the Cliffs of the Moon where he’d also so easily fantasized about ending his life. “You sound like them,” he said. “It sounds just good enough to, believe.”

  “You don’t sound convinc
ed.”

  “I’m not.”

  The stranger moved, rising to his knees. Obe saw the soles of a pair of sneakers and another flash of jealous rage came and went in the blink of an eye. “You know, Obe, the truly amazing thing about my life is that I’ve reached the point where I no longer need to go home. I’ve got other priorities now. If you ever make it up to see us, and I’m still around, I’ll tell you what I mean. And if I’m not there, somebody else will.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Obe said.

  The stranger laughed. “You do that.” He paused to survey the rising sun. Obe could almost see the contours of his face. “Well, Obe,” the stranger in black finished, “it’s been nice talking to you, but I’m running late on some errands.”

  “It’s been nice talking to you, too.”

  “You got a nasty cut from that dive. I’d clean it out. You don’t want to die of a damned infection after all this, right?” Obe smiled. “Enjoy that.” He pointed at the apple. “It’s really delicious. And keep to those shadows, okay?”

  Obe didn’t get to answer or to ask the man’s name. Just as soon as he stopped talking, the man was gone.

  Obe glanced at the large red apple, wondering how the man had gotten one so big, wondering if black sector had perks, wondering if blue sector had perks. He could save the apple for later when he’d really need it, or he could just splurge and have a truly happy moment. Safe under the bridge, letting his wounds heal, crunching a good apple, and maybe even enjoying how the oxygen filled his lungs or the blood pumped into his ankles and feet? Yes. That felt just right.

  He settled back and took a big bite. But instead of the under-ripe tartness or mealy softness like he was used to, instead of even the crisp little tang he was anticipating, the apple exploded not just drops but torrents of warm sweet juices in his mouth. Shocked, Obe laughed out loud. It was a tomato, not an apple.

  Where the hell did he get this? Obe wondered. But the truth was he didn’t care. His time on the island had taught him to appreciate every good thing, no matter how small, whenever one might happen to cross his path.

  Licking the juices from his fingers, he laughed again and took another bite.

  6

  After his extraordinary snack, Obe fell victim to another strange phenomenon common to island men: their nutrition was lacking in protein and overall caloric intake, which left them malnourished and lethargic. Most slept in brief, fitful spurts throughout the day. Obe was no different, and his recent exertions had wearied him greatly.

  He shifted around and soon found a comfortable position. Banked by the surrounding grasses and shaded from the rising sun by the bridge itself, his little space felt almost as safe as a real bed. But as he often did, he dreamt of the past and struggled for full rest as the memory turned into the inevitable nightmare.

  This one was from his first days on the island…

  He woke inside the little cell

  It was your box!

  so woozy his head swam despite the darkness. It was nearly pitch black and felt like days had passed since Rhonda had castrated him. But a dull throb at his groin told him the operation was recent, only a few hours at most.

  He lay on his back with his knees bent and splayed open, feet up to his buttocks, hands on his stomach. It was then he realized just how short the connecting chain between his wrists and ankles was. How long would they keep these on him? It was obvious he was no physical threat.

  Carefully, he reached his left hand down and felt for his testicles. What he found was nothing but very tender, loose skin and some stitches. His heart wept. It was an emptiness he had never imagined. Suddenly he found himself empathizing with so many millions of dogs who must have woken to the same shock.

  When he pulled his hand back, it touched something else. Metal. Wrapped around the base of his penis somehow. Less than an inch long. He inspected and felt more pain. Almost like the famed Chinese Handcuffs, the device could be put on easily but hardly taken off. When he pulled at it, short, angled spikes already dug into the skin went deeper. What its exact function was he couldn’t guess, but it sent a shiver through his spine more than anything he had experienced thus far.

  Time passed, and like the night before, his perception exaggerated each minute. Rhonda made virtually no noise once she went back to the filing cabinet. It’s me, he thought. She’s writing down things about me right now. The only noise he could hear were strange mumbled voices coming from several of the other doors. When he lifted his little mail slot he could see a dozen more small square doors to both sides, yet he could barely discern the chorus of muted dronings. It was an unpleasant sound.

  He didn’t know how much longer, but eventually more people came in. More women. He heard their voices, their laughter. Then he began hearing the squeaking hinges and clanking metal of the many mail slots. When his own opened, a dented tin bowl was thrust quickly through the opening. It landed on edge and spilled its liquid contents to the floor. He found and fingered the mess. It was a cold, slimy, chunky gruel.

  “Oatmeal?” he whispered.

  He tasted it. Not oatmeal. The taste was strange. It wouldn’t have been horrible, actually, if not for the tinge of acrid spoil in it.

  Drugs! Not spoiled! It was drugs!

  Wishing all the while he had water to wash it down, he ate as much as he could. He knew intuitively the meals would be few and far between. It would take two more days before he learned to catch the bowl as it came through the slot. It would take two weeks to get used to the horrible taste.

  Then he’d been exposed to lavatory time. It being his first day, he’d not known the expected behavior, and one woman had beat the rules into him with the butt of her gun. He never even made it to the lavatory that day. Instead, he was shoved back into his box and left there till the following morning. Until the implementation of the recordings, it was the longest twenty four hours of his life.

  The second day, after forgetting to catch the food tin but at least following the rules of lavatory, he was later introduced to the first, but not the worst, true torture of his life.

  His door opened forcefully just as he was inspecting a group of tiny holes in the back wall of his box. He’d later come to hate those holes,

  Shut up! Shut up! My name is Obe. Like robe and strobe. Oh God. Please no.

  but at this moment he was unaware as to their use and merely curious. The woman told him to get out, on the double, and keep his forehead on the ground. He’d heard the same threat many times already and learned that a lack of expediency resulted in a blow to the head or middle of the back. He moved quickly, fearing what might be done to him. He’d been waiting for his turn. Waiting and waiting and waiting. He couldn’t fight, so his only plan had been to play along.

  She made him follow her, crawling behind her like a disobedient dog in the shadow of its master, around that same dark corner Rhonda had dragged him, past the lavatory room and into a different full-sized door. Inside, this room was identical to the other, right down to the single strap and loop hanging from the ceiling.

  She told him to get on his knees by the end of the table and to put his arms on the slab of cold metal.

  “I can’t,” he’d said even before he knew his mouth was open. “The chain’s too short.”

  She turned instantly and slammed the butt of her gun onto his ear. Explosion. Red hot heat. White hot light. He screamed and pulled his hands to the ear. The pain was exquisite and refused to fade. She waited. He squirmed in his seething anger and pain. Eventually, he dropped his hands and she slammed the gun-butt into the same ear again, somehow with twice, the force.

  He screamed again, cursing violently, and fell to the floor. But even as he reached upwards she spoke in an incredibly calm voice.

  “Don’t touch it, pig. You can scream all you like, but don’t touch it if it hurts. It doesn’t help the pain, you know. It’s only a sign of weakness.”

  He pulled his hand back down and swore under his breath. The pain was extreme, mor
e than he’d ever felt in his life. Blood leaked down his neck. The heat on his ear was like stinging fire.

  “Of course the chain is too short. You think I don’t know that?” Still that eerily calm voice. “You think I haven’t done this a hundred times before? Don’t ever speak unless you are asked to speak. If there’s something you can’t do, do it anyway. When you fail, there will be a woman there to make it possible. Now, go to the end, get on your knees, and put your arms on the table.”

  He sat up and knee-walked to the end of the table. His hands were down by his thighs and could only be lifted another inch. He did so.

  “Good,” the woman crooned. “At least you tried. And for that I’ll be nice enough to ignore your filthy mouth this time.” She bent and produced a key hidden in her palm and unlocked his wrist chain from his ankle chain. He fought the urge to swing his clasped hands at her.

  Play along, he thought, and didn’t move.

  The leftover links rattled to the cement floor, and when she stepped away he put his arms on the table where she strapped them down tight.

  “Okay then, pig. Today is your first time, so I’m going to be light. Give you a chance to learn quickly, which no one ever does. But you’ll get the chance all the same.” Her voice was always calm, always smooth. He was already coming to hate it.

  In his slumber under the little bridge, the man now named Obe grumbled uncomfortably.

  She turned and took a small instrument from the cabinet in the corner while she continued talking.

  “You’re here because you’ve been bad. I’m not concerned about the details. Nobody else will be either. You’re here and that’s all that matters. We’re going to educate you. It will be a tough education. You’ll scream. You’ll pass out when you’re lucky. You’ll cry and beg for mercy. These are all natural reactions.”