The Tank

by Nicola Lombardi

He sent the message with a sigh.

  He then looked into the Well. How strange...had the intruder pushed a button the night before (a simple pressure of the finger on a plastic circle!), then now he too would...

  He stood up, annoyed by the direction his thoughts had taken, refusing to let them go on. He just needed to kill some time before getting an answer from the fax machine or the Postman. He wasn’t hungry, so he decided that breakfast could wait. Going back to bed was out of the question. Reading? Some TV? No, thanks. He thought (they would have found out you weren’t there, see that you were in the Tank, activated some kind of device to take you out, they would they would they would) he could shave, in all tranquillity, watching his face disappeared from the mirror behind a layer of vapor.

  Dragging his feet he started walking towards the bathroom (if the people under there recognized you they would have dragged you down, nobody would have ever found you, you would have gotten eaten!), but a sudden beep blocked him on the Control’s threshold.

  An answer already?

  He went back to the Postman and, biting his lip, opened the message.

  “You are authorized to clean everything up. The intruder has been caught and awaits judgment.”

  His first reaction was to land his fist on the console.

  “Great!” He exclaimed. But the enthusiasm so vigorously blooming inside him was immediately ruined by a hideous interior voice: And what if he’s the one writing you? Would it really be so unlikely?

  True...if the man that had gotten inside the Tank was the same who had written those rambling threats (and he was, without a doubt), then he could really be...

  “Oh to hell with it!” It was crazy talk. How could anyone be sure of anything when in there, unaware of anything happening in the outside world? Had he to trust the message and clean up the water and blood in the Ring, or was it some kind of deceit? The uncertainty made him feel helpless. He realized he was biting one of his knuckles and his teeth had already left pale moons on his skin.

  He thought he should probably answer somehow, and did so with the extremely vague hope he could strengthen his trust in whoever was communicating with him. He wrote: “As injured party, can I know the identity of the man you arrested?”

  “I’ll cut my hand off if they do...”

  The answer arrived after just 20 seconds.

  “When the time is right. Have a good day, Keeper.”

  There it was. Exactly how he feared. That Have a good day, Keeper was the end of the conversation. Answering would be useless. He would do what he had been told to and if had indeed all been a trick, the printouts would confirm his good faith, and most of all his obedience.

  He grabbed a bucket and a mop, and went to the Ring, cursing the migraine trying to conquer his head.

  ***

  Two triple deliveries, that day. One at 9:00 A.M. (drunken nomads stopped while riving a stolen car, and one at 4:00 P.M. (revolutionaries found in possession on unregistered weapons).

  Giovanni tried to ask the guards, both in the morning and in the afternoon, trying to get something out of them by using generic questions such as “Any problem with the storm, yesterday?” or “Anything new out there?” They were good attempts, even if a bit pathetic, and altogether useless. In one case (It was Wrinkle) the answer was “No problems” and the other (Bags) “Everything all right, Keeper” (and Giovanni had learnt that when a GS ended the sentence with the work Keeper it was more of a shut up and remember your place). He didn’t resent the soldiers’ silence. He knew their modus operandi and also that they had received orders they couldn’t disobey. He decided thing would take their own course, as always, under the management of a superior system. The NMO would decide what he should come to know, when, and how.

  “Ok,” he told himself, staring at his reflection in the mirror. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy, so I don't want to complain. I’m halfway there. Let’s keep going.”

  ***

  And so he did. With the deliveries, readings, exercise, television...

  No surprises, no intrusions and no dreams too horrible to be forgotten. He expected a second visit from doctor Nicastro, or from Alex, just to have a chat beyond the usual formalities.

  The Tank kept grinding the days, under the rain and the sun, an immense concrete spider on an invisible web, a place where all the threads of sin, transgression, crime and degradation converged. Fatally. Inexorably. And Giovanni Corte, zealous Keeper and watcher, had to wait the end of July to get answers for the many questions corroding his heart.

  19 - Confessions

  The fax arriving in the morning of July 21st presented, for the first time since the beginning of the year, an anomaly.

  There were three deliveries. Two triple ones in the afternoon and a single one in the morning. Giovanni thought it was a weird subdivision. But he still couldn’t know how weird would that lone morning delivery.

  First, where the name of the convict should have been written, there was only an ID: 150552-MO. A military ID. As for the accusation, it was Treason. He would arrive at 8:30 A.M.. Giovanni felt his heart sink. He would probably finally meet his enemy.

  He skipped breakfast, or at least postponed it. He wasn’t hungry. He preferred looking outside the window, his eyes on the faraway built up area called the Center.

  A van appeared from the small scrub hiding a parking lot and took the road (the spider web) to the Tank.

  It’s time.

  He straightened his shirt, checked the holster, centered the buckle of his belt, got out of his apartment and stopped next to the Shutter. He coughed a couple of times, then tried to talk (“I am the NMO”) to verify the stability of his voice. It was alright. Yes, he was ready. Ot at least, he thought he was.

  There was the buzz, the noise of the steel cables, the cabin slowing down, stopping...

  He took a deep breath, expanding his chest, thinking he could maybe assimilate some energy and get stronger. But when the doors opened and he saw general Stevanich get out of the elevator, he almost dropped his clipboard. His hands did their best to strengthen their grip, but the joints of his fingers seemed to have melt like butter under the sun.

  Despite being a civilian, he immediately saluted him.

  “Good morning, general!”

  Stevanich, in his high uniform, quickly brought a finger to the eyeshade of his hat. “Good morning, Keeper Corte.”

  Giovanni hoped he looked impeccable, martial, but his heartbeat and breathing were plotting to destroy that semblance of balance. His brain contracted like a sponge, producing an infinity of questions. But he didn’t have the time to be surprised as behind the general there was Alex, followed by Scalp.

  While three were heading towards him, towards the Shutter, Giovanni noticed two sinisterly clarifying details. Scalp had his rifle. Alex had his hands tied behind his back and was looking down.

  Oh God, no...

  “I appreciate the fact that you could manage the situation with discretion, mister Corte.” The general started. “You didn’t create unnecessary tensions nor divulged important information.”

  Giovanni listened to those words trying to keep a proud look - appropriately proud - even if he wasn’t sure he was following. However, he decided it was appropriate to answer just by moving his head in a nod. He noticed, right behind the general’s head, that Alex had raised his head and was staring at him. He tried not cross his gaze.

  “You surely know”, Stevanich went on “that high officers don’t usually run deliveries, except when the convict is part of the military.”

  “Of course...”

  “And that my presence here, this morning, is justified by the fact that we are about to unload Alex Allevi.” He didn’t even turn towards the young man he was talking about and Giovanni didn’t dare avert his gaze from Stevanich’s hard face to find out what facial expression was altering the prisoner’s face. “He was arrested the night he returned to the Center after incursion you reported. His confusional state and the superfi
cial wound on his left shoulder made him very suspicious. I personally followed the interrogation and after two days we managed to get a complete confession. A confession...” He took a piece of paper, which had been folded four times, out of his pocket and opened it “...convict Allevi will now read out loud.”

  After saying this, he stepped aside. Scalp touch Alex’s back with the barrel of his 13-S and the latter stepped forward. At that point it was inevitable for Giovanni to meet his gaze.

  Alex looked a bit paler and also thinner than the last time they met. His lips trembled slightly, telling a tale of emotional devastation and terror. Was it entreaty, what he was seeing in his eyes? Or shame? Giovanni coughed to hide a hiccup. And went back to staring at the general.

  Stevanich, without ever looking at the convict’s face, extended his arm towards him with the typewritten document and said: “Read it, Allevi.”

  Alex breathed corals. A drop of mucus shone under one nostril. His pupils started going up and down the document, trying to focus on the writing. Then the trembling lips separated and his throat reluctantly started exhaling. “I...Alex Allevi...”

  Giovanni shivered hearing that broken scarping pretending to be a voice.

  “Confess to have conducted a series of...actions driven by feelings of resentment...and envy towards Giovanni Corte, Keeper of Tank 9...”

  Giovanni felt needles sinking under the skin of his arms and legs.

  Alex looked up, trying to met Giovanni’s eyes with his. The Keeper did the same, astonished.

  “Go on, Allevi!” The general’s voice was a whiplash in the Ring’s silence.

  Only then did Giovanni realize that the convict hadn’t been sedated. However physically and mentally dejected he could feel, he totally lacked the resigned detachment, the lethargy that the Keeper had seen in all the convicts. Alex was lucid. They probably denied him that one solace. Lucid, and desperately aware of what awaited him.

  “...in January of the current year I wrote what I wanted to be mistaken for the previous Keeper’s memoir...describing experiences and episodes that could induce negative feelings into Corte...”

  (Unbelievable!)

  “...I got inside the Tank at night using the elevator and I knocked to trick Corte into exiting the apartment. I knew he would go to isolation cabin to check it, as per regulations, so I hid behind the turn on the other side and spied his movements. He left the door open and walked away in the hallway, so I had the opportunity...” He caught his breath for a moment, then licked his lips to dampen them “...to hide the manuscript under the mattress, hoping he would find it sooner or later...”

  Giovanni couldn’t take his eyes off the dry mouth reading that, hypnotized by the the words coming out of it, bewildered by the revelations amassing in a corner of his mind, ready to be later re-examined in all their horror.

  “...my goal was to...induce him to quit his job in the Tank. job I would get as the second in rank during selections...”

  While Alex was reading, Giovanni noticed Stevanich was observing him. The general - who still held the piece of paper in his hand, immobile like a statue - kept his eyes on him, a look as piercing as the cuspids of his tetragram. He felt the need to swallow what little saliva he had left in his mouth, but he knew that his occluded throat would make his neck move grotesquely; he decided to avoid it.

  “...when it became evident that after a few month Corte still hadn’t noticed the material...”

  (Oh, how wrong you are, mate...)

  “...I abusively used the terminal in the Center when it was unmanned and made him find the manuscript to...to scare him in such a way that it would decrease the quality of work...”

  (Poor, poor Alex. I feel nothing but pity and disgust...)

  “In the early hours of the 7th of the current month I stole from the archive a copy of the key that grants access to the Tank through the security door and, entering the structure masked in order to...scare Corte, I found him while he was inspecting...”

  “That’s enough, Allevi.” The general retracted his arm and folded the signed confession, putting it back into his pocket. Alex stood there with a half-open mouth, the dumb expression of somebody who just lost something. “I think you know the rest, Corte.”

  Giovanni nodded, suddenly shaken from the anguishing speech.

  “I want you to know that this public reading was essentially for your benefit, Corte. You had to the right to get some answers. Did you ?”

  Giovanni nodded again, but Stevanich’s frowning face suggested him to answer appropriately. “Yes, general, sir. Thank you.”

  “Let’s think of this regrettable matter as a closed one, then. You may proceed.”

  Alex grimaced, emitting a sob filled with repressed tears. He then advanced abruptly, pushed by Scalp’s weapon.

  Giovanni stepped to the push-button panel. He then raised the clipboard and looked for the Unlocking Code. He felt his stomach twitch. Things were happening so fast...

  Maybe it was better that way. Emotions had already had enough space: they now had to be caged, buried. There was no chance the general would change his mind or that the sentence could be discussed. He would be the first to try and talk about it, maybe; explain his point of view, ask if the punishment really was commensurate to the crime. But he was no lawyer. He was the Keeper of the Tank (and the executioner), and he would only end up with Stevanich not thinking well about him anymore. On the other hand, that poor devil had committed to many infractions and him being part of the NMO’s army made it all way less forgivable.

  His fingers moved on the buttons with clockwork efficiency under the general’s stony gaze. And in was probably the fact that he felt observed, together with the emotional chaos contracting his abdominals, that lead him into making a mistake.

  The scarlet spy on the upper part of the panel lit up intermittently. Giovanni’s heart skipped a beat; the back of his head started burning, then the heat went down the neck and to his cheeks. Right when the general was staring at him, for the first time since he worked at the Tank, after hundreds of unloadings, he had gotten the code wrong.

  His instinct made him turn towards Stevanich, who didn’t move a muscle.

  “I apologize, general...” His voice barely came out, cracked like Alex’s. He had input the UC as it was written on the fax, shamefully forgetting the date, so he pressed the RESET button while trying not to tremble too much, and started over. While inputting the code, a window opened his brain to show him what it had caught when he had turned first towards the general, then back to the panel. On Scalp’s face a grin had appeared, on Alex’s an absurd hope: if case of three consecutive wrong inputs during the opening process, the convict’s punishment would be suspended.

  I know what you are thinking, Alex. But I can’t do it, and you know it.

  He pressed each button with extreme caution. The certainty of doing everything correctly pervaded him like a white fire even before the Shutter’s door opened.

  “Go!” Stevanich’s exhortation made the convict move to the threshold of that small vestibule of Hell more than Scalp’s 13-S.

  Please don’t look at me, Giovanni thought, Don’t look at me now!

  And yet, as he feared, before stepping on the mobile platform Alex raised his head and stared at him dead in the eyes. “I would never have...” he whispered. “I would never have pushed the button...”

  Giovanni felt burning coal between his corneas and eyelids.

  He could only nod.

  “You will, won’t you?”

  Giovanni stopped nodding. It was the only way he managed to say yes.

  Alex smiled bitterly and, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, stepped forward.

  “Close it, Corte!” The general, who still hadn’t stopped staring at him, wanted to sever possible any emotional thread.

  Giovanni pressed the Closing button, holding his breath.

  A hiss, a slight vibration, and the dark glass of the door cut Alex’s shape from view. But b
efore he disappeared completely, Giovanni could see him bend his neck forward and almost touch his chest with his chin. He immediately understood his intentions. It was the ideal position to plummet and hope to break his neck.

  I hope you make it, he thought.

  He then pressed the Unloading button and, staring right in front of him, listened to the buzzing of the moving platform.

  He mentally counted to thirteen and pressed again, trying not to think about what he had done. Useless. Even silence, now, was filled by the scream he couldn’t hear.

  Stevanich turned towards Scalp and with a simple nod ordered him to move towards the elevator. The Guard obeyed immediately. Then the general turned back towards Giovanni, who was standing still, hands behind his back, legs slightly spread. Like a soldier at ease.

  “You did a good job, Corte.”

  “Thank you, general. I’m sorry for that mistake...”

  “Don’t make it twice more.”

  “I’ll do my best to avoid it, general.”

  The two stared at each other for a few more seconds. Then Stevanich suddenly asked him that famous question: “So, Corte...aren’t you afraid?”

  Giovani hesitated. When he opened his mouth, his lips moved as if he was saying something. But it all remained inside his head.

  Stevanich once more turned towards Scalp, waiting like a sentinel in front of the elevator’s door. “You can go, Guard. Wait for me downstairs.”

  A click of the heels, fingers at his forehead, and Scalp disappeared from the ring.

  The general, who still hadn’t moved his feet from where he first planted them, turned back towards the Keeper. He simply raised an eyebrow, and it was like he was asking:

  So?

  Giovanni - who in the meanwhile had searched inside his head and found in Scalp’s departure an incentive to speak more sincerely - answered: “Yes, general, I was. And I will probably have again in the future.”

  Stevanich slowly chewed on those words as if they were tobacco. “Of course, Corte. We are human. It’s impossible not to, isn’t it?”

  Giovanni felt light-headed for a second. He still hadn’t eaten anything, had just executed the only person he thought to be his friends and now general Aurelio Stevanich in person was engaging him in a private conversation with slightly surreal tones. He had to be steadfast and show he could keep up.