Under

by Diana Knightley

  “We need toilet paper in the bathroom.”

  Chickadee blinked a couple of times then bellowed, “Roscoe you tell them we are filing so many forms that they will rue this day. You tell them that my partner is coming with a truckload of toilet paper, as well as pads and tampons for these women, and if she makes it here before toilet paper has been installed in the bathrooms I am going to have a hissy fit so big they will never recover. They will all die penniless and frightened. You tell them that.”

  Roscoe nodded now a full blown smile across his face. “Anything else?”

  “Call Peter, tell him to assemble the boys, there is an action afoot.”

  Roscoe asked, “Luna, will you be hiring me as your attorney?”

  Luna stared blankly at Chickadee and Roscoe, “Um, I don’t have any money, I don’t—”

  Chickadee said, “It’s a formality dear, Roscoe doesn’t need money, he practices law as sport. Isn’t that right Roscoe?”

  Roscoe nodded slowly. “It’s more of a hobby.”

  Chickadee said, “A hobby my ass, you like to make people squirm.” She turned to Luna, “but if you want him to act on your behalf, you have to say you hire him. So he can.”

  Luna said, “Oh okay, I hire you.”

  Roscoe said, “Perfect, Luna Stanford, I’m going to go get started getting you out of here.” He hiked back up the hill to the offices.

  Chickadee straightened her t-shirt, “Looks like we’ll be here together for a while. But don’t you worry, from here on out this will be fun.” She raised her voice, and bellowed, “Especially once the film crew shows up!”

  Luna smiled, her first smile since she had smiled up at Beckett from the dock days before. “A film crew?”

  “Oh yes, my friend Peter is a camera man. And he’s going to bring some friends to keep us company while we wait for Roscoe to work his magic.”

  “All of this for me?”

  Chickadee smiled. “Of course dear Luna, our Beckie thinks the world of you, so that’s that.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight a few times. She sighed. “I’m going to be without a chair for a bit, so to keep my mind off my feet, why don’t you tell me about when you met.”

  And so Luna began the story.

  Chapter 42

  Luna’s days grew busy. Chickadee remained chained to the fence, alongside two of her close male friends, Peter and Aaron, who were there as back up, for bathroom breaks when necessary. They — Peter, Aaron, and Chickadee — had apparently done this before, they had plans, were organized, and talked a lot about past “actions.” The encampment around Chickadee grew.

  Camp chairs with umbrellas were assembled in a circle beside coolers full of food. Beckett’s Aunt Dilly arrived with a truckload of fruits and vegetables from their farm community. She drove the truck right up to the fence, then she and Chickadee lead the rest in banging with sticks, making a riotous ruckus, until a guard arrived to unlock the gate. They passed food into the pen. It wasn’t enough for everyone, but every child and the breastfeeding mother got something, Luna was happy about that.

  Dilly also brought toilet paper and tampons and pads, beating the city’s supplies, and outraging Chickadee, who bellowed and carried on and on about it. “Roscoe you’ll be filing about this — you see, don’t you? These people are being treated like animals, you see this, don’t you?”

  Roscoe nodded, said, “I do indeed see,” and tromped off back to an office to discuss the matter.

  More people showed up, including, as Chickadee had promised, a film crew. Luna acted as mediator between the Waterfolk and everyone camped outside the fence.

  A group of students with clipboards arrived, invited by Roscoe, to interview the Waterfolk through the links. They asked for their full name, age, family, and how long they had been in the camp. Also, what their typical nutritional load had been before the camp and since. Some of the particularly interesting interviews were filmed. Roscoe asked for copies of everything.

  On the third night, after the bustle of talking, bellowing, interviewing, and generally acting as hostess of the whole place all day, Chickadee was exhausted. She reclined in her camp chair, feet up on a cooler, a bag of popcorn balanced on her bosom. She stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth, wiped her buttery fingers on a napkin and grinned. “These asses better figure something out soon, I do not want to have to go on a hunger strike.”

  Luna sat cross-legged on the other side of the fence, marveling at Chickadee’s commitment. None of this was her trouble at all, yet here she was. “Thank you.”

  Chickadee said, “You don’t have to thank me dear, for any of this — this is human decency is what this is.” She raised her voice, “Am I right Peter — Human decency!”

  Peter said, “You’re right Chickadee, as always.”

  Luna chuckled. She was so grateful. Even if Chickadee didn’t want her to say it. Luna was used to people who went with the flow — Chickadee was a blockade, a course changer, a power house. She didn’t do anything by consensus. She demanded your compliance, then she called you baby and love and sweetly smiled, and you had to do what she wanted. She had set her mind to this and believed she was right and that this was important and somehow, through sheer force of personality, everyone went along with it. And she was on Luna’s side.

  That was a nice change. To have someone on her side.

  Actually many someones. Roscoe was working tirelessly. Dilly, who was almost an exact opposite of Chickadee, thin and spiky, poetical and demure, had thrown her all into Luna’s cause, simply because Chickadee had said it was important. They seemed to trust each other in everything.

  Luna said, “I mean thank you for something else beyond the human decency.”

  Chickadee smiled, popped another handful of popcorn in her mouth, and chewed. “Luna, I really haven’t done anything for you in this short time that requires a thank you.”

  Luna said, “Except for the fact that you were so accepting of me. Like I am. Caged. Alone. Absolutely nothing to my name — and it’s not even my name — it’s Beckett’s name.” Luna looked at the fence separating them, the spiraling spiked wires above and the mud below. “You just met me and I just met Beckett. By my calculations he and I have been together a few days in the course of a few weeks, and if you think about it, honestly, I’ve been nothing but trouble for him. And you. But somehow you’re still here, and you’re being so nice, even though I don’t deserve it. If Beckett hadn’t come searching for me, he wouldn’t be in trouble right now.”

  Chickadee watched her as she spoke, her brows furrowed. “Dearest one, did Beckie tell you about his childhood?”

  Luna shook her head.

  Chickadee said, “Well, It’s not my place to. And maybe Beckett never tells you, because sometimes we need to share what is before us, instead of dwelling in the past. It’s his right to tell or not, but I will say this — it was the kind of childhood that could break a person. But it didn’t. Beckett came out of it, let’s say, awesome. I’m his aunt though, I might be partial.” She chuckled and wiped her fingers on the napkin that was now a wad of very butter-slimed paper. “Beckie deserves a big love story — the kind that follows the stars and jumps from buildings and loses its mind under the constellations. He deserves the kind of story that makes you breathless when you hear about it. And when you told me the story the other night, about how you met, and how you fell in love, I got a little breathless at the thought. That’s the kind of love story he deserves. And so I might not know you very well,” she shifted her ample bottom in the camp chair, “but I trust you because you’re the woman at the other side of that story.”

  Chickadee dropped the empty bag of popcorn beside her chair. “If you hadn’t found Beckett what would have happened to you?”

  Luna sifted some pebbles near her knee. “I’m not sure.”

  Chickadee looked at her more piercingly. “I think you do know.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I guess I don’t want to dwell on the past but look at
the future.”

  Chickadee smiled. “Of course dear. I’m not going to say it will be easy, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  Luna asked, “Is Beckett okay?”

  “I’m not going to lie to you, the prison is not allowing visitors. His case is dire. But Roscoe’s working it, and he’s a genius. In the meantime, Beckett is sitting tight, waiting to be let out. Like you. Oh, we’ll have fun, all of us, when you’re both home. And if you think I’m a hoot, wait until you see Dilly when she’s preparing some fabulistic spoken word for one of our parties.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  Chickadee closed her eyes and folded her hands on her rounded belly. “It was in a Political Science class in college. I took one look at her and — ka-pow! So when I walked down the aisle I made sure to bump her desk and sent her pencil cascading to the floor. Back then I was already sporting ample hips, so it was easy to do, and when I looked behind me, to see if she noticed, her eyebrow was arched like Cleopatra, and she had a smile on the edge of her lips. She said, ‘Would you like to go get a cup of tea with me after class?’ Which everyone knows means fall in love with me, so I did. I fell in love.”

  Chickadee opened one eye and looked at Luna, “It’s okay if that didn’t make you breathless, the good stuff came later. Someday I’ll tell you about it, but now I need some sleep.”

  Luna nodded. “You ought to get some, the rain will be here mid-morning.”

  Chickadee opened her eyes. “Rain? But there’s no roof on this pen!” She grunted up out of her chair. “This is unconscionable!”

  She bellowed toward the building, “I want tarps. Enough tarps for the entire pen, by morning, or my lawyer Roscoe will sue you until I’m sitting under a roof made of your cash!”

  Chapter 43

  A few days later Beckett was led to his arraignment hearing. Roscoe was waiting for him wearing worn out, faded jeans and a green shirt, not at all lawyer attire. The exact opposite of the clothes he should be wearing. Beckett was wearing his dirty-beige prison-pantsuit. He looked like a criminal, and his lawyer looked like an amateur. Beckett took a deep breath and tried to trust Roscoe’s instincts.

  Beckett had so many questions that his head hurt. He had just been waiting, no visitors, lonely, confused, staring at the walls, it wasn’t even until this morning that he was told there would be a hearing. Today, no preparation. No rehearsal. Roscoe greeted him and simply said, “When we get in here I’ll do the speaking. You try to look reformed and apologetic. No arguing.”

  Beckett chewed his lip and wondered what he might have to argue about. As far as he could tell this was done; he was headed East, the front lines, as bleak an ending to his short life as he could imagine.

  Roscoe shoved the door open. “But smile a little or you’ll look like an ax murderer and then there’s nothing I can do.” And Beckett realized that Roscoe was joking, and his confusion deepened.

  Beckett scanned for Luna. He didn’t expect her, but he hoped. She wasn’t there. Dan was though, about eight rows back. He was sitting between Sarah and Rebecca. Dr Mags was there and even Captain Aria. That sucked. He didn’t like wearing prisoner garb in front of Captain Aria. That really, really sucked. They all waved. Beckett nodded in return.

  The room was crowded. People sat in rows of folding chairs nervously watching the judge, a silver-haired man sitting at the front of the room. He looked dignified, his spine straight, his hair on point, even though the temperature in the room was extremely elevated, and his table and chair were the folding kind. Temporary. The furniture worried Beckett, it didn’t seem like the kind of furniture his case required.

  Beckett wiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm, looked down at his filthy clothes, and glanced again at Roscoe’s jeans. He reminded himself about a time two years ago when Roscoe had won a case against the company that was stealing water from the local aquifer. He had been wearing jeans. He had won all of Beckett’s cases through the years, always in jeans. Though this case seemed more dire, extreme enough to require a bit more dignity.

  A young man stood in front of the judge’s table, looking confused and frightened. The judge’s expression was stern, worn out, and unhelpful. The young man’s lawyer was wearing a suit. Crap.

  Roscoe leaned in. “Chickadee wishes she could be here, but she’s tied up at the moment — with your friend Luna.”

  “Oh, um, okay, good, good.”

  Beckett followed Roscoe to the side and as he leaned on the slightly cool cinderblock wall, Roscoe whispered, “I know the judge.”

  Beckett said, “Really? Is that good?”

  Roscoe shook his head and Beckett couldn’t tell if he meant that wasn’t good, or if he meant Beckett should be quiet.

  So Beckett quietly watched people approach the front table and speak in hushed tones about their cases. He watched them looking distressed after the judge spoke. One woman cried. The judge seemed to enjoy making people suffer.

  After about an hour Beckett’s name was called by a bailiff who gestured for them to approach the table. Roscoe pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase. The judge didn’t bother to look up, instead lifting pages, reading notes, and acting as if their presence at his table was an annoyance. Beckett had been standing there for about thirty seconds and already felt like that was too much. Perhaps he should bow and back away, possibly come back when the judge was in a better mood. . .

  The judge huffed and allowed the last page to drift back down. Then his gaze traveled up Roscoe’s jeans, to his lack of belt, past his frayed belt loops, to his wrinkled shirt, and finally, up to his face. He gasped, “Roscoe Gentry, is that you?”

  “The one and the same.”

  “Are you practicing law again?”

  Roscoe said, “When the world requires it.”

  “Well imagine that. This fellow, um,” the judge looked down at the paperwork, “Beckett Stanford — this is your case? Desertion. Isn’t this beneath you? This decision is simple — time East, at the front. There’s precedence.”

  Roscoe nodded and responded slowly, “That’s all true, but, well, Beckett is unprecedented. He comes from a good family near me, and he volunteered to live on an Outpost for six months.”

  The judge looked at Beckett for the first time. “You volunteered?”

  “Yes sir.”

  There was a pause while the judge peered up into Beckett’s face, and Beckett tried to look respectable and civilized, despite the drip of sweat sliding down his cheek.

  Roscoe added, “He came back early — the Outpost was unstable, and there were family issues to deal with. A death in the family. A friend who went missing. He missed his report back time, but was headed there when he was picked up by the police.”

  The judge flipped through the paperwork again, located a page and scanned. “Any trouble during the arrest? It doesn’t say here, but he has injuries.”

  “He did not resist arrest.”

  “I see. So what are you proposing, Roscoe?”

  “That he be allowed to resume his duties with his battalion. They need him, especially with the water rising. He can finish out his time.”

  The judge nodded vaguely. “You still living in Charlesville?”

  “I am, on my family’s farm. We have an epic crop of okra this year.”

  “I remember your grandmother’s cookies like it was yesterday.”

  “She’s long gone, but the recipe lives on. The secret is in the butter. Plus the pecans have to be chopped to just the right size.”

  Beckett held his breath as the judge looked back down at the papers. “I guess that’s all I need.”

  He gestured to a clerk who bustled up to receive the paperwork. “Mark this one sentenced.” He glanced at Beckett, “What about your bandaged hands, are you able to perform your duties?”

  “My doctor will remove the bandages today.”

  “Okay, then he’ll report back to his battalion, a six month tour.”

  Beckett let the air out with a rus
h.

  Roscoe shuffled the papers into his briefcase and without saying a word turned for the door. Beckett followed. He didn’t speak, celebrate, show any emotion, worried that any sign of relief might cause the judge to change his mind.

  As soon as they got to the hall Roscoe checked his watch. “That’s done. The bus back to your battalion leaves in three hours.”

  Dan rushed from the hearing room and swept Beckett into a hug. “Nicely done, Army!” He was followed by Sarah, hugging Beckett tearfully. She said, “We were so worried about you, Dan was practically frantic.”

  Dan laughed and joked, “I don’t know, frantic? But in a cool way, right? Like, frantically coolly worried about Beckett.”

  Beckett laughed and threw his arm out and hugged Dan again, and Rebecca smiling happily hugged them both, and Dr Mags and Captain Aria beamed and clapped him on the back with congratulations and excitement. Beckett said, “That was — phew. But now I only have three hours to get released and see Luna.”

  Dan said, “Sarah and I will wait for you.”

  Chapter 44

  Getting released took an excruciatingly long time. The prison doctor gave Beckett a cursory check up and removed his bandages. His hands were scarred, pale and wrinkled. They didn’t look like the kind of hands that should be heading out to labor, slinging sandbags against a rising tide. They were desk job hands, yet Beckett hadn’t ever had the privilege of a desk job. Just this, service to the government against the water levels, since he was seventeen years old. The scar was jagged across his palm. He rubbed it thinking about that day, jumping into the water, working alongside Dan. He had made friends, saved a whale. It seemed like such a long time ago, yet mere days. He would miss those guys, that ship, that freedom. He had his head shaved and changed into his fatigues and boots, ready for his return to service.

  Then he sat in a hallway outside a door while his paperwork was completed. Waiting. Wishing he had his watch. Why the hell was it taking this long? His three hours was ticking by.