I know I said I would post the entirety of Chapter 6 today, but the two halves of it are very distinct, it's vitally important to the overall narrative, and it's a fairly long chapter anyway. So I'm posting the first half today, and I'll post the second half on Sunday. As ever, if you're new here, be sure to check out Chapter 1.
Enjoy!
Dave.
--------
6
The men in Mecca have seen so much in the recent weeks that nobody is sure how to react to the disrobing of Sylvia. For many of the men here, most of the discontent in Mecca came from their conviction that this method in such madness could never work, so of course few of us are surprised when the façade of this enclave finally crumbles. Those men who were troubled by the idea of a female in control have nothing left to worry about. All those fears have gone, to be replaced by a void. A void of emotion, I know, that will soon be filled by anger and resentment and whole load of other far worse fears.
Many of the men leave in silence, with the odd snide remark to the side.
“Queer.”
“You fucking bitch.”
I can hear shouting from inside the building. The short man who instigated this trouble sits on the ground and swears to himself before stumbling off with a few allies. Time passes and most of the men fall away from the courtyard with little communication. The edges of my world crumble, yet again. I feel dizzy. How can I face these changes so many times? Will this never end?
Sylvia is weeping, sat on the hard ground, while snow falls into her hair and on her dress, soaking her as it melts and leading her to shiver in discomfort. I can still see her penis, shrunken in the freezing air, through the rip in her dress. Mascara runs down her face etching black rivers of grief.
I stand still in the worsening weather, unsure of which way to turn. I stare at those around me, who vanish into the building or over the fence. I didn’t like the idea of Mecca, but it was something. It was, at least, a vague kind of hope. That’s why I submitted to it, regardless of my feelings. I’m not sure I wanted it taken away with so little warning. Now that this safety net is gone, I find myself exactly where I was a week ago — alone. So I remain immobile in the courtyard.
“Come on,” Timothy says to me. He walks away without checking to see if I follow. I don’t, but I doubt he really cares anymore.
By now, almost everyone has left: the clusters of men previously in conversation; Sylvia’s servants; the cooks. One man remains by the courtyard’s distant fence, on his haunches, rocking backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. Sylvia has pulled herself up onto a low crate where she sits, legs astride, with her genitals now covered by her dress, holding her head in her hands. There appears to be no alternative, so I sit by her side. Maybe I’ll be able to say something profound, like a closing bracket to this whole event. Unfortunately, when it comes to the crunch, I look at her sobbing and sniffing, and find no suitable words.
“All I wanted was to give these men some hope. Was that so wrong?” She says between sobs, “I know I couldn’t do much, but I could make things bearable, right?”
The ethics of her actions are too complex to understand in so short a time, so I state the obvious. “It was a false hope,” is all I say, pathetic and superfluous.
“Of course it was a false hope,” she responds. “What else can there be?” She chokes in a deep breath. “I’ve barely slept during this entire endeavor. I knew they’d find the truth eventually and I’ve expected a lynching or something. But I thought maybe by then I could create something good. Something useful.” Blood drips from her nose into her hand. “I guess I got away lucky,” she splutters.
I’m also crying. I realize I have to leave and go back to what’s left of this desolate world, alone. Then again, now that all hope is dashed, being alone is all I want.
There’s a long pause.
“My hero, you know, is Queen Victoria,” she croaks. “Does that sound lame? I’m sure it does. But you know, Queen Victoria had absolute rulership and she was adored and worshipped for it. She remained unmarried her whole life so she would never have to share her power and we remember to this day — hundreds of years later — how loved she was. And how strong. So confident and sure. Maybe this is the last day she’ll be remembered. If I die, nobody will care about her history.” She pauses, takes another deep sobbing breath, and plunges on. “I didn’t want that absolute power, you know, of course not, but can you see her strength? Against all of those odds. Her womanly force. Can you conceive of it? All men bowed to her. She faced the entire Spanish Armada without batting an eyelid, and she made a legacy, regardless of any family to follow in her footsteps.”
“You wanted to be remembered?”
“For my great legacy.”
“You couldn’t offer a legacy. You could only offer something immediate.”
She shudders in grief and refuses to respond to my criticism.
“You’re insane,” I say, but without enough conviction.
“No. It’s just that nobody understands.”
“I don’t think you understand yourself, Sylvia. You tried to make life bearable, fine, but you only made it all that much more devastating. You’ve shattered all those men, you know that?”
“You were already shattered,” she says as I stand up. Now I’m sure of my plan, what I’m going to do, and where I’m going to go. Sylvia has finally given me direction. “You were already broken,” she spits.
I walk away, into the building, passing into the hallway where men collect their things in a silent frenzy.
*
I climb the stairwell of the now eerie, silent building. The occasional sob carries down a hallway and I hear the odd footfall overhead. There are three men sat in the dining room, ever silent. One of them has his head in his hands, echoing Sylvia’s previous posture. From the stairwell window, I can see Sylvia still outside, her dress torn and her face a mess of grief.
My throat burns.
I go into my makeshift room and find James sat on the bed with an expression of disbelief. Hank’s belongings are gone.
“He picked up and left. It took him, maybe, thirty seconds, and he didn’t say a word.”
The silence between us is too long and too thick. I don’t know how we’ll ever emerge from such a silence, and then we do just that.
“So what are you going to do?” I ask.
James looks up at me. His eyes are red. He shrugs, defeated. “Well, I have to go.” He takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and exhales, trying to push the stress and anxiety out with the air from his lungs. “I wonder if Ben’s doing ok.”
I stuff my own things into my backpack and then, after a brief hesitation, take the blankets from my bed, rolling them up and fastening them to the bag’s straps. “He’ll be glad to see you. But yeah, none of us can stay, right?” My question sounds rhetorical, but it isn’t.
“No,” he replies anyway, without heart. “No.”
I heave my backpack on and give the room a final glance. James sits with his head down, surrounded by his own belongings. I notice the crowbar I’d brought from Lawrenceville and I grab that too. I never did find a gun.
“Goodbye, James.”
He keeps his head down.
I leave the building. The massive changes occurring around me leave me feeling light headed. Each step down the stairwell is a weight off my shoulders. Yes, the outside world will be hard, but I will only have to look out for myself, think only of my own feelings, and be concerned only for my own health.
0 comments:
Post a Comment