Other Worlds Were Possible, page 27
The two friends covered old ground: They discussed Songbird’s daughter, the house, work, money and debt. Then they returned to the subject of taxation.
Songbird said that the natives who had accepted land from the Wogies, had been forced to pay tax, as well as their tithe. They feared the punishments they might suffer if they defaulted. But those clans had resisted the consumer culture the Wogies were attempting to impose. They always turned up on time. They gifted the correct amount of tax and tithe. But they refused to buy the Wogies’ cargo. If they still had some money, after they had paid their fees, they exchanged it for goats, which they sacrificed to their ancestors; burning those goats to ashes in front of the Wogies’ eyes. It was a small act of defiance. But enabled them to maintain their self-respect.
Songbird grew more condescending as the night wore on, claiming:
“These pale-faced motherless daughters! Don’t they know, the frog doesn’t drink up the pond in which she lives?”
And then:
“Chief King! Chief God! Chief Taxman! Chief Merchant! Chief Magistrate! Chief Money! Chief Mortgage! Chief Chief!... These Wogies have far too many chiefs!”
And finally:
“Money this, money that. Only when they’ve cut down the last tree, poisoned the last river, and caught the last fish; will they realise they cannot eat their money.”
***
The clock chimed twelve times.
Sunny rose to his feet.
“Ha!” Songbird proclaimed, before hushing herself, checking on Jack, and continuing in a whisper: “It sneaks up on you, doesn’t it? You think the bell is a tyrant. But you obey its commands, without realising what you’re doing.”
Sunny could not disagree. The bell had inspired him into action, whether he liked it or not. And, now he was standing, he had no good reason to sit.
“You should leave,” he demanded. “Come and live with my clan. Choose freedom. Choose a world without bells, money or tax.”
Songbird’s response was awash with contradictions. Her face screamed “Yes”. Her shoulders jumped, as though to propel her into motion. But her words were a miserable grey:
“Even if you make it out alive, the Wogies will discover what you’ve done. They’ll give chase. They’ll come for you and your clan… Quite frankly, I’d rather take my chances here.”
Sunny tensed a cheek.
“Okay,” he concluded. “But you’re always welcome. Our land is your land.”
“The same.”
They rubbed noses and parted ways.
***
The passageways smelled different, now they were shrouded by an invisible shade of darkness; purified by an absence of light, but sullied by the smoke which was wafting out of the remnants of a thousand snuffed-out fires. Sunny could not see the buildings, but he could feel their presence. They seemed to be tiptoeing towards him, pressing his ribs; inspiring him to up his pace, skip, and then jog.
He scampered in the direction of a glistening light, without stopping to consider its source. It was only when he was standing beneath its shadow, that he realised it was emanating from the very same instrument which had been accosting his ears; ding-donging once an hour. It was a shiny contraption, which reflected the moon’s amber light.
Even when it was silent, that thing possessed an irresistible power! It was sinister, malevolent, and to be avoided at all costs.
Sunny vowed to keep his distance. He backed away, turned, and broke into a trot. He did not even consider the direction he was heading, only that he was heading away from that bell.
He reached the opposite side of the square.
The mud here was knuckled with stones, which seemed to be arranged in lines; like backbones buried in earth. It felt both strange and familiar; caressing Sunny’s feet, but biting his soles.
The air was excessively thick.
A light glistened. At first, Sunny supposed it was that pesky bell. But no. This light was haphazard. It flickered and blazed. It was large and distant, or small and somewhere nearby. It was moving towards him, or away from him, or not moving at all.
Of one thing, Sunny was certain: This was a bad omen. In all likelihood, that flame was illuminating the way for the kind of person who might attack him without a moment’s hesitation. It represented a threat, which had to be avoided.
Sunny’s heart went “Pop”, pounding the lungs on either side. Then it plummeted, returning to its natural position, even though it had never ascended. It defied reason. But it did not have to make any sense. Sunny had already noted the lesson. And now he was taking heed; lightening his step, holding his breath, bowing his head, and diving into a store.
His head crashed into the door:
Clack! Ouch! Shush.
The sound had not been overly loud, but it jarred with the prevailing silence. Anyone who was awake, would have been alerted by the suddenness with which the door had clanged, and by the speed with which it had been hushed.
Sunny’s stomach erupted. If that organ had not been secured in place, he was sure it would have broken into pieces and sprayed in every direction.
He felt pressured into acting with haste, before he was seen by whoever was carrying the torch. But this was counterproductive. His fingers moved too quickly for his brain; fumbling where they should have caressed; jangling with noise, when they were supposed to proceed in silence.
Sunny forced himself to take a breath. He allowed his mind to cool, and his pupils to dilate, before continuing with the task.
It did not take long for him to deduce the issue: The door had been bound by an inflexible hoop. When Sunny had tried to enter, that hoop had smashed against the frame, creating that dreadful sound.
That ordeal was behind him now. But his situation had not improved. There was no way of entering this store, without kicking down the door; an act which would have bellowed across the camp, alerting the Wogies, who would find him and shoot him down. He was almost certain that he was about to be captured. He could sense his adversary’s breath, blowing against his neck, just waiting to be joined by a mouth, a face and a body.
He slunk away from the light, bent double, inhaled and exhaled. At first, there was just one thing on his mind: Escape. But then he recalled the mission; poor Uncle Sparrow, Hope’s precious baby, and all his starving peers. He gulped, turned inwards, tried the next store, and discovered that its door was also bound. He tried a third store, with much the same result.
It was most peculiar. His kinfolk erected a store whenever they built their Small Camp. Their tribe had a much larger store, which was overseen by a Women’s Council. But their entrances had never been bound. Everyone was welcome.
If Sunny had more time, he might have stopped to consider just why the Wogies had sealed their doors. It was such an alien concept, that to understand it would have required a great deal of thought.
But Sunny did not have the luxury of time.
He found a gap between the second and third stores, turned sideways and squeezed inside. It was a claustrophobic space, too narrow to be an alley. He had to inhale to get through the tightest portions. He almost choked, stifled the noise, and almost choked again; allowing himself to wheeze, before sidestepping through to the other side.
It was so dark, Sunny had to see his way through touch; caressing the wall, in search of an opening. He stroked that structure from left to right, and from right to left; repeating this process, and repeating it again.
His efforts were in vain. There was no entrance to be found.
On the precipice of defeat, Sunny struck upon an idea: This wall was made from overlapping strips of wood. If he could remove a few, he might be able to slither inside.
He was unable to get a grip. He shuffled along to the end, where a corner was exposed, and tried again. This time, he had a little luck. He was able to prise his nails beneath the plank, but he lacked the strength to lever it open.
He was close to despair. He had risked his life to be here. He could be captured at any moment. Salvation lay on the other side of this wall. And yet their food remained elusive. It was enough to fry his blood.
He paused to think: Could he kick the wall open? The wall looked too strong, and his kicks would be too noisy. Could he burn the wall? He had been making fires all his life. But the smoke would alert the Wogies.
No. He had been right before. He should test the doors, search for other openings, and attempt to prise open the wood. These were the only sensible options.
He felt his way beyond this store, beyond another narrow gap, and along the rear of the second store. Again, he explored that structure. Again, he tried to break open the wood. And again, he was driven to despair.
He found a loose strip of wood. And then he found a semi-circular hole, where the grain had curved asunder. Laying on his back, he inserted his toes into the opening, pressed his heels against the plank beneath, and pulled the top of his foot back towards his body; levering those planks apart.
The wood creaked.
Shush!
Sunny scolded the wall, before trying once again; going a little slower, and achieving a modicum of success; loosening the plank, but only by a small amount. He repeated the process until it came free at one end, but not the other; creating a smallish gap.
It was a start, but he had a long way to go.
Despairing of what he was about to do, but unable to think of a better alternative; Sunny cursed himself, cursed the ancestors, got down on his knees, and began to nibble the wood. He emerged with a mouthful of splinters, wiped his tongue, picked his teeth, questioned his sanity, and questioned the sanity of nature. Then he began again afresh. He could see that his efforts were having an effect, but his progress was painfully slow.
Sunny would have lost track of time, had he not been serenaded by the bell. By the time it chimed once, he had chewed his way through the first plank. He had cut his lip, but it had not begun to bleed. By the time the clock had emitted another two dings, and another two dongs, he had chewed through both ends of two planks, and removed the sections between. His tongue stung with the serrations, and his lips were pink with pain.
He was ready.
He braced himself, held himself slim, asked Mother Nature for her assistance, thought of Hope, thought of his mother, and forced himself through.
The gap was wide, but not especially tall. His head slid through, when he rotated it to the side. But when he turned it back, he felt certain he had locked himself in place. The Wogies would come, see that he was trapped, guffaw, tickle him, pinch him, cut him loose, and perform the most painful “Punishment” they could concoct. It was sure to be a gruelling ordeal.
He had to press each of his ribs in turn, popping them through the opening, before he was able to slither through.
He tumbled head-first towards the ground.
It was even darker in here than outside. It was as though the walls were reflecting the darkness back onto Sunny, with double the intensity, and none of the starlight or moonlight.
He closed his eyes. If anything, his vision became brighter than before. He opened his eyes, closed them, opened them, and completely lost track of his senses; struggling to recall if his eyes were open or closed, and concluding that it did not make much of a difference.
He reached out, grabbed at thin air, stepped forwards, took another step, and touched upon a shelf. His hands meandered around in a spider-like fashion. His fingers scurried in one direction, and then another; finding nothing, and finding something; something organic, something crispy and… It felt like food! Could it be a leaf? Or a vegetable? Sunny’s brain expanded. It would have pushed against his skull, had his skull not inflated as well. He grabbed that furry substance with more gusto and bustle than he had intended, pressed it to his face, rubbed it into his nose, rubbed it into his eyes, and inhaled its musky flavour; shunting it into his mouth, and chomping down with rapacious zeal.
His body understood before his mind could process the information, spraying bolus into the void. Sunny could not quite believe what he was doing. Why was he wasting this precious food, when his kinfolk were on the brink of starvation? What had he become?
He was left with little choice but to listen to his tastebuds, which were delivering the message his subconscious had been trying to ignore: This was not food. This fluffy substance had no nutritional value.
What was it?... It could not be… It had to be… But no… But yes… It was not… It was… This leaf was… It was cotton.
Sunny was desperate to avoid this reality. His fingers were already scuttling along the next shelf, and the shelf after that; searching for something different. But the longer he searched, the less he could avoid the truth: This was the first store he had visited with Hope. That giant hanger, which contained nothing but rubber and cotton. There was no food in here. His efforts had been in vain.
Sunny supposed he must have known this was a possibility, whilst he was making his way inside. He had been in denial. But there could be no denying the truth: He had exerted all that effort, he had risked the Wogies’ wrath, and he had not achieved a thing.
He could not bring himself to retreat. Even though he presumed it was futile, he still explored the other shelves. Perhaps something had changed. Perhaps this place was now used to store food, as well as rubber and cotton. Perhaps someone had stored a small amount of food in here, for want of space elsewhere.
Alas, Sunny’s optimism did little to overcome the blanched reality of his situation. He was not going to find food in this place, no matter how much he searched.
But Sunny was pretty sure that the next store, which he also visited with Hope, did contain some food. Before he had tried on a pair of foot-cloths and held up an axe, he had spotted a few legs of meat, which were hanging from the rafters in that store, and a row of sacks, which were filled with a kind of grain.
Now his spirits were raised. He almost ran. He almost tripped, almost slipped, actually stumbled, and crashed to the ground with a thud. But the pain, which trickled up his legs, did nothing to dent his fervour. He bounced back up, just as soon as he had landed. He bounded across the store, dove towards the wall, pushed himself through the gap, wedged himself stuck, wriggled around, became more stuck, pushed harder, scraped his flesh, and emerged on the other side.
He wasted no time, sidestepping along that wall, leaping across the void, and feeling his way across the back of the neighbouring store; searching for a loose plank, or a gap in the wood. He was so engrossed with this endeavour, that he responded with a swallowed gasp, when he touched something which felt peculiar. His pulse quickened to an incalculable rate. It almost stopped. Then it returned to its previous briskness.
Sunny had become so accustomed to the feel of these wooden walls, he was affronted by the presence of a different material. He did not ask himself: “What is this?” Rather, he asked: “What is this doing here?”
He flicked that aberration. He pinched it. He butted it with his nose.
Only when he had finished, did he stop to investigate the substance; seeing it with his palm, feeling his way to a conclusion.
No! Sunny could not believe it. He had wasted all that time and energy, chewing through the wall of the wrong store. And the store which contained food, had a window! Sunny did not know whether to celebrate the fact that it might be easier to enter this place, or curse himself for his lack of judgement. Why had he not investigated this building before? His nerves had laid waste to his senses.
In the end, he felt both joy and despair. Those emotions waged war in his stomach; swirling around, mingling with his bile, merging with his blood; leaving him queasy, wheezy and raw. He doubled over, clutched his belly, regulated his breathing, and allowed himself to smile.
The window itself was similar to the one he had seen in Songbird’s hut. It was made of a substance she had called “Glass”; a strange, translucent thing, which repelled the rain, but admitted most of the light. Sunny supposed it might be easy to break. It was awfully thin. But, then again, you never could be sure with these strange, Woggy contraptions.
He gave it a tap, which produced a tinny sound. He supposed it would create an even louder noise, if he attempted to push it through. But, try as he might, he could not think of a better plan.
He took a deep breath. Was he really going to do this? Of course! He had not come this far, just to pivot and back away.
He squatted down and began to crawl; searching for a suitable object, without knowing what that object might be. In the end, he was unable to find anything other than a handful of rocks. He could use those to break this glass, but it would be far too noisy for comfort.
He reassessed the situation, and came up with a better plan…
He removed his loincloth, and stretched it across the glass. He collected the pieces of wood, which he had removed from the previous store, and used them to pin his loincloth in position. Then he took the smallest stone and tapped it against the leather; applying just enough force to fracture the glass, without jostling the shards from the pane.
The loincloth did its job, muffling most of the noise.
Sunny took his time, cracking the window’s perimeter, before fragmenting the central section. When the glass was shattered throughout, he pushed the middle, to little effect. He pushed a little harder, perhaps a little too hard, and felt the glass implode around his wrist.
A shower of crystalline droplets fell through on the other side.
Sunny had done a decent job. The largest pieces of glass were no bigger than his thumb. But he had not done a perfect job. The glass still fell from chest-height, landing with a chime and a jangle.
He ducked, instinctively, before scampering away; hiding in the gap between stores.
He waited until he felt safe, waited a little longer, and only emerged once he was certain that no-one was coming.
He placed his loincloth over the shards which lined the bottom of the window, pushed the wood into the serrated glass on either side, and heaved his body through the void; landing on his hands, and rolling forwards across the ground.
