“Dad and I thought you should visit our holding cells. We think you need to be a little more grateful for your current living situation,” Denis said, his voice dipped in sarcasm.
I wanted to ask him questions, like what was the large problem? Did he not think my idea would work?
The door slid open, and Denis held out a small, black piece of plastic the size of a coat button. He pushed on it and one of the cars blinked its lights and beeped at us. I stifled my mild hysteria enough to be excited about riding in a car. Denis opened my door for me and the guard shoved me inside, bumping into me as he pushed his way into the backseat.
“Kinesh, you can ride in the front with me,” Denis said, eyeing us both through the rearview mirror. Kinesh grunted and got in the front seat, throwing a black sack at my face.
“Put this on,” he growled.
I looked to Denis, who nodded slightly. Doing as I was told, I put the sack over my head. I sensed the car taking off and found the armrest. Music started blaring from the speakers and drowned out the gravel crunching under the tires.
I sank into my chair and waited.
Grant’s eyes kept floating to the top of my thoughts. The way he smiled like he knew a delicious secret and was dying to tell me. I pictured the smile melting off his face as he died in front of me. The feeling was completely frightening. Because I enjoyed the vision. I was scared of it, but I wanted it just as much.
JOSEPH
I followed Nafari through the outer ring of Palma where old people sat together on their porches, talking, drinking, and pointing at the stars. Someone began to sing and other voices joined in. A guard yelled for them to stop. They did for a moment, and then they laughed and started up again. Palma was where the Superior’s iron grip was loosening. The people were not as afraid as they should be. It was only when a warning shot was fired into the air that the old men and women ceased their music.
There was defiance around every corner.
I glanced back to see pipe embers floating in the dark, lighting up the worn faces, mischievous eyes that shouldn’t be so bold. My heart felt less heavy, my hope more realistic.
We got to the gate, and it was already hanging open. I didn’t ask. We passed through every gate easily and were in Ring Four.
Drums like bells, is the only way I could think to describe what I heard.
It was about eight o’clock. At this time, in Pau, everyone was inside, doors locked, curtains closed. Guards always patrolled the streets, but there was never anyone to catch.
Not here.
Soldiers guarded the streets but they had to wind their way through the groups of people—the children playing in the street, the parents sitting on their lawns, clustered in groups, clapping along to sounds I’d never heard before.
I watched as a soldier tried to stop a man from dancing. They warned him, he bowed, and stopped only to start again as soon as their backs were turned. It was only when they grabbed him and dragged him off that people calmed. But then we’d turn the bend and more music and dancing continued. They were clinging to what little freedom they had and risking their lives in the process. I kept tightening my jaw to stop my mouth from falling open.
Nafari relaxed more and more as we passed through these groups. Some people he knew or seemed to. He joined the dancing for a moment, and then side stepped out and kept walking. I kept my distance but found myself relaxing just a little too.
We walked up the path of a plain, standard-looking house. Nafari turned and said, “Wait here,” in a sinister voice.
He turned the knob and went inside. The room was dark, but I could hear voices.
Turning around, I ran my eyes over all the Palma I could see. I took it in and held the possibility of it in my heart. They were bright. Color hung off the people like dumped paint. But they wore it well. They were more ready for this than any other town. I patted the disc in my pack. The firework would go off soon.
Nafari came back quickly; he was still talking as he passed through the door, bobbing his head and talking in a strained tone. “Yes, yes, all right, woman.”
A woman’s voice muttered in the dark. I couldn’t quite make out the words.
“Who were you talking to?” I asked as I watched Nafari kick off his shoes and swing himself up into the palm tree that grew in the front yard, leaning towards the roof.
Between grunts and heavy breathing, he said, “My wife.” Then he chuckled as he paused and held out his hand, beckoning me to follow.
I took off my shoes and climbed after him, my soft feet getting cut up on the rough bark. The tree struggled under my weight but luckily, it just leaned closer to the roof. Nafari held out his hand, and I grabbed it. The palm tree sprung back into place as I met the roof. “How are we going to get down?” I asked, my skin prickling from sweat and the cool wind that ran over the tin roof.
“We jump.” Nafari jumped high and landed firmly on his feet, while the roof vibrated from his impact. His wife shrieked and swore inside the house. The door swung open and a small, dark woman with her hair swept into a colorful rag stomped down the path with a bag on her back. Nafari watched her leave in silence.
I put my hands out to steady myself and followed him to the apex where we sat down to wait. Nafari placed his hands down on either side of his body and leaned his head back to gaze at the stars. He sighed, the sound like an empty water tank.
“Do you miss your wife Rosa?” he said, his round eyes still staring at the sky.
I miss her like someone performed open-heart surgery on me and forgot to sew me back up. They cracked my chest and left me that way, gaping and in danger of infection.
“I’m not married,” I replied.
He punched my arm. “The way you stare at her face in the sky. How you feel about her in here,” he punched his chest, “you are joined even if you’re not married.”
I know.
“Have you missed your wife?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. At this, he laughed hoarsely, a whistle coming from his gappy mouth.
“I don’t miss her. We are not joined. We are married, but I don’t love her. We were forced to marry. The one thing I do miss is our child.” His head fell between his knees. “I don’t even know where she is or if she’s alive.”
“What was her name?”
“Zawadi.”
“Beautiful,” I whispered.
“It means ‘gift’.” Nafari clasped his hands tightly, and quiet floated between us for a few minutes.
“Joseph, when we start the playback, I will run to the gate. You can stay here if you want.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m coming with you.”
He nodded.
We stared up at the sky and waited for the firework.
I placed the disc on the chimney of Nafari’s home, my finger hovering over the play button. Once I pushed it, we had five minutes before it started.
In Pau, on Signing Day, everyone was forced from their homes. Kids stood in their pajamas in the street, shivering. We lined the sidewalk like mannequins arranged to look awed. The firework went off, we clapped, and then we were told to go back inside.
Here, the firework popped and shot into the sky. I watched the streets for the peoples’ reaction. But they continued to talk and sing as if nothing had happened. Shuffling around their fires, their hands and faces reddened from warmth. No one even looked up.
I pressed the button on the video disc, and we skidded off the roof.
Nafari took off running.
Just as we passed through the first gate, the playback started. I didn’t look up tonight. I followed Nafari’s dark form through the streets, the lights catching us in quick snapshots of action. My legs burned to keep up with him. He was a small ball of muscle, fast and determined.