Dreams Ltd (56 page)

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Authors: Veronica Melan

BOOK: Dreams Ltd
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“Yes, we all lived somewhere else before.”

 

“But I don’t remember my world before, it seems like I’ve always lived here.”

 

“It seems this way for everybody. Yet you can’t remember being born here.”

 

I shook my head.

 

“Because you came here from another place, where you were born.”

 

“How did I come?”

 

“I don’t know, baby. It’s different for everyone - only the Commission knows how and where.”

 

Feeling confused by what I’d just heard, I was still trying to build up some kind of a logic chain.

 

“Why would I agree to come here? Was it bad for me there?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe. Or, perhaps, you just wanted some changes in your life. Anyway, all of us were given a choice, and we all willingly crossed the border. I’m certain about that.”

 

Something pinched me.

 

“What about you, Hulk? Do you remember your world?”

 

He paused, inhaled and released a cloud of smoke, and then he said:

 

“No, frankly I don’t and I don’t want to. Whatever made you say “yes”, it must have been a good enough reason; and if there was a reason, I made the right choice to move here. I don’t regret anything in my life - in general, not in Tally, of course.”

 

It was my turn to be quiet, thinking about everything he’d said. The picture that my mind had created was strange, but spellbinding. So, all of us - all who live in these cities, once lived in other places, until the Commission offered us a chance to move. Greg, Jenny, Tabitha... And what kind of world could produce Hulk – a beautiful one or a mean one? Or Alex, Elmer... every face I saw on the streets came from a different place...

 

“Hulk, it is possible to recall where I came from?”

 

“Do you want to?”

 

I thoughtfully wrapped a long curl around my finger.

 

“I don’t know... I’m curious, but scared. What if I want to get back or remember something terrible?”

 

“Anything can happen, but I have to disappoint you - I won’t touch the door of the forbidden area of your past, otherwise, I’m quite certain, the Commission will take some action as soon as I do that.”

 

“Then don’t do it.” I easily refused this idea, “Wherever I lived, I don’t remember it, so what’s the point? And here I have you.”

 

I knew that, Hulk smiled, as if the air around got warmer.

 

“Don’t you regret asking about all this?”

 

“Regret? No. It’s amazing to know that we live in such a place we know so little about. On the other hand, it makes it even more interesting, and the fact that there was a time when I was a different person and lived in another place - yes, it is surprising and somewhat shocking, but when I think about it, I really don’t want to go back. Let the past remain in the past. I’m more curious about the Levels - who are those people in the Commission and how...”

 

“You are thirsty for some knowledge, aren’t you?” Hulk chuckled. Then his clothes rustled as he got up from his chair, “But leave your questions for another time. My cigar had finished as well as my whisky and I do want you closer than across the table.”

 

His warm palm squeezed my fingers.

 

“Shall we go?”

 

Hardly being able to restrain the sensual shiver that ran up my spine every time this man touched me, I allowed myself to forget about all the questions, and got up from my seat.

 

A strong, attentive, caring man, smelling of whiskey, a warm southern wind, filled with aroma of flowers, a warm and friendly night - what could be better than all of that? Wherever these Levels and cities existed and whoever those people in the silver uniform were - they allowed me to be here, enjoy life and experience moments of true happiness. Therefore I didn’t care that there were more puzzles than solutions and I’ll never find some answers to my questions, but those people have made my happy with someone, who was now standing by me, and I was grateful for that. All the rest can wait.

 
 

Over the next couple of days I often thought about the story I’d heard from Hulk.

 

Who was I before? Where did I live? Why did I decide to move here? But since my memory was not particularly helpful (thanks to the Commission), I dropped these futile attempts, and remained busy with other things. By now my vision was completely restored.

 

Now I was looking at everything in a completely different way - with love, maybe... The reddish mountains were so picturesque, the fields eared with green grass, and all seemed oddly bright, unusually vivid and alive, as never before. To some extent, the loss of my vision became a gift that allowed me again, as if from scratch, to appreciate the beauty of the world.

 

Whenever I wasn’t questioning my memory about my past, I was thinking about how to help Hulk. It became obvious that living on the ranch for the rest of our lives was not an option, since it wasn’t the right place for “happily ever after”. I simply couldn’t imagine myself being a farmer’s wife for years to come, not because I was too demanding - Hulk’s presence guaranteed my happiness, but I wasn’t sure that he - a trained member of the Special Squad and a former killer will ever agree to live here for another couple of dozen years. As I understood Hulk was in a difficult position and couldn’t influence the situation much, so it was totally up to me to find the way for us to get free.

 

But genius ideas don’t come easy and no matter how hard I tormented my brain, trying to plot any sort of acceptable plan, I still couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel; but the final destination could only be reached if I kept on walking, so I kept on thinking.

 

All former duties from my life had disappeared. Completely. Whereas before I was brushing the yard, washing the floors, delivering food to the stone-pit or translating the book, now nobody asked me to do any of that. I was still allowed to do the translation if I wanted to, but there was no more scrubbing or cleaning tasks. Last time I touched the foam was when I was helping Tabitha to rinse the dishes after lunch. So my life suddenly became unexpectedly easy and I couldn’t decide whether this was good or bad. In order not to feel useless or lazy I would sit with the notebook and the Tueric dictionary hoping that this information will become handy one day, if not for Hulk (somehow I felt that he won’t stay in Tally for much longer), but for someone else, who’ll be his successor.

 

Perhaps, this whole situation would have remained so vague, forcing me to moan from powerlessness and doing nothing, if not one event that made this phase to come to an end and start a new era.

 

Here is what happened.

 

Someone was being beaten up again. I heard a guard’s distant shouting when I finished with the translation and went out in the yard, intending to find a sun umbrella for our balcony in one of the pantries. As I was about to reach it, I halted and listened carefully.

 

Yes. Someone was being beaten up - I wasn’t mistaken. The guards were angrily shouting by the field and I ran towards them, not quite knowing what I was going to do.

 

My heart was beating frantically again, my eyes were covered up with a veil of rage and fear and that feeling of devastating inadequacy had returned once again.

 

Why? Why are they doing this again? Violent Greg was fired; did Hulk find the same type of person to replace him? Someone who loved tormenting the prisoners here? Why wouldn’t Hulk prevent such actions?

 

It was unbelievably hot. By the time I ran to the field and froze by the corn, the guards, huddled around a poor guy, had stopped screaming by then. Their stunt was over. The man, who’d been beaten up, was lying on the ground and not moving. I was looking at him, feeling a nasty taste of bitterness in my mouth - a long awkward body with bruises all over it. I could see the ribs protruding on his bare back, a few old scars from whips and thin sand-coloured hair...

 

The flies were buzzing around annoyingly, as I was staring at his hair that looked somewhat familiar. Such a memorable shade. Was it... No, God, please no! Let it be someone else!

 

Once the guard heard my mental scream, he pushed the body with his foot and it rolled on the back - the inevitable conclusion became obvious - it was Ted.

 

“Dead.” Confirmed the guard, and walked away from the body, lighting up a cigarette.

 

No, please no! I was looking at the familiar profile in horror - motionless and pale, with sand stuck on his cheeks. It really was Ted.

 

The same Ted who stood next to me at that dilapidated bus station, who gave me the shiny apple and who endlessly talked about planting the garden, the one who was hoping that he’ll be given a piece of land where he could plant trees, the one who had that gut-wrenching cough when he returned the stolen stones.

 

He was the only person on the entire ranch (except Tabitha), who I could call a friend, and now his body was lying on the ground, covered with blood, sand and dust, and there was nothing that could be done.

 

There was Ted. Now he was no longer.

 

Suddenly my knees became wobbly and I sat on the grass and covered my mouth with my palms, trying not to cry out loud. Unbearable pain spread out inside of me. I wanted to cry, yell, lash out at somebody and rip them to pieces, but instead of doing that I was just silently rocking from side to side, not noticing the tears dripping on my new t-shirt.

 

Lord! Why Ted? Why did he have to get beaten to death when he was already so ill? Why wasn’t Hulk around? Why is he never around when this happens?

 

Trying my hardest to restrain the sobbing, I was watching the clouds running across the blue sky. The grass was swaying; the voices of other workers sounded muffled as if I had cotton wool in my ears. For some people it was just another usual day, not different to any other, but for me something had collapsed.

 

I don’t know how long I would have sat on the ground, if the guards hadn’t passed me with a stretcher – a cover over Ted’s body and only his hand was lifelessly dangling from side to side.

 

As the guards passed me, the cicadas began chirring again.

 

Through the veil of despair a strange idea came to me - what if he’s not dead? What if the guards were wrong and it was still possible to help him? It was a silly hope, but yet it was a hope. Maybe if I do something on time, he could survive even after such a severe injury?

 

Though I could hardly imagine what exactly I could do for Ted, I followed the group of guards with my gaze. They were going to be out of my sight soon, so I quickly got up and ran in the same direction.

 

For a moment I lost them around the field’s edge, but then I saw them again on the road leading up to the buildings. As I was expecting, their final destination was the infirmary, where they’d leave the body covered with a blanket.

 

I stood there like a dog with my nose to the wind, staring at the white building and waiting for the moment when I could get closer. The stretcher disappeared in the doorway and for a while nothing was happening. A few minutes later, the men came out onto the porch, stood there for a while and finally walked away. I wiped the sweat trickling down my temples and in order to avoid bumping into the guards I rushed to the isolation ward using another footpath. There must be that old doctor inside, who watches after his patients like a vulture What can I tell him to make him let me see Ted? Hoping that the doctor wouldn’t be in there was stupid as he’d almost never leaves the infirmary.

 

All these thoughts were flashing in my head faster than the soles of my shoes on the dusty road. It doesn’t matter what I tell him, but I’ll force him to let me in and see the only friend I had at this ranch. I’ll make it even if I have to move him out of the way. It would be good if there was another guy instead - someone reasonable and kind, who’d help me examine Ted and see if we could do something for him, but it was nothing but wishful thinking.

 

If I could only tell Hulk about everything and ask him to help! He could definitely examine Ted’s injuries much more precisely than I could, but every time I thought that Hulk was the one who’d let this all happen, I felt a lump of anger in my throat which meant that it would be better to postpone this conversation.

 

Plagued by conflicting emotions, but still determined, I finally found myself in front of the white door of the infirmary, took a deep breath, and then carefully knocked. No response.

 

I waited for half a minute and then knocked again. Again nobody answered. That seemed odd. Where was the doctor? He must be somewhere around since the body had just been delivered. My next though made me shiver - wasn’t he in the morgue? I’ll never know until I go in and see it for myself.

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