by Mandy Hager
“Too long, I fear. I've had no luck for months, and with all the fighting to the north now, the government is even more reluctant to resettle anyone from outside our borders. They see terrorists in every shadow.”
“Terrorists?”
“It's a handy label. What they fail to understand is that most of their so-called terrorists—” Jo held up her hands as if to stop herself. “Whoa! Tangent alert!” She laughed. “That's my little hobby horse, sorry. But it doesn't help you or your friend.”
Hobby horse? How strange the words these people used. “There's no other way? Can't you just get the medicine he needs—the Imatib—no, Imatinibiate—from the hospital and bring it here?”
Jo didn't speak for several minutes, but sat picking the grime from her fingernails. Finally, she returned her gaze to Maryam. “If they'd let me into the hospital it would be easy enough to find the drug and slip some out, but conditions are so bad at the moment there's no way they'd let me see what's going on. They already view me as a troublemaker…Besides, even if I could get in, if Littlejohn found out I'd gone against his rules, I'd jeopardise the other work I'm doing here.” She paused again, looking off into the distance as though trying to pluck another solution from the air.
It took several minutes for Maryam to process what Jo had said. So many strangely accented words. “What if I was to go?” she urged. She waved her grubby plaster cast. “Couldn't I convince them to send me there for my arm?”
Jo shook her head sadly. “No chance. I've seen women dying in childbirth who've been refused. Even those with the same illness as your friend are left untreated in this camp. The hospital is purely for guards and islanders alone.” Two bright red slaps of fury painted her cheeks. “The only way a detainee gets access to the hospital is if they've lost the plot. It's too disruptive to the others—too likely to aggravate their discontent. Only then they'll take them to the hospital and dose them full of pills to shut them down, then bring them back.”
“Lost the plot? What does this mean?”
“Mental breakdown. It's common here. People have already experienced much trauma in the countries they've fled, and then they find themselves locked up here with little hope of ever getting out. It messes with their brains. Deeply depresses them.” She tapped her forehead. “Sends them insane.”
Maryam tried to piece together what Jo had said. “You mean there's absolutely no way we can get what Lazarus needs?”
“No. I'm sorry, but the consequences would be too disruptive.” She stood up and stretched. “Look, I'll do some asking around, see what I can come up with, but I'm going back to the mainland early tomorrow morning. My father's very ill.”
“I'm sorry,” Maryam said automatically, any hope she'd had of Jo being able to help them slipping away. “I hope he will recover soon.”
“He's a tough old bird,” Jo said, brushing off Maryam's sympathy. Then, suddenly, her whole aspect changed. “Oh my god, I can't believe I've been so dense! I've been so caught up in what happened last night and worrying about my father I'm not thinking straight! Of course I can help! I'm sure I can get access to the Imatinibiate you need from the mainland! I'll try to bring some back with me. Why didn't I think of that right away?”
“You can? When will you be back?”
“I'm not sure exactly, but it shouldn't be too long. I'll send a message via Charlie once I know.”
“Thank you,” Maryam cried, giving Jo a grateful hug. “I knew you'd help!”
“I must go,” Jo said. “I'm acting as a mediator between the hunger strikers and the guards. Things are still very tense. I'll see you as soon as I get back. Take care now.”
Lazarus and Ruth were already eating their rice when she returned to the hut, and she fell upon her portion hungrily, trying to ignore the cold gritty blandness of the food. How she longed for the fresh fruit and fish of home. She studied Lazarus furtively. He was merely toying with the rice, shifting it around the small chipped bowl, but barely eating any at all. His breathing was more strained now and the purple marks were tracking down across his chest. Before long he'd discover their existence for himself and the awful truth would be revealed. Would he thank them for keeping the knowledge from him when he did? She wasn't sure. But to tell him, when he'd spoken so openly of ending his life, was a risk Maryam wasn't ready to take.
She could feel Ruth's anxious gaze on her and nodded slightly to reassure her all was well. It was a strange juggling act, this trying to keep everyone appeased and safe, and she ached for Joseph by her side. What she'd give for just one more hour with him to talk this through. He'd know what to do, she was sure of it.
The stifling afternoon was drawing to its close and light rain had begun to fall when Maryam next ventured outside. They'd spent the long dreary hours talking of the old days, she and Ruth competing to name every Sister on the atoll to fill in the time. Ruth had won, crowing over her victory with the same exaggerated glee as when she'd trounced the Sisters in their running races back at home. Lazarus appeared content to listen, drifting in and out of restless sleep. Some of his lethargy Maryam put down to Te Matee Iai, but it seemed more than this—as if all the fight had gone out of him and the beating had left him shaken to his core.
Now she left the hut to seek the latest news from Aanjay. The drizzle had dispersed the family groups that usually met together in the courtyards, driving everyone under the cover of the walkways or back into their huts. But even with the stench that rose up from the toilets, the air outside was better than the stale confines of their tiny room.
She found Aanjay cross-legged on the floor of her hut, gently teasing out the knots in an old woman's long thin hair.
“Ah, Maryam. Is everything all right?” The fading light emphasised how tired and fragile she looked, her skin as dry and translucent as butterfly wings.
“I came for news.” Maryam squatted in the doorway, embarrassed now, not wanting to intrude on the tiny space. “I'm sorry, I will leave you be.”
“No need,” said Aanjay. “My mother here can neither hear nor see. You won't disturb her.”
On the far wall of the hut a makeshift shrine glowed in the light of two fluttering candles, and Maryam recognised the image of the man they'd seen depicted on the buildings at Marawa Island.
“Who's that?” she asked, inclining her head towards the shrine. “I've seen him before.”
“That is the Buddha,” Aanjay said.
“He is your god?”
“No, not god. Merely the wise one who showed us how to start the journey towards enlightenment.”
Enlightenment? What does she mean? “Then who is your god?”
Aanjay laughed. “No god. Instead, we try to find the godlike qualities in each of us. It is a personal journey, one that takes many, many different lifetimes to achieve.” She looked at her mother and smiled. “Only when we release our attachment to desire and to the self can we reach Nirvana. My venerable mother is now very close.”
Many lifetimes? “You mean that we come back again after we die?” This she could not comprehend. Was death not final—the destination either Heaven or Hell?
“When the withering leaf falls, a new leaf grows to replace it. It is similar to the old leaf, but not identical. This is the way of all life.”
“But how do people know how to act if they have no god to make the rules?”
“We must discover the compassion and love inside ourselves for others, and forget our own desires, then we are truly on the right path.” Aanjay gathered up her mother's hair and split it into three thin strands to plait. “But this is not what you came here for. Tell me what you want.”
“Just news.” She shrugged, her mind still juggling everything Aanjay had said. It didn't sound so very heathen…
“The hunger strikers have been convinced to eat. Our good friend Jo leaked word of the trouble back on the mainland and Sergeant Littlejohn will do anything to shut the protest down. It is heartening to know that some over there still care about our fat
e—although I've been here long enough to know that any gains are only temporary.”
“So not all Territorials support what's happening at this camp?”
“Most believe what they're told—that we're a threat to their security. But there are some who still speak out.”
Try as she might, Maryam could not conjure up a picture of The Confederated Territories in her mind. Was it all one big country or many joined together under the same rule? “What is it like there?”
Aanjay sighed. “Most people still have very hard lives, but there are a few who control the power and wealth and live extremely well. This is why so many are desperate to go there—they're all hoping to escape the tyranny at home and somehow join that select few.”
“But it's not right! The Holy Book says the Lord will feed the righteous and thwart the craving of the wicked.” The teachings of her childhood welled up in her like a jungle stream after the rains. Was not the Holy Book written in the Lamb's own words?
“Your Holy Book can say whatever it likes, but if there is greed and evil in a man's heart, he will always find the words to justify his acts.”
The old woman yawned and murmured to Aanjay, and Maryam sensed she was taking up too much precious time. She thanked them both and ran back through the drizzly evening, their curious conversation still tumbling over in her head. If the goal was this Nirvana, not Heaven or Hell, and lives could be relived, did that mean one day Joseph might be reborn? Every cell in her body wanted it so, yet the concept fought with everything she knew. Only the Lamb had ever been reborn, to prove His rightful place beside the Lord. Surely it was sacrilege to think mere human beings could do the same—however much she wished it to be true?
As she approached the hut she saw Ruth waiting anxiously at the doorway. “What took you so long?” she snapped. “You're needed here.”
“Sorry,” Maryam puffed. “What's wrong?”
“Lazarus,” Ruth hissed through barely moving lips. “He knows.”
“How?”
“He sneaked over to the showers for a wash, and saw.”
Maryam pushed past her through the doorway, but his sleeping mat was bare. “Where is he?” All her hope dissolved. What now? Would he make real his threat to end his life? Her knees buckled and she had to reach out for the wall to brace herself.
“I don't know.” Ruth's voice rose to a frightened wail. “He came back and started yelling at me, telling me we're both liars and cheats. I tried to explain why we'd kept it secret and that Jo said she'd help, but he just took off. I started to chase after him, but he threatened to hit me…I didn't know what to do, Maryam. I'm so sorry. He looked so hot and sticky and I thought a shower would do him good.”
“It's not your fault, Ruthie. He was always going to have to know sooner or later.” She pulled Ruth towards her and hugged her tight. “You stay here, in case he returns. I'll go and see if I can find him.”
“But what if he's still really mad?” There was real fear in her voice and Maryam realised that, for all Ruth's apparent acceptance of his apology, his violence haunted her still. Words could only heal so much.
“Then scream. The other women here will help.” Already she was trying to imagine where Lazarus might have gone. The gates were still locked to the men's side, so at least her search would not have to take her there. She squeezed Ruth one last time for good measure, then released her. “I'll be back soon.”
Her first stop was the shower blocks: perhaps he'd returned to the mirrors to check for the signs of Te Matee Iai again. But the place was packed with mothers bathing children before bed, and it was obvious he'd not still be close by.
She searched one walkway after another, weaving in and out of the labyrinth of huts, hoping to catch sight of his blond hair among the mass of people preparing for their night. She startled chickens from their roosts and turned the heads of many puzzled onlookers as she ran from block to block, calling out his name. Finally, as the night was closing in around her and the drizzle transformed the air to mist, she found herself out on the open ground beyond the huts. She skirted the gardens, checking down between the rows. Her lungs burned from the effort of running, and her broken arm throbbed hard within its plaster cast. It was hopeless. He could be anywhere. Could already be planning some means to end his life. As she spun her head from side to side for fear she'd miss him in her panic, she could hear Joseph's voice whispering that same urgent message in her ears: Give him a chance.
What more do you want of me? she threw back into the night. I'm doing everything I can. But he did not answer, just filled her with a sense of failure and disappointment that seemed to burden her further as she tripped over loose rocks and stumbled in the waning light. Her hair was soaked now, plastered to her head, and despite the heat that still rose up from the ground she shivered uncontrollably as she ran on.
She'd almost reached the very back boundary of the camp, where the looming fence bordered a craggy sea of knife-sharp rocks that fell away steeply to the bay below, when the rain came down in earnest. It stabbed the rocky ground, disturbing the layer of phosphate so it ran in white rivulets at her feet. It was hopeless, the rain so dense it was impossible to see ahead. She could only trust that Lazarus had by now returned to the hut of his own accord. If he was still out in the open, the chill would feed the hungry plague more greedily than ever…She found herself crying from frustration and helplessness—at the awful sense of having been through this same ordeal once before. She hadn't been able to save Joseph, and now it seemed she'd fail to save his cousin as well.
Above her, a clap of thunder sucked the air out of the sky, shaking the world by its throat. “Typical!” she screamed to the heavens, the rain pummelling her face and driving into her open mouth. She stamped the ground, making the stinking white sludge splash up around her, and raised her clenched fists at the Lord.
A great bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, blasting the landscape with a flash that brought everything around her into stark relief. There, at the very edge of her vision, something moved. The light was gone before she had a chance to identify it, but she ran towards the phantom movement in one last stubborn surge. The thunder roared at her again, mocking her feeble body as the force of it shook the ground. It was as though her words had called the Lord's wrath down to make His dominance over His wayward creation plain.
She was nearly at the fenceline now, could hear the rain pinging off the wire above her ragged breath. Then, as another fork of lightning flared overhead, she saw Lazarus, scrabbling up the wires of the razor-topped fence. She pitched herself over to him, too tired to call out, and flung herself up at his legs. He yelped, surprised as she took hold of his ankles now, the drag on her arm so painful it felt as if it would snap off at the point of the break. But, though he tried to kick her off, she steadfastly held on.
“Leave me alone,” he fumed, his voice competing with the clatter of the rain. He twisted beneath her grasp and she nearly lost him, the shift in position almost breaking her hold. But she refused to let Joseph down; would not allow another life to slip away. She held on to Lazarus for all she was worth, crying out as she swung her weight into action while he struggled to hold his grip on the slippery wire.
In one final desperate surge she tugged as hard as possible, a cry fuelled by pain and fury breaking from her as she fought to bring him down. Then, as the sky lit up again above them, he dropped.
He fell heavily on top of her. Together, they were sent sprawling out across the sodden earth.
The fall winded Lazarus. He rolled away from Maryam, clutching his ribs and gasping to regain his breath. She sat up gingerly and wiped away the mud that caked her face, raising it into the driving rain to rinse the grit from her eyes.
“Get away from me,” he snarled between his laboured breaths. He scrambled to his feet, headed straight back to the fence and, once again, prepared to climb.
“Stop it!” Maryam shouted, forcing herself up off the ground. She grabbed at his muddy shirt and he
ld on tight. “I won't let you do this.”
“I don't care. Don't you understand?” He reached for her wrists, trying to break her hold on him, and she nearly cried out again as renewed pain shot through her arm.
“Don't you dare give up,” she yelled. His shirt was ripping and she couldn't keep her hold on it beneath his brutal grasp.
She let him go, and for a moment they stood face to face, glaring at each other through the sheets of rain. Then he turned his back on her and began to climb again, pushing his bare toes into the footholds formed by the mesh of wires. Once more she threw herself at him, wrapping her good arm around his waist and reaching around with the other to lock her hands together in a stranglehold below his ribs. He writhed within her grasp, trying to dislodge her, and one of his elbows smashed into her nose.
A starburst exploded behind her eyes, and she fell back with a splash into the stinking sludge. Her nose felt as if it had been flattened, and tears welled in her eyes. The whole situation was absurd, futile. Still she heard Joseph's voice inside her head: Give him a chance. Why, oh why, did his spirit have to nag her so? He asked too much of her; forgot that she was nothing but a puny runt who had a knack for losing everyone she cared about and infuriating everybody else.
“Go on then,” she hurled at Lazarus above the throbbing pain, vaguely aware that he had stopped in his tracks and turned to her as she fell. “Take your life! See if I care!” She staggered up, light-headed, and spat the words at him. “I knew you wouldn't have the courage to see this out.”
Lazarus reeled at her taunt, but she pressed on. If he climbed again, she knew she no longer had the strength to pull him back.
“That's right, leave Ruth and me to suffer here all on our own. It's more than obvious you never really cared.” Her anger was taking over now. “I never should have believed you when you said you'd changed. All you ever think of is yourself.”
“That's not fair,” he shrieked back at her. “I'm doing this for you.”