He waited, sitting quietly on the hard bench, his hands folded in his lap, aware of the conflicted feelings inside this young girl who had come to him for solace.
“Why do people do violence to each other, Father?”
“I do not know the whole answer to that. What is tormenting you?”
“I did violence to someone.”
“What did you do?”
“I took a knife from a table set for a big meal. I hid it in my sleeve, and when he approached me, I kicked him as you taught us. But when I tried to kick him a second time, he was too fast for me and I was caught. It was then that I pulled the knife from my sleeve, and struck him in the face. I meant to do him even more harm. Father, I will go to hell for this; I am sure of it.”
She sobbed then. The tears flowed freely, her shoulders shaking, great heaving breaths between sobs. Father Ignatius waited, certain there was more to her story that would not be revealed in sequence. He had heard such stories before. They spilled out in seemingly disconnected pieces.
“They did things to me, Father. The men who were there when we arrived. I tried to resist, but it was no use. There were five of them, dressed in white coats. But they were not doctors. They told me they had to examine me. They held me down on a table, and then, Father, they took my clothes off and I was naked, and they held my arms down and spread my legs. I screamed. I called them horrible names. I spat at them. And then they put a needle in my arm, and I couldn’t speak or move anymore. But I was awake. They put a light between my legs, and one of them did something to me. I couldn’t see, but I felt him feeling me. You know . . . there. I felt I was going to pass out, and then it was over. And one of them said, ‘Put in the report that she is pure.’
“They took me into another room and stood me in a shower and washed me everywhere. And then two women came in. They had new clothes for me, and they talked to me about what was expected. That’s what they said. ‘What is expected.’ They said I would be treated well. That I had nothing to fear. That everything I would do would be natural. That I was there to serve the Regime, but it was fair. That I should be proud to serve this way after The Race. That it was an honor.
“I still felt numb, but I could move on my own by then. But they finished dressing me and put makeup on me and did my hair. They sprayed me with perfume that smelled like the lilacs I remembered from the convent garden. And then they led me down a hall to a door. A man was there. He unlocked the door and sort of pushed me forward just inside the door and then bolted it behind me.
“Father, if it is such an honor to serve the Regime, why do they have to lock you in?” For a moment she seemed genuinely perplexed, but it passed quickly and she began to speak rapidly, as if she feared someone would stop her before she got everything out.
“I thought the worst was over when I saw that room with the big table and all the food. I was hungry, I remember. Very hungry and thirsty, so I went to the table. They had me wearing shoes with high heels. I never wore shoes like that before. I thought I would fall down walking in them.
“And then he spoke to me. Niko.” When she spoke his name she faltered, and her voice changed.
“I don’t remember what he said but I know that’s when I got so angry. And Father . . .” She stopped for a long rest.
“Yes, El,” Father Ignatius said. “What do you want to tell me?”
“I wanted to kill him. He was the cause of my humiliation at their hands. It was all his fault. If he had just done what he was supposed to do, I wouldn’t have been there. I wouldn’t have been handled. And drugged. And dressed up like a . . .”
“But you didn’t kill him.”
“No, but isn’t it just as evil to think such a thing? To want such a thing?”
“You must forgive yourself for reacting to such trauma, El. None of this was of your making.”
“That’s not the end of it, Father.”
He had been steeling himself to what he knew must be coming. He had heard stories about the aftermath of The Race before. He knew what was expected of the young people. He knew more than El. Knew how perverted it was. Knew what they wanted of her. But he kept silent, at least for the time being. Because he knew she must go back to them, back to their examinations and control over her. That they would punish her severely. So he would alter his plan. He would help El in the only way he could, and he would be risking all their lives. For this he would have to face his own penance. Someday.
“When he approached me, as I was gorging myself on the food, all I could see in front of me were those white coats. And that’s when I . . . I don’t know exactly what happened, but there was glass on the floor, and later in the bedroom I used the knife. There was so much blood. It seemed to be all over me. I don’t know exactly what happened then, but he attacked me. He got the knife away and dragged me to a bed. Then I went numb and thought he would attack me, you know, in the way men attack girls. There was blood dripping from his face and the look I saw frightened me. It was like he went vacant, like a dead person looks, like the way the sisters looked after they had left life and so I tried to call out to him, ‘Niko,’ I said, but I don’t remember if the words made any sound at all. I think I said ‘Stop,’ but I can’t be sure.”
She broke off, sobbing again. “Why did he do that to me? Why did he choose me for such degradation? And even while I was using the knife against him, somewhere in me was watching and saying ‘This is wrong. This is not Niko.’”
Father Ignatius spoke softly from the bench behind her. “You have gone through a terrible ordeal, El. It is normal to try to protect yourself. God does not expect you to be perfect and you must not punish yourself for these experiences. God has mercy. You must also, even if the mercy is directed to yourself.”
El was quiet then, thinking about what had happened and what Father Ignatius said. She thought about Sister Catarina and Sister Angelica. What would they tell her to do, to feel, to want? She tried to calm herself but the gnawing anger welled up in her again followed by a trembling fear and a sense of loathing. Still too upset, she couldn’t sort out what options she might have had or what she could have done differently. All she knew for certain was that she had been changed in some deep way and that survival must be an instinct that a person could not control and that instinct made her attack Niko and that instinct drove her to escape.
Father Ignatius spoke again.
“As for the young man, he also went through a terrible ordeal with no good options. He was allowed to live and he chose to fight for that life and not give in to the Regime. And you must also. I think, as time passes, you may find you have a friend and ally in this young man who right now must seem crueler to you than all the others. I do not forgive or condone what decisions he made. And although you suffered because of his choices, in the end he pulled back. He has humanity in him still. But I do understand that a system like ours fosters inhumanity in all of us and that’s what we must fight against, rather than fighting each other.”
El had one more confession.
“I hear what you’re telling me, Father, but I don’t think God will forgive me, because, you see, if he were to stand in front of me right now, I think I would try to kill him rather than give in.”
“You are very young, my child. You may have difficult choices ahead of you. Maybe one of them will be what to do if you’re ever confronted by Niko again. I will not say you must accept what happened to you with no anger or hatred. I will only say that such feelings, left without resolution, will lead to a bitter future. And a future without forgiveness is a future without hope. We have too much work to do, El, to move forward without hope. I will try to help you heal in any way I can.”
He made the sign of the cross again, replaced the purple cloth on its hook, and left after telling El he had a class to teach. He said she could stay and rest, if she liked, but that she must know they would search for her to bring her back to The Compound.
“I’ll go back to the convent, Father.”
�
��Hasn’t it been boarded up?”
“Yes, but I know a way in.”
After Father Ignatius left, El sneaked back out onto the street and made her way furtively along the alleyways. She kept her head low and hoped no one would stop her or notice the ragged, bloodstained dress.
When she finally reached the boarded-up garage, she followed the graffiti-covered north wall until she came to the old wooden fence. It was only then that she noticed spray-painted Niko everywhere. She glanced around at the other buildings and saw his name emblazoned on every surface.
At the fence she knew exactly which board was loose and swung it to the side, letting herself into the yard that once had been a garden. Inside she sank to the ground and ran her fingers over it, dipped her face down to smell the earth there and even the pungent scent of weeds that had taken root. But there were also remnants of the flowers they had planted, and jasmine, a lemon tree, pole beans, and even some roses along the side.
After Niko’s escape and El’s disappearance, the rooms they’d been assigned had been searched by Regime Detectors. The team of four inspected the blood, the torn sheets, the pieces of El’s clothing, and finally the bloody knife. At first, it was unclear which one had been the aggressor and which the victim. All they knew then was that Villinkash had ordered both of them to be caught and brought back to him personally.
Under ordinary circumstances this might have worked. Except that no one knew where El had gone. She had simply disappeared from The Compound, and no matter where or how they searched, they couldn’t find any trace of her.
After they’d finished their physical examination and dressed her for the night ahead, they’d done an extensive photo shoot of El. Then they pushed her into the room where Niko waited. The photos were to be plastered all over the city as further proof of how The Race turned ordinary girls into princesses. But now they were to be used to find El and bring her back.
So the search began.
Pictures of her, all done up for her “wedding” night, circulated everywhere. A blimp hovered over the city, streaming her name and likeness in a floating banner. She looked so pure, so beautiful, so alluring. She was the perfect image of the perfect bride. But it was the foul lie they perpetuated that grabbed the people and held them in its thrall: that she had been spoiled by her lover and would be thrown to anyone who wanted seconds. That meant to anyone who turned her in.
This was their lure to drag the bottom-feeders out of hiding. And to top it off, there was a bounty richer than anything that had ever been offered to snitchers and weasels.
Although Villinkash set about to remake Niko and El into dangerous rebels who must be stopped, no matter the cost, this took time to organize. Three days after The Race, the Regime broadcast the first arrest order, with Niko’s picture on every InCom in the city. On the fifth day, they posted El’s picture and offered the reward.
El found the key to the back door of the convent exactly where it had always been: in the broken flowerpot by the old hose bib. The hose was still attached, but water to the convent had been turned off when the electricity had been shut down.
After she’d let herself in through the half door, for the first few hours of hiding inside, she crouched in a corner, shivering, alert to the minutest sound—a creaking floorboard, a mouse skittering inside a wall, a person walking on the sidewalk, Scroungers rattling trash cans. She was afraid to light a candle, and since the place hadn’t been touched, there were many candles the nuns had left.
Finally she fell into a deep sleep, slumped against a wall, hugging her knees to her chest. At some point she awoke with a heart-pounding jolt. She was afraid of nothing and everything. Slowly it passed and she stretched out on the floor, consciously trying to remember Sister Catarina, Sister Angelica, and safer times.
She had no idea what day or time it was, but she was stiff and sore. And she felt an overwhelming need for soap and water. Long before the building was a garage and then a convent there had been a small house where now there was only a scruffy backyard. And in one corner was an old well with a hand pump. El knew it still worked because the sisters sometimes used it in times of drought, when the Regime cut back the water supply.
Since the Regime had designated this a low-priority section, there were no inhabited buildings nearby. So even though the pump handle creaked and water came out with a gushing sound, El felt safe leaving the building with a bucket and filling it at the well. She had no way to heat the water, but the night was warm.
She made a few trips. Each time she dumped the water into a large washtub the sisters had used for laundry. She took a small cloth and towel, soap and shampoo, and slowly cleansed the indecencies that had been perpetrated on her body. She was careful and worked with patience from her head to her toes, taking special care to soothe herself, and at one point, she began humming a hymn the sisters used to sing.
She found some of the clothes she’d left behind and dressed herself. Finally she felt clean. And so began her recovery. She was not the same sweet El. She had become a warrior.
Niko knew the city better than any of the Regime’s Detainers. This was his turf, and he navigated it with expertise and cunning. Although it would take a day after his disappearance was discovered for the roar of Detainers’ motorcycles to permeate the city, the night was his friend and gave him the edge he needed before dawn to locate Gruen, who was out scoring bruyaha. And besides, his wasn’t the only motorcycle out at night. There were the regular Detainers and others who paid them off to be free to score and rob.
No one took notice when he parked in a dark back alley near where he figured he’d find Gruen doing business. He waited until he heard Gruen’s scuffling walk out on the street.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Gruen spun around, ready to strike.
“It’s me.”
“Hell, don’t come up on me like that. I could have knocked you out.”
“I need help.”
“Hell’s yes, you do, man. What are you thinking? Leaving The Compound. People die to get in there and you run off? And what’s up with that cut? What’d you run into, a knife fight?”
“It’s a long story. No time to tell it now. I need to hide and then . . .” Niko broke off. He didn’t really know what he needed.
“Your name’s all over this city. People shouting it. Graffiti on all the streets and buildings. Someone even painted your face on that tall fence over by Quadrant Two. You’re the most famed man in town. What you need now is an escape plan, man. Unless you wanna lead the revolution, man, you need to get your ass out of this city. Because they catch you, they string you up and blast it on every InCom they got. You got no chance, man.”
“Where can I hide for a day or two? Just long enough to make a plan.”
“You can’t come to my place. And The Hovels are out. They’ll turn those shacks inside out lookin’ for you.” He looked down at the ground and then out to the street.
“So what’s in this for me?” he asked. “I’m taking a big risk to take you on this joyride.”
Niko thought about the rules of the street. Tit for tat in everything you did. He and Gruen were not real friends. He wouldn’t have protected Gruen for nothing. Why should he expect anything but the same?
Gruen walked farther into the alley and saw the bike. “Wheee . . .” he whistled. “That’s the one?”
“Yeah. My big win.”
“Some bike. I could sell it for a fortune if it wasn’t so hot. They’d know it right off and arrest me.” He shook his head. “What a pity.”
“Tell you what.” Niko lowered his voice. “You help me escape and you can have it. You can repaint it and grind off the engine number so they couldn’t identify it.”
Gruen thought for a minute.
“But that still leaves me with a bike that I can’t explain where I got it. It ain’t like bikes are easy to . . .” He broke off, thinking. “I know. It’s perfect. You know Father Ignatius? Trains the kids in self-defense? He’s got
a small army of ’em. I know, ’cause I traded him some weapons a while back. He’d help you. That is, if we can get you to him.”
“An army of street kids against the Regime?”
“You’d be surprised. A lot of them kids is clever. And they’re streetwise. The Detainers are soft. Yeah, they got big guns, but they don’t know shit about getting around in this city. I hear these kids even have tunnels and back ways through buildings. They can disappear a hundred ways and never get caught. And I hear they got explosives from somewhere. I ain’t sayin’ how I heard that or where they mighta got ’em.”
“The less I know, the better, I guess. What about the bike?”
“How can I turn that down?” Gruen said. “Even if I keep it for myself. What a bike.”
“Where does this Father Ignatius live?”
“I don’t know. I only know he trains out back in a lot down in Quadrant Five. It don’t look like nothin’ from the front, but out back it’s a different story.”
“Why wouldn’t he turn me in?”
“He’s been preachin’ revolution for a while. He’s a good guy, they say. I only had that one deal with him. He had a case of wine to trade. From his old days as a priest. He give that up when he went out to the streets to the kids.”
Gruen looked around. The night was fading. Soon it would be light.
“We better get to it.”
They walked up to the bike.
“Can I drive her?” Gruen gripped one handlebar. He whistled under his breath. “She’s sure a beauty.”
“Sure. It’s yours.” Niko waited a minute, then added, “As soon as we find this Father Ignatius. You drive.”
El found food in what had once been a mechanic’s pit, which was one of the convent’s secret hiding places. It stayed cool and dry down there all year, especially in the cold storage room they had dug farther back and underground from one wall. The entrance was under a heavy wooden plank that covered the pit and stairs that led down to it. The plank looked like part of the floor, but El knew just where to grab hold of it and pull to lift it at one end and prop it open. She used an old oil lamp for light, and in the pit she found the single-burner emergency kerosene stove the sisters used when the power went out. With all the babies and children they’d cared for, they’d made provisions never to be without food, water, and a way to cook.
A Place Called Zamora Page 13