Chapter Two: Fell
The last thing I remember is Clive carrying me in his arms as we run from what could have been the most horrifying creature we've ever seen—well, not that I've actually seen the whole of it, but that's at least, how I imagine it to look like. That is now the most horrendous moment of my life, and now, as I sit on my bed, looking outside through the window, I contemplate again about the best excuse I can possibly provide to my father, for he will surely ask what Clive and I were thinking when we came to the Horrence. I fear he himself might bring me to the Peace Council to be punished for breaking the Law. But it's been six days now, and I haven't heard anything from my father yet.
"Why isn't he asking?" I ask my brother Hynce, who is lying beside me, busy reading the same book he's been reading for eight months now.
I pore over the light post outside and its pale yellow glow, and realize that it's already evening. I gently turned to Hynce and shoot him a look of curiosity.
"What?!" he says, gawking. He closed the book and put it on the table beside the bed. He brushes his bangs up with his hand, revealing a 2-inch scar streaked across his forehead.
"I don't know, and I don't want to ask" he adds, bearing a tone of sullen irritation.
"I almost died" I say, pulling up my shirt up to my chest to show my scrapes and wounds that are almost healed beneath the bandages.
"Well, lucky you" he says flatly, touching the book as if going to open it again, only he doesn't.
"He was never that quiet!" I insist. I drop my feet on the floor, about to stand, but soon realize my ankles are still aching. I gaze aside at Hynce, instead.
"Clive said you were teary-eyed—almost crying, when you saw me—
"I thought you were dead!" Hynce subtly snaps, rising to his feet, about to head to the door, but soon falls back to bed. I hear him take a heavy breath.
"Who wouldn't cry seeing his brother covered almost entirely with blood?" he asks, and this time he says it like he means it. I know my brother—he never has that sweet side—I know he is, only never that expressive. I remember the times I got into trouble in the academy and he was there to protect and defend me. Sometimes I wish he's like that even at home, because everything changes back here—all the fuss and heated arguments about who should do this and that, about who gets the bigger portion of the meat, among so many other petty things. It frustrates me, sometimes.
"So tell me, why did you go there—in the Horrence?" he changes his tone to his usual exasperated voice. He shoots me a sharp look that demands urgent response.
"I wanted to know if there really is light—the kind we've never seen and felt before" I say, meeting his gaze with a suggestive look I know he will easily figure out what about.
"Sunlight" he says under his breath. "And look what your persistence served you—you almost died little Mr.Rendler."
"There was sunlight, there! We've seen it—Clive and I—"
"Shhh" Hynce cuts me short, his index finger crossing his lips. He points his hand outside the door where I hear dad talking to someone.
"I just came by to let you know about the Council Meeting at the Governor's Hall, tomorrow" says the voice which I recognize to be Mayor John Rendar's. He is the administrative leader of Fell, Salvation's busiest and probably, wealthiest quarter. Fell is situated strategically in the middle of Salvation Ground, about twenty five hectares in size carved around the borders of smaller yet more populated quarters, and home to almost a seven hundred people. They say Fell lies directly under one the three major pipes, to which about a hundred smaller sub-pipes are linked.
"Oh sure Mayor. Jacob has told me about that last night, but thank you for reminding me—I really tend to forget things, sometimes. It is so nice of you to come over just for that. I appreciate it". says father in his low raspy voice. I then hear their footsteps as they probably take the stairs down to the first floor.
"There was sunlight there" I begin to where we ended, again. He cast me a look of surprise but soon draw it back.
"How could you put your life at risk just to see a light? We got plenty here" he throws his glance at the light post outside and brings them to the ceiling where a lit incandescent bulb hangs loose. He looks like he has more to say but even before he can speak again the light shuts off.
"Oh not again!" he says, his voice irritated. I hear him walk back to the table and open one of the drawers to get something—light sticks, instantly streaming the faint glow to his face.
"I almost expected this" I say. We've been experiencing such blackouts since a year ago—at least once a week—, and it seems to get worse each time. We're still lucky in the Fell though, because in other poorer quarters, they get as much as ten hours without light every day; in Fell, only fifteen minutes, and that's the worst we can get a week. Sometimes I feel guilty about all these things that we can enjoy in Fell, while those in other quarters suffer. It is almost as if they were shunned and deprived from all the things they also deserve to have, because after all, they are still part of the underground community.
"I'm gonna go downstairs to get the lantern" he says, handing me one of the sticks.
"I'm sure the power will be back in no more than fifteen minutes but I need to fix something. Stay here" he adds as he proceeds towards the door, pulling it shut before me.
I have some frozen moments staring at the light stick on my hand, mooning at the faint glow it gives. Light sticks are manufactured by the government and are supposedly free for all; sadly though, the poorer ones seem to be withheld of this right.
I peek outside and see the light posts being lit, but with fainter glow.
"Is it back?" I ask, loud enough for Hynce to hear me. I drop gently on my feet and limp toward the door to open it.
"It isn't yet!" Hynce shouts back, his voice hollow. He must be in the wash room, I suspect. Over the stairs, dim light streams through. I watch the dark for some moments, trying to make out and see mom's paintings hinged against the walls, but soon realize the glow isn't enough to let me properly see. Instead, I head laboriously through the stairs, my hands on one of my knees, then proceed to the dining room where Hynce has left the lantern lit.
"Have you eaten dinner yet?" I chant at Hynce, faking my voice like I always do to make monotonous sounds.
I sit on the table, checking whatever is inside the covered boiler, and Hynce is immediately behind me.
"Yep. Go have yours" he says, tossing up a white napkin he took from the canister at the middle of the table, to his arms.
I look at him and wonder what he just did. His pants are rolled up to his knees, partly wet.
"The sewer is clogged, again" he grumbles, hurling back the napkin to its place.
"Have you ever wondered where the filth go?" I ask as I ladle some soup into my own bowl—the one I found on the table.
As if he were disgusted, he scowls at me, his head shaking and his brows arched.
"Seriously? You wanna talk about filth while savoring on that soup?" he squawks lightly. He pours water from the pitcher to his glass and shoots me again a disapproving look, the sides of his mouth twitching sideways.
"Oh god. What did I just—" I blurts as I realize how gross the conversation I just started, is. I stand up to bring the bowl of soup on the kitchen sink, helping myself not to throw up, but to no avail, because as soon as I place the bowl into the basin, I spew.
"Oh come on! I cooked that!" Hynce protests, peeping from behind. I can sense how insulted he is.
I look down briefly and draw back right away, my hand fishing for a clean napkin beside me but soon realize it's on the table.
"I'm sorry I couldn't—I didn't help myself" I say, sounding as if I regret opening up that topic. I pluck a napkin out of the canister and wipe it gently through my lips and cheeks.
"It's my chicken corn soup" he sighs, and even though my eyes are fixed on the sink, I know how disappointed he is.
"The healer said you need that, and I've put some garlic in it!"
"I'm sorry". I say quietly, glancing at him like I mean it. And I do. I know how he put hard work to make it. Mom died a few years ago, and dad has always been out to work since, leaving only him to run the house and attend my needs whenever it's needed.
And then I suddenly feel sorry how I've been wasting all these resources we get free from the government.
Glasshouses are strictly run by the government, employing most of those from the poorer quarters to work for it. Almost everything is planted in the nursery houses—root crops, fruits and vegetables. I've only seen the glasshouses in Fell, once, and that was when my father took me with him to fix the pipes there. It was in that occasion too that I was able to pick grapes right from the vines, while I was still shivering to my spine due to the almost freezing condition inside. I could still remember back then how the workers shot me with their sharp biting looks, and why wouldn't they? They worked hard in the nurseries all day but get deprived from all of it, and there I was, munching on what they deserve to have first.
Husbandry Houses are usually located adjacent to glasshouses. They actually look almost the same, except that husbandry houses are often spacious and larger to secure proper distance between stocks—that includes poultry, pigs and cows. Waste materials from these domesticated animals are used as fertilizers, some thrown out of the city through secret tunnels—which as I was told, aren't passable by humans. Air is also supplied through wind pipes that are conditioned to be what is required for the specific stock. It is also regularly filtered at the end of the day to avoid toxicity and contamination risks.
Work conditions have always been unfavorable for the workers; they get sick and get prone to accidents, all the time. It has always been hard to spend full hours of hazard-prone work inside pre-conditioned nurseries, only to be last prioritized during goods distribution. While those in Fell get their goods delivered right to their homes, the workers' families have to endure long stretches of line to get their rations that are usually not enough for their daily needs. Such inequality forces other workers to install their own glasshouses in their yards, secretly, but often get caught. Those caught are gravely punished—their ration further reduced to almost nothing and get relocated in areas far away from the pipes.
"And that's the last stock we have. We only got some root crops and few meat boxes in the pantry—"
I cut him off, wedging a spoon back to its rack. "I bet the government's running out of the resources. Don't you think it's time for us to finally come out to the surface—"
"Oh come on, how are you going to do that?" he says, throwing at me a look of disapproval.
"We've been stuck here—our ancestors too—for how long? 400 years?"
"Maybe the government knows. They must know, actually" I insist.
"I don't know" Hynce says, his tone falling to retirement. He glances at the door and sees Dad coming into view.
"Hello boys!"
I hear my dad say, making me turn over my seat. He is wearing his gray trousers again, his suspenders running up to his shoulders, which is quite not normal for today. It's Sunday and he usually takes break from work. I suppose there was an emergency within Fell—a malfunctioned pipe, perhaps—that he has to attend.
"What's this?!" he asks right away, seeing the cup of soup on the sink.
"I—I... I threw up. I'm sorry" I say apologetically under my face, pinching left index finger with the other hand. I look up and see dad shift at Hynce as if waiting for an explanation.
"We were talking—actually, Mike was talking about filth, where they go and... " Hynce replies, shrugging his shoulder, not even able to finish his words.
"You know that we need to value all these things we're getting for free from the government, right?" he asks, his eyes implying more of a warning us than giving us information. He opens the faucet and immediately washes his hands.
"I know that" I mumble, looking sideways at Hynce who begins lazily walking out of the room as he says the same words.
Dad walks toward the table and sits beside me and then pours the remaining contents of the boiler to his bowl. He then taps me, saying: "It's okay Mikey. Just keep in mind blessed we are"
I let silence linger between us for a while, thinking about what to say.
I draw in breath and finally start with "Dad about what I saw in the—"
"Oh, we're not talking about that" he cuts me off, and silence lingers again.
"How's your body?—the scrapes and the wounds? All healed?" he cuts the void short.
I draw my breath back, feeling embarrassed. He really doesn't wanna hear it.
"I'm almost fully recovered. Except for my aching ankles and my back, I'm okay" I say, tapping my index finger on the wooden table. I am not sure but I always do that whenever I feel disappointed and in this instance, I guess, for being prohibited to bring up that matter again. Sometimes I wanted to see what he is actually doing to fix the pipes and how they exactly work, for while it may be simple at first look, it's actually more complicated than it looks. At least, that's how he describes it. I mean he never depicts them in elaborate details, but my imagination works and I am easy to please.
"You're lucky, I hope you know that" he says, emptying his bowl.
"I know" I say and begin wondering whether Dad knows I almost died. Yeah, it was my mistake, but why won't he just ask about what exactly I went through?
"Don't wander outside son, get some more rest. I'm heading to my bedroom now—"
"When is the light coming back?" I cut him short. He has emptied his bowl and has stood from his seat.
"It won't be back until after three hours. There's a serious trouble within the electric pipes—a sub-turbine has just shut off, needs to be fixed before returning the power back". he explains as he walks toward the sink to bring the bowl.
"Leave the dishes here. Let Hynce do this and you..." he ambles toward me and pats me on my back.
"You get some rest. Me, I'm going upstairs. Wake me up once the power is back" he says and before I can glance back at him, he's already walking out of the room.
For some quiet moments, I stare at the sink, wondering whether I stay here sulking or go outside, and wait for the power to return. I decide to go outside.
I find Hynce luxuriating on the soft feel of the couch, his favorite book held between his fingers, and that's in spite of the fact that the glow stick he is holding with the other hand, isn't enough to make him able to read. He briefly turns to follow me with an inquiring gaze before going back to his book again.
"I hear Dad telling you to stay inside" he reminds me flatly, but as if I were not hearing anything, I go on.
At the door, I look and say "I'll just sit outside" I go on to a bench wedged to the ground and sit, and start mooning at the faint incandescent glow of the light post. It stands just a few meters beside our two story house.
"Hey buddy"
It's Clive, immediately sitting beside me. I look sideways at him as if examining the clothes he wears.
"What's with my outfit?" he says, gaping. He's wearing plain white shirt and trousers. "I like it—makes me look holy" and then giggles.
"Holy your face" I say, almost laughing, and then hang my arm around his shoulder.
"How are you now, Mike? I'm sorry about what happened" he gasps, sounding disappointed. If I haven't known this guy since childhood I wouldn't know his guilt.
"What?" I exclaim. "You have nothing to be sorry about, it's not your fault—it's mine"
"I could have at least tried hard to convince you not to go there" he says shrugging.
"I know" I almost whisper. "I'm sorry Clive. You and I could have been killed"
"Oh, stop that. You know I'll risk my life just to save you" he says and the chuckles. He touches my knees, as if to examine if they're already fine, only to draw his hand back when he saw me jolt a bit. And then we laugh.
"Silly bruise" he says whisperingly.
My gaze shifts at the light post again and lingers there for some curious moments. I struggle to right myself up as I moon at the bulb that seems to intensify.
"Oh I guess, it's returning" I hear Clive say. I skim the length of the narrow road, watching the other light posts light up and gain a much brighter glow.
"What's happening?" says Hynce who emerges behind us, towering over both Clive and me.
I fix my eyes at the lights for some moments and bring them at Clive; there must be something wrong there. This is not how bright these lights usually do, and evening, just arrived. I mean, there's no way, it's suddenly morning. And then there are popping sounds from the distance, like the sound made by bursting balloons. I run my gaze at the light posts from the end of the street, their lights shutting off like dominoes. And before anyone of us is able to speak a word again, everything goes dark.