With and Without, Within and Without

by Euan McAllen

  Monks and novices fled the scene to the cheers of peasants – but the peasants met their match when security guards (looking for a fight) and religious observance officers (looking for arrests) descended upon them. A pitched battle took place amongst the greenery, the shrubbery, the flowerbeds, the vegetable patches, the water features, the birds and the bees. It became a big, muddy mess. In the end, the peasants fled, bar those the guards randomly singled out as ringleaders: they were arrested and carted off to the town prison.

  Worst of all, in the eye of many, the statue of the Last Head Builder was vandalized. Such an action was unthinkable to many: this was the day that the town had changed, for the worse. The bar had been lowered. Things would never be the same again.

  It did not stop there. The final atrocity committed was an attack on the hospital, its staff, and patients; the trigger being a strike by the nurses. They were demanding the reinstatement of the sacked nurse, and a pay rise to bring them in line with junior doctors, for they saw no difference in job skills, and they worked longer hours. Doctor Varvareo was forced to close A&E.

  The news of the striking nurses spread like wildfire and to show solidarity – and just for the hell of it – peasants rushed to join them. Some hoped that in return they would receive free treatment for their wounds, and some hoped to chat up a nice young nurse for they were the best catch in town. Without first asking, the peasants muscled in on the strike and took up the chant.

  ‘Equal pay for equal work!’ shouted the nurses.

  ‘That’s right! Equal pay for equal work!’ shouted the peasants back at them.

  Some grabbed the placards, tearing them with such force out of the hands of nurses that one received serious injury due to splinters. One placard read ‘reinstate nurse Annaka’. Another read ‘equal pay for equal work’. None of the peasants could read, so a nurse had to read them out. Some nurses – the better-looking ones – were forced to submit to hugs and kisses: all in the cause of solidarity. Disgusting creatures, they thought.

  The nurses quickly grew alarmed by the unrestrained behaviour of the peasants and huddled together, as if in a defensive position. Things turned sour when nurses refused repeated requests for treatment, explaining that they could not attend to wounds as the hospital was closed for the duration of the strike – and, of course, they were on strike, muttered some. It was an uncomfortable situation which snapped when Rigger appeared on the scene demanding treatment for his mouth. It was hurting really bad. His gum had become infected. He would not take no for an answer and hassled a nurse until she conceded ground and took a look.

  ‘I can’t treat this here. You need A&E,’ she told him. ‘When it’s open again.’

  That did not put him off, and he began to bang his fists on the doors of A&E.

  ‘Open these fucking doors! You have to see me! I work here!’ he shouted.

  But nothing.

  ‘I catch your rats!’

  Still nothing.

  Getting nowhere, Rigger called upon others to help him out and before he knew it, he had started a riot. The peasants broke open the doors and burst in: some, like Rigger, demanding medical attention; some to see what could be looted; some – those of good health – simply wanting to see what the inside of the hospital looked like, and see what sick people looked like. The peasants ran amok: fighting with orderlies and doctors, even accountants; terrifying patients and ward sisters alike – the exception being Sister Miuccia and the B&B man. She held her own, threatening anyone who got too close with a surgical knife. It was like she had a death wish, and peasants avoided her like the plague. He turned on the intruders with a hammer, chasing some up and down the corridors and back outside. Unfortunately, he came to a sticky end when he was ambushed at the latrines. Staff and peasants alike received wounds, but still, the nurses refused to treat anybody: they were on strike.

  The man with no legs was kicked off his trolley by a peasant off his trolley. One patient, clinging to the comfort of his armchair, screamed and kicked out, felling a peasant: swearing blue murder, the peasant got up and punched the patient before then dragging him from his chair.

  ‘I’m freeing you, you idiot! Show some gratitude!’

  The patient – who had just begun the long road to recovery – felt his already fragile world disintegrate into a thousand pieces. The peasant left him sobbing on the floor.

  ‘You’re pathetic. You should be locked up.’

  Those words would come back to haunt the peasant: he would be the one locked up.

  Some peasants broke into the Mental Ward shouting ‘Free; you are free!’ When none of the patients took up the offer, they were chased out of the ward. Some patients ran from their pain. Others ran towards it, preferring it to reality.

  ‘Go, you stupid fuckers! Don’t just stare! You are free! Get out of here!’

  Some grabbed patients by the hands and hips, like they were ragdolls, and danced them across the floor, and out into the corridor, and beyond; some shrieking, some sobbing; all begging to be allowed to stay put. Some patients fought tooth and nail not to be dragged from the safety of the Mental Ward: it was their only home, the only place they knew now. They could not face the outside. They wanted to stay inside, for life. Staff and patients alike thought the world had gone mad.

  Rigger meanwhile kept out of the trouble and just sat in A&E, begging for someone to examine his mouth and give him something to take away the pain. Then Captain Dolgar arrived with his guards, looking to break up the riot and make arrests. Rigger was the first: a doctor pointed him out as the ringleader, and he was dragged screaming from A&E.

  ‘You can’t arrest me! I work here! I just wanted someone to look at my mouth!’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ shouted a guard. ‘Or else, I’ll put my fist down your mouth!’

  Rigger went very quiet: the pain would be too much to bear.

  Meanwhile, in the Chief Accountant’s office, he and Doctor Varvareo were having a furious row, as two ward sisters, cowering in a corner, looked on. The Chief Accountant sat on his sack of cash as if trying to hide it, while the hospital’s senior doctor assaulted his senses: he was demanding a pay rise for the nurses, and would not take no for an answer.

  ‘Their demand is legitimate!’ shouted Varvareo. ‘Just meet them halfway.’

  ‘There’s no need to shout!’

  ‘There is when we can’t hear each other due to the noise outside! Look out there!’

  The Chief Accountant looked – but not for long. ‘Savages.’

  Reinstating the nurse was not an issue: both agreed it was the right thing to do, and a great way to get one over on Sister Miuccia. The two sisters endorsed that completely: she had to be brought down a peg or two, or three. Then two peasants burst in and killed all conversation. They looked around for anything worth stealing but did not hang around: both the men in the room were looking for a fight, and the peasants did not fancy the odds. They saw the sack, but thought it contained nothing but potatoes, or something; but never cash. When they reversed direction and ran out, the Chief Accountant punched the air.

  ‘Yes!’

  And with that, Varvareo also left the room: he had had enough of accountants for one day.

  ‘You’ve got the cash – pay them!’

  For one nurse, the one who had been raped by one of the guards (but still came out on strike), things became even worse: she saw him; she recognised him. The guard who had raped her was back. And he was smiling, having a great time beating up peasants. And he looked straight through her, not registering her – or at least that was her impression. She was just another nurse out causing trouble and in need of his help. He saw himself as a shining knight; not a rapist, not a bully. That made her angry for the first time since the episode. She was not afraid now. She walked up to him, from behind, and punched him in the back to grab his attention.
r />   ‘You. Look at me!’

  The man turned and did look at her, feigning ignorance.

  ‘Yes, it’s me! Remember?’

  And yes, he remembered, but pretended otherwise for the raw truth was too much to digest. He pushed her off and went about his business of winning his next fight.

  ‘Stop it, woman, this is no time for silly games.’

  But she would not stop. She had only just got started. She followed him into A&E, almost toppling over as she was struck by a crazed patient flying out. He was dazzled and disorientated by the sunshine. He was back outside, and he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to run back inside. She spotted Sister Miuccia giving as good as she got and was inspired. Like Sister Miuccia, she grabbed a surgical knife and went on the attack.

  ‘Bastard! Say you’re sorry! Look at me and say you’re sorry!’

  The guard was not one for giving apologies and pushed the annoying bitch to the ground: he had peasants to catch. Sister Miuccia helped her up and demanded to know what the hell she thought she was doing. When the nurse dropped her bombshell, Sister Miuccia exploded and without thinking continued the attack on the beast. Wielding her own knife, she threatened him. He laughed – but only pretended to find it funny – and pushed her to the ground before chasing after a peasant who had just escaped his clutches. The little shit had just called him an arsehole: he was not having that. He was a shining knight.

  A sore but still bloody-minded Sister Miuccia cornered her cousin – the smug bastard – and demanded that he arrest the man. Like his guard, Dolgar laughed her off. So she threatened him with her knife – a stupid thing to do as she too was arrested. Another guard sent her crashing to the floor and pinned her down with his foot hard on her back; the full weight of his body pushing down hard left her screaming in agony and fury.

  ‘How dare you! Do you know who I am! Dolgar get your man off me!’

  ‘Take her away, with the others.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘You want to be freed? Free my aunt, and you can go free. Until then, fuck you.’

  Sister Miuccia did not respond, and instead suffered the humiliation of being led away with those peasants who were unfortunate to get arrested, Rigger being among them. She pretended not to recognise him, and ignored him. He, on the other hand, could only laugh. This really was a crazy day.

  ‘Sister, can you give me something for my mouth? It hurts real bad.’

  She gave him a look which threatened to kill, which only may him laugh some more.

  Rigger was shoved into a small cell, one he had to share with some old hag huddled up in the corner, head buried in the folds of her dress. She looked up. Shit, it was the wife! Shit, it’s my husband! She stared right through him, showing nothing less than total contempt. He gave as good as he got. The Riggers had been reunited, but there were no hugs, no kisses, no cuddles. She was the first to speak.

  ‘Who’s going to make dinner for the kids?’ she shouted.

  ‘They can make it themselves!’ Rigger shouted back. ‘What about my mouth! You pulled my tooth, and now it hurts like hell!’

  ‘Cry baby!’

  Rigger snapped and slapped his wife around the face. She slapped him back, leaving him sitting on the floor and writhing in pain.

  ‘Bitch!’

  ‘Bastard!’

  She banged on the cell door, calling for the prison guard. When he appeared on the scene, he stood bemused as she demanded a separate cell.

  ‘He abuses me!’ she shouted.

  ‘What? Why? And there’s no need to shout, woman, I’m standing right here.’

  ‘You tell her,’ said Rigger.

  ‘Cos he’s my husband!’

  The guard looked down at the poor man. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. What are you going to do about it?’

  It was an honest question, and not meant to be threatening or sarcastic, but it sounded like it did.

  ‘Nothing. We are full up. She – your wife – stays in here.’

  ‘No! Get her out of here, out of my hair!’

  ‘Shut up. You don’t give the orders around here. Now shut up both of you and get along!’

  ‘I need some cushions,’ she demanded. ‘For my back!’

  That made Rigger snigger and the prison guard shake his head in disbelief: these two idiots were worse than his children.

  ‘Is she always like this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you married her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rigger, don’t you talk about me like that!’ She wanted to smack both of them.

  ‘Enough!’ said the guard as he slammed the cell door shut. Leave them to it, he thought.

  Stuck together; forced to share the same cramped, dirty, smelly prison cell – it felt much like their bedroom – the Riggers would spend an uncomfortable, hostile night together before being released in the morning after their daughter paid bail. (She would use up all of Rigger’s cash to do it, leaving him furious when he found out. And all because he had had a tooth pulled by his wife, an amateur. God moves in mysterious ways.) The wife pushed the two beds as far apart as possible, making it clear which was hers and which was his. Sex was definitely not on the agenda that night, as each shivered to death on their own bed. But despite the long hard, exhausting day, still, they found the energy to argue.

  They argued until, finally, they ran out of words; again and again over the same old tired ground. He didn’t provide for the family. She was never satisfied: always finding something to complain about; always wanting more. He was scared of hard work. She had raised their daughter as a flirt, a loose woman. He had turned their eldest into a full-time beggar. She spoilt the youngest. He did loathsome, disgusting farts in bed, waking her up. She smelt like shit under the armpits. He drank too much – and with his mates, not with her. She ate too much. He kept leaving things in a mess. She kept moving things around. His breath smelt. She had smelly feet. He no longer told her he loved her. She didn’t love him. She wondered why she had married him. ‘She knew why,’ he said. That finally shut her up.

  ***

  When Adolphinus was informed of events and yet more breaches of security, he blew a fuse. He summoned his chief of police and his captain of the guard and gave them hell, threatening to sack both of them – a threat both knew he could not carry out. Both men stood tight-lipped while he let off steam. His monastery and his hospital had been invaded, trashed, he shouted. The statue had been vandalized. How had this been allowed to happen? What were they going to do about it? What are you going to do about it? Thought Ingel. Leave, walk away from a mess of your own making, that’s what you’re going to do. Dolgar, sensing an opportunity, jumped in first.

  ‘My men responded immediately when the break-in was reported,’ he said. ‘They fought off the rioters and arrested the ringleaders.’

  Ingel was quick to fight back. ‘My men secured the rest of the monastery. There were no other breaches.’

  Suddenly, the cousins were in direct competition, each wishing to outdo the other with regard to a display of leadership and competence. They were first cousins, family, but it didn’t sound like it.

  ‘I will send out my spies. They will identify the organisers. Arrests will be made,’ said Ingel. ‘I give you my word.’

  Adolphinus bit on his lower lip and seemed to calm down a little.

  ‘And if you don’t, my men will,’ said Dolgar.

  Really? Thought Ingel. ‘And how long are you planning to stay then? I thought you and your chief were getting ready to piss off out of here?’ A smile suddenly broke out across Dolgar’s face.

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot Ingel. Guess what.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I arrested cousin Miuccia .’

  Ingel laughed. ‘I know. S
he asked me to come and rescue her, but I refused!’

  The joke was short-lived, and Ingel suddenly became dead serious again.

  ‘Adolphinus, Your Excellency, I swear this will not happen again, not when I am Chief Monk.’

  Adolphinus gave him a cold stare. ‘If, Ingel, if.’

  Ingel gave back as good as he got: Adolphinus had his secrets, and Ingel had them as well. Don’t push your luck, thought Ingel, you owe me. Adolphinus got the message and ended the meeting abruptly. Dolgar caught the strange exchange but could make no sense of it.

  ‘Sorry, one last thing.’

  ‘What Ingel, what?’

  ‘Patients escaped from the mental ward. They will have to be rounded up.’

  ‘If you need my men to help, you only have to ask.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind, thank you Dolgar.’

  ‘Captain Dolgar.’

  Ingel did not respond.

  Adolphinus suddenly looked very nervous.

  ‘Did any escape from the compound?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure? You are absolutely sure?’

  ‘I am sure.’

  Dolgar watched the exchange with interest, as usual filing away the information. With that, the meeting broke up, and Adolphinus retreated to his bunker, leaving the others to continue spitting words at each other.

  ***

  Late at night, alone and liking it, Adolphinus sat on his big fat behind and sipped wine, refusing to let the outside world intrude lest it disturbed his peace of mind – a peace imposed against all the odds, and one he was now clinging to dearly. He did not want to know what was going on out there. He had nothing to say on the matter. He had refused to see his senior monks. He was under siege. The bubble had burst. Personal space had been violated – personal space being his monastery. He was leaving tomorrow, and that was that. He had to be gone.

  He thought about the next day whilst trying to be rid of the current day. He was leaving tomorrow, without delay, without regrets. He was leaving it all behind. Let Ingel deal with the mess. Let him prove his worth. He had wanted it all, and now he could have it all, warts and all. And would she miss him? Of course not. Was he missing her? God, no. Well, at least that was one good thing to have come out of it all: one less skeleton to keep locked in the cupboard; one less ghost to invade his sleep. And Ingel had promised him that his other two problems would remain locked up forever. Forever was a long time, but forever was what it took to be sure. And as for those peasants – savages, scum, of all them – let them have their day. Let them have the town. Let Ingel have his work cut out. One day he would return, stronger, and take it all back on his terms. That was a promise. And as for that Maze? Who knows. He looked at the pieces of torn-up paper scattered across his desk. He had begun to write a farewell speech before giving up: no time for speeches tomorrow; just go, early. Let Ingel say farewell.