by S. K. Falls
Shale walks tall and proud, but I see the careful way he holds himself, the slightest wince as he steps forward, and I know his wounds are hurting him. My chest twinges in sympathy. He meets my eye and a hint of a smile lights his face, but it is gone before I can respond.
The only sound is the rustling of clothes as people shift on the hard cement floor and a grumbling sort of droning from the rusty radiator at the front of the room. Its meager heat does not reach me; my limbs are riddled with gooseflesh.
Finally, the Monitor at the door closes it with a final clang. There are now three Monitors in the room with us; a squat, muscular female one I don’t know at the back, and Monitors Wang and Ng, who stand erect at the front of the room. They watch us with a sort of calm alertness, and I wonder what they are looking for. I feel as though I am an exotic animal in a zoo, prone to unpredictable behavior.
After an eternity of quiet, Monitor Wang speaks. His eyes alight on me, Ceres, and Shale, as well as on a few other immigrants who I assume are also new. “You are here because you were betrayed by your nation.” He takes the time to let his gaze linger on us new people, as if he is speaking to each one of us individually. No one moves. “But Great Land welcomes you with open arms. Leaders of Great Land are not cruel like leaders of New Amana. Everyone here comes with a sad story. Yes? Today you share your sad story. Tell Monitors about who you lost in New Amana. Who your government took away. Your son? Your mother?” He folds his hands in front of him and looks at all of us. “Tell us.” He walks forward and bends his knees slightly to touch a slight New Amanian woman on the shoulder. “You. You tell us. Who you lost?”
The woman bends her head to look down into her lap. When she looks up and speaks, her voice is low. I have to strain to hear it. “My...my son.”
Monitor Wang nods slowly, his eyes darkening in sympathy. “How old?”
“Five.”
“Government took him, yes? For being...Défectueux?”
The woman nods. She looks back down into her lap.
“Great Land love children,” Monitor Wang says. “Great Land protect children.” He cups his hands together, as if he is encircling a child within.
Monitor Ng behind him holds up a fist. All the other New Amanians chant, “Glory to the Great Land.”
Monitor Wang walks deeper into the rows of immigrants. He touches a bearded man on the shoulder. “And you. Who you lost?”
“My sister. When we were young. She was sent to an Asylum.”
I glance at Ceres. She’s watching, riveted.
Monitor Wang shakes his head. “In Great Land, no Asylum. Great Land have doctor, nurse, hospital. Not Asylum.”
Behind him, Monitor Ng raises her fist again. I see her watching me, her eyes glassy, unfeeling. This time, I chant, too. “Glory to the Great Land.” She keeps her fist raised, so we keep chanting, our voices raised high, mingling into one.
Monitor Wang walks forward again, faster, as if our chanting is infusing him with energy. He touches people here and there, asking each time who they’ve lost. Some of their voices wobble, some of them are in tears as they recount their stories. Finally, he comes to stand between Ceres and me. He looks down at us, the expression on his face soft but determined. He reaches out and touches Ceres on the shoulder. She flinches, but not as much as I’d expected. Her eyes are pure gold, wide open, mesmerized. “And you, young one? What is your story? Who you lost?”
There is silence as everyone waits for Ceres to answer. My heart hammers hard; a cold sweat prickles at my brow. If she tells him the truth, he will know we are fugitives. Our plan could crumple. Why didn’t I think to practice an appropriate response with Ceres if she was ever asked this question? But why would I even expect that she might be?
“M-my...mother,” she says in a quiet voice. Her eyes flicker over to mine and then back up to Monitor Wang. My heart aches for her. She did lose her mother, but not in the way Monitor Wang believes. Our mother betrayed Ceres. She was the one who had Ceres taken away to the Asylum.
Monitor Wang shakes his head slowly, his expression exaggeratedly sad, as if he is personally distraught over her loss. “Now Great Land is your motherland, Chinese your brother and sister, Monitors your mother and father. Great Land take care of you.”
Behind him, Monitor Ng raises her fist.
◊ ◊ ◊
We continue on this way, with people telling their stories and sobbing. Finally, Monitor Wang threads his way back to the front of the room. Beside him, Monitor Ng smiles, her teeth precise white squares. “You accept customs of Great Land, happiness can be yours.”
Monitor Wang nods, his eyes serious, almost earnest. “Chinese government will choose most diligent New Amanian workers to go live in Hong Kong and Beijing. You can have new life. We will help you.”
“Great Land welcomes you. Accept Great Land as your savior.” Monitor Ng smiles at a woman in the front row. The woman bursts into tears, and Monitor Ng raises her fist.
We all chant, “Glory to the Great Land.”
The muscular Monitor from the back of the room—I still don’t know her name—walks to the front. “Now we sing.”
All three Monitors and we immigrants sing the patriotic song that was blared over the speakers this morning. Just as then, they sing it now in Chinese and English, alternating as they go. I listen to the melody, the lines washing over me.
The Great Land cradles me
The Great Land protects me
Glory to the Great Land
The Great Land carries me.
Service to the Great Land
My life is yours, Mother
Glory to the Great Land
The only land for me.
I glance at Ceres as we enter the third iteration of the song. She is singing along with the English version now, her eyes closed. She believes them, I realize, a pulse beginning to throb in my temple. She actually believes that they want to help her, that they’ll fulfill their promise of giving her a new life. She’s had her share of violence and death, of being told she will never measure up. Now she’s willing to accept with open arms a government that promises happiness. Thick ropes of fear wrap around my heart. Will she want to stay here, at this compound? Will she want to confess everything to these Monitors, whom she seems to believe have her best interests at heart?
Finally, we are released.
“Now you relax,” Monitor Wang says, smiling at us. “Great Land take care of you.”
I wonder what he means by that, but the others seem to know. Everyone stands, several people swiping at their eyes, smiling at each other. I look around at their faces as I wait my turn to file to the door. Their hopeful expressions tell me they are all on the path to righteous living. They want to be chosen to leave these compounds for Beijing or Hong Kong. I know the promise of freedom can be a powerful lure, that people will betray those closest to them in order to prove themselves worthy. I saw it every day in New Amana.
I study Ceres’s face as she waits in line beside me. I remember how she looked with her eyes closed, singing. I remember her staring into Monitor Wang’s eyes, confessing that she’d lost her mother. How much longer before his words are braided inextricably into her conscience? Before she confesses to him where we’ve come from, that we are not who we profess to be?
It is vital that we leave. And I will do whatever it takes to make it happen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m so lost in my thoughts it takes me a moment to realize that we aren’t headed in the direction of the gate. Instead, we are being led to what appears to be an abandoned three-story building in the near distance.
We ascend the stairs in the old building, winding our way slowly to the outdoor rooftop. When I step out onto it, a winter breeze whips past me, making my arms and legs ripple with gooseflesh. I breathe in deep, fresh lungfuls greedily.
Shale walks up then, his shadow falling over us. “This is their gift to us, a reward for sitting through the training. They do this once a week, a sort of
supervised social gathering for the New Amanians on this compound.”
I look around at everyone, their smiling faces illuminated by lanterns and starlight. I don’t see Trigger, but I know he must be here too. Monitors Wang and Ng are gone, replaced by two different people. I note Monitor Aiguo from last night and another female Monitor. I wonder when we can slip away. The night still isn’t over for Shale and me; the yez is next. "When can we leave?"
“When they make their way back for the TV programming. If you’re still up for it.”
I nod.
After a pause, he takes a step closer. “Are you sure? You must be exhausted.”
It’s true. Every single bone in my feet hurts, and I want to lie down more than anything. But after what I witnessed today, I know how crucial it is to get Ceres off this compound and somewhere safe. Even if we weren’t afraid that our own identities would be compromised soon, I’d still want to go. I don’t want her indoctrinated into the ways of another government that will take away her power, her sense of self. I don’t care what they promise; I have absolutely no trust for China’s government or its Monitors. “I’m sure.”
Fifteen minutes later, when everyone is supposed to be filing back to their wopung to listen to the Book of Laws on their TV sets, Shale motions for me to hang back. I tell Ceres to follow the crowd back to our wopung and join him where he stands, by the edge of the rooftop, trying not to stare at the way the wind ruffles his dark hair.
“I’ll need to speak with Aiguo,” he says softly. I have to read his lips to fully comprehend his words. He shifts positions, wincing slightly. I wonder how much pain he is in. “He’ll let us out so we can make our way to the depot. Trigger will meet us there.”
When the rooftop is empty save for the three of us—the female Monitor having gone downstairs with the other New Amanian immigrants—Shale approaches Aiguo. He slips the Monitor a baggie that Aiguo pockets. Then, without a word, Aiguo strides to the door leading off the rooftop and we follow him down the old stairs.
I don’t dare speak for fear I will say something wrong, something that will cause him to change his mind about helping us. He leads us to a door in the back of the building, unlocks it, and then we are outside in the frigid winter night. The door shuts and locks behind us.
I tip my head back; the half moon and stars look like splinters of ice embedded in the black skin of the sky. Shale begins to make his way forward across the brush-speckled land. This far out there’s nothing to see except the occasional abandoned storage shed or other dilapidated structure glowing silver in the starlight.
Our arms almost, but never quite, brush several times. Is he as aware of me as I am of him? Does he miss the closeness we once shared? His silence is maddening. "What’s the plan once we get to the depot?” I ask quietly after a long minute. “Did Trigger tell you?"
"We'll need to be hidden with the supply truck and driven out of town to the yez.”Shale picks his way across the dry vegetation effortlessly in spite of his wounds. The pain in my feet flares up, but I’m determined not to grumble. If he can handle it, then so can I.
“And this yez...Trigger is certain it’s not a trap? Does he trust the person who told him about it?”
"Not just Trigger—I trust her, too. Implicitly," Shale replies. "She took care of me, after...the ambush."
She? Shale recovered with help from a woman? But I do not voice my inexplicable concern over this fact. It doesn't have any bearing on the matter. If anything, I should be glad it's a woman in charge of this enterprise. It's less likely to end up a complete disaster.
I find myself glancing at him quite a bit. His face is leaner than it was back when he was my Husband, as if the tension and turmoil of these past few weeks have been too much for his body.
"How are your wounds?" I ask before I was aware that I was forming the question.
"All right," he answers. "Trigger insisted on doing part of my work today. I've been lucky."
Lucky. Only Shale would describe himself, after all that has happened to him, as lucky. I wonder if now is a good time to say that I don't feel like he abandoned me that day. I want to tell him that I was sick with worry, absolutely mad with the thought that I might never see him again.
But something feels different now. The hectic rush of those days is over, the passion of those moments lost, it feels, forever. Under the stark calm of the stars, in the chilly whispering of the wind, Shale feels distant. I open my mouth, to say what, I don't know, but then Shale speaks. "We're here."
Startled, I look to where he's gazing. He's right—the depot looms in front of us. I hadn't realized we were already at our destination.
The door opens before we knock and Trigger beckons us inside. “Hi.” He smiles, exposing his crooked teeth. “Come on in.”
I return his smile and look around. The depot is lit with a single fluorescent light, possibly to conserve energy. The flickering shadows give a theatric quality to everything, as if we are on a dramatic set from my grandmother's time.
"Shale. Good, you're here." A petite woman walks over to us from around the olive-colored truck in the bay area.
She is young, maybe just a few years older than me. Her black hair is cropped close but there is no doubt of her femininity. Her lips are perfectly bow-shaped, her bosom rounded where mine is flat. Her big, light brown eyes turn to me, and she smiles sweetly. "And you must be Vika. I wondered if you’d come along tonight."
I force myself to return her smile, though jealousy makes it unbelievably hard. "I hope that's all right."
She offers me her hand and grasps mine in a firm shake. "I’m Ananke. Trigger will explain things to you and Shale on the way there; he’s going to act as your guide tonight since it’s your first time."
We follow Ananke around to the back of the truck. She opens the trailer door to reveal a large interior, filled with wooden crates. They are stamped with Chinese characters, and directly under those, either the word RICE or the word BEANS. "The crate all the way in the back has a false front," she explains. "That's where you'll be for forty-five minutes, while I drive to the yez. But don’t worry, Trigger will stay right in there with you. I'll drop you off on the way to another depot to deliver goods. All right?"
Shale and I nod in tandem. She has the air of someone who does this a lot—helps other people in need.
"Hop on then," Trigger says cheerfully, doing so himself. "No time to waste. Ananke’s got to get on the road."
We climb in after him and, with a brief smile, Ananke slams the truck door closed. There's a click and the interior is illuminated by Trigger's flashlight beam. "Follow me,” he says.
We maneuver around several lidded boxes, and come to the large wooden-planked crate inside which we're supposed to hide. Trigger puts his hands on the side, fiddles around, and the false front pops open. Inside, the crate is surprisingly spacious and empty, save for a box in the corner. "Welcome to my humble abode." Trigger chuckles at his own joke.
Shale and I follow him quietly, and he shuts the door after us. I find a spot on the floor and sit with my legs crossed, feeling my steady heartbeat, the rush of blood in my limbs. This is it, I think. Tonight we’ll find out exactly when we can leave the compound, when we can begin the life our family deserves. Hope and nerves war for top spot inside me.
A moment later, the engine roars to life and we begin to move.
We are silent as the truck trundles down the road. A few minutes later, it slows to a stop. I look at Trigger, my heartbeat so loud, I think he must be able to hear it.
“Checkpoint,” he whispers. “They usually just check the ID and let her through.”
But as the seconds tick by, it seems clear that something has happened. Ananke doesn’t drive. “What do you think is happening?” Shale whispers.
Trigger looks a little pale as he clicks off the flashlight, plunging us into darkness. He whispers, “They’re probably going to check the back. Let’s be silent and still.”
There is a wrenching, m
etallic sound and I realize with a lurch of horror what it is. Someone has opened the door to the truck trailer. I sit still in my corner, imagining that I am one with the wall of the crate. Footsteps sound as someone hops into the back of the trailer and walks slowly forward. The footsteps stop right outside our crate. I struggle to control the frantic pounding of my heart. Another long moment passes, and then the footsteps recede. When the door is shut and locked, we all breathe out as one.
Trigger doesn’t turn on the flashlight until the truck has begun to drive again, bouncing and bumping on the poorly maintained back roads. Both his and Shale’s face reflect the sheer relief I feel. “That's never happened before.” Trigger pushes one shaking hand through his hair. “S'ppose they must have heightened security after those poor sods were captured.”
I know what this means—we don’t have long. Each day we remain on this compound is another day we might be caught.
"Where exactly is this yez located?" Shale asks finally, perhaps in an attempt to distract us.
"Thirty kilometers outside a town called Shanwei." I see Trigger studying our faces. "It's, ah, a bit different, the first time you go."
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Different in what way?" I ask. Something about the way he said the word has me worried.
Trigger rolls the flashlight between his palms, causing the beam to jerk dizzyingly. "Well, it's a way for some of the high-ranking people, the Chinese and New Amanian power brokers, to let out some of their urges, y'know. Urges that've been repressed by the government here. You see a lot of things that might startle you a bit at first. Sex, drugs, the way everyone dresses."
Sexual intercourse? In public? I can't imagine such a thing. Drugs are more familiar to me, after the time I spent with the Nukeheads in the refugee camp. Not to mention my own brief acquaintance with candy glass, a pink drug sold at le marché noir—the black markets in New Amana. But intercourse out in the open...that seems hedonistic, deviant to me in a way I can’t even begin to fathom.