I am Not A Number

by Lisa Heathfield

  The gate in the fence is opened and we all push through it, needing to get to the other building and out of the rain. We have to walk across the exercise yard, but my bones are so cold I don’t know how I move. We’re slow enough to look around, needing to see the men we’ve been separated from, but there’s no sign of any of them any more. They must be somewhere behind the boarded-up windows and the closed doors.

  ‘When will I see my mummy?’ Zamal looks up at Destiny. He has one hand in hers, the other in mine.

  ‘Soon,’ she tells him. And it seems enough for him to know this.

  Mum and Lilli are standing at the entrance of the hall, ignoring the swarm of women who jostle past, until I’m with them. Mum’s eyes are red and Lilli looks like a scrap of a person lost in this horror.

  ‘You saw Darren?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes.’ Mum’s lips move, but I can tell that her soul is crushed.

  ‘How was he?’

  Mum nods at me as though she can somehow make all of this okay. ‘He was fine.’ But her hands are shaking as she hugs me.

  Lilli doesn’t make any complaint as she goes to stand with Zamal and Rimi at the front. A strange cloud of happiness steps close to the other children as they all walk out of the room. It’s so out of place here and I hope it’s just because of the extra food they’re being given and not the lessons they’re listening to.

  The rest of us are pushed into groups of four and we cling to Destiny and her mum, Aba, as we sit down. There are more women now than there were the first time, so there’s less space for us all. And there are more guards, dotted around the outside of us.

  ‘They don’t look human,’ I whisper, looking at two of them standing by the door. They look like clones of each other – the same blank expression, sitting on top of insipid skin.

  ‘You must keep seeing them as real people,’ Aba says. ‘Otherwise, how will they see us? If we start to think of them as less than human, then that’s how they’ll treat us.’

  ‘I think they’ve already started on that one, Mum,’ Destiny says.

  ‘Then it’s up to us to change their minds.’

  ‘Everyone, quiet!’ the guard at the front yells and our voices dissolve instantly. How must it feel to have this much control? This much power? ‘Today as you work you shall hear John Andrews speak.’

  I look at Mum. The leader of the Traditional Party is here?

  There’s a fuzzy crackle from some speakers at the front and his voice walks out among us.

  ‘Not the real him then,’ I whisper to Destiny.

  ‘Too busy for people like us,’ she says.

  ‘Fellow countrymen, know that a nation without good laws is a bad nation. And know that we’ve had the courage to instil great laws.’ It’s a speech I’ve heard before. Or maybe different. They all seem staged as they repeat themselves. ‘You are a nation of individuals. Of people who deserve better. Who deserve the best.’

  ‘Are they having a laugh?’ Destiny says, but her mum glares at her so fiercely to make her quiet as we start to sew shapeless grey dresses.

  ‘The first duty of every citizen is to work.’

  Well I’ve got that one right at least. I puncture the material with the needle, in time with his words.

  ‘You had the courage to stand up and say you’d had enough.’

  I zone him out. My stitching is getting all right now but I’m not good enough to do anything like the collars.

  Destiny nudges my arm. ‘Look.’ She nods down to the material in her hands. At the bottom of the dress, she’s stitched steps going up. ‘Cores forever,’ she whispers. And her eyes spark so strongly that everything feels a bit better. ‘I did it with the knickers too.’

  ‘Core supporters in your pants,’ I whisper back.

  ‘So long as they’re gorgeous,’ she says. And through the darkness of the camp and the speech of John Andrews, she brings a line of laughter that grips my stomach too tight as I try to hold it in. ‘They better not make us wear these dresses.’

  ‘You don’t like them?’ I ask, poking my arm through the tube of a half-made sleeve. ‘Is it the colour, or the style that you find so offensive?’

  ‘I’ll be glad to change out of my dirty clothes,’ Aba whispers.

  ‘Imagine walking down the school corridor in this.’ Destiny’s laugh is a shard of rainbow among us, until her mum shakes her arm hard.

  ‘We will heal our broken society.’ John Andrews’ voice keeps squeezing through the speakers.

  ‘We’d certainly get noticed,’ I say quietly.

  ‘For all the wrong reasons.’

  ‘Do you think school is still going on?’ I ask.

  ‘Not a chance,’ Destiny says. ‘It won’t open without us. We’re far too important.’ And she pokes me in the side.

  But she’s wrong. We’re Core supporters. That puts us in the bracket of being dispensable and forgotten about.

  ‘I will not rest until you all live in the country that you deserve.’

  It’s strange to think that they might be at school. Sara sitting at her desk, being told off for gum, doodling shipwrecks on her work. The sounds of the corridors are so clear, the noise of us all as we crush between lessons. Chairs scraping, windows opening, teachers talking. It’s all there, happening right now, but it’s too far away, far out of our reach.

  Destiny nudges my arm and whispers something I can’t hear. I’m confused, so she leans in closer.

  ‘We could put one of our messages on an empty coach,’ she whispers. I look at her like she’s mad. ‘You clean the general’s office. Maybe they’ll want us to clean a coach before it leaves and we could hide a bit of paper under one of the seats.’

  My mind tries to shut down with the impossibility of it all, but I have to keep hoping there’s a way.

  ‘You’re a genius,’ I say and Destiny’s laugh brings light again to the heavy air.

  By the time we stop for lunch, every single part of me aches. My shoulders hurt from being hunched over and my back needs me to stand and stretch. The cold won’t leave me, grinding even deeper than it was before. My eyes just want to close and sleep, but I’ve had to force them open and focus on the threading of the needle and the tiny stitching.

  No one has the energy to speak as we hobble to our feet as though we’re all old women. Someone in the line in front starts to cough and I think they might be sick. The children rush back through the crowd and everything feels so wrong as Rimi and Zamal come to us, when their mum should be here.

  ‘You okay?’ I ask, ruffling Zamal’s hair. My fingers already look different, more bony. He looks up at me and nods, but he doesn’t smile, that lonely silence sitting on him.

  ‘Where’s Lilli?’ Mum asks him.

  ‘She’s talking to the teacher,’ he says.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She had a question,’ Zamal tells her.

  A question? What’s Lilli got to ask that’s more important than coming back to us?

  ‘What was it?’ I ask, but Zamal just shrugs. ‘Does she talk to them a lot?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Does she tell them things?’

  ‘Ruby,’ Mum says. ‘Leave him be.’

  ‘But we should know,’ I tell her. ‘Lilli could be telling them anything.’

  ‘Like what exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know. Stuff, about us.’

  Zamal looks up at Destiny.

  ‘They gave me this,’ he says and holds up a glove puppet of a lion. ‘It’s strong like me.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ Destiny says. ‘What are you going to call it?’

  ‘I want Mummy to choose a name when she comes back.’ The hope in his voice pierces through me.

  ‘She’ll love that,’ Destiny manages to say, just as Lilli appears at the door. She walks slowly towards us, not looking us in the eye.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, standing in next to Aba.

  ‘Why did they keep you back?’ Mum asks.

  ‘I was just talking,’
Lilli says.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About things.’

  I look up at Mum, but she’s glaring at Lilli. ‘Like what?’

  ‘That if everyone just did what they’re told then they could let us go.’ Lilli is angry, but I’m not sure who with. ‘They don’t want to separate us from Darren, but it’s difficult for them.’

  ‘You do know not to trust them, don’t you?’ Mum says.

  ‘I just want Darren to be with us again,’ Lilli snaps.

  I see the glance between Mum and Aba before the guard at the front yells at us all to get into pairs. And as we’re herded out and back through the yard, I try to remember Aba’s words – that the guards are human. That somewhere, under the uniform, under the skin, there has to be a heart that beats like ours.

  We pass the men standing for roll call in the rain. They stare at us and we stare back, but it’s useless to try to find Luke or Darren or Conor. There are too many of them, a bundle of unhappy faces jostling to see us, kept away by the guards and their guns.

  There’s a small wooden stage on their side that some of them must have made this morning. It’s close to the fence, so we’ll be able to see it clearly from the women’s section. Maybe it’s for the general to stand over us and spout more Trad rubbish to us all.

  We’re given soup, but no bread. I’m too tired, too hungry to even complain. We eat it standing outside, the water of the rain mingling with the water of the soup. I’d like to watch the drops of the liquids as they come together, but I need to drink it. I close my eyes as I tip up the bowl, feel chunks of vegetables and potato touch my lips before I let them in.

  I eat the whole meal with my eyes closed, pretending I’m in the garden at home. We’re eating outside for fun, because we can. Just to see what it’s like to hear the rain on our bowls and feel the sky on our skin. I imagine Mum and Lilli laughing and Darren is next to me. He nods at me, his smile giving me strength. I believe in you, he says.

  I tip up my bowl again, but it’s empty.

  In the evening, hunger and exhaustion swamps us all. Rimi sits on my lap, making her rabbit dance on the floor. She’s humming to herself, in her own little world. Destiny is using a sock as a glove puppet as she plays with Zamal.

  ‘I’m bigger and stronger than you,’ he says, nudging her away with his lion puppet.

  ‘Ah, but I can bake better cookies than you.’

  ‘You’re a bad Core,’ Zamal says, hitting the sock puppet over and over. ‘You’re nasty and very bad.’

  Rimi stops her rabbit dancing and looks up at her brother.

  ‘How about –’ Destiny’s voice is filled with forced cheeriness as she takes the puppet from Zamal and holds his hand instead – ‘we try something different.’

  ‘Like what?’ Lilli asks.

  ‘Well, if they’re going to make us wear those grey dresses,’ Destiny says, ‘we need to celebrate looking good as long as we can. I need your help though.’ She stands up and pulls Lilli with her.

  ‘I’m too tired,’ Lilli says. My sister looks like a shadow.

  ‘We’re never too tired,’ Destiny tells her.

  ‘What do we have to do?’ Zamal asks.

  ‘You’ll see.’ The other women are watching Destiny as she goes to gather up some blankets and drops them at our feet. Mum’s coat is next to us, folded as a pillow. ‘Here –’ she holds it out to Lilli – ‘put this on backwards.’

  ‘Backwards?’

  ‘It’ll work.’

  Lilli slips her skinny arms into the sleeves and I feel so protective, so proud of her. How in the middle of the horror of this camp, she’s found a way to keep her soul strong. Destiny does the buttons up Lilli’s back. Her fingers are slow and stumble and I know she’d never say it, but I can tell she’s struggling through her own weakness.

  ‘It looks better than it does on me,’ Mum says, from where she sits with Aba.

  ‘It looks like a straightjacket,’ another woman says, her laughing quickly taken over by coughing.

  Lilli looks funny and beautiful and it should make me happy to see her smile, but it hurts my heart so painfully that I have to bite my lips to stop myself from crying.

  Destiny takes off her own jumper and puts it on Zamal. It hangs past his knees, almost to his feet. It’s the first time I’ve heard Rimi laugh and it’s beautiful. Angel footsteps in the air. It makes Zamal laugh too and it feels like the whole room has somehow found the strength to smile.

  ‘Your turn,’ Destiny tells me. I stand here as she wraps one of the blankets around my waist. I have to hold it in place with my hand. ‘Luke’ll love it.’ She hugs me. ‘You’ll have to show him this sexy outfit when we get out.’

  Destiny layers a blanket over her shoulders, before she takes the red material wrapped around her arm and ties it as a bandanna across her forehead, the stitched number on the inside pressing against her skin. I feel fear creep in that she’ll be caught like this, but her face looks with triumph through the bleakness.

  ‘We’re ready,’ she says. ‘Follow me.’ And we step over the legs of the watching women. Someone tries to stifle her cough, but everyone else is quiet, looking at us, needing this magic. Even Conor’s mum watches, although the sadness in her eyes has leaked on to her skin.

  Aba starts to clap a steady beat and others copy her as we walk among them and Destiny begins to sing. I think it must be one of her church songs and I slow my pace to match it. It’s about love and peace and I want to catch those words.

  ‘Sing it, girl,’ her mother says and Destiny’s voice rises higher. People stop clapping to give the song its place to breathe. I stop walking and I listen.

  We all listen, stilled, until the very final note. And when Destiny stops singing, none of us move. We hold the echo of her voice in each of us. And in me I feel it bloom and plant its own seeds of hope.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘Fellow countrymen, know that a nation without good laws is a bad nation.’ – John Andrews, leader of the Traditional Party

  I’m jolted out of sleep when a guard opens the door. The night has gone too quickly and now I’m awake I can feel my bruised bones and taste the sharpness of my hunger.

  ‘Up,’ he shouts and none of us disobey. Lilli and I fold the blanket together.

  ‘Do you reckon they’ll let us shower today?’ I ask her.

  ‘Possibly,’ she replies, but she’s distant, slightly out of my reach.

  At the door, the guard stops the people at the front, using his gun as a barrier.

  ‘Children first,’ he says.

  Confusion is instant. Mum grabs me and Lilli, her arms steel around us.

  ‘Why?’ Destiny’s mum asks.

  ‘Those under thirteen,’ the man says.

  Under thirteen. So they won’t be taking Lilli.

  Zamal clings to Destiny’s leg. Mum picks up Rimi and keeps her close. They are the only small children in our room. I know others have many more.

  ‘You didn’t answer the question,’ Destiny’s mum says, staring at the guard until he looks at her. ‘Why are they going?’

  ‘It’s overcrowded,’ the guard says. ‘They can’t help with the cooking and cleaning.’

  ‘We can teach them,’ Mum interrupts him.

  ‘Where are you taking them?’ Aba asks.

  ‘They’ll be safe,’ the guard answers, his lips barely moving. ‘They’ll be in an environment better suited to them.’

  ‘Where?’ Destiny asks.

  ‘Is it away from the camp?’

  ‘They won’t be far away,’ the guard says. ‘Hand them over now.’

  Zamal starts to cry. He holds tight to Destiny’s leg as she tries to bend down to him.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ she says, but I doubt he hears as he starts to wail. The sound is too painful for all of us.

  Rimi’s arms are tight around Mum’s neck. ‘I don’t want to,’ she says.

  ‘You’re going to a nice place,’ Mum tells her, but the lie is too suffo
cating.

  ‘No.’ Rimi wraps her legs around Mum’s waist as she starts to cry.

  ‘You give me the children now,’ the guard says. ‘Or I will take them.’ His words squeeze my lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

  ‘You have to,’ Mum tells Rimi.

  ‘We’ll see you again later,’ Destiny tells Zamal, as she peels him away from her leg. ‘It’s just so we can work more. That’s good, isn’t it?’ Her words are fast in her panic.

  Zamal stands and looks at her, his arms by his side, tears relentless on his cheeks.

  ‘But I want to stay with you,’ he says.

  ‘You will be with us.’ Destiny’s voice starts to crack. ‘Later.’

  I kneel down next to him. ‘You look after your little sister,’ I tell him. ‘And I’ll look after mine.’

  ‘Why can’t Lilli come with us?’ he asks. ‘She does lessons with us.’

  ‘She’s thirteen now,’ I say. ‘She’s too old. But you’ll see us all later and when you do you can tell us about your day.’ I hug him quickly. It’s so difficult to let him go. ‘Okay?’

  He nods.

  Aba untangles Rimi’s ankles from Mum’s back. She prises her arms away from Mum’s shoulders and puts her on the ground next to her brother.

  The children are level with the guard’s gun. It stops their tears.

  ‘This way,’ he says and they step out of the door. Zamal takes his sister’s hand and in her other she holds her grey rabbit close. She looks back at us just once before the guard leads them away.

  We hear screaming from the other rooms as children are taken from their mothers. It’s a sound I’ve never heard before and even though I sit on the floor and block my ears, it’s more brutal than anything I’ve ever known.

  A gunshot shatters it all.

  It thuds into my mind and cracks sudden and violent through me, leaving behind silence as we stare at each other.

  Have they killed a mother? A child?

  Mum sits between Lilli and me and curls us under her arms, rocking us close. Yet still I don’t feel safe.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Lilli asks, over and over. ‘What are they doing?’ As my mind burrows its way to blankness.

  Everyone around me looks stunned as the guards make us leave the room and we’re lined up for breakfast. Some women are hardly able to stand, held up by others. I can tell by the shape of their bodies, how they curve forwards in pain, that their hearts really have been taken from them.