by Simon Clark
If he returned.
Tut, tut, David, I told myself, there goes your suspicious mind again…
But there was a chance that circumstances might prevent the return of Sam and the others. In which case, I might have to take my chances, making for the flying-boat hangar and then heading for home under my own steam.
Drip… drip… drip…
The still did its work. The almost overpowering smell of sweating malt and barley took possession of my nostrils. At intervals the concierge broke off from her gatekeeper duties to limp into the room, remove a full liquor bottle from beneath the ever-dripping tap, stopper it, place it with its cousins (dozens and dozens of them) in a cupboard, then place an empty bottle under the tap, turn the screw and - yes - the drip-drip-drip would start all over again.
Later that morning I discovered a way of looking out onto the street. I found that if I stood on a chair I could see through a ventilation grille. Now I had a reticulated image of a road lined with four-story tenements. Sunlight revealed a busy scene. People of all ages and all races hurried to and fro. Most carried baskets or bundles of different kinds. I could see a great number of the Blind, too. They moved with confidence along the street, yet I noted, feeling sick, that they seemed to be employed as beasts of burden. They carried huge wooden boxes secured by a kind of harness to their backs. I didn't see one person dressed in anything better than the most pitiful of rags.
I continued to watch the scene for some minutes. During that time one or two people on bicycles went past. I saw a handcart, pulled by a burly man, in which were two pigs and, bizarrely, a coffin lined with satin in a delirious shade of pink. Following him came a herd of cattle driven by boys with sticks. Then, for the first time since my arrival in this zone, I saw a powered vehicle. I craned my head to see better. Trundling noisily into view came what appeared to be a metal box on wheels. What few windows it possessed were covered with steel mesh, while on top of it a perspex bubble glinted in the sun. In this gun turret sat a man smoking a cigarette.
As the vehicle turned into a side street I could see the words INDUSTRIAL SECTOR POLICE (NYC) stencilled on its flank.
This was important. Despite this slave camp being largely run by its inmates there were police patrols. I mentally filed the information.
The small dark man, Benji, appeared. His glance at me was rich with disinterest. 'If you come down from da chair, Marty's serving chow in da parlour.'
'Parlour?'
'Big room down da hallway. You got any cigarettes?'
'No, I'm sorry, I don't-'
'Chow's in da parlour. Make quick, or it's gone.'
In the words of Benji, I made quick. I was hungry. What was more, I didn't know when the next meal would appear. The moment I walked into the hallway the barley-and-malt stench was replaced by powerful boiled-cabbage odours.
My nose didn't steer me wrong. Cabbage soup steamed in a huge tureen. Already a dozen or more blind people had begun to eat. I joined them. The concierge in yet another change of roles doled out bread that was grey and gritty. There was a mood of silent despair in the room so strong that it seemed to percolate through my nostrils as pungently as the boiled-cabbage smells. I remember thinking to myself: Something must be done. These people shouldn't have to live like this. Yet, for the life of me, I could not think of a way to help them.
***
At six o'clock Rowena and Marni returned from their work. Some sooty material had made their skin grimy. Both disappeared into the bathroom to wash. Then, as if this routine had been established for many a year, Rowena climbed onto the bottom bunk where she just sat, obviously painfully exhausted by her labours and looking more fragile than ever. Meanwhile, the robust Marni helped make her comfortable, then brought her the cabbage soup and bread that was her evening meal. Rowena balanced the bowl on her lap to eat while Marni went to collect her own ration.
I busied myself with my remaining rucksack for a while so as to give them a degree of privacy while they ate. Afterwards, I sat on the chair opposite the bunks. 'Strictly, I'm supposed to keep this as an emergency ration,' I said. 'But would you like some chocolate?' I held out two blocks. They both looked at me, perhaps wondering what I required in return. Clumsily I said, 'Please… take it. I wish I could do more for - what I mean to say is… I hate seeing you forced to live in these conditions; to eat this food… it's-'
'So unfair?'
'Dammit, yes, it is!'
Rowena gave a tired smile. 'This is our life now.' She looked round. 'This is home… we must make the best of it. But thank you for the chocolate. I don't think either Marni or I have tasted it in the last ten years.' She took the chocolate bars and, handing one to her sister, said, 'Marni. Would you bring us all a drink, please?'
Marni moved nimbly across the room to the still. There she poured generous measures into three cups. I couldn't understand it. Rowena seemed to be completely without self-pity. With something close to serenity she simply gazed at me as I tried to disentangle myself verbally from the guilt I was feeling, telling her that Torrence was despicable and that to force people into slavery was nothing less than evil.
Marni placed the mug of liquor beside me on the floor, then sat down by her sister. For a moment both of them seemed uncertain about how best to eat the chocolate. But as soon as they tasted the first morsel they quickly devoured the lot. I wished sincerely that I had more for them.
Meanwhile I stammered on, feeling a scalding mixture of guilt and anger. 'But surely people in the rest of Manhattan can't condone keeping you here in these appalling conditions?'
'They don't know. It's as simple as that.'
'But word of what it's like here must get out. What about the truck drivers who move goods from the north of the island to the south?'
'Our masters are very careful. All goods are shipped to warehouses on the boundary at night, using slave labour here. In the morning free workers from south of the Parallel load the goods onto trucks for distribution in the city. Clever practice, isn't it?'
'So the two labour forces never meet?'
'Never. For all the people in the south know, the warehouses are magically filled each night by some fairy godmother.'
'But don't people in the city ever question what goes on up here?'
'Some do. Like Marni here, when she was a student. But to do that is to risk winding up here yourself. And if that happens to you, then it's like dying and going to hell.' Rowena shrugged. 'You know that you're never going to return and that you're never going to see or communicate with your family ever again.' She sipped the liquor. 'In reality, some of those in the city must have an inkling of what lies above the Parallel, that it's a prison of sorts, but when has the public ever taken a keen interest in the workings of jails? Like waste disposal or the process of getting cattle to your plate in the form of roast beef, you tend not to think about it too deeply.'
I burned with the injustice of it.
'Tell us about your own life, David,' she said. 'What is your home like?'
Two green gazes fixed on mine. Both uncannily alike. Once more I half believed that these were some supernaturally altered forms of Kerris Baedekker looking at me. One had an unearthly yet delicate beauty. The other had a face cruelly scarred by that diagonal crimson slash.
It was hard not to make life on the Isle of Wight seem like paradise when I described the rolling downs, the fresh sea air, my family home tucked away in the fertile green heart of the island. I told them about my own history. They even smiled with amusement at my account of some of my exploits as a child, which at one point had resulted in the spectacular demolition of my father's laboratory.
And, in truth, I warmed to my room-mates. As we talked I saw a lively spirit slowly revealing itself in both of them. Marni's poor scarred face had suddenly broken into a touchingly beautiful smile. Rowena's sense of humour arose from some deep interior wellspring. If only I could have spirited these two away to my homeland they would have become fully functioning human beings
again. Good food, rest, fresh air and the simple freedoms we enjoyed would restore them. I was positive of that.
I watched them as they drank the liquor from the still. Whatever it tasted like it had some restorative effect. A little colour came to Rowena's face. Marni became more animated. At last she noticed my untouched cup. She pointed at it, then mimed drinking.
Nodding and smiling, I raised the cup to my lips.
Ten minutes later my eyes were still streaming. Then I heard a thunderous clanging sound coming from the hallway.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
… AND SO LIKE ORPHEUS
RAISED voices accompanied the clanging. Still wiping my eyes after swallowing the fiery spirit, I rushed out into the corridor. It thronged with the Blind, demanding to know what was amiss. Down the hallway I could see the concierge hobbling towards the gate that was the source of the clanging sound. Being tall enough to look over the heads of people in front of me I could see a red-faced man in a black peaked cap. He was belabouring the gate with a staff.
'Let me in, woman!' he bellowed. 'Let me in now, or I'll order my men to fire.'
The old woman did as she was told. I could see the upper half of the gate above the milling heads swing open with a crash.
'Out of the way… get out of the way!'
The man in the cap forced a passage through. The Blind in front of me were forced back. A woman tripped in the crush. Quickly, I pulled her to her feet to stop her being trampled.
By this time I'd been pushed back past the door of my room. Now I could see that the men forcing the Blind back were police. These, however, only superficially resembled the neatly turned out officers I'd seen on my first arrival in New York. The officers here were brutish-looking individuals. Uniforms were sweat-stained and badly fitting. These cops carried either fearsome-looking batons or shotguns. And clearly they were in no mood to dally. As they herded the Blind back deeper into the hallway it occurred to me for the first time that they were here for me. Perhaps they'd been tipped off by one of the apartment block's residents that a party of strangers had arrived. Maybe the police were here to make a search for the mysterious intruders.
I bent my knees to bring my head lower than those around me. At the same time I deliberately allowed my eyes to glaze over as I did my best to act the part of a blind man. I groped at the walls while moving back towards the shelter of the parlour.
The police began to kick open doors in their search. Anyone straying into their way was brutally shoved aside.
'Have a good look round!' bellowed the officer in charge. 'This is the place!'
The red-faced officer reached the door of the room that I'd shared with the two girls.
'Ah,' he said, pleased with himself. 'In here, men. The snitch was right.'
At that moment I thought about trying to find some back way out of the property. Even a window would do.
Red-face stood back and waved his men through into the room. 'Go to it,' he boomed. 'But be bloody careful. No, lad. Easy with it, easy. Unscrew the piping first. No, don't bother with the mash… dump it out onto the bloody floor.'
With the police now in the room I edged forward to look inside.
Red-face stood with his hands on his hips, watching his men dismantle the still.
'Careful with them copper pipes.' Then he added, with good-natured brutality, 'If anyone dents them pipes I'll dent their bloody 'eads.' Strangely, there were broad Yorkshire vowel sounds mingled with the New York accent. No doubt there was an epic yarn in how that middle-aged Yorkshireman had reached New York. But what he was doing now was clear enough. This was no legitimate liquor bust. The officer was undoubtedly appropriating the still, together with every bottle of liquor in the place, for his own purposes.
Marni didn't take kindly to a policeman helping himself to a half-full bottle from the table by her bunk. She jumped up to stop him. The big man tussled briefly with the girl.
'Leave her alone!' Rowena hauled herself from the bunk to help her sister.
Without turning his head the man shoved her back onto the bunk. I saw her forearm whip out and crack against the bunk post. Instantly, her face crumpled with pain. Marni, her eyes blazing with fury, spat at the man's face.
He swore and raised the bottle like a club above her head.
'Bloody hell, 'Arry.' The red-faced man guffawed at his colleague who was struggling with Marni. 'What yer flaming well playing with them lasses for?'
The man looked as if he was going to make some whiny complaint about Marni but Red-face clearly didn't have time for fun and games. 'Put 'er down, 'Arry - you don't know where she's been.' He pointed to another policeman. 'Now start taking this stuff down to the truck… and be bloody careful with it. I don't want to hear any bangs or breaking bottles. Treat 'em like you'd treat a bloody babby. 'Arry; leave 'er.' Get on wi' shiftin' them bottles… no, start with the full ones, soft lad.'
The one known as Harry simply pushed Marni away. Scowling, he picked up a crate of bottles and headed for the door. I moved back again, once more adopting a sightless stare.
Meanwhile the concierge wailed, 'Leave us the booze. Why can't you leave us with some bottles… you don't need it all. Leave the bottles!'
'Shut it,' snapped Harry, still irked by his tussle with Marni.
After that a despondent silence settled on the occupants of the apartment block. They must have experienced all this before. The police raids. The bullying.
When the last man had left with the last case of liquor I went back to the room where Marni was tying a makeshift sling around Rowena's neck. Rowena herself looked sick with pain. She glanced up as I walked across the room.
'Are you all right?' I asked.
'Oh, I've gone and broken my arm,' she said as if it were her own fault. 'Damn. I won't be able to work tomorrow.'
'Don't worry about work. You need to get your arm seen to.'
'There's someone here who'll set the bone… it's just that I won't get any vouchers now.'
'I'll see that you get food,' I told her.
'It's not just the food.' Suddenly she sounded weary beyond belief. 'I won't get the vouchers for my booster shots until I start work again.'
'Booster shots?' The penny dropped. 'Oh.' I recalled what Gabriel had told me about Torrence's policy of enslaving his work force with heroin. 'Oh, I see.'
She grimaced as the pain bit deep. 'It's a pity about the still. The drink would have taken the edge off all that cold turkey.'
By this time most of the building's occupants had moved off to their own rooms to contemplate their misfortune. One elderly man, however, looked at Rowena's arm. I winced at the sight of the kink between wrist and elbow where the bone had snapped.
'Make yourself as comfortable as you can,' he told her gently. 'I'll be back in a few minutes. I need to make some splints.'
'Thank you.'
I seethed at my impotence. How could I have stood there and watched those thugs do this? But what could I have done? They outnumbered me, they had guns. I had nothing.
Marni did what she could. She made Rowena lie down on the bunk, then tenderly positioned a pillow under the broken arm.
Once more I rummaged through my rucksack. I thought I'd seen something earlier when I'd been handed my emergency food rations. Yes, there it was - a small cardboard box with a red cross on its lid.
'David? David Masen?'
I looked up to see Rowena regarding me.
'David,' she said. 'You've got to leave here now.'
'But-'
'Listen. It's not safe for you to stay.'
'The men came for the still.'
'Even though they weren't looking for you, how long before one of the officers remembers seeing a face that doesn't belong round here?'
'I'm sure they didn't get a good look at me.'
'David, come on now. They might have been preoccupied with our little miracle machine and not breaking any bottles but one of them's suddenly going to ask themself why there should be such a
well-nourished young man round here. Believe me, they'll be back. And sooner rather than later.' She spoke so forcefully that she accidentally disturbed her arm. The pain made her grimace. 'And if you think you'll be a hero for sticking round, think again. We'll all do the fire walk if you're caught here.'
'OK.' I said. 'Just tell Sam Dymes what happened when he gets back.' I slipped on my flying jacket. 'I'll make my way back to the flying boats.'
'You won't find them by yourself… Marni.' She turned to her sister. 'Take David back to his aircraft.'
Marni nodded, then gestured at me to get a move on.
'OK. Take care of yourself, Rowena… and you'd best have this.' I handed her the first-aid kit. 'There's a couple of shots of morphine and a hypodermic. You know… if you need it.'
'Thank you, David. I appreciate it.'
On impulse I stooped down and kissed her. Right then I nearly did a stupid thing. I nearly told her I'd come back and get her and Marni out of there. And kick the backsides of those thuggish police for good measure. But I knew, as sure as eggs were eggs, that those were promises I'd never be able to keep.
'Goodbye, David. Now, please hurry.'
The concierge had anticipated this turn of events. Without a murmur she unlocked the gate and I followed Marni downstairs. Soon we were outside. In daylight I stood out like a man from Mars, so she pushed me back indoors, put her finger to her lips, then ran back down-the hallway. Returning in a moment, she helped me into an evil-smelling overcoat; whether it was black from filth or dye I didn't know. She stepped back, her clear green gaze assessing the result. With a shake of her head to indicate that not enough had been done she crouched down on the hallway floor. She rubbed her palms on the tiles, then returned to me. Standing close up against me in the narrow hall, she now smeared those palms all over my face, paying particular attention to my forehead and nose.