With and Without, Within and Without

by Euan McAllen

  ***

  After clearing it with Adolphinus – who said yes, get on with it – Ingel instructed the hospital to bury Fiolotti in the Pit: no ceremony; no fanfare; no last words. The monastery issued a simple statement: retired Chief Fiolotti has passed away peacefully in his sleep. He had no relatives. Chief, Chief Monk Adolphinus is deeply saddened by his passing. He will always be remembered.

  That evening Tibi’s father, wrapped up like a mummy, was thrown into the pit and soil thrown over the body: his son was not there to witness the event. Tibi wanted to be anywhere but there: like in The Maze, with Timothy; living some adventure, carving out some new life. He wanted to leave the monastery, but he had nowhere else to go, so from now on, he would have to live a big, grand, holy lie.

  ***

  Back at the pig farm, after a week spent in captivity, Timothy was not dead, but he felt like it, and he smelt like a pig. At times he had wanted to die. He complained that he needed exercise, to move around, to stretch his legs. He needed fresh air, sunlight. Stuck inside with nothing but that smell had made him very sick, which would not please Fiodor: the man wanted him kept in good shape for he was a very important hostage. The Pig Farm Manager, afraid of losing his bonus, accepted his suggestion and tethered him to a long piece of rope which allowed Timothy to roam a little around the yard, even sweep it.

  Timothy watched his jailer’s every move, habits, and got to know his routines, sounds. (The sounds of the pig population he barely noticed anymore. They were just background noise.) Timothy had a plan: he had picked up a piece of scrap metal during a shit and sharpened it on the stone floor. Now it could cut through the rope. He waited until the time was right: that time when the Pig Farm Manager had his trousers down and was doing a dump. Timothy worked furiously to cut his way through the rope, and made a run for it. Pigs and chickens which got in the way, he kicked aside. His jailor heard the racket and pulled his trousers up, not bothering to wipe his arse on one of the rags he kept for such occasions.

  Timothy ran into the ancient wildwoods beyond until, exhausted, he had to sit down. His sense of freedom almost sent him delirious, and he laughed out loud. ‘I am free!’ he cried. But the pigs had the last laugh. A cousin of theirs, a wild boar, spooked, burst forth from the undergrowth and rammed Timothy, almost biting off the top of a finger. Timothy tried his best to fight him off; kicking out furiously, fists flying. The boar ran off, knowing he had won. The noise of both of them reached the ears of the Pig Farm Manager: he had been out looking for his absconded prisoner, afraid of losing his bonus. Timothy was recaptured and led back to his prison. ‘Swine’ was all the man said. Back in his cell, Timothy now felt suicidal and very sick. He definitely had some kind of fever.

  ***

  Tibi had nothing left worth holding on to, worth protecting, worth preserving; nothing that was, except his dignity, and most importantly, his sense of right and wrong. He wished to be seen as a good person by other good people, and damn all the bad people in the world. Paminio was a good person. Ingel was a bad person. Ingel could go to hell. And he was going to be the next chief of this monastery? Did that also make Adolphinus a bad person? Was the next chief of all chiefs a bad person? What kind of world was he living in now? Tibi shook his head. Too many thoughts, too much deep thinking, for a young mind. God had to make it all so complicated. He had to tell Paminio the truth: that would remove one complication from his world. God would want it no other way.

  A sudden thought struck him a severe blow. It almost felled him. Had the punishment for his big lie been the death of his poor sick dad? His dad had always been a good, honest man; and his son had betrayed that. He could not live with that lie. If possible, he wanted to redeem himself; have at least one person think good of him, and he wanted that person to be Paminio.

  Tibi found Paminio sitting on a bench tucked away in a corner of the monastery gardens. He looked like a man killing time or deep in contemplation, or both. Perhaps he too was lost. Tibi saw a vulnerable man, and was drawn towards him; wishing to set him right by making things right between them.

  When Paminio saw Tibi approaching, he became agitated, and his face went as white as a sheet. His hands began to crush themselves together. He looked like a man about to jump up and make a run for it. He raised a hand, making it clear that Tibi was not welcomed.

  ‘Please, no. Leave me alone.’

  ‘No, please. It’s not what you think. I’ve not been sent by anyone. No one knows of this. I just wish to apologize. I owe you a big apology. And I owe you the truth.’

  ‘The truth? What truth? What are you talking about?’

  Tibi looked at the vacant space on the bench. ‘Can I?’

  Paminio frowned. ‘I suppose so.’

  Tibi sat down and looked around at the garden. He saw it often but rarely registered a change. Today was one of those days when he did, for today was one of those days when he registered a change in himself. He struggled to speak, not knowing how to start up what would be a difficult conversation. ‘Deciding to do’ was not the same as ‘doing’. Deciding was far easier.

  Paminio had to prompt him. ‘Well?’

  Tibi stared up at the sky. He was about to cross the line; burn a bridge; make a new enemy, perhaps two; and as a consequence be ejected from the monastery, his only home. But then the monastery could go to hell. Cross the line, he told himself. And bring Ingel down if you can. That man is not fit to be the next chief. At last, he came out with it and suddenly he felt so much better.

  ‘You were set up.’

  ‘What? Say that again.’

  ‘You were set up. You were drugged, and I was told to get into your bed, and pretend, to blackmail you.’

  ‘Ingel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’

  It was Paminio’s turn now to stare up at the sky. And then, rather unexpectedly, he laughed; leaving Tibi baffled.

  ‘What’s funny? He blackmailed you?’

  ‘Everything. Everything is funny.’

  ‘Really?’

  Paminio shook his head, and he came back down to earth. You could only live in the clear blue sky for so long.

  ‘Unfortunately not. I just wish it was sometimes, to keep me sane. This world is, unfortunately, full of shit, and shit people; people who do bad things for the most pathetic reasons. But, somehow, I get through it, just.’

  ‘Are you angry with me?’

  ‘Angry with you? No. I was, but not now. You were just used, by a powerful man, a monster. Nothing you could do.’

  ‘This is not an excuse, but the reason I did it was to pay my father’s hospital bill. Ingel threatened to have him kicked out if I didn’t cooperate.’

  ‘That’s Ingel for you.’

  ‘I was desperate. It was the only way to save his life.’

  ‘He’s still in the hospital? Still ill or better now?’

  ‘Not ill now.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Dad is dead.’

  ‘Shit. Sorry. As I said, the world is full of shit. I’m sorry. I really am. I lost my father when I was young. He died in a hunting accident. And suddenly I had to go make my way in the world and earn a living.’

  ‘As a personal assistant? To the chiefs?’

  ‘Later, yes. A well-paid job having to cater to the needs and desires, and sometimes childish whims of the great and powerful, the religious aristocracy. Sometimes they are the most stupid people, I can tell you.’

  A nervous Tibi looked around, worried they might be overheard.

  ‘You know he’s going to make Ingel the next chief.’

  ‘But he’s no monk?’

  ‘He soon will be.’

  ‘How did your seniors take that news?’

  ‘Not well.’

  Paminio uncrossed his legs. ‘God, help us.
’

  ‘He won’t help us.’

  ‘No, you’re probably right. No harm in asking though.’

  Now it was Tibi’s turn to laugh. And laughing felt very good suddenly – as it dawned on him that he had not laughed in a long, long time. Paminio adjusted his position and turned sideways to be able to look Tibi up close, in the face; almost point-blank. Their faces were now only inches apart.

  ‘So, tell me, what do you intend to do now?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I have no family now.’

  ‘Nor do I. Trust me, you’ll get used to it, somehow, after enough time has passed.’

  ‘The Maze.’

  ‘The Maze? What about The Maze?’

  ‘Thought I might go for an adventure. Discover new lands, new people. Enter The Maze and never look back.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck. Good luck. You’ll need it in there.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Look, if Ingel comes after you, or that arsehole Adolphinus for that matter, you come to me. Understood?’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘I’ll do my damnedest to protect you from them, those bastards. I’ll help you.’

  ‘Help me? Why would you want to help me? After what I put you through?’

  ‘You didn’t put me through anything. Those two did. And because you’re a good soul.’

  Tibi began to cry. ‘Thank you.’

  Paminio took his hand and held it until the crying stopped, and beyond.

  Rigger was also crying, crying out in pain for his bad tooth was hurting really bad. He blamed it on God, on the monastery, on the chief, on that Dolgar, on his wife’s cooking. His wife stood ready with the pliers, a look of expectation and excitement on her face. She had been waiting for this moment.

  ‘Get us our money!’ she said. ‘We are due compensation!’

  ‘I will, I will,’ he croaked. ‘We’ll get those bastards. Revolution! We will take charge! There’s enough of us now.’

  ‘Don’t talk bollocks. Here, sit still, hold on to the chair. I’ll pull the tooth. No charge.’

  ,

  ‘Job done. Go get us our money.’

  She held out her hand, and Rigger took back his offending tooth, or rather what remained of it and kicked her away for she looked like she was enjoying it too much.

  ***

  It was early evening, and Sister Miuccia stood watching her patient Timothy for signs of life. He was suffering a fitful sleep. She had broken him, and just to satisfy Adolphinus. The poor boy was being held just to satisfy that man. Adolphinus belonged in the mental ward, not this poor boy. This boy needed his freedom back – as did she. She genuinely felt sorry for him and wanted no more to be the cause of his pain and suffering. She would not have him on her conscience. Everything in her head that was bad, mad, or sad had to go – at least everything not directly connected to that despicable Adolphinus. What more misery would he inflict upon others with his new power? Would no one stop him?

  Checking that she was not being watched by any patients – most were too afraid to look at her – she unlocked the main door, which led to freedom. Creeping up on Mozak from behind, she whispered in his ear.

  ‘Timothy, the door is unlocked. Escape. Escape Timothy, back to your castle. Evil Adolphinus wants you dead.’

  But as usual, Mozak was not asleep, just switched off; with eyes closed for he had no good reason to keep them open. With his eyes shut, it was easier to forget where he was. When his eyes opened, Miuccia retreated to the far end of the room and disappeared out through a side door. But Mozak had recognised her voice. Had the woman gone mad? In this place, possibly yes. He had to take her at her word.

  Quietly, he slipped out of bed and grabbed his robe and bag of clothes from under his bed, carefully putting his folded letter into one of its pockets. He could not help but be reminded of its contents whenever he saw it, which in turn generated the most uncomfortable thoughts and uncertainties. Trying not to attract attention, he crept through the ward towards the main door. He held his breath as he tried the handle. It turned! The door was unlocked! Freedom! The crazy fucking woman was letting him escape! After recovering his composure, he crept out, leaving the door wide open for any of those useless mad, mental tossers inside to also make a break for it. But if they did would they be a useful diversion, or raise the alarm? Suddenly, he closed the door: better they stay locked up.

  Sneaking into a nearby storage room, he changed back into his true clothes. Suddenly he felt better; alive again, switched on, willing to take on the world. As he followed the signs directing him to A&E, he was stopped in his tracks by one which referred to ‘The Compound’. The Compound: that place where the bastards were holding his father, Valadino Gustlic, his true father. He was split. He was stuck. Life sucked. Run or rescue? This man was his father. What would Timothy do? He knew the answer to that even as he asked it: Timothy would go rescue their father, of course. So, of course, he had to try and rescue their father. He could not abandon his family to this awful place. Family was everything. He realised that now. Timothy would never forgive him. Love each other, that was what their father had said. Mozak wanted to be a good man, like his father, like Timothy. He had been to hell and back, and now he wanted to start all over again, and get it right this time.

  ‘Fuck it,’ said Mozak, as quietly as possible, and followed the sign to the Compound.

  He came to a long, dark corridor. Identical doors ran down its length on both sides, each with a built-in viewing slot. He moved slowly down its length, stopping at each door to peer in; almost afraid of what he might see. Some rooms were empty. The rest contained much the same: a single man or woman sat on or lying in bed; faces looking sad, or lost in thoughts, or lost for the lack of them; sunken faces or else blank faces; faces devoid of humanity; faces attached to immobile bodies, decomposing bodies, bodies which had given up the ghost. They shook him to the core. Each one proved harder to look at as each took its toll. And each time he was glad it was not his father – he even thanked God.

  And then a terrible realisation crept up on him and stripped him bare: these doors were locked, and he had no key. Stupid, stupid, stupid! You stupid idiot, he told himself and kicked a door in frustration. The prisoner inside gave only the barest flicker of acknowledgement. He no longer took any notice of noise: it was one less sensory input to have to deal with.

  Suddenly, Mozak felt less a noble knight on a rescue mission, more a stupid peasant. His self-criticism was cut short by the appearance of the crazy caretaker. The man was making faces at him whilst holding onto a mop in one hand, and a bucket of water in the other. Hope you’re ready for battle, you idiot, thought Mozak, because I am. He began walking towards his enemy. The man put down his bucket and raised his mop like it was a weapon. Mozak laughed as he ran past the man, avoiding his clutches as the man dropped his mop and tried to grab ahold of him. Mozak stopped laughing when he remembered whom he was leaving behind.

  ‘Shit!’ he cried.

  He almost made it out of the hospital, but just as he reached A&E a slow-moving peasant got in the way. He was holding a small sack and a wooden toolbox.

  ‘Out of my fucking way, you fucking peasant!’

  ‘Fuck you,’ replied Rigger.

  By now, the crazy caretaker and two other orderlies were in hot pursuit. A penny dropped for Rigger.

  ‘You’re a patient, trying to escape!’

  ‘Fuck you!’

  Rigger stuck out a foot as Mozak flew past and sent him crashing to the ground.

  ‘You don’t tell me to fuck off. I work here. You’re just a sicko.’

  Rigger clapped to celebrate his victory as the three orderlies grabbed Mozak and handcuffed him.

  ‘Quite right!’ shouted Rigger, enjoying the unfolding spectacle.

  The orderlies
ignored him and led Mozak away. Rigger felt insulted.

  ‘Not even a thank you!’

  The orderlies continued to ignore him. He was a rat catcher, nothing more.

  ‘A tip would be nice!’

  That outburst forced one man to respond.

  ‘Fuck off, and go catch rats. That’s why we pay you. Don’t interfere in the hospital business.’

  Rigger held his sack up high.

  ‘I have arsehole. What do you think I keep in here? Want to buy one?’

  ‘I said, fuck off!’

  Rigger shrugged him off with a laugh and continued on his way out of the hospital. He had finished hunting down vermin for today.

  Mozak ended up back where he had started, in the Mental Ward, and everyone was watching him. He was the centre of attention. He cheered. Some cheered back. He noticed Sister Miuccia was nowhere to be seen. When she was informed, she said nothing, other than to order that the patient be moved to the compound. This twit had blown his chance, and she did not want him talking about it to anyone. She had wiped her hands clean of him. From now on, she had vowed not to give anybody a second chance.

  ***

  The next day, Rigger, mouth still aching and lacking sleep, refused to get out of bed: his wife was bitching him again to go get her money. She had turned nagging into an art form, and her browbeating could beat metal.

  ‘My money!’ he shouted as he kicked her off. It was early, way too early.

  She snapped. She grabbed her biggest kitchen knife and rushed out of the house. The woman was on the warpath. Her daughter, sensing trouble ahead, ran after her. Her youngest, always up for an adventure, for excitement followed in his sister’s footsteps. She stormed up to the monastery, threatening anyone who dared to look at her with her knife, whilst her daughter apologized to them afterward, and her son laughed at it all. Dad was missing a treat.

  Upon reaching the outer wall, the woman climbed the tree she had climbed many times as a child. She knew every branch like the back of her hand. Trees never changed, unlike husbands, sons, and daughters. She stuck the knife into the bark, claiming her territory. Her son and daughter stood at the base of the tree, holding hands now; looking impressed with their mum’s climbing ability, but also nervous as to what she intended to do next.