Their little shop had stayed in its place for four generations, but their once beautiful development had fallen into disrepair. Their sector of Solomon’s Corridors and the four levels above it were now more commonly called the Old corridors. The name Solomon was more of a jest to the old than a name. It was the name of the first leader that ruled on the other side of the river. Shahi Rein Solomon crossed the river now called Rein’s River with a band of followers to build a colony in the sides of two mountainous peaks. He had gathered his followers to cross the river with him as crowding grew in the towns. He came to the twin peaks and built the Corridors. On the other side of Rein’s river more families left and crossed over to settle in the new Corridor colony bringing in labor and goods to furnish the growing economy of Solomon’s people. As the population grew so did the corridors. Long platforms extended further from the sides of the mountain building more corridors for new families. Those were the golden days of Solomon’s corridors. But it like all things new grew old and lost.
By the time Ah-mah was a young woman a civil war had erupted between Solomon’s Corridor and the older colonies across the river. When she reached adulthood she had already lost a brother. Later on married and with child the war continued. Death surrounded her. As the civil war drew on she lost her husband, her only son and finally a daughter-in-law. Now an old woman left alone in a small seed shop she slaved away protecting and earning money to care for two hungry infants one with deformed hands. It was a pity to Ah-mah as both were porcelain children and could have been sold to a good family, but alas the fates intervened and the girl child was found to possess Solomon’s arthritis. In truth Ah-mah did not want to sell her two grandchildren, but she knew that with her as their only caretaker living in the lowest corridor they would live a suffered life. To protect the female child she claimed the disease newborn had already been paid for by a merchant across the river in one of the older towns. Papers were forged to show records of the transaction to the Shahi authorities. Then the child was stowed away for many years from the world. The same was done with the boy, but in his case he was bought by an actual Shahi family from the surface. Child adoption was illegal in the Shahi city. The authorities wanted to weed out families with stillborns afflicted by Solomon’s arthritis. It was a ghastly sight to doctors and new parents alike, and in most cases the mother of the child was removed from the city in the most unpleasant ways. It was also called the Mother’s disease as it was found in her blood to be the dominant carrier. So it was decreed that all children must be born of their biological parents, or in the event of the parent’s untimely death a blood relative must claim guardian to them. There could be no child adopted from outside of the city for fear of new contaminated blood entering Shahi city. That was the law, but the truth of the matter was there were many people living in Shahi city who had Solomon’s arthritis. It was evident in the family that adopted the boy child from Ah-mah. In the final months of the Shahi woman’s pregnancy she stopped feeling her child’s movement in the womb. Fearing the worst the family hired a midwife to deliver the child privately in their home. As their fears proved their own little boy was stillborn. If it were found out that this prominent family had Solomon’s disease then most certainly the mother and all her female relatives would be “Advised” into the lower levels of the old corridors. In their grief the family made the hasty decision to meet with Ah-mah through a third party. They agreed to the adoption when they then laid eyes on Ah-mah’s grandson. The Shahi mother cried when Ah-mah handed her grandson into the stranger’s arms. There in her little seed shop fifteen years ago they met both of Ah-mah’s grandchildren. Before they left with the baby boy Ah-mah made them swear secrecy to the knowledge of the sister. They made their promise as they knew Ah-mah would also keep their secret too. That night the young parents traveled out of the Loam corridor back up to the surface. For Ah-mah she was willing to take the chance of giving her children a better life, and if this life did not want him…it could give him back to her. At least one of her babies could live in comfort.
Presently Ah-mah lived with her diseased granddaughter together beneath the city. The money Ah-mah received from the adoption paid for food and living expense for a few years. Then the money dwindled and Ah-mah relied heavily on the sale of plants and seeds from her shop. But times grew tough and the little shop soon resembled little more than a derelict building. In the coming years Ah-mah scrapped together what she could to care for the darling girl. While above their shop steel grates separated the diseased poor from the wealthy. It did not matter to Ah-Mah that her life had grown difficult. she only cared that her grandchild could live a pain-free life. The layers of steel corridors grew older and dirtier as the years progressed. The people living in the catacombs of Solomon’s Corridor were packed tightly like cattle into the underground structure of the city. The space was divvied up by the amount of gold one’s pocket held. Everyone had a family member or two inflicted with the ailments, but it was what you could harvest from these ailments that set you apart from the other homes.
Ah-mah was very carefully raising Yanette, nobody was to know of her existence. For Yanette by age nine both her porcelain hands had grown large and deformed. They had become clubbed hands. There were days she was teased with the thought of suffocating the poor girl to end the child’s suffering. On these nights Ah-mah would hold her grandchild tightly as the little darling sat crying and shaking in her arms. Then one day she felt it: a lose sediment beneath the flesh. A large nugget perhaps the size of a large grape had broken off the main structure on the child’s hand. It sat cradled in the encrusted knuckles of the ring and pinky finger. Hoping to ease her child’s suffering she placed a rag in the child’s mouth and told her to scream as loud as she wanted. Ah-mah would let her that day. This was not the first time Ah-mah had performed this procedure, but this day was most special compared to the others. The child’s hand was soaked in ice water until it was numb and pale. Quick with a knife Ah-mah made the incision and flicked the flaky white nugget out into a clean ice water filled basin. The child bursted into tears. She gasped in pain, but did not scream. Her hand was plunged into the ice-water and shook vigorously. Ah-mah squeezed the small hands hoping to break off more of the calcifying deposits. Soon after she cleaned and bandaged the wound. She left her grandchild to rest in her rocking wicker chair. Carefully she strained the water and ice from basin. She almost cried out. There among the crusted gravelly bottom she saw the first flashing bits of jagged gold pelts. Each no larger than a peppercorn, but she knew it would buy Yanette her first skin gloves – not a pair mind you-skin gloves were an expensive commodity. There was just enough gold to cover a finger or two. The next day another nugget came loose, and the process had to be repeated again. In this way Ah-mah saved her granddaughter’s life. In the following months there was enough gold to give Yanette new hands, and in the years to come Yanette and her Ah-mah only had to live sparingly to buy new skin gloves.
Fifteen year old Yanette wiggled her fingers freely. “Remember that time it lasted almost six months?” She gushed.
“Then let’s hope this one can last more than a month.” Ah-mah said rolling her chair closer to the dirty blood water. She leaned down and lifted the heavy clay container onto her lap and turned her wicker chair around towards the mildew infested bathing room.
“Let me help.”
“No, you will not. Get dressed, and get ready for Fletcher.” She pointed towards the ambrosia carved wardrobe as Ah-mah rolled herself through the bathroom door.
Yanette frowned and bit her lip. She stepped to the closet and yanked on the heavy doors. “Ah-ma which one?” She asked with slight impatience. Her fingers tapping on her narrow hips.
“Which ever one the Shahi likes.” She replied without looking
Hesitantly Yanette reached for the sleeveless yellow chiffon dress. A chill rippled her flesh. She preferred the long sleeved blue dress with the high collar.
“What did he look like again?” Ah-mah asked
Yanette wanted to sigh. Grandmother asked this every time she was preparing to go above.
“He looked like Father. He looked handsome, and young, and health, and rich.” She replied making the last word bite as much as possible.
“Good, good, porcelain child...” Ah-mah replied.
Yanette sighed and tugged the dress down from the hanger. She watched as the hanger swung wildly before she slammed the closet door. She had to be serious now. Her hands were back in working order. Now for the details she reminded herself as she examined the dress. No stains, fresh scent, refine. She removed her simple cotton undergarments she clenched her hands tightly on the chiffon fabric. It felt good to move them again. Three months on the surface, six months underground. She chanted to herself. She powdered her naked body with lilac dust, and a dab of extra fine cinnamon sugar along the neck line. To taste. Quickly she hulled on the feather weight dress and laced up the satin ribbons along her side seams. Perfect bows. She stood in front of the cracked mirror. It’s black iron frame dirt ridden with years of grim. There was no point in wasting her hands cleaning these things. She studied her waist and hips. It was as Ah-mah said. She had become the girl in the dress. Only her hair need to be fashioned and her lips painted. Yanette would need Ah-mah’s help. She was the only one who still knew how to style hair in the old fashions of the first colonies. Something the young Shahi girls in the upper corridors gushed over. They all wanted to know who did her hair.
The people from the first colony lived a much simpler life. They raised crops in the valley of the mountains. The soil nurtured and grew crops in abundance. A family could rotate their crops across adjacent land every other year. It was a laughing matter because by the following year the soil that was once dead seemed to rejuvenate itself. The people lived in prosperity as the winters were mild and in the summer wild boars were easily chased into the valley by the colony hounds. One day in the afternoon of a lazy rainy summer a stillborn was discovered. Left alone a distance from the cable entrance to the colony. It was severely deformed and was given a nameless grave. Months later a woman gave birth to another stillborn deformed also. Whispers spread through the corridors of the contaminated land the colony had built itself over. Yet some children were born healthy so the debate grew, and so did the disease.
The taxi arrived as a clean black silhouette. No license plaque, no windows. A standard Shahi vehicle. Sometimes she hated when Fletcher did this. He sent a royal taxi to pick-up a non-royal. Was he trying to be the death of her and Ah-mah? The travel was smooth and uneventful to the upper levels. She arrived at the doorsteps of Shahi Sigrid Fletcher. The old horse as Yanette secretly called him. Not only was his face long with flared nostrils, but he carried himself with the same lurching trot of an old worn horse. It was the beginning of spring and would be the third year that Yanette had been presented to the Shahi court as the daughter of Shahi Sigrid’s cousin Ingrid. This was her third year visiting her so-called uncle. The truth was Shahi Sigrid’s cousin had gone missing many years ago. In order to keep up with pretenses a story was concocted to keep the family name honorable. Ingrid was another porcelain child with raven hair. Like Yanette, Ingrid carried a milky white complexion, rosy cheeks, and dark long black eyelashes. Their eyes always large and either a dark brown or black were regarded as most beautiful in Shahi city. But down below in the old corridors they were regarded as no more than walking gold. It was easy for Yanette to be regarded as kin to Shahi Sigrid, and so in the first year of entering court she receiving much flattery & fawning. Yanette was Shahi Sigrid’s summer muse. He was an artist who both painted and built sculptural pieces. Yanette was his inspiration being the subject of most his pieces. She was paid in the warm months to be his jewel, and in the colder season to lay dormant from other men down in the Loam corridor. She arrived at his home just as the sun began to soften the sky. She exited the vehicle with haste and rushed into the museum. Inside she pressed the dress smooth with her hands and climbed the long marble stairs to Shahi Sigrid’s bedchambers. She touched the door handle gently and pushed it open carefully.
“Shahi?” she asked formally. She found him still asleep. Calmly she crossed the room to the other side of the bed. Yanette pulled back the covers. Shahi Sigrid laid still in his night shirt. Slowly she undid her dress and hung it along the bed post. She slipped her leg across the cool sheet and touched his warm leg with hers. Then she pulled her body against his holding him in her arms. He stirred and inhaled her scent.
“You’re here.” He sighed. She nodded into his neck.
“I have a dress for you. Wear it tonight. We’ll be out late. Sleep now.” He mumbled softly. She nodded again.
***
“These girls here…selfish! Vain with their stupid obsession for beauty. I’d sooner wed you than take them for my bride.”
“Julian! The things that come out of your mouth.” Yanette hissed through her teeth.
“Sorry Netty, but sometimes the thought of wretched children sounds better than a wretched wife.”
Yanette stifled a giggle. She had to agree, sometimes these wishful thinking Shahi girls were quite loathsome creatures. Their beauty only extended to the depths of their gold filled pockets.
“Whatever cosmetic adjustments their filthy gold could get.” Julian grinned at Yanette.
She straightened herself up. “They’re not all bad. I like Eve. She’s always been kind to you.”
“Yes, but she makes me feel sorry for her.” Julian whispered. “I don’t want to have a pity wife.”
“Then don’t pity her.”
Julian sighed.
“How’s Ah-ma?”
“She’s still in the wheel chair. I think it’s permanent.”
Julian sighed again. “She’s serious about it?”
“Yes. She said by end of next summer if she’s any worse…”
“She wants me to be there?”
“She’ll never say.”
“I’ll be there.”
Yanette did not reply. She stood quietly watching the other young girls her age dance. She didn't want Julian to see Ah-mah. He had everything up here on the surface. All she had was her Ah-mah down in the Loam corridors. She knew she was being selfish. Ah-mah was his grandmother too. But sometimes she wish it weren't so.
Julian sensed a shift on her mood.
"So how was the old horse?" He asked suspiciously.
"Julian!" Yanette hissed under her breath. She looked around to see if anyone caught him using the derogatory name. He smiled and waved his hand at her with a hint of a chuckle. She had to smile too.
"Terrible, really! I should go find Fletcher. See you tomorrow."
"Hey I might be busy tomorrow. Who said I was going to his new exhibit?" Julian said acting insulted.
"Because, I know you'll want to see if he did any ‘self-portraits’." Yanette grinned.
"And who's the terrible one now?"
"You started it." Yanette whispered and left to find Fletcher.