by M L Sparrow
Picking up on our distaste, Berta shrugs, “It’s not perfect, but we do our best with what we have.”
“And you’re doin’ a brilliant job,” Kit says in an attempt to sooth the defensiveness in her voice, “We’ll take these to the kitchen for you. Pick those up for me, boys?” The boys with the goods scattered around them, rush to gather it all back up and dump it into the box. Carrying it between the four of them – one at each corner – they lead the way to the back of the main room, where a stiff door leads them into a small, dark room which looks more like a storeroom than a kitchen; there are no cabinets, or work surfaces, or a sink, or any other necessary equipment, only rows and rows of empty shelves.
It’s depressing, heart wrenching even. It makes me feel guilty for the luxury I took for granted back home; I had never gone hungry, never been physically neglected, I had always had a roof over my head and, let’s be honest, I had always been provided with whatever I wanted, no expense spared. The money I had squandered on the latest technology, clothes, essential parts for archaic, nonessential machines, could have been put to much better use. It could have fed all these children and more, given them somewhere to live other than a decrepit ramshackle building which could fall down on them at any moment. It could have saved lives. But I’d been blind. Blind and stupid and selfish. So very, very selfish. I wasn’t the only one though. The whole city, the whole country, had condemned the Ghetto Folk without knowing their stories. It was tragically unfair and I was at a loss for what to do.
How could I make this better? I couldn’t. I didn’t have that kind of power.
It is hard to remain morose, however, when playful, carefree children surround you. A little hand slips into mine, cool and fragile, asking, “What’s your name?”
Crouching down so we’re at eye level, I answer softly, “My name’s Sunny.”
“That’s a pretty name. It’s like sunshine. Were you born in the summer?”
“No, I was actually born in winter.”
“Then why did your mummy call you Sunny?” The childish assumption that it was my mum who named me sends a shaft of pain straight through my heart, though she’s right.
“Because,” I say slowly, hearing the words my dad said to me echoing in my head as I repeat them to this inquisitive child, “my mum told my dad that I would brighten the world like the sun.” That was the reason her mum had refused to abort her, despite the doctor’s advice and her inevitable death if she continued with the pregnancy. She had said that one day the child inside of her might change the world; she might become a scientist and save millions of lives, she might become a politician and create world peace, she might do any number of important things.
“Oh,” the child is silent for a moment as she takes this in, “that’s nice. My names Jess, plain old Jess.” She pulls a face, “I wish I had a cool name like Sunny.”
I don’t know why I told her that. I’ve never told anyone else. My dad and I are the only ones who know, letting other in on the secret makes me feel vulnerable, even worse, it makes me feel like a failure. How disappointed my mother must be.
“Jess is a lovely name,” I manage to assure the child despite the blockage in my throat.
Beaming up at me, Jess squeezes my fingers and pulls, demanding, “Come play with me. I’ll show you my doll.”
“I should probably help put this away first,” I indicate the boxes that Kit and Jay are unloading, stacking items on the shelves with no regard for any kind of order or organisation.
“We got this,” Kit says, looking up at me from where he’s crouched on the floor, shoving a bag of rice and an unlabelled can onto a lower shelf, beside a carton of apple juice and a net bag bulging with oranges, “you go play. You too, Maya,” he adds, taking a box of nutrition bars from her hands and waving them both away. Jess almost yanks my fingers out of their sockets as she drags me from the room, surprisingly strong for a tiny scrap of humanity. In the process of walking across the room, Maya is abducted by a group of pre-teen girls who incorporate her into their skipping game, using an old length of rope with knots at either end.
Jess’s beloved doll turns out to be a bundle of dirty rags sewn together to produce something that only vaguely resembles a baby, with a few stands of yellow wool poking out of the top of its’ head, mismatched button eyes and a pink piece of cloth tied around its middle like a dress. Whoever created it obviously did the best they could with very little to work with, but it still makes me wince in sympathy for the child, though she seems to love the makeshift toy. I used to know people who brought expensive, handcrafted china dolls so that they could display them in a glass cabinet – all this little girl wants is something to play with and perhaps cuddle at night when she’s feeling alone. Oblivious to my guilt, Jess shows it off to me as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, cradling it in her arms, as if it’s a real baby, and telling me that her name is ‘Millie’.
“Would you like to hold her?”
“Okay.”
A second later, “No, no, no. You don’t hold a baby like that, you’ve got to hold her head. I’ll show you.” Taking the doll back, she shows me the proper way to hold it.
After my lesson, I hold Millie for a while, rocking her gently much to Jess’ delight, before giving her back. During this time a couple of other girls with similar looking rag dolls have crowded around and as they all begin to play together, I put an arm behind me and lean back on it, watching them with a smile. The rough concrete abrades my palms and I sit up to rub my hands together, brushing off the tiny stones stuck into my skin, before returning to the same position. A few minutes later I become aware of someone standing just behind me.
Turning my head, I smile. “Hello.”
“Hi,” comes the softly spoken reply. The tall, skinny teenager doesn’t seem willing to say anything else and so I turn away, returning to watch the younger children play. I’m aware of movement behind me and look up again when the girl lightly touches my shoulder with gentle, hesitant fingertips, craning my neck to see her face. Wetting her lips, the girl says, “You have lovely hair. It’s a real nice colour.” Her voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear it. “My mum was a hairdresser, before we got sent here. She taught me some stuff. Would you mind if…” Her feet shuffle as she hesitates. Since she is here, I assume her mum is dead, like mine.
“Of course not,” I smile again in the hope of reassuring her, “it’s a complete mess today, so I would be grateful if you could do something with it.”
Despite the fact that I have given her permission, she still hesitates before moving behind me. Another long pause before I feel her fingers sifting through my hair, stretching out the curls before letting them spring back up. Tilting my head further back, I sigh; if I close my eyes I can pretend I am back home, with Micah pampering and preparing me for some lavish event.
Do you really want that? The thought takes me by surprise, sending a shiver down my spine. No, I don’t even have to think about the answer, it simply comes to me without prompting. I don’t really know what I want, but I know that I definitely don’t want to return to the meaningless existence I led before. Back then I had simply done what I was told for the most part, without examining what I thought, or gathering the facts. I don’t want to live like that anymore. My eyes have been opened by the people I had once condemned and I don’t want to close them again.
The day passes in a flash and soon the sun begins to descend, prompting Kit to get us on our way, saying that Sin probably expected us back hours ago and that it’ll be the children’s bedtime shortly anyway. Once the goodbyes have been said and the hugs handed out, night has well and truly fallen. It has been a fairly mild day, not warm, but not particularly cold either. However, now the temperature has dropped considerably and grey storm clouds are gathering overhead, blocking out the few stars that dare to shine above the Ghetto. The air is damp and heavy with the threat of oncoming rain and I think back to the orphanage, which has little protection against t
he elements.
“Can’t you move them somewhere else?”
“We’re tryin’,” Kit answers my question, “but there just isn’t anywhere to put them, everywhere is jam packed. That’s our overflow house, the main orphanage is in a better building near the Square. We try to get the kids put with families, but it’s hard, people are strugglin’ to feed themselves, no one wants to take in an extra mouth.”
I understand that, but still… children shouldn’t be living like that. I also know that it isn’t Kits’ fault, it isn’t even Sin’s fault; my dad should have been the one sorting this out, he was the President, it was his job to help these people, but instead he’d washed his hands of them, continuing to support and prolong the mistake his predecessors had made by creating the Ghetto to send so called criminals. Since I don’t have a solution to the problem though, I decide to change the subject and ask another question that has been plaguing me.
“Why did you introduce me by my real name, isn’t it in your best interests that I remain anonymous and under the radar?”
“Honestly,” Kit shrugs, leading us around a pile of rubble blocking the road, “it doesn’t matter. Not that many people have a TV, or internet, so unless they are new to the Ghetto they’re unlikely to recognise you. And we don’t get that many newcomers nowadays.”
“But with the police already searching the Ghetto aren’t you worried that someone will recognise my name and tell the authorities?”
“Not really,” said with another shrug of his shinny shoulders, in the darkness I feel rather than see it as he walks beside me, guiding me around obstacles that I can’t see, “no one will tell. The people outside do nothing for them, but we help them, we break the law to give them food because the rations the government allows us are barely enough to feed a rat, so, of course, the people’s loyalty is to us. Without us they would starve and they know it.”
“What if there’s a bounty on my head? The kind of reward money my dad would give for my safe return is sure to appeal to people.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” he replies with absolute confidence.
“I hope you’re right,” I murmur and even through the darkness I can see his disbelieving look, but it’s true.
Sin is waiting for us when we get back. As soon as he sees us, he says, “I was ‘bout to send out a search party.”
“Sorry.” Even Kit, his so called brother, ducks his head beneath that intense gaze. “We got held up.”
Immediately those eyes transfer to me as he asks, “Trouble?”
“No,” Kit says quickly, “we just lost track of time. We were hangin’ out with the kids.”
Accepting that with a nod, he asks as if I’m not even there, “Did she behave?”
“You know I’m right here,” I snap, scowling at him. However, he doesn’t even bother to glance back down at me as he waits for Kits’ answer.
Blushing slightly, casting me an almost apologetic look, the teenager says, “She was fine.”
Sin nods. “Good. Have you eaten?” Berta had offered us dinner with the children, but it hadn’t seemed fair to eat their precious supplies so we’d refused. Everyone except me shakes their head; I’m too pissed off to do anything other than glare at him. Somehow, Sin knows how to push all my buttons. So why, beneath it all, do I almost like him? That thought just makes me grumpier and I continue to glower as he says, “Come get some grub then. You too, Maya. I’ll get someone to walk you home after.”
The canteen has been cleared of debris and the tables returned to their original places after the food collection. There are several people still sitting around talking, having finished eating. One group is playing a game of cards, taunting and laughing at each other as they play. It is a novelty to see the men doing something other than playing war games on the TV, though the noise from next door indicates that some are still doing just that.
“You’re lucky there’s any left,” Sin comments as he watches the four of us loading up our plates, from where he’s now sitting at one of the long tables. Someone had made little individual pies with new potatoes and a big bowl full of mushy peas. Having served ourselves we go to the nearest table and sit down. Maya is beside Kit and Jay leaves to join some of his friends at another table, which leaves me wondering where to sit; if I sit with the other two it’ll seem like an us-against-you situation and that makes me feel bad for him. Decision made, I drop my plate on the table and sit on the end of the bench seat beside him. For a moment he doesn’t move, he simply stares down at me, his expression guarded as my right side presses against his left. I can feel his body heat scorching me. Briefly, I consider getting up and moving, but then he shifts, sliding further along the bench to give me more space. My gaze drops to his right arm; I still don’t know if what Maya said about his lack of a Brand is true, since he always wears long sleeves. My skin tingles where we touched. Leaning forward, he braces his forearms casually on the table as he starts talking to Kit. Sitting next to him makes me nervous; the others reach for their cutlery and dig in, I, on the other hand, lift my hand to my mouth and begin chewing on my already mangled fingernails. Having been staring at my untouched dinner, I jump slightly when someone touches my wrist. Jerking my head up, I blink up at Sin as he gently wraps his calloused fingers around my wrist and pulls it away.
“Are you alright?” Maya asks with concern, drawing my gaze, “You were off in a world of your own.”
“I’m fine,” I manage a smile which promptly slips away when my eyes flicker back towards Sin, who is watching me intently, head tilted to the side, a gesture I have come to realize means he’s mulling something over.
“Are you sure?” Maya continues to press, as tenacious as a dog with a bone, “Maybe you’re hungry, you haven’t eaten since breakfast, have you? You should eat. Go on.” Amused by the other girl’s insistence and gestures, I pick up my cutlery and cut into the pie, lifting a small bite to my mouth.
Chewing quickly, I swallow it and ask, “Happy now?”
Flashing me a bright, affirmative smile, which is all teeth, she answers cheekily, “Yeah, actually, I am.”
True to his word, after we’ve all finished eating, Sin arranges an escort to make sure Maya gets home safely. Kit offers, but Sin waves the offer away, saying, “You’ve done enough for one day, go take a break, let one of these lazy buggers do some work for a change.” Though the words are harsh they’re spoken with a strange kind of affection. Doing as ordered, Kit disappears after saying a quick goodnight. Once he’s gone, Sin stands and climbs over the bench.
“Stay here, I’ll get someone to take you.” And with that he walks away, over to a crowded table across the room. The occupants turn to watch him warily as he approaches, falling silent. I’m watching him when someone slips into the seat he’s just vacated. I glance around to see the short man who had mocked me the day they kidnapped me. He’s the man Ludo tasered. He’s sitting disconcertingly close and moving closer. For the second time in less than an hour my skin tingles where it touches another, but this time it’s not in a good way. I attempt to shift away, however, an arms wraps around my shoulders, halting my retreat.
“Hello, Princess.” That thick drawl makes me flinch inwardly, “I see you’re settlin’ in well. Enjoyin’ slummin’ it with the rest of us mere mortals, are ya?”
“Get your arm off of me,” I grit out between my teeth. Across the table, Maya is silently watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.
“Come on, Princess,” he gives me a nasty smile as he squeezes me against him, tightening his grip until I can feel my skin bruising, “don’t be like that, I thought we were mates.”
Attempting to shove off his arm, I snarl, “I don’t know what gave you that idea, since we’ve only met once and at the end of that meeting you were convulsing on the ground.” Immediately his face darkens with anger. Seeing his reaction, I admit to feeling a little smug, until his arm transfers from my shoulders to around my neck and then fear flashes through me. Grabbing his wrist, I try
to pull his arm off me, but he’s surprisingly strong despite his size, his breath warm on my face as he leans in closer.
Turning my face away as best I can, his lips brush my cheek as he speaks, “You think you’re all that, don’t ya, Princess? But Daddy ain’t here to protect you anymore, so ya better watch who you piss off.” Having delivered his threat, he presses his lips to my cheek, the stubble on his chin scratching my sensitive skin. Bile burns the back of my throat; his touch sickens me.
Suddenly, he’s gone, falling backwards off the bench and landing with a thud. With his arm around my neck, he almost drags me with him, but then his arm slips away and a broad palm presses between my shoulder blades, pushing me back up to sitting. I twist around just in time to see Sin slam the smaller man to the floor, pinning him there with a knee on his chest and a hand wrapped around his throat. The entire canteen falls silent, waiting in expectant, fearful silence.
“What,” his voice is deceptively calm, “do you think you’re doin’?”
“I…I…I…” the other man half stutters, half chokes as the hand around his throat tightens ever so slightly.
“Don’t bother answerin’, I don’t care. I’ll give you a word of warnin’ though, you ever do it again and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat. Be careful, Ely, ‘cos you’ve been pissin’ me off lately. You stay away from her, she’s a guest here and she’s to be respected.” Raising his voice, he looks around the room and adds, “That goes for all of you.” Standing up, he towers above the downed man for several long seconds, before snapping angrily, “Get up.”
Ely does so slowly, watching Sin warily. Once he is on his feet, his entire body language screams submission; his shoulders are curled forward protectively, his head ducked, there’s no eye contact. He’s not so cocky now that he’s faced with a larger, stronger opponent. “Now go. It’s probably best you don’t come back for a few days.” Head snapping up, Ely looks like he’s about to protest, but then he clamps his mouth shut and nods stiffly. Sin stalks him out of the room and out of sight, returning a few minutes later. In that time no one utters a syllable.