Prison Boy

by Sharon McKay

  “Wake now. We are here,” said Goddess Girl.

  “Where are we?” Pax emerged from under her feathers. The wings of Goddess Girl flapped slowly. She circled below the clouds and above an ivory-white coast.

  Pax rubbed his eyes and looked down upon a winding river. He could see clearly. The wind was warm. The banks of the river were dry.

  “Here is the source of all the salt in the universe. Here the unfortunate come to weep their salty tears. Here they will cry oceans of tears and always be thirsty,” said Goddess Girl as she slowly flapped her wings.

  “Why have you brought me here? Is it because this is where I belong?” said Pax.

  “No, you do not belong here, Young King. Others belong here, but not you.”

  Again Goddess Girl flapped her wings and up they went. They skimmed over the land and floated above a lake. Pax peered over her shoulder and stared into a clear pool of still water.

  “Look, it’s me!” he cried.

  There were no marks on him, no welts where he had been beaten. His eyes were not black, his lips were not swollen and cracked. He looked at his legs and feet. The skin was not hanging off. His feet were whole. His stomach was full although he had eaten no food, and best of all, the pain in his side was gone.

  Goddess Girl dove towards the riverbank at breakneck speed. Pax cried out in both fright and delight. Moments before they might crash, Goddess Girl pulled up and sang out, her voice echoing across the sky. It was a strange sound, not human, more like sweet music sung by millions upon millions of fireflies.

  They landed on the sandy bank. She turned her long, swan-like neck towards him. Her eyes glistened like sapphires. “We must wait,” she said.

  “Why?” asked Pax.

  “You will be judged in front of a court. Is it not what you wanted? To be judged fairly?”

  Pax reeled back. “Yes. No. What will happen?” He was confused.

  “You will see,” said Goddess Girl. She folded her wings behind her. “Look up!”

  Pax drew in a deep breath. The sky was filled with wings. He opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. He looked first to one side, and then the other. There were hundreds, no, thousands upon thousands of winged goddesses. Light bounced off their wings. Feathers and jewels shimmered, giving off rays of color. The colors filled his eyes. What were they called? The names of colors he knew came from the crayons Bell’s sister sent from England—sun-glow, sea green, razzle-dazzle rose. None were right. He needed more words, better words.

  The expanse of their crystal wings filled the air. Their jewel-encrusted bodies winked and blinked in the light. The movement of the wings created a thin, beguiling song, a hum, a trill.

  As if pulled by an invisible thread, Pax slid off the back of Goddess Girl and stood alone on the ivory-white sand. A throng of goddesses quickly surrounded him.

  One goddess, more powerful and more astonishing than all the rest, came forward. Her eyelids glittered with diamonds; her eyes were the color of honey. She shone from within and without. She threw back her head and sang out, a beautiful lilting cry. The singing stopped. All went quiet.

  The great goddess spoke. “My name is Queen Alzara. We know about you, Young King. We know of your hardships. You will answer my questions, and my court of goddesses will be your judges.”

  She peered down from on high and addressed only Pax. “Might and right. Tell me what these words mean to you, Young King.”

  King? He was not a king! He felt tiny in the face of all this magnificence. He dithered, he wobbled.

  “I am waiting for an answer,” said the great goddess.

  What was the answer? And what were the consequences if he got it wrong? Might—the guards of the prison had might. They used their power and their might to hurt. Might, misused, was not right.

  And then a voice came from within. Do what’s right with all your might. Pax said it softly out loud. He looked around and stared into the honey-black eyes of the goddesses. The goddesses nodded.

  “That is correct. Might must be used for right. Do you have regrets?” asked the great goddess.

  Pax nodded. “Yes.” He could not tell a lie.

  “What do you regret?” she asked.

  “I did not want Kai and me to be separated. I should have let the soldiers take him. He would be in school now.” He was ashamed.

  “And so you can tell the future?” she asked.

  Pax said nothing.

  “This boy, this Kai, why did you want to keep him with you?”

  “To keep him safe, to see that he went to school. I did neither.”

  “You were ambitious.”

  Pax did not know what that word meant.

  “I do not know.”

  “Are you faithful?”

  Pax nodded. “I think so.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “The ambitious climb, the faithful build. You wanted to help this boy build a future. Have no regrets, Young King. Are you mean in your heart?”

  Pax pulled back, astonished. “No, never.”

  “Are you a thief?”

  He looked down at his feet. He took the gun. He took Bell’s money box.

  He nodded.

  “Shall I tell you what a thief is? A thief is someone who takes and takes but never has enough. There is always more to steal, more to covet, more to hide away in dark places. A thief takes what he cannot use and keeps it from those in need. A thief never gives freely, but only under obligation. A thief steals more than things; he steals what those things represent—memories, love, history, power. I ask you again, are you a thief?”

  Pax shook his head.

  “Are you loyal?”

  He would die for Kai. Pax nodded.

  “Good. Loyalty leads to bravery. It is the foundation of all that is good, kind, and true. It is fueled by integrity and love. Now I will tell you, fight to live. Fulfill your purpose. But do not fear death.” Again she held her head high, flapped her wings, and cried out in a voice that echoed across the galaxies, “HEAR ME. I pronounce this boy free of any crime.”

  The song of the clapping wings was sweet and high. He wanted to say thank-you, but in a swoop the goddesses flew up and up and plunged back into the clouds. Their sparkle remained in the sun’s rays.

  Pax lifted his arms, to wave good-bye but also as a faint plea to join them, to fly with them. He turned. In an instant panic overwhelmed him. Had he been deserted? Where was she? Pax shaded his eyes, searching, searching for the goddess who had brought him here, his goddess.

  “I am here, Young King.” She flew towards him.

  His heart leapt at the sound of her voice, at the color of her eyes. They were blue, the color of the ocean, different from all the rest. Pax climbed on her back and burrowed under her feathers.

  Up they went, soaring and plunging, twisting and turning. And then the sky turned a shimmering, twinkling, sparkling midnight blue. The sky was full of giant birds. Their beaks were golden, their eyes ruby red. Great wings beat the air, glowing and sending off flares of light.

  “Who are they?” cried Pax.

  “They are soldiers who command the skies and protect our domain.”

  In an instant they were flying beside Goddess Girl and Pax, their wings beating in rhythm. The lead soldier turned his head. His beak was gold, his feathers slick. He lowered his head and soared.

  “Will I be a soldier who can fly?” cried Pax.

  “All things will become possible. Hold on.” Goddess Girl surged ahead. “As strong and powerful as the young soldiers are, they will never beat me!” Her laughter was like song.

  Away they flew.

  “Boy, wake.” Stink Boy poked him with his stick. “It is time.”

  Chapter 29

  “Pax, follow my voice. Come back.”

  “Ezat? Is that you?” Pax’s voice was rough. Forming words hurt.

  “I am here.” Ezat kneeled beside him. He held the cup of water to Pax’s lips.

  “
Kai, did you find him? Is he safe?” The water felt cool on his lips and in his throat.

  “There is no word on him,” said Ezat.

  Pax pulled himself up onto his elbows. No word? Was he dead? A scream caught in his throat. “Where could he be?”

  “Lie back. Think of yourself now. There is a doctor in the prison. He was just arrested. He is one of us. I have asked him to come.” Ezat adjusted the thin pillow under Pax’s head.

  “Doctor?” Pax nodded and fell back onto the mat that lay on the floor of his cell. Water dribbled down the side of his face and into his hair. “Why is a doctor in such a place?” whispered Pax.

  “He is a political prisoner like us. He hid a good man in his home. That man was a reporter, a writer. To be a reporter in this time and place is very dangerous.” Ezat dabbed Pax’s face with a damp rag.

  Pax closed his eyes and faded in and out of consciousness.

  When he next awoke he heard the words, “The spleen is the most likely organ to be damaged during torture of this kind.” Pax opened his eyes. The two men talking crouched on either side of him.

  “Ezat? Is that you? What is a spleen?” asked Pax. He felt Ezat’s hand rest lightly on his arm, but it was the other man who spoke.

  “I am Dr. Aria. Point to where it hurts.”

  He might have laughed. There was no part of his body that was not bleeding, seeping, or bruised. But the pain inside was different. Something inside his body was broken.

  Pax rolled onto his side and pointed. Gently, as if his fingers were dancing over hot coals, Dr. Aria touched him. “Turn on your other side,” he said, and with Ezat’s help, Pax complied.

  “It is not the spleen. Your appendix is enlarged,” he said simply.

  “I don’t understand,” said Pax.

  “The spleen is above the abdomen. It could rupture if hit by a blunt instrument, but the spleen is on the left side. The internal pain you are having is on the right side. It is your appendix.”

  “What is an appendix?” asked Pax.

  “It is an organ. When it is diseased, it is called appendicitis. Roll onto your back, slowly.”

  Pax did as he was told, although the effort shot spikes of pain up his spine.

  The doctor placed his hand on Pax’s forehead. “You have a fever.”

  “Why causes appendic . . . ?” Pax took a breath. It was all confusing.

  “It is caused by infection,” the doctor said simply.

  Again the two men talked about him as Pax turned the doctor’s words over in his head. His mind was a muddle. Pax reached up and touched the doctor’s sleeve. “Would I have had this appendix even if I was not in here?”

  The doctor nodded. “In all likelihood, yes.”

  “And I would have died on the street.”

  “I cannot say that for certain,” said the doctor. But they all knew, street children we not given expensive operations. Street children had no value.

  “And Kai would have been alone,” whispered Pax.

  The doctor stood and motioned to Ezat. The two men left Pax lying on his cell floor and went out into the hallway. Pax watched. The doctor’s feet were bandaged. He was being tortured too.

  Ezat returned. “I have clean bandages and some antiseptic for your feet. More medicine is coming.”

  “Medicine?” Pax tried to form the word.

  “It is from the outside, that is all I can tell you. It is important that you do not know too much.” Ezat gently lifted Pax’s foot and sprinkled it with water. “This will hurt.”

  “Hurt?” This time Pax did smile, and maybe Ezat did too.

  “You have not lost your sense of humor, Pax,” said Ezat.

  “Why did the doctor hide a writer?” asked Pax. The pain was not so terrible. Ezat was gentle.

  “A writer can tell the world about us, about our cause.” Ezat lifted Pax’s foot.

  “Torture—it is too ugly a word. People will turn away.”

  “Those who torture are also damaged forever. They are filled with poison. Those who learn about us are enriched and grow powerful.” Ezat patted Pax’s left foot dry, then dribbled the red antiseptic onto Pax’s open sores slowly.

  “What is a cause?” hissed Pax through clenched teeth. The pain was increasing. The medicine Ezat was dabbing on his feet stung like a hundred bees.

  “Our cause is simple—the right to vote, freedom to say what we think, freedom to write what we feel. Do you know the expression ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’?”

  Ezat wrapped one foot in a clean bandage. Pax cringed but shook his head.

  “It is from a poem by Edward Bulwer-Lytton. ‘Beneath the rule of men entirely great / The pen is mightier than the sword.’” Ezat tied up the bandage and picked up Pax’s right foot. “What can a sword do? It can kill. But a pen . . . now there is a powerful instrument. It conveys the power of imagination.” Ezat started the whole process again with Pax’s right foot.

  “How . . .” Pax gulped with the pain. “How do you know such things?”

  “I am a professor in the university, but poetry is my first love.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I do not think the government liked my poetry.” Again Ezat smiled. The best Pax could manage was a grimace.

  “Do I call you ‘professor’?” Pax tried to smile but his lips would not curl.

  “Students would use the term ‘doctor,’ not ‘professor.’ But I do not think titles are necessary in this place. It is enough to think of each other as human beings.”

  “I know poetry. Teacher . . . he said . . .” Pax lost his breath as Ezat poured the antiseptic on his right foot.

  “Tell me, Pax, what did your teacher say?” Ezat spoke in a voice full of compassion and concern.

  “He said, ‘Don’t go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep.’”

  “Ah, Rumi. Shall I tell you another poem?” asked Ezat.

  Pax nodded.

  “I will tell you the end of it. It says, ‘Do not go gentle into that good night. / Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’” Ezat wrapped the second foot. “Mr. Dylan Thomas wrote the poem about his father’s death, but I do believe it means that we are meant to fight until our last breath.”

  Ezat carried on talking as if the two were walking in a park, his voice steady and reassuring.

  “Would it surprise you to know that most of the torturers have families? That they believe that what they are doing is right? That they blame us, the tortured, for making them torture us, for turning them into torturers? That most people will torture under the right circumstances?”

  “I could not do this to another human being,” whispered Pax.

  “I believe you. I believe that you are one of the special people who would not hurt another human being.”

  “Then you would be wrong. I would kill for . . .” Pax’s words drifted.

  “No, Pax. It is wrong to kill for love, but it is not wrong to fight for love. There is a difference. Sleep now.”

  “I want to tell you about Kai, about Goddess Girl.” Pax wanted to tell him everything. “Tell Kai that I can fly.” And he wanted to tell Ezat about a book, The Seven Natural Wonders of the World. About Peter Bennett, the man who gave him the book. And he wanted to talk about Bell and the Pink House.

  Pax spoke in stops and starts long into the night.

  Chapter 30

  “Fifty rations for you.” The torturer tied Pax to the bed, face down.

  When it was over, he lay there, drifting. He fell in and out of a rocky sleep.

  “Young King,” Goddess Girl called to him.

  He tried to answer. His mouth was thick, dry, lips cracked.

  “It is time to go,” she said gently.

  He tried to move, to turn his head. And then the chains around his wrists and ankles fell away. He crawled off the bed. He stood and staggered forward. With each step he grew in strength.

  “That’s right, come to me.” Goddess Girl fl
apped her giant wings. “Climb on my back, Young King. We will fly.” Goddess Girl’s laugh was like singing bells.

  He threw his leg over her back. He burrowed deep into her feathers. Up they went, high, higher.

  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, there was Mount Everest, majestic, proud, brutal. He sat up. Energy filled his body, his spirit, and his soul. Goddess Girl spread her wings until they filled the sky. Up she went, soaring between the mountains, then down into crevasses. Below, green trees clung to rocks while craggy, gray stone columns soared up into thin air.

  “Hold on.” Goddess Girl pulled her wings in close and then swooped between the peaks.

  Pax wrapped his arms round her neck and held tight. “I can see!” he cried, and then out came a great laugh that echoed from mountain to mountain. A glistening frost coated his lips and teeth. His hair was as white as the snow, his body warmed by her feathers.

  “Where to now?” she cried.

  “The Great Barrier Reef!” Pax raised his face to the sun.

  “Hold tight.”

  Goddess Girl turned south. Her wings grew long, longer than a ship’s sail, longer than his eyes could see. Longer and longer until they touched the horizon on either side. And then she tucked her giant wings in tight, pointed her head down. The air turned soft and warm. The frost melted away and he stood, his feet planted on Goddess Girl’s back.

  “Ya-hoo!” he cried.

  “Do you see?” she cried, her voice caught on the wind.

  “I see, I see!” And again Pax let out a resounding howl. It was the Great Barrier Reef. From high up the water was puckered, while closer to land whitecaps curled like tiny hands. Each wave beckoned to him, welcoming him. Come, come, said the waves.

  “Hold on tight, Young King.”

  Goddess Girl plunged into the water. There they were, millions of fish, each one more beautiful than the next. Spotted fish, dotted fish, striped fish, creatures that crawled along the sea floor.

  Pax saw something that had wings like a bat but moved with the grace of a bird. “What is that?” he shouted. Wait. He could talk underwater! He could breathe, too!

  “It is the great manta ray.” Goddess Girl’s voice was full of bubbles.

  Like a whale breaching the surf, they rose up into the air and flew.