| Issue #1 | Archived Issues | ISSN 1916-341X | Feedback | Submissions | Contact |
No one seems to recall the rigors of starving multitudes, or the horror of war torn streets riddled with the scent of death and deprivation. No one else it would seem, sees that mankind is composed of diverse races, for all that we are supposed to retain, is that we are all one, in the name of brotherhood.
The Intervention was possibly gaseous, and manmade in origin, when it was released into the earth’s atmosphere and drinking water for a period of three long days. It was the amount of time deemed necessary to hypnotize as it were, every man woman and child on the planet.
At sixteen years old I am a living miracle. I hoard memories! I am unlike all the others around me. My unique perspective was thrust upon me two years ago when the Intervention first occurred. It was in strange unforeseen circumstances that I made contact with Rachel Malloy, an old woman, whom everyone assumed had died. Thus I alone know that she lives, and it is I alone, who am able to gaze with wonder at her black skin, and marvel at how it pulls taut like a shield over her strong bones. Her eyes brilliant and large even in old age, are yellowy, watery and animated as she speaks of the world before the Intervention.
“There was a time long gone by when all people was different.” She would say, her ropy hand caressing her jaw, a half smile on her lips, as though inwardly amused at her ability to remember such contraband observations.
“Some of us like me, was black and shiny, almost like eggplant. Others of us was brown, and some was beige and even pale yellow, and then there was the white people them, who hundreds of years ago considered themselves our masters. But even them find out that it hard enough mastering oneself, much less mastering others. People started mixing up them genes more and more as populations from East World and West World interbred. But that my child, did not stop the riots, or even the wrong doings we did one another. People was fighting because of racial prejudice. Them say it was to promote racial purity, but what them really ended up doing was killing themselves. And I know, cause I Rachel Malloy remember”
The day I first met Rachel Malloy, had seemed a day like any other. The Autogram, which every between age human was supposed to watch daily to immerse ourselves in the goings on of our planet, was as usual filled with information concerning riots, rebellions and invasions in the East and the West of our planet. It is strange to imagine that there had been a time when these places separated by stretches of water were once divided into massive portions called countries. How confusing that must have been, and no wonder it necessitated having borders and guards and officials. How fortunate we are in this century that things are more simplified.
The Autogram’s unique ability to bring each individual broadside as it were at world events couldn’t help but sicken me, for it bore witness to mankind’s disarray. I would have preferred to witness man’s humanity to man, and to see things that were “uplifting” as my parents used to say, though they too, like many others have passed away and I, though an between aged male must fend for myself and keep the household running, as my contribution to society and the betterment of mankind.
I don’t know how often I have used my appointed time at the Autogram to
Indulge in sketching, though it is considered an antiquated pastime. As a result of my efforts, I have trained myself in the use of colour and shade, and though I am inclined to use outlandish perspectives, I find that it serves to achieve unusual dramatic effects. I had always thought that my natural artistic abilities would have stood in my favor, in obtaining a position for lifelong employment. But I was mistaken, because here in the West World there was more demand for Autogram watchers, since machines worldwide are said to be more prolific and creative than man. Despite such information, I was unable to control my natural urges. I smuggled colour pieces and ancient dust strewn paper into my dwelling area. No need to mention that as I sat at my appointed post at the Autogram, my imagination exploded on to the paper.
It was on such a day, that for no apparent reason, I wandered away from my home based station, past the nuclear power plants, the estuary of avenues and the underwater malls, into the once forbidden desolate area where a meteor had fallen years before. The meteor had destroyed a vast stretch of our landscape, leaving it ravaged, stark and barren. There was no growth anywhere in sight except for struggling scrawny potted plants brought by enthused squatters now called gardeners, intent on restoring the natural habitat.
The air in Meteor Plains was better than I had expected, and though the landscape was harsh, I found it strangely beautiful, and ideal for sketching. The jagged distant mountain ranges seemed to stand at rigid attention, as their peaks creaked against the sky.
Without hesitation I sat myself down on a smooth boulder, and regarded the unaccustomed landscape, drawing pictures in my mind, hoping I would be able to duplicate on paper, and retain the immediacy of the effect, that such irrepressible beauty had on my senses. Then suddenly I realized that I was not alone, for on the horizon I noticed a girl about my age stumbling towards me. Her hair was long and dark, and even before she was close enough, I knew she was oriental. It was unusual to see an oriental there, since Meteor Plains for some reason unknown to me had become a haunt of mixed race blacks like myself. Perhaps because it was the one place where there were no confrontations, no harsh words and racial innuendos. The landscape itself took precedence, and its restoration and preservation was top priority.
Not far behind the girl was a woman, also dark haired, and who seemed to be having difficulty keeping up with the girl’s bold and determined pace, and it didn’t take long before she stood directly in front of me.
“My name is Laureen,” She hissed, a firm finger on her lips, as she approached cautiously, “Don’t ask any questions, time is short, and they are bound to find us.”
“Who’s going to find you?” I stammered, suddenly jolted from my reverie.
“There’s no time to explain. I am hoping that though you are brown, and not even the same race as us, that I can trust you.”
“You can trust me” I said, fearful of whatever it was that was causing such urgency in her demeanor.
“The woman behind me, she’s my mother. She’s a scientist and as such, she has become aware of an undercover government operation, and as a result, she has been helping to build a secret shelter here on Meteor Plains. But as I said before, time is short. We need to get word to a woman who lives here, though we must at all cost avoid the authorities, for whatever it is they are doing, it will have huge international repercussions involving both East and West World.”
I was so taken aback by what the girl was saying that I must have looked foolish and slack jawed. Then coming to my senses, I realized that just as the girl’s mother drew abreast of us, a folded up sheet of parchment was thrust into my hand.
“Sorry to have to involve you,” Laureen said apologetically, “Please give this to the woman I mentioned who is living here. I had to use the old method of writing, since Autogram mail wouldn’t have been private enough. To find the secret shelter you will have to go through the maze of caves, a half a day’s walk from here, beneath the mountain ranges. When you get there, follow the red sand trail to the left, it will lead you to the entrance of a cave not unlike the others, though marked with a strange hieroglyphic made to resemble an R. That is where she is her name is Rachel Malloy. She has a brilliant mind though she is elderly.”
The girl’s mother came towards me, her appearance and posture marked by humility, as she held my hand in both of hers, and I was surprised at their warmth. Her eyes had looked weary and resigned, though she was more alert than I had given her credit.
” Laureen has given you the parchment.” She said, her voice, a low whisper, “Guard it with your life! Hide it on your person, and here, take this also. It is a packaged lunch we brought, pretending we were here for a picnic. But they already know we are here, so there is no time left, none at all. In fact they should be coming over that rise in less than ten minutes, and you must hide!”
“Hide, where can I hide? The mountains are too far away.”
“Sometimes one must hide in the most obvious places.” She said, nodding towards the redevelopment area. “Hurry, go over to where the potted plants are. There are watering implements there, and large hooded aprons to keep off the muck. You’ll fit right in with the other gardeners you’re the right colour. Be quick!”
I hardly dared look back, for instinctively I knew I might be watched. I approached the gardening area, and noticed two or three squatters busy tending plants. None of who even bat an eye, when I unhooked one of the heavy yellow aprons from a makeshift fence, and dressed quickly before proceeding to water plants alongside the others. And once, through the corner of my eye I glimpsed when a group of four men dressed in close fitting dark outfits, and some sort of covering which partially obscured their faces, came over the rise and approached the two women. I glanced up momentarily from the watering, trying to appear nonchalant and disinterested, and was in time to see Laureen and her mother being led away in the mode of an arrest.
A good ten minutes passed, before I slowly removed the heavy apron, and cautiously began to head out of the gardening allotment. I was hardly even aware that my presence was noticed, until a medium build young man with dreadlocks, perhaps only a few years older than I, called over to me.
“Hi, I’m Luke,” He grinned, “Who are you?”
I didn’t reply right away, being somewhat taken aback by his attention. “haven’t seen you here before.” He continued, and held his hand out in camaraderie, “Are you a member of the environs patrol?”
“No, I’m not.” I replied turning my head away, hoping to remain somewhat anonymous.
“No? Well is the cultivation of new forests not of personal interest to you then?”
“Yes, but only in the sense that I like sketching from nature.” My reply sounded somewhat false, and I found that when I spoke, I could scarcely look into his eyes.
“Do you know why it is that we are restoring the forestation?” Luke said, unperturbed by my answer, “It would give me the greatest pleasure to explain it to you. It is obvious from your appearance that you spend far too much time indoors. Your pallid complexion, for instance, I wouldn’t be surprised if you are one of those Autogram watchers. Are you?”
“Give it a rest.” I said, stepping away from him quite abruptly.
“You haven’t told me your name,” He said sounding both sincere and apologetic. “Please, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just wondered if you even know the history of this godforsaken place.”
It was a long time before I could get my dry mouth to move and respond.
Finally, I took a deep breath, ran my tongue over my lips, and I was as surprised as Luke was, when words came out.
“My name’s Gabriel Angelo.” I said, “I’m mixed race, and as you can see my hair is as tightly curled as yours. My tan unlike yours might not be as a result of exposure to sunshine, for my pale brown skin is inherited, and yes, I am an Autogram watcher. But I have managed to escape its morbid fascination by being creative. In ages past I would have been considered an artist.”
Luke regarded me for the longest while, as though acquiring new respect for the likes of me. But then without warning he pushed me forcefully against the fencing, his hand still on my chest as he spoke.
“My father dabbled in art too,” He glowered. “But that was before they shut him down.”
“What do you mean ‘shut him down’?” I stammered.
“They killed him Gabriel, just like they will kill anyone who doesn’t cooperate with the way they want this society run. You’re from the city, aren’t you? Haven’t you ever stopped to think about how much of your life is controlled? We eat when they tell us, at assigned hours during the day, and only of course, the food assigned us. We sleep when they say so, and we dress in the clothes provided, and heaven forbid that we should step out from under their authorizations. Don’t get me started Gabriel! There is a lot I could tell you, but then of course there is the reason we squatters are here, we are trying to rebuild the earth, though we are starting small. But it is the philosophy of what we are doing that will take root just like these simple plants we are watering. We are even introducing species that have not been known to survive in this part of West World. Take a look at this one for instance, it’s an ackee tree, and it’s doing very well, isn’t it? That vegetable was a favorite with blacks in years gone by. Perhaps it will be again, but mark my words, you too are under surveillance, don’t be naive enough to think they have not noted the fact that you are here.”
“But, who is controlling society Luke? Is it men, or is it machines? I was always provided for. I’ve never had to be concerned about such things. The focus of my attention has always been the Autogram.”
“Well Gabriel, that is because you’ve never had to use your brain to think things out, and so far, you have not broken their laws. But be warned, your interest in art will sooner or later attract attention, and you will be punished. Those running society are the advantaged, and that is how they want things to remain.”
I was still thinking about what Luke had said, a half an hour after leaving the gardening compound, and as a result I almost forgot the folded parchment concealed against my chest beneath my shirt. Only when the parchment threatened to dislodge while I was walking, did Laureen’s words suddenly come back to ring loud and clear in my memory. Without further hesitation I set my sight on the distant mountainous horizon and
with little more than a backward glance I began my trek to find Rachel Malloy.
The sun was directly overhead for most of the way, and I regretted not wearing some sort of headgear for protection. Beads of sweat stood out on my forehead, while streams ran down my back.
Fortunately the landscape was a constant source of inspiration, as I worked out in my mind dimensions, colours and shading for new art pieces I could create. I never seemed to tire of the ragged gullies, the canyons, the jagged rocks, the biting air, and the feeling of being totally alone on the earth.
The landscape changed dramatically towards evening, becoming almost semitropical, with lush palms, ferns, and the occasional citrus tree. After a while, I heard the busy sound of insects, and in the skies I witnessed the passage of a hawk and then a swallow. This evidence of natural restoration must surely be the handiwork of the squatters, I thought to myself, as I approached a grove of apple trees. The world is indeed reverting to the way it used to be. I don’t know how often I had heard my own father speak of locations similar to where I now found myself.
After the long journey through the unfamiliar landscape, exhaustion and hunger began to set in. Then remembering the packaged lunch from Laureen’s mother, I wolfed down the four meat replacement sandwiches, laced with tomatoes, lettuce, mayo and mustard, and washed it down afterwards with three water pellets included in the package. Then I munched on fresh apples from the orchard, which were far better than any apple I had ever had in the city.
By nightfall I was at the foot of the mountain range, I was awed by its austerity, and I couldn’t help but feel insignificant as I stared at its massive peaks that seemed to pierce the sky. A riddle of caves dotted the mountainside, alongside hundreds of crater-like indentations, and rude holes, set there as though by an unseen hand to arouse confusion.
A cool wind blew, as gloom gathered, and I heard a low mournful humming. It sounded like a trumpeter of death and it sent a chill running through me. My first thought was that it was a possible forewarning of a disaster yet to come? To my relief I realized that the mountain itself with its many deep indentations and hollows acted as an instrument that gave voice to the wind.
I was mesmerized by the star dotted sky and the yellowing moon. When finally I averted my attention, I noticed a trail of red sand beneath my feet becoming more visible even in the half-light. I reached down, and examined a handful, and was surprised to find that the sand was composed of small pieces of red jasper. And it brought to mind something my mother used to say. “He who bears the Jasper stone becomes possessed of passion and strong emotion. For he who bears the Jasper stone is engulfed in love.”
The trail led me through a rocky crevice in the mountainside. When after what seemed like hours, I emerged on the other side of the mountain, I found myself inside a strangely quiet and secluded valley, completely surrounded by massive mountainous ranges. There was such a sense of tranquility that I couldn’t help feeling that I had finally found my true home. That peaceful abode was indeed the zenith of my deepest desire, and I found myself easily giving in to exhaustion. I laid down under the stars on what felt like some sort of moss-covered carpeting, and the last thing I remembered, was curling into fetal position before falling asleep.
Shortly before dawn, I was startled to awake to the sound of a rich resonant female voice singing words I thought might be salutations to the sun. I was not alone as I had thought. I turned over on my back, and found myself face to face with a strong looking black woman. She stood over me unflinchingly, as she leaned on a white staff, with her loose purple tunic billowing about her. My artist’s eyes couldn’t help but notice that her thick graying dreadlocked hair was tied in traditional colourful wraps, as they spilled out long and serpent-like from under the covering as though threatening to escape confinement.
“What you doing here boy?” She said her jaws clenched and powerful. “How is it you find this place?”
She was a figure of absolute authority and I was left speechless. It was only when she forcefully jammed her staff into the ground near my face that I was able to respond.
“I’m looking for Rachel Malloy…” I stammered, “I have information to give her.”
The woman stood tall before me, her face stern and craggy though unprovoked, reminded me of the forbidding landscape of Meteor Plains.
“And who want to give Rachel Malloy information?” She demanded, giving me a sharp nudge with her toe.
“I’m Gabriel Angelo, an Autogram Watcher…” I said weakly my words trailing off from unaccustomed dryness, in my throat “I have information given to me by a girl named Laureen, and her mother.”
“And when since Laureen and her mother start sending things to me Rachel Malloy, with somebody so beige and scrawny like you? I don’t even know how you manage to get here cause is not an easy journey if you ask me. “How far you come from?”
“Me, I’m from the city…I’m an Autogram Watcher…..”
“Okay, okay boy, you don’t need tell me bout that again, just tell me what information you have. And when you finish, I might even offer you something to break the fast.”
I hastily reached into my shirt, grateful to find that the folded parchment was still there, and without hesitation, handed it over to the woman.
Rachel Malloy held the parchment up, and the first rays of sunlight seemed to illuminate the written words. I watched her expression grow even darker as she read, her brows more furrowed, and a tick noticeable in her jaw. When she came to the end of her read, she held the parchment like a vice in the claw that was her hand, as her lively eyes darted to and fro as though seeking answers. Then finally resigned, she held me in her embittered gaze, her expression solemn.
“Come!” She commanded, “We are just about out of time!”
I staggered to my feet, and felt her cool hand steady on my wrist, as she practically dragged me across the tranquil valley to a distant maze of caves where I saw the hieroglyphic on the rock face that Laureen had mentioned. It did indeed resemble an R, and I knew without doubt that we were at the secret shelter.
Bending low, we proceeded into the cave’s entrance, though the interior was as dark as a moonless night. After a few meters, the tunnel widened, and strangely enough I found myself becoming more accustomed to the poor light.
“It’s beautiful here.” I said out loud, for the sedimentary rocks, were embedded with bright quartz crystals. Rachel Malloy did not respond, her grip grew tighter as she dragged me on into the mountain’s depts. I heard the music-like tinkle of water running over pebbles, and saw beautifully formed rough granite boulders carved by nature itself. Then there was limestone, dolomite and even gypsum, and I realized that the tunnel was lit not by any manmade power source, but by the presence of bioluminescent mosses and fungi.
“We are there.” Rachel Malloy announced as she held her hand against what looked like a large flattened agate embedded in the cave wall. “This is the shelter.”
If I did not know better, I would have thought I had been miraculously transported back to the city, for the interior of the shelter was spacious, modern, and well equipped, even with an Autogram. “Sit,” Rachel Malloy said nodding towards a table with a woven cornucopia brimming with fruits that spilled out on to the tabletop. “Help yourself, the fruit is quite fresh. There is much that I have to tell you.”
I was midway through a nectarine, when she spoke again. Her eyes seemed somewhat unfocused as she sighed, and began her story.
“Laureen’s mother’s name is Dr. Ivy Chan,” She said shakily, “She been one of the greatest scientific minds that this planet has ever known. We met years ago, became friends, and were considered renegade. Different races did not form friendships back then. But while Ivy trained as a scientist, I grew proficient in the natural arts, finding since childhood that I had powers and capabilities that no one else even guessed at. But enough of that!
The parchment you bring has information that will change the whole damn world forever. You and me might well be the last humans to remain in the state of mind we is today.
You see this shelter, is Ivy and I build it, we did know that a day would come when we would need to seal off the rest of the world. That is why we install generators, oxygen suppliers, and stocked up on crates of water pellets, foodstuff and other things necessary to last us for months. Ivy’s daughter is the only other human who know bout our plans.
Ivy did find out that the scientist them was interested in stopping racial riots and the conflicts it generates, by using chemical means. The experiments them use with rat and chimpanzees did go well, so them decide to use it on humans. Ivy did fraid that them didn’t develop the chemicals well enough, and something could easily go wrong, because according to her, she notice that the rat them start act foolish, and the chimp them was not doing nothing but play. But the other scientist them tell Ivy that she getting too picky, cause that kind of behavior is a normal development in such inferior mammals, and the main thing is that the animal them stop fighting. Now, the parchment you bring from Ivy say that them going to release that chemical into the earth’s atmosphere and drinking water. The resonance will last about three days. That means, starting at noon today, none of us must dare go outside of this cave. It is the only way to avoid the effects of what them calling ‘The Intervention’. I only hope Ivy and her daughter alright.”
The weight and magnitude of what I heard left me reeling. I dropped the nectarine I had been eating, as tears threatened. “Ivy Chan and her daughter have been arrested!” I spat out.
We remained sealed inside the cave for eight days, and learning of my artistic interests. Rachel Malloy introduced me to the craft of using grounded up herbs and dried flowers to produce vegetable dyes and colours. As a result, I spent entire days planning murals, and deciding on colour placements and unique points of perspectives. Thus the time in the cave passed unnoticed. I drew sketches of our city skyline, and began to include the dramatic landscape of Meteor Plains, including people, representing the different races from East and West World. And it was only then that I remembered Luke.
One morning I awoke to find Rachel Malloy rolling back the barrier to the cave entrance. “The worst has passed.” She sighed heavily, “We are pretty safe now. Our heads have not been tampered with. Thank God, we can go outside again. Gabriel, you know of course you can stay here for however long you want, and you can do your painting on all the cave walls, cause you’ll never be short of surfaces and material to work with here.”
What a relief it was to once more step outside into fresh air. I felt enraptured by every birdcall, every breeze, and even the rustle of leaves, and how wonderful the sun. I told Rachel Malloy I would return by late afternoon, though I knew I would be a lot later, and headed towards Meteor Plains in search of Luke, for his words haunted me. I wanted to tell him that I had not once resumed my duties as an Autogram Watcher, and that I was setting about being creative, despite the danger. Most of all, I wanted him to be proud that I was now using my brain.
The gardening compound, after a week, seemed less cared for, plants were drying up in the baking sun from lack of moisture, and the watering implements were hanging up untouched. I walked a good deal further south, following the sound of laughter and voices, and that is where I saw him! Luke, with his dread locks flying, was twirling and prancing in the company of a group of young men, all of different races. There were whites, blacks, browns and Orientals, holding hands and dancing, I overheard the words of their song, and couldn’t believe my ears! “Ring around the roses, a pocketful of poses.”
I screamed his name. “Luke! Luke!” But he didn’t seem to hear me in fact he might have been beyond hearing. His grin like all the others with him was broad and engaging, as like a circle of children they indulged in the game, unmindful of all else. Only then did it occur to me that what I was witnessing was as a result of the Intervention. The world had indeed changed beyond recognition, and the Luke I had met, the defiant Luke, was lost forever.
On impulse, I returned to the gardening compound and retrieved the ackee plant before making the long trek back to the secret shelter.
Rachel Malloy was awaiting me at the mouth of the cave, with her staff held high, a welcoming smile on her lips.
“Thank God you are home Gabriel.” She said joyfully, “You wouldn’t believe what the Autogram is showing. It would seem the whole world has lost its senses.”
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