by Al K. Line
They would smile.
Stay positive Drem, your son will return. He just has to.
The sack dug into his back: too many irregularly shaped objects, so Drem decided to return home. He'd come back out later, after he'd dealt with his finds, checked on the garden, and...
"It's a pig, three pigs." Drem watched the immature creatures scamper about in the ruins of a large area of wild cabbages that had taken over waste ground where there was once a park. It wasn't unusual to find all manner of odd things in the city: seed from vegetables, fruits and regular garden plants grew in the strangest of places. But to find such animals was a real rarity, and something Drem had mostly ignored anyway, not because he didn't want to eat meat, far from it, but because he felt it would be too risky for Beamer. Encouraging him to spend time on the ground, or out in the country, was not something he'd wanted to do.
Now? He would change, be a better father. One that gave his son the freedom he so sorely needed — if he ever came home.
"He will, he will, he's a brave boy, he'll find a way."
Drem stayed still, watched as the piglets snuffled in the cabbage patch, snouts making short work of the leaves, before munching on the thick stems and digging with dirty noses in the hard ground. They were a strange sight, but not unheard of. Drem had seen creatures much more dangerous although anything could turn if you interrupted it at feeding time.
Still, these were immature, and as long as the mother or father was absent then he was relatively safe. The only problem was catching them. He'd let such skills slide, not that he ever really had them as an adult — years without hunting of any kind, constantly watching Beamer, telling him to do this, not to do that, be careful, don't touch the sharp things, stay away from that it might be dangerous, and on and on the rules went, had turned him into nothing more than a nag. He'd not only stopped Beamer from becoming the boy he could have been, he'd damaged himself too: withered inside, lost the wildness, the edge, the chance to hunt and be at one with his rather unnatural surroundings.
"Right Drem, time to relearn those crucial skills."
Long ago, out of necessity and when he could get away from his domineering parents — just like he now was — Drem had been excellent at hunting, often tracking animals across the cityscape, pouncing at the right moment, sometimes even keeping his catch for himself, always feeling guilty afterward.
He just had to let his instincts take over, relax and be in the moment.
Trying to recall half-forgotten knowledge, Drem studied the creatures, concluding they would be four or five months old. Mature enough to be away from their parents, but not old enough they wouldn't be around somewhere, probably close. They were a manageable size, he could easily pick one up and tuck it under an arm, or into the sack maybe. No, that would be cruel, he couldn't go stuffing live animals in a sack... Could he?
No, need a better idea.
Drem carefully picked up his sack and crept away. He hoped the piglets would stay where they were while he made a dash for his rooftop garden.
Stupid bloody idea, living up so many stairs.
By the time Drem returned he was red in the face, panting like he'd never exercised before in his life, and feeling rather dubious about the whole enterprise. Still, he had to give it a go. What a surprise it would be for Beamer. He could just picture him now, seeing the pigs, smiling and helping to rear them.
This is it, the start of a new life. One male and two females means they can breed, we can change things. Start again.
Drem put his plan into action.
He crouched down behind the remains of a large vehicle Drem knew had once been a bus, something that would stop at various points through the city and pick people up then drop them where they needed to go — Drem could never understand why people would have cars when such services were readily available. Now it was little more than a long box covered in grass, bamboo, and even the odd stunted tree. Much the same as everything else.
Rummaging in his backpack, Drem pulled out his prize: Valerian root. He grew quite a lot as it helped him sleep at night and calmed his nerves in times of stress. Hopefully it would work on the pigs. Moving as quietly as possible Drem leaned out to the side, then threw three pieces, one after the other in quick succession, hoping the pigs would show an interest and not just run off scared. He watched as they squealed and scattered into the undergrowth, then returned a few minutes later to feed again. Eventually they came across the roots, fighting over the pieces, munching on them so loudly he could hear it from his vantage point.
"Now we wait. Hope this works."
Drem tapped impatiently from his hiding place, unaware that his foot was even moving. His eyes were glued to the animals — they seemed to slow, moving less and becoming lethargic. Had he given them too much? Not enough? Only one way to find out, and besides, he couldn't wait any longer, it was stressing him out.
He wiped an arm across his forehead. The humidity was very high in the city, some days almost intolerable. There was too much moisture trapped between the buildings, the plants increasing it, no way for the air to move freely. Another reason we shouldn't be here, thought Drem, noticing his clothes were filthy again and he was sure, but not certain, that he was quite whiffy too. I relied on Beamer way too much, I treated him like a slave, not the most important thing in the world.
Oink, oink.
One pig wobbled on its legs then carried on snuffling, but there was no doubt, they were about as relaxed as they would ever be.
Drem eased out of his hiding place, edging slowly toward the animals. They stopped their foraging and eyed him warily, but they didn't run. They just moved away a little. He carried on walking, just a single step at a time, no hurry, no need to startle them.
"Nice piggies. Nice piggies," whispered Drem, moving one of the leather straps from his left hand to his right, the loop in the long belt already made.
He corralled them further into a corner of the overrun park where a section of railing was still intact. They squealed but then appeared to relax, the natural sedative working its magic.
Drem strode up to the closest piglet and slipped the loop over its head.
In a matter of minutes he was the proud owner of three piglets, who, rather annoyingly, were all snoring in the long grass like newborns.
Well, guess I'll have to let them sleep it off.
Drem shrugged his shoulders and waited for them to wake. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long, there was always the risk of the parents coming back if they were still in the area.
An hour later Drem had the most surreal walk of his life.
He wandered through the rubble, skirted around sickly looking copses of spindly oaks, and stopped to smile at a bright patch of sunflowers.
The three piglets on leashes trotted beside him, half-asleep and seemingly more than happy to be led around.
"Now I've just got to figure out how to get you guys up all those stairs."
Drem laughed. Tired, hot and sweaty, but content. Pleased with himself.
"If Beamer could see me now he'd never believe it. Haha, your old dad's a changed man Beamer. Come home soon. Nice piggies."
Oink.
Oink.
Oink, oink.
"I'm taking pigs for a walk!" shouted Drem at the top of his lungs, smiling and laughing even after he was nearly pulled off his feet by the startled animals.
There was nobody to hear; nobody to see.
Drem's voice echoed around empty streets. A pigeon took flight, peering down at him from a bronze statue that had apparently been called "abstract art," although Drem had always thought it looked like a fat bottom on a wedge of cheese.
Those ancient people had too much time on their hands.
"Mm, cheese."
Daddy, I'm Home
"This it?" asked Arcene dubiously, staring up at the monstrosity of a building.
"Yup," said Beamer, excitement at being home fighting with his anxiousness over what his father would say or do when he s
aw him — Arcene could read him like a book.
"Well, let's get you home then." Arcene couldn't imagine why anyone would choose to live in the city, let alone in the misplaced edifice they stood in front of. The journey into the heart of the city had been bad enough, yet was as nothing compared to the trip taken to get to Beamer's home — the streets became clogged with rubble the closer they got, as if his father had purposely chosen somewhere that made life difficult.
To keep Beamer from getting away, was the only answer Arcene could come up with.
The skyscraper was an anomaly, out of place when you looked at the other buildings still standing. Although the more once-modern buildings were in a mess, glass broken, shiny steel now dull, dented or scavenged, they at least had some kind off ambition in terms of design. Beamer's home was the exact opposite: all crumbling concrete and narrow walkways, slits for windows and little in the way of ornamentation.
Like a fortress, mused Arcene, which she supposed was right — that was exactly what it was.
The walk to the entrance was a large open space, the paving long gone, replaced with scrub, covered with the detritus of centuries. Piles of plastic, mounds of trash, appliances that stopped functioning centuries ago, all of it had been dumped, left to rust and provide nests or places to shelter for the abundant wildlife.
Arcene couldn't imagine why such a building had been constructed, but Beamer had told her it was some kind of administrative center at one point, which explained why it was so stark — apparently bureaucrats were the same all over the world, and whatever the century: they put function over design and seemed to revel in the mundane.
Maybe it kept people working hard if they couldn't see what they were missing, thought Arcene. It still didn't explain why it was so huge. It was on a par with the highest buildings in the city, the difference being that those that remained looked like they would stand for decades yet, this place gave the impression it would crumble to dust if you blew on it.
Arcene came out of her reverie, it wasn't her concern. Beamer belonged with his father no matter the man's shortcomings. As long as he didn't mistreat Beamer, and he'd said he didn't, not really, then it wasn't her place to interfere. After all, she didn't live a normal life herself, not that there was any such thing — everyone had their own way of doing things, of living.
Until a few years ago Arcene had thought how she lived was entirely normal, it was only once she was able to read, gained access to the movies and TV shows of the past, that she realized how people could live — although, if she was honest, she still felt her life was better than those crazy ancient people and what they'd put themselves through in the name of trying to be happy.
"Come on, let's go inside. How far up is it?"
"Right to the top," said Beamer, fidgeting and looking more nervous by the second.
Arcene grabbed his hand and said, "Don't worry, everything will be fine. Your father will be super-excited to see you, he won't be mad."
"You think?" asked Beamer, looking pleased, his mood changing in an instant.
"Sure, why wouldn't he be? He's your father, right?"
"Yeah, s'pose. Okay, let's go." Beamer dragged Arcene toward the entrance — she couldn't help thinking of it more as an exit though, the sooner she got away from the depressing building the better.
"Oh, wow!" It wasn't what she'd been expecting. Light poured into the expansive room, flooding it with bright sunlight, offering views far across the city and the hills to the south where they had come from.
Strange to think we were still in the country this morning. I wonder what else is to come?
"He's not here," said a dejected Beamer, stood in the middle of the room, head hung low.
Arcene looked at him and remembered just how young he was, like she'd forgotten he was still very much a child, and small too. Being close to him had made her lose sight of how scrawny he was, just like she'd been: always hungry, never enough to fill your belly.
Gosh, look how dirty he is too. He's filthy.
With a glance at her own clothes, Arcene noted that they too could do with a wash.
"I'm sure he'll be home soon, or maybe he's up on the roof, you said he's up there a lot. You too?"
"Ah, of course." Beamer slapped his palm against his head, hope springing to his eyes. "We're always up there. And, um, I think Father may have got behind with things without me here. I hope he's okay."
It was a serious understatement, and no doubt. Arcene was messy, although she tried to put her clothes away, but often she forgot and would enter her room thinking somebody had ransacked the place then realize it was just that she hadn't tidied up for a while. But the disarray in Beamer's home took things to a whole other level — the place was practically rancid.
There was stuff everywhere: piles of clothes, some clean others too stinky to even go near. That was just the start: the floor was almost black with mud, there were tools all over the place and it seemed like maybe Beamer's father had been sleeping on the sofa and some of the chairs too, judging by the number of very dirty looking sheets and blankets scattered randomly about the room. The funky smell definitely came from the clothes though, many of which were on the large sofa, a long pair of thick socks stinking like rotten fish, and everywhere were bits and pieces of... Arcene wasn't sure.
"Is it always like this?" asked Arcene, worried about Beamer's health.
"Um, no, it's normally spotless. Father is very strict about everything being put away and never likes a mess. He must just be too busy looking for me and working," said Beamer, unconvinced.
"So you used to keep everything in order? That's a lot of responsibility for a young boy."
"Oh, I don't mind, not really. I used to have help, but they—"
"Beamer!"
"Father!" Beamer's cry of joy turned to instant shame as he remembered what he'd done. He hung his head, arms limp by his sides, waiting for his punishment.
"Come here. Where were you?" asked Drem, wrapping tanned and muscular arms around his son.
"Sorry, I'm really sorry. You were cross, and I wasn't thinking, and I—"
"It doesn't matter, I'm sorry too. I'm just so happy you're alive." Drem hugged Beamer tighter, then knelt and stared him straight in the eyes. "You are okay, aren't you? Where have you been? And who's this?" He looked at Arcene.
Leel appeared from behind the sofa where she'd been nibbling on a stinky sock.
"Stand back Beamer, look out, there's a dog. A... wow... a giant dog!" Drem pulled a short knife from his jacket sleeve and pointed it at Leel. "You stay back, go away. Shoo." The blade looked like something Leel would pick her teeth with — if she ever wished to perform oral hygiene, which she didn't.
"It's just Leel, Father, she's lovely. She's my friend. And this is Arcene." Beamer put out a hand for Arcene.
"Hi, how ya doin'? I'm Arcene."
"Um, hi. Beamer just said that."
"Oh, right."
There was an awkward silence; Drem acted unsure what to make of the guests. Arcene waited for something to be said.
"Sorry, where are my manners? I'm Drem. Drem Scarpino."
"I know," said Arcene. "This is Leel." She patted Leel on the head who sat obediently next to her, never once taking her eyes of Drem.
"It's okay," said Beamer, "Arcene saved me, saved me from something terrible. I'm sorry I ran away."
"It's okay son, honestly. I'm sorry too, sorry for everything. Look, let's sit," said Drem, pointing at the couch. "Um, after I clean up a little. Sorry, things got on top of me."
"Yeah, they did didn't they?" said Beamer, smiling broadly.
Arcene knew something was wrong, but she couldn't think what it was. This was a happy time, they were re-united and pleased to see each other. So what was it? What was nagging at her mind? Ah, what Beamer had said, something about having once had help with the chores, before Drem interrupted. It was probably nothing, maybe they had someone stay for a while. But Beamer had said they were alone, hadn't he?
"Here, let me clear this stuff away," said Drem, words spilling out fast, embarrassed by the chaos, yet seemingly more concerned by his son's reaction than worried about what guests thought.
It was as if Arcene wasn't important enough to concern himself with, which was rather odd considering she'd saved Beamer, brought him home.
"Oh, Father, we had the craziest adventure today, you wouldn't believe what we did. Right Arcene? It was mad. We went on a Merry-Go-Round, we spun up in the air, I fell out of a window and thought I would die and we ate all this food from a vending machine. Oh. Oops." Beamer looked terrified, like he'd said he'd done something unforgivable.
Drem turned at his son's discomfort, one filthy sock in his hand, unable to find the other one as Leel was sitting on it, watching the scene with little real interest.
"What? It's okay Beamer, no need to be worried. I'm sorry, sorry how I've been about food, it was... well, there's no excuse. I was wrong."
"You were wrong," repeated Beamer, not understanding.
Drem nodded. "Yes, I was wrong. Now," he turned to Arcene, "I do apologize, where are my manners? Thank you, Arcene was it?" Arcene replied with a faint smile. "Thank you for bringing him home, and it sounds like you had quite the adventure. I can't wait to hear all about it, but first let me get you a drink. Water?"
"Yes please," said Arcene.
"I'll get it," said Beamer, then skipped toward the kitchen.
"Oh, for Leel too," shouted Arcene. "Bet you're thirsty, aren't you girl?" Arcene patted her again, making a point of showing Drem her size by rubbing her jowls, exposing incisors larger than the knife he'd put back in his pocket.
"That's some dog," noted Drem.
"Uh-huh," replied Arcene.
"Please, sit." Drem nodded at the cleared sofa; Arcene accepted his invitation with a curt nod.
What is wrong with me? He seems nice enough, and Beamer's happy. Plus he doesn't seem mad.
"Thank you for saving him. I've been out of my mind with worry, I thought something terrible had happened. But I never gave up hope, I always thought he'd come home. Eventually."