Beyond what separates us, p.1
Beyond What Separates Us, page 1
Copyright @ 2020 R. A. Morris
Iguana Books
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Publisher: Meghan Behse
Editor: Paula Chiarcos
Front cover design: Ruth Dwight, designplayground.ca
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-77180-412-7 (paperback). 978-1-77180-413-4 (epub). 978-1-77180-414-1 (Kindle).
This is the original electronic edition of Beyond What Separates Us.
To my good friend Melissa
Prologue
The grey, brightly lit room is full and stifling, with only a couple creaky ceiling fans providing any circulation. Everyone is wearing the same green-and-brown uniforms. But that’s where the similarities end. There are young and old, men and women, and all the ethnicities of the world. Everyone has come to hear the latest progress report.
The woman speaking on the stage at the front of the room is tall with an athletic build. She has olive-coloured skin with dark-chestnut hair pulled tightly back. She stands upright with her chin held high, gazing across the assembled members of the movement.
“Greed, ignorance, selfishness, there are many words to describe our downfall. The belief that we were somehow special, unique, above the laws of nature. The warning signs were there. Yet, we continued on blindly, believing the very economic and political systems that created the problem would somehow solve them. Sheer arrogance.”
To everyone in the room, the woman speaking is known as the boss. She is very animated. Emphasizing each syllable and pausing for dramatic effect. She throws her hands up in the air for the sheer arrogance part. She’s been preaching like that for at least fifteen minutes and is likely to go on a lot longer. The more veteran members of the movement have heard this speech before. They respect the boss, even if she is fond of her own voice.
On the stage with the boss are a mix of the other Elects. There’s one new face. Sitting in a comfortable chair at the end of the podium is a strong and proud-looking black woman, dressed in an assortment of blues, yellows and reds. She stands out from the other Elects in their dark greens or browns. She is very old, with a slight hunch, which she tries to hide. Her face is wrinkly and her eyes milky. She is listening intently as well, nodding frequently.
The boss stops her speech to direct attention to the old woman. “Please welcome Katherine, from Kenya.”
The room erupts in applause while a couple of the Elects help Katherine to the podium. She walks with a cane but stands proudly at the podium, surveying the crowd, smiling. She clears her throat and begins.
One
Budapest
It was hard not to think about that day. The images and sounds replayed in my subconscious, haunting me for months after. The square crowded with thousands of unwashed and malnourished workers. The speeches that led to everyone’s anger boiling over.
The carts of food were the gravest mistake. We had no way to control the crowds. Once the shooting started, the screaming stampede drove me from Anna’s side. Without Anna, I was a shell of a man. She was my heart and purpose.
Before that day, I truly believed that all people could be categorized into four distinct types. After that day and my slow awakening to do something, I realized perhaps I’d been wrong about the four types. Each type had their own characteristics and responded to adversity differently. As things slowly went to shit in the world, my theory on the four types solidified.
The first type of people were the Fatalists. People would have called them submissive or pushovers. They spent their days striving to please others. Insecurities ate away at them. Most suffered from extreme anxiety. They were paranoid, fearful, passive, shy, and meek. When things got really bad, most of them couldn’t handle it. They were the first to go.
Suicides were common among the Fatalists. They just couldn’t cut it in a world without stability and comforts. It was easier to give up. Before things got bad, these were the people who had never really been challenged in their lives. Things were given to them, and people pitied them for their apparent modesty and passiveness. They had no place in the new world. They were easy pickings for one of the other types — the Depraved.
The second type of people were the Depraved. These were the selfish, sadistic, cruel and deranged. They have always existed, taking pleasure from the misery of others. History’s dictators fit nicely in this category. In functioning societies, laws were put in place to control these people. Some fell through the cracks to become the most violent of criminals. Others found different outlets for their depravity. Bullying, fighting, abusing — they hid their own insecurities to prey on others. When things got bad, these people thrived. They preyed on the Fatalists and had good sport until there weren’t very many Fatalists left. They desired no structure, no order, no authority. Their world was one of chaos.
The third type of people were the Reconciled. I used to think they were similar to the Fatalists, but the Fatalists gave up. The Reconciled accepted their fate and lived with it. They weren’t necessarily passive or fearful, just indifferent, complacent. They never really stood out from the crowd. They blended in, neither weak nor strong. They were the neutral players. They could get along with all the other types. When things got bad, they grinned and bore it. Neither selfish, nor selfless, they just survived. These were the most abundant people. The ones who stayed in a job they neither hated nor loved but did because it kept them in relative comfort. They were creatures of routine, unwilling or reluctant to fight for change and easy to persuade and control.
The final type had always been the least common. They were the Valiant. The selfless heroes humanity had always revered. Children grew up pretending to be them. We created cartoons, comics and fictions about their deeds. We gave them powers and moral codes. They were uncompromising, fearless, ambitious and brave — the people who sacrifice themselves to save others. The ones who gave no thought to their own well-being. The problem was, they’ve always been too few. Because of their sacrificial and selfless nature, when things got tough, they tended to not be around too long. The Valiant were the dreamers and idealists. They believed in the common good. These were the people we should have put in power. Unfortunately, they never desired power or glory. The Fatalists wished they could be them. The Reconciled wanted to help and serve them. And the Depraved, they wanted to destroy them, like the comic book villains that our heroes battled day in and day out. I thought there must still be some out there, hiding and waiting for the right time to make the world a better place. At least, I hoped.
If I had to categorize myself, I guess I would be among the Reconciled. I dreamed of being one of the Valiant and had plenty of opportunities over the years to try, but I was too selfish for their ranks. I didn’t want to see others harmed; I wanted the world to be a better place, but would I stick my neck out for someone else in mortal danger? For so long, I didn’t think so. On the day that still haunts me, I had a chance to prove my devotion, my strength and courage. Yet, I did nothing. I ran away and hid, leaving braver people behind.
Two
Bangalore
“Aashi, hurry, gather your things. We have to go,” Jahi said, running into our little shared hut, jamming our goods into canvas bags. Randhir followed close behind, sweating and shaking.
“But, why?” I asked.
“Aashi! Hurry, it’s not safe here anymore.” Jahi yelled my name with an angry tone, indicating he didn’t want any argument. I got up off the floor to help pack our minimal goods.
“Where is it safe?” Randhir said. “We move from building to building, always hiding. We should keep heading south.”
“The roads aren’t safe,” Jahi explained. “We’ll move to the old city centre. The buildings are crumbling, but few people go there.”
I carried a single canvas bag loaded with some clothes and blankets while Jahi and Randhir each carried two bags that held jugs for water, our limited food and cooking gear. We left the wooden hut, with its dirt floor, and headed down a garbage-strewn alley toward the city centre. There were rows and rows of makeshift huts crammed together along this narrow alley. Young families were also fleeing every which way with children in tow.
“What about our gardens and hidden food stores?” I asked my cousins.
“I’ll come back later to grab what I can,” Jahi said. Jahi was in his early forties and really my father’s cousin. The left side of his face was badly scarred from a fire during a riot before I was born. Randhir was in his early twenties, and the only remaining son of my mother’s sister. The three of us were all that was left of our extended family. They were my protectors. I was their little sister, small for my age, but a replacement for the true sisters they had lost.
As we approached another dirt street with burnt-out concrete buildings, I could hear shouting. A mob of people had assembled in the street. There was a lot of yelling and pushing. We hurried off in the other direction. Things had been getting worse lately. Food was scarce, and clean water was even harder to find. I had a constant pain in my stomach. My ribs stuck out from my body. My skin was covered in a permanent layer of dirt and dried sweat. But Jahi and Randhir were strong. Jahi had always kept us safe.
After darting from alley to street, avoiding groups of people, we reached the ruined city centre in a couple of hours. Chunks of concrete littered the streets. Entire buildings had fallen over or had gaping holes in their sides. It was quiet and empty.
“Stay close and together. Be careful where you step. We’ll need to find a stable building,” Jahi said.
Eventually we found one, with three intact floors, on the corner of a narrow street. All the other buildings around it had fallen apart. There was a small group of trees across the narrow street.
“I’ll go in to look around. You two, stay here and keep an eye out,” Jahi said, as he slowly walked inside.
Randhir walked off to look around the area, but I stayed put and listened. There was no sound coming from anywhere.
“This is a good spot, lots of hiding places and routes in and out,” Randhir said, coming back.
Jahi appeared at the main door of the building and waved us in. “The floors and walls seem stable. There are three stairwells, all intact. I couldn’t find anything of use. The top floor will be safest.”
We followed him up one set of stairs. The building was empty. No furniture and nothing on the walls. It looked as if no one had ever been here.
“It’s been a long day. Let’s rest here and we’ll see what we can find tomorrow,” Jahi said.
We emptied our bags, drinking the last of our water and eating the small amount of food we had left, some mushy fruit and wilted vegetables.
It had been a while since I’d slept on a concrete floor and it felt uncomfortable. I awoke to Randhir shaking me. “Up you get, lazy,” he said.
“I’m going to go and get some of our hidden stores and see what I can take from our gardens,” Jahi said, as he headed down the stairs. “You two, stay together and search around here for anything of value. Be careful.”
It was another grey and hot day. Randhir and I started exploring at the small group of trees across from the building.
“Aashi, look, mangoes,” Randhir said excitedly. He reached up to grab a couple. “And they’re ripe!” He threw me one. I used my fingernails to peel back a bit of the skin and bit into its sweet, juicy flesh. We each ate a couple and left the others in the tree, excited to show Jahi when he returned.
We continued exploring along the narrow street, avoiding the buildings that had completely fallen over. We found a large, black barrel under some ruins that would work as a rain barrel and some clean sleeping mats in a building that was still partially intact. We were having good luck. We even found some spots hidden between ruins for some new gardens. I was starting to hope that we could make a home here.
It started to rain that afternoon, which was perfect, since we needed to refill our water. It was a cool and light rain, which Randhir and I used to clean our grimy bodies. Even with all the new things we’d found, other than the mango trees, we hadn’t found any food. It got dark, and Jahi had still not returned. Randhir and I ate another mango each and returned to the top floor of the faded yellow building. Neither of us could sleep, thinking about Jahi.
“He’ll come back, he always does,” I said to Randhir. He just smiled at me.
The next morning, Jahi still hadn’t returned.
“Should we go look for him?” I asked Randhir.
“He told us to stay here. Besides, I’d have no idea where to start.”
“So, what do we do?”
“We keep searching for more supplies.”
We each had another mango and headed in a different direction to search for things. The day was wasting away, and we found nothing of value until we came across a small store. Its shelves were bare, but Randhir managed to break into a back room, which still had plenty of canned goods.
Randhir shrugged. “They’re all expired, but it’s better than nothing.” It wouldn’t be the first time we were forced to eat questionable food.
There were vegetables, like corn, potatoes and peas, and soups, lentil and tomato. The few bags of rice had all been chewed through by mice or rats and were ruined. But with the canned food, there was enough to last us weeks. Randhir took most of the cans and was noticeably struggling to carry it all back. We buried some of the cans near our new home in case our place was discovered, then headed back up to the top floor. Jahi had still not returned. I was really worried now.
“Do you think he’s okay, Randhir?” We were sitting on the floor eating another mango.
“Jahi. He’s a survivor.” Randhir had short, black hair and had always been strong. While the rest of our family fell ill or was killed, Randhir was always a caretaker.
“I miss them … I miss them all,” I said.
Randhir moved to sit beside me, putting his long arm around my shoulder, pulling me to his.
“Me too. Me too. But we have each other still.”
“Do you really think things are better down south?”
“There has to be somewhere better than here. Jahi will see that soon.”
I lay down on one of the sleeping mats for an afternoon nap, picturing a vast jungle with crystal-clear pools of water. And Jahi, Randhir and I building a real home together. Randhir lay down as well, quickly falling asleep. Jahi still hadn’t returned.
He had never been gone this long.
Three
Ontario
Monotonous.
Tedious.
Dull.
Few other words explained life in the city as accurately as these. And that’s the way they wanted it to be. Who they were wasn’t really clear to anyone. To be perfectly honest, no one really talked about them. Not because doing so was a punishable offence, but simply because it didn’t matter.
It became so hard to separate the lies from truth, reality from fiction, that people occupied their time with other thoughts. In truth, it was the perfect system. No more war. No more poverty. No more political ideologies. A sheltered oasis in an otherwise chaotic world.
Every weekday, I woke up at 7:00 a.m., got showered, ate breakfast and got dressed. By 7:45 a.m., I was out the door to wait for the tram, about a five-minute walk from my housing complex.
My one joy was running. There was a river that served as the eastern border of the city and essentially marked the start of the no-go zone.
My own personal rebellion started when I decided to cross that river one Friday night. The sun had just set and what few lights there were on the paths were starting to come on. Very few people ever ventured as far east as the river. It wasn’t far; it just meant descending steep paths into the valley. The trails at the top of the valley were crowded with other people, so I took a dirt trail down the hill to run alongside the river. I found a partially overgrown path and followed it for a while to a crumbling bridge where the river was narrower. There was a fence blocking access. Where the bank sloped down, I could see a tree had fallen over the fence. I must have been crazy, but I wanted to cross that river.
The no-go zones were strictly enforced. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I was caught there, because I’d never known anyone who tried to go. My heart was racing, finally a little thrill in my dull life. I could still see the glimmer and silhouettes of buildings on the other side, where the old city extended, but it had been abandoned a few years after the war ended, when the zones we all lived in now were set up.
I used the fallen tree to climb over the tattered fence and walked back to the ruined bridge, which had fallen in many places, clogging the flow of the water. I had to jump from stone to stone to make it across, but I did it. I was in the no-go zone.
I crept quietly and scurried from tree to tree, not knowing what type of enforcement measures were actually in place. I could see lights back on the other side of the river, but on the east side, there was only darkness. I decided to tempt fate and climb up the hill to walk the streets, where no one had been for at least as long as I’d been alive.
