Experiment With Destiny

by Carr, Stephen

  When he’d returned that morning, alone, Ma had asked about Rachel and the boy. Though she tried to hide it, he could see the news had affected her deeply, shaken her to the core. Of course she made no suggestion he should go back and try and find the boy. Ma knew too well what treatment he would be receiving, and the dangers facing anyone who tried to get him back. She would never expect him to return to that cruelty and face his darkest fears. Yet Malcolm sensed that he would find no peace within himself, and that he’d always wonder if she’ll resent him for not trying. The ‘Good Book’ spoke about laying down your life for others, the supreme sacrifice…and he could vaguely recall a story about how precious the little children were and that He welcomed them to His side. ‘Suffer the children…’

  “I’m going back to find him!” Malcolm affirmed at last. “I have to find out if he’s still alive…and if he is, I can’t just leave him to suffer…what I suffered.”

  Ma considered him long and hard, then smiled as if it was all she could offer him, unable to put her feelings into words, mute as the boy. Harry studied him too, putting down his bowl and puffing on his roll-up cigarette.

  “It’s a brave thing to do, no doubt! You know more than most what awaits you out there. But I expect the Good Lord will be on your side…and of course you’ll have me to look after yer and all…I can still remember a thing or two about soldiering!” Malcolm smiled, for the first time since he’d lost his little girl.

  “Thanks Harry, but this is something I’ll have to do alone. This is my quest, and mine alone.”

  “Now listen…”

  “Sorry, old friend, but it’s not for discussion. We all know the dangers…I may never come back…and I need you…here…who else is going to take care of Ma if I don’t make it back? I can’t leave her on her own, with nobody to look after her!” Malcolm glanced over at her. She was scowling. He knew Ma didn’t need ‘looking after’, but he also knew he could not risk taking Harry with him among the citizens. It would never work.

  “Well…” he saw Harry’s chest puff a little with pride. “I…suppose…”

  “Thank you Harry…I knew I could count on you!” Malcolm reached over and clutched his friend’s hand. It was cold to the touch, despite his proximity to the warmth of the fire. Leaving them to clear away, he went to the adjoining room to gather together a few belongings he might need. He knew he’d made the right decision, but it did not stop him feeling very afraid as he gathered his tobacco tin, cigarette papers and matches, a handful of dried bread and a knife to cut it and bundled them into his deep pockets. The stew should keep him going until nightfall and the bread until morning. The rest of his needs would have to be met with improvisation.

  Before returning to Harry and Ma, Malcolm kneeled on the unforgiving bare concrete floor and passed his hands over his chest in the sign of the cross, as he could best remember it. “Our Father…” he prayed, remembering most of the words as his mind swam with visions of the terror that awaited him.

  Ma kissed his cheek. Harry patted his shoulder.

  “Wish me luck!” he said, and no more as he waved solemnly over his shoulder and crossed the wasteland toward the fringes of the town, bracing myself against the harsh wind and trying his best to stick close to the derelict buildings for the shelter they provided as he picked his way. His community watched him go, following his uneven course through the rubble and the refuse. He paid no heed to them, to the huddles around the campfires or the stark faces that peered from pane-less windows. Gangs of children, younger than Rachel and the boy, scrambled among the debris in play as he pressed on toward the other world that he once, long ago, knew as home.

  His path took him through ruins, across grim streams of lifeless water bridged by rusting pipes and around the stagnant pools swimming with detritus. Still smouldering mounds of rubbish offered him glimpses of warmth as he neared the edges of the town. The citizens had cast out their unwanted and unused and set it alight to discourage the waste-dwellers from approaching to pick these piles clean of anything of worth. As he approached the township, his path unfamiliar in the daylight, the clouded heavens began to rain. Malcolm found shelter in the shell of a former workshop unit, stood alone where its neighbours had long since fallen, ducking beneath its buckled and graffiti-ridden steel grill and hiding in the shadows as he waited for cover of darkness.

  *

  Malcolm awoke from his troubled sleep. His toes were numb with cold and his back ached from lying awkwardly against the hard concrete floor. At least he was dry, he told himself. In the darkness of the hollow workshop his eyes searched for shape and form, but he found none. He reached into his coat pocket, opened his tin and took out the cigarette he’d rolled before dropping to sleep. That was when he became aware he was not alone. There was something else, another presence, inside with him. Lighting a match, illuminating the chamber, he watched a large black rat scurry away beneath the steel grill into the rain outside, startled by the sudden flare, and he breathed a sigh of relief it had been nothing more. He would not have wanted to share his shelter with one of the nomads. He held the burning match to the end of his cigarette and drew in the comforting smoke to appease the ache in his lungs. As he smoked, he contemplated his situation.

  His life had enjoyed something of a calmer routine in recent months, sporadically disrupted by little more than a bout of particularly harsh weather here and there, or the passing through of an unpleasant group of nomads. Even the danger of his nightly forays into town’s market place had seemed more mundane, until the last one. Malcolm knew he was at constant risk of dying through illness or being murdered in his sleep by the nomads, but such risk was an integral part of his life. This was different. Far from routine and well beyond the limits of his control, he was on the verge of a great unknown…he was about to enter the other world and walk among its unwelcoming inhabitants, who were far more dangerous and unpredictable than any nomad.

  Fighting back his fear, he finished the cigarette and uncurled the stub to save the last traces of tar-soaked tobacco for later use. He could choose not to go, not to take the risk, but he knew he could not live with such cowardice or the regret it would anchor in his soul. What value did his life hold anyway? What does it profit a man? He had to risk his life now for the sake of saving another…

  Pushing himself up from the floor, aware there may be other vermin cowering in the shadows around him, he ducked beneath the shutters and stepped into the waiting night. The icy drizzle clung to his face and the cold wind made his skin sting. His lungs wheezed as he began his climb along the winding trail of rubble that led to the street above, the border between two vastly different worlds.

  He emerged onto the ring road that circled the town centre, where the market place waited. He could not guess at the time but there was very little traffic and a nearby red-bricked corner shop appeared to be closing up for the night, its security shutter halfway to its moorings. The town was almost as he remembered it, one which had long ago seen better days and owed more to the 20th century than the 21st by way of appearance, hardly brushed by progress of any kind. Malcolm began walking toward the centre, trying to remember where he would find the police station…knowing he had purposely tried to erase such knowledge after his last visit there. At the time he had planned never to return.

  A bus passed by, splashing through the gathered puddles. Sullen faces peered out at him with marginal curiosity. He tried to bury himself deeper within his coat, as if it made him less visible to this hostile world and its hostile inhabitants. As he walked on, finding himself following the pavements alongside the rows of terraced houses, he heard the distant sounds of televisions, murmured conversations and the chink of cutlery or glasses…but he saw nothing except the flicker of lights behind the heavy curtains that veiled homes that wanted no intrusion from the deep, penetrating cold.

  As he neared the centre the streets became a little busier and his anxiety spread from the pit of his stomach with each step. Few of the citizens paid hi
m any heed as they passed him beneath the streetlights. He knew if they studied him a little more closely they would see at once he did not belong and would undoubtedly summon the police…but, gladly, they seemed too self-absorbed to notice and too complacent to consider anybody of his kind would dare venture here before they had long departed for their beds. Of course, summoning the police would be a quick route to finding the police station again…but Malcolm needed to retain the element of surprise if his quest had any hope of success. He would need a plan. It would be futile to arrive at the police station with no clue what to do.

  “God help me,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Show me the way.” The boy was sure to be locked in a cell, if he was still alive. He would also be surrounded by men armed with guns, beating sticks and biting dogs. They would not stand and listen to reason, even if he could summon any. They would treat him with utter contempt – after all they had warned him never to come back, told him what would happen if he did – and then use him for their cruel sport until the last of his life ebbed away. It suddenly occurred to him that his plan to rescue the boy would have to rely on violence of his own, or at least the threat of it. He stopped walking.

  Malcolm was lost in thought when they came upon him. A shout grabbed his attention.

  “Hey! Fuck! Look!” He hardly had time to look up. “A fuckin’ tramp! Plain as fuckin’ daylight in front of our faces! Cheeky fucker!

  “Shall we call the cops?”

  “Fuck no! That’s no fun! Let’s get him!”

  Before he could run he found himself flailing beneath a flurry of punches and kicks. As he reeled from their vicious blows he could hear their snarls, like the pack dogs the nomads brought with them, and smell their hot, excited breath drenched in alcohol. He staggered and fell to the pavement, trying his best to shield his face from their boots. And worst of it was not the physical pain of their assault but the emotional pain of the memories that came instantly flooding back. He heard his own voice crying out and he tasted the blood in his mouth as it trickled down his chin and mixed with the rainwater on the street.

  “Watch! Careful not to get his blood on you! He’s probably a fucking AIDS carrier!”

  He could feel them bearing down on him, their hatred and their rage, and he could feel the crushing weight of his utter failure, so soon into his quest…he had been so foolish…

  *

  Malcolm awoke. His face stung and his ribs ached. His first thought as his eyes began to focus on the tarmac was that it wasn’t heaven, or even the other place. There was a soft voice whispering in his ear but he could not make out the words. It was a woman’s voice. Slowly he realised he was lying on the roadside…and he was still alive! There was still hope…unless the police were near. He wondered how long he had been unconscious, how long he had been lying there, whether his attackers were simply waiting for him to come round so they could start again. He felt a sudden rush of panic and tried to force himself up, a sharp pain dividing his ribs and his head swimming.

  “Are you OK?” the voice repeated, clearer now. “Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No!” he wheezed and spluttered through the pain. “No, don’t call anyone.” He glanced around, desperately searching for his attackers, trying to think. “I’m fine! Thank you.” They were alone on the street, just the woman bending over and him.

  He turned his head toward her and studied her face. It was soft and drawn with lines of compassion. Her eyes showed only compassion, no hint of fear or revulsion at being here, alone, with a waste-dweller. It was as if she hadn’t realised! Malcolm could see she was well dressed beneath her pale waterproof coat. There was a dark scarf wrapped around her neck and her gloved hands were reaching out to help him. He remembered the ‘Good Book’ story about the Samaritan.

  “You should probably get up…if you can…and move from the road,” she said, her voice full of concern. “There’s not much traffic at this time of night but better safe than sorry, eh?” Malcolm nodded and summoned what remained of his strength. Despite her slender frame she managed to pull him to his feet, he knew he could not have managed alone. He hobbled over to the pavement, seeing his own blood smeared there and raising his hand to wipe his face. He glanced quickly around.

  “They knocked me to the ground, there,” he pointed. “I thought I was going to die, that my end had come and I wouldn’t have the chance to…” He stopped himself. How could she ever understand what had brought him here in the first place?

  “Yes…it looked truly awful! They ran off when they saw me. I thought…I mean I wasn’t sure what they were kicking…a dog…a person…I just couldn’t tell until they cleared off…but I knew I had to stop them!”

  “But how…?” He looked down at her, puzzled. She smiled.

  “I carry a gun…” She showed him her handbag, opened slightly to reveal a glint of metal. “…just for protection. You have to these days…you never know! As you found out!” He nodded. She closed the bag again. “I hope you don’t mind me asking but…” Malcolm felt suddenly dizzy again. It came in waves. He tried to focus on her quizzical expression. “…you’re a…non citizen, aren’t you? That’s why you didn’t want me to call an ambulance?”

  She knew! All along, she’d known…since the gang had peeled away from his crumpled body and she’d stopped over him to see. She knew why they’d attacked him, knew that he didn’t belong and shouldn’t be here. And she had a gun! He half wondered if she’d only sent them scurrying so she could enjoy some sport of her own…but her voice was quiet and her question did not sound like an accusation. He knew it was pointless trying to run, he would not get far, and he was too weak and dizzy to even attempt to overpower her. Malcolm was at her mercy and there was nothing to be gained by denying what his appearance and aroma must have already confirmed to her.

  “I know I shouldn’t be here…I’m sorry…I didn’t want to come at all, knew it was a bad idea, but …I had no choice…I have to…”

  “Hey,” she reached out her gloved hand and rested it reassuringly on his bruised arm. “It’s OK. I won’t be calling the ambulance, or the police…though it’s utterly shameful those yobs can just get away with treating you like that! And I’m not sure I agree with you…about you shouldn’t be here, I mean…I don’t think it’s right. You’re a human being…just like me!” Malcolm was confused. She didn’t seem to be making any sense. He could hear the warmth of her tone, rather than cold loathing. Perhaps it was nothing more than pitying his treatment…she’d originally mistaken him for a dog…and even citizens care for their dogs.

  “Thank you,” he said firmly. “Thank you for your help, which I know I do not deserve. I had best be getting on my way, before I get you into trouble too!” He turned to go but his legs wobbled beneath him and he had to reach out to steady himself against the nearby lamp post. His side was now burning fiercely.

  “Where will you go?” she asked, stepping toward him. “You might run into them again, and I won’t be there to save you next time.”

  “I will find my way home…thank you. I won’t be a nuisance to you good people. I’ll go now and be no further bother to you. You’ve done enough…more than enough! Again, I thank you for your kindness.” He wanted to relinquish the lamp post and shuffle away but he wasn’t confident of doing anything except tumbling over if he did.

  “You started telling me…you had no choice? You knew it was a bad idea but you came anyway…and this…” she gestured to the blood on the floor, “…confirmed how dangerous it is for you here. So what made you risk your life to come here…among us? It must be something very important to you?”

  “I came…” Malcolm gasped at the pain in his side. “…I came to find a friend. And I’m so sorry to have troubled you.” He released his support and stepped away, confused about which direction to take. She was right. His attackers may not have gone far. He took a few faltering steps but then his legs gave way and he sank to his knees, tears filling his eyes. The woman was at his side in an in
stant, reaching out and preventing him falling further. He knew he was helpless, trapped. “I’m so sorry…”

  “Here! Let me help you.”

  “No! Kind lady you must not…your fellows…they won’t thank you…I will manage.”

  “You’re in no fit state to go anywhere on your own!” She brushed aside his weak protest. The pain was overwhelming now and he dropped his hands to the floor in front of him and began to retch. “It seems you don’t have any choice in the matter. And who cares what my…fellows…think?”

  She helped him up and, together, they struggled a few hundred yards back the way he’d come, rounded a corner and then stopped before the door of a mid-terraced house he must have passed just moments before being attacked. He’d crept past such doors so many times – in the early hours when nobody was awake – but it had been an age since he’d last entered one.

  “No!” he remonstrated, his feelings in turmoil. He’d learned to live without the comforts he knew waited beyond that door. “You don’t even know me! You don’t know who I am. I could be…like the nomads…I could…” his voice trailed off as he struggled for breath.

  “I know you need help.” She leaned him against the doorframe as she searched her bag for her keys and he saw the gleam of her gun again. “And I know you won’t harm me. You probably have more to fear from the likes of us than I do from you.” She turned the key in the lock. “Besides, even if you wanted to I doubt you could do me any damage in the condition you’re in!” She reached in and flicked on a light before helping him inside. He hesitated momentarily then gave up resisting. And the world beyond the door took his breath away…a world, the other world, he could barely remember. Everything seemed so alien and unreal…everything seemed to glow.