Chapter 16 (Aronade: age 16/ Mark: age 18 — The Train/ The Shop)
I wait until the following night to move Mark. At first I was tempted to try to move him during the day when Kurt would likely still be in school. But there seemed to be too high of a risk of running into Nan during the day. And there was no way Nan would go for my sneaking Mark into the mansion. And I have concluded that the mansion is the best place to hide Mark. Not only is my absence likely to be felt if I stay away from the school and the mansion for too long, the mansion also has plenty of space available for me to hide him in.
Mark seems to be in good enough shape for me to move him. Certainly, I doubt he will be getting much better than this anytime soon. I am gratified that at least he’s stable. Mark is particularly cooperative about my plan. And I am tremendously relieved when I am able to set him up in an empty room in the mansion, not far from my own room, seemingly without being detected.
The next order of business, I decide, is to get Mark some more supplies. I take a new train the following day after school to go into the city to get those supplies. At first, the train ride is actually pretty boring. The train clacks along to a steady beat. There is just one moment on the route where there’s darkness. That moment is rather startling. There’s nothing quite like the moment when the lights go out and you begin to wonder what would happen if they never came back on.
“How tenuous it all is.” I remark to myself.
In the paper I am reading during my journey, there’s an announcement about “Winter Aid.” Has no one ever heard of Hitler before? The circumstances are different for this version of Winter Aid. Prices are to go up, which will affect the poor and those on fixed incomes disproportionately. But those who still have money can “voluntarily” give it to the poor. Why not instead of gauging the poor beyond their means, you let them keep their money and pay for their necessities themselves? Then, they won’t have to beg to survive. Now there’s a thought.
My eyes then light upon one word in their manifesto. “Herd,” it reads. They want to herd people into the ghettos.
“Herd.” I repeat.
I have suspected for a while that they view us as chattel. But to have it staring me in the face so obviously is a bit of a shock to me all the same.
It’s probably the fact that I am hiding Mark that has me on edge, but I’m noticing how tense everything around me seems, even on a seemingly stable day. Most everyone appears to be on edge around me, even when they try to hide it underneath some of the fakest smiles I’ve ever seen.
They don’t all look scared, though. Actually, most of them don’t. Instead, it’s almost as though they’re waiting for something to happen. Is there something slated to happen that I don’t know about? Perhaps I should have researched this train before I got on it. But then how could I have possibly done that without exposing my hand?
Suddenly, a guard enters the cabin from the front compartment. I watch as most of the others passengers sit forward in their chairs with anticipation. Observing the man make his way down the aisles, glancing at each set of eyes as he passes, is sort of like being mesmerized by a snake that’s about to strike. He looks at me, but I don’t flinch. I’m too intrigued to flinch. It’s like a scenario; it just doesn’t seem real. Then suddenly, the guard whirls to his left. He turns on the man opposite me from across the aisle. He erupts in a burst of unexpected rage — at least I didn’t expect it. He pulls the man from his seat and proceeds to start pummeling and kicking him. I edge to the front of my chair. I feel a creeping compulsion to stand, but the man to my left pulls me back down wordlessly.
“I thought you might be a problem.” he later mutters under his breath. “Get used to it.”
I look at him with confusion. But just then, I am distracted by the sight of the guard pulling the man back toward the front of the train. Instantly, the room relaxes, and the people sit back in their seats. The man to my left starts to read his magazine again.
“It’s all a show.” I think.
Then, I recall the beaten man and conclude, “No, not just a show.”
It has already become a police state.
To say that I am unnerved as I exit the train would be an understatement. There is a chill in the air as I make my way from the train station to the store where I have ration privileges. True, the Instructor could have sent someone to get food for me, but he wouldn’t dream of depriving me of the experience of going to get it myself, I guess. As it turns out, it’s for the best. Now I can get things for Mark that would have aroused suspicion if I had asked Nan or Fraulein Blankenship to go get them for me. And yet, I’m keenly aware of how much danger I am in doing this myself. I may be escaping the Instructor’s notice, but I am learning there are worse things than the Instructor. So it’s hard to figure out which is worse: the Instructor inevitably suspecting that I’m up to something or the off chance I will be reported to the authorities of the elite.
I bite my lip briefly as I stand outside the door of the shop I’m intending to enter and prepare to cross the threshold. They don’t really know me here. Is it better or worse that they don’t know me? Should I get to know them or try to blend in and avoid notice?
There is a soft dinging noise from a bell as I open the door. Almost at once, faces turn in my direction. Obviously, avoiding all notice will be impossible. I force an awkward smile, which is met with cold indifference. Most of the eyes turn away and re-engage in what they were doing before — all but the eyes of the woman behind the counter, whose gaze seems fixated on me. I want to run out of there, but I resist the urge. If I do that, I can never come back. And the Instructor will insist that I come back eventually. I brace myself … I can do this! I don’t have to buy anything particularly suspicious. I’ll just take my time, buy what’s essential, and then leave. She knows nothing. She may think she’s made out a target in me, but I’ll prove her wrong.
I force the smuggest look on my face that I can muster and proceed to walk toward the aisles as though I own them.
“Can I help you?” I hear a rather shrill voice ask me suddenly.
I brace myself again then whirl around toward her. I know it is the woman from before … from behind the counter. I know it.
“Yes.” I sneer. “If my onkel happened to leave a list of things I should pick up here that is.”
The woman blinks first. That’s good, I figure.
“Your onkel?”
“Yes.”
I give her his assumed name.
“I don’t think …”
She rifles through some papers on the counter. She then eyes me with suspicion. She is trying to get the upper hand; I won’t let her.
“Are you sure …?” she begins accusingly.
“Of course I am.” I respond. “About him telling me to come here. I’m supposed to get my supplies here from now on. I have my vouchers.”
I pull the neatly rolled up vouchers from my bag. That seems to give me some credibility.
“I hate to go all the way back with nothing.” I bemoan. I look around me. “Then again, if I got a few things that I know are needed …”
I step aside out of the way of a customer who is waiting behind me. Then, I proceed back to my business of searching out items on my own. Though I try to look as nonchalant as possible, I am careful not to look back at the woman. I’m afraid my bravado won’t last.
As I scan the items with my eyes, I see it. Oh! The dreaded ersatz has reared its ugly head again. What is this stuff anyway? Does it have any nutritional value? It’s now the only “food” most people can afford. There is a top tier of food — made the way food used to be produced — now labeled as a specialty product, so that people will pay the higher prices, assuming they can, without balking. The food that used to be reasonably priced at around cost is being removed from distribution. Greed being what it is, people probably weren’t making much of a profit off of that.
For a while, they actually sold food as “real.” Yes, that was its advertising pitch, I don’t know if they considered raising the prices of the “real” food for a while rather than just eliminating it altogether. Perhaps, they thought it would be too messy to let it be known that most people were being priced out of the “real” food market. It’s hard to say.
Either way, the “real” and reasonably priced food is being phased out. And all that’s left is the exorbitantly priced food only the elites can afford and the ersatz or fake food that seems to be just calories with little or no nutritional value. Of course, this ersatz serves a dual purpose. People earn a lot of money selling what amounts to little more than nothing — mostly chemicals. But it also plays into the hand of the eugenics system. The general population will be starving nutritionally while still packing on the pounds. Life expectancy can, therefore, be reduced on the cheap while people weakened by malnutrition will succumb to diseases — both contagious and otherwise. And there you have it — the perfect storm — greed and sadism.
Then, that gets me to thinking. A policy of mass starvation caused by nutritional deficiency would probably be nearly impossible when people have access to meat. But if you cut off the meat from people’s diets then add in ersatz or fake food then you have the mechanism to reduce longevity and increase vulnerability to disease. This strategy would be particularly easy to implement in inner city ghettos where access to food and health care could be tightly controlled. A eugenicist’s paradise!
I then hear the front door to the shop open. When a male voice booms out a greeting, I know this is my chance to get out of here with what I can without too many questions being asked. I grab what I can remember needing and dash for the counter. The woman behind the counter seems upset when she sees me approach. Just as I suspected, the man had been greeting her. She is fully turned toward him at this point. He likewise seems disappointed by my presence.
“Don’t mind me!” I insist while laying my load in front of her all the same.
Fortunately, my brazen attitude pays off. To pay me back for my rudeness, she opts to give me and my purchases as little attention as possible. She is obviously snubbing me. What she apparently doesn’t realize is that is exactly what I want!
Then, I sense there is a guy who has come up behind me in line. This guy may be a little too close — perhaps a little too curious. So, I step to the side to block his view of my items. Once I’m checked out, I make for the door with the bell. I try not to appear eager to leave, but I am eager all the same.
The wind outside blows cold. I take the bag of groceries in one hand, so I can pull my coat tighter with the other. Right away I question myself. Was I wrong to choose items so quickly in the end? I have this nagging feeling that I have probably forgotten something. How could I not have? I didn’t have time to think. I resist the urge to go through the items that I grabbed to see if I missed anything. That will have to wait until later when I’m alone with Mark.
I really don’t feel comfortable leaving Mark in the house for too long. What if someone discovers him? Someone like Kurt or the Instructor? Boy, does that bring back memories. And yet, I know I couldn’t have left him in that dank, dark hole he was hiding in either. There is no way I could see him recovering there — not this time of year. It is like a dungeon. At any rate, the decision has been made. Now I just have to make the best of it. I am just beginning to consider how best to sneak the supplies into the house when I hear footsteps strike the pavement behind me. I freeze inside. Should I turn around and see who it is? I can’t seem to resist the urge to look. I try to look back as casually as I can — as though I’m not troubled at all. There, on my trail, is the man who had been behind me at the counter. He looks away at first when he sees me looking back at him; that just convinces me that he is indeed following me.
What could he want? I can think of nothing that could be good for me. I look ahead of me now. I am determined to find a way out of this mess. I just have to keep my eyes open and observe. I see a group of school girls around my age not all that far ahead of me. I make the impulsive decision to move toward them. After all, in the very least the man is more likely to be intimidated about approaching me if there are witnesses around.
I start to quicken my gait. I don’t want to run and potentially unnerve the group of girls by my odd behavior. If I spook them, it might embolden my stalker to try and pull me away as he might figure they’re liable to do nothing to stop him.
I want to create the illusion that I’m one of those girls the best I can. I slow my gait when I get within a few feet of the group. Fortunately, they are so engrossed in talking to each other that they don’t seem to notice me. I cast a look back to see if the man is still there. He is. And he’s looking right at me. I look forward again. I need him to at least be distracted for a moment, so I can slip away without him noticing. Just a moment … I’ll have to wait.
“But how long do I have?” I wonder.
If the girls head somewhere I can’t go, for example, I’ll lose what little cover I have.
Fortunately, when I glance back again the man just happens to be looking at a noisy car that had just passed by me and is now passing by him. I take the moment without really thinking it through. I know instinctively that another opportunity might not come along.
I veer to my right and head down one of the paths that leads into the city park. I walk as quickly as I can … until my breath begins to shorten. I’m afraid to all out run, however. I’m afraid someone will stop me thinking I’m trying to evade the authorities. I figure it is dangerous enough at the pace I am going. After all, I am already drawing attention to myself. And yet, I know the farther I can get away from the street the less likely the man is to see me. I am relieved when I finally reach a bend in the path I am traveling on. I can at last allow myself to slow down. I’ve been hungering to take a look behind me; now, I finally can.
“So far so good.” I think. I can see no one behind me.
I walk a little farther and then look back again. Still no one. I keep repeating this process until I am fairly certain he didn’t see me enter the park. But then, he could still catch up with me, I realize. So, I quicken my pace once again — though I don’t walk as quickly as I had before.
The park is massive. It is also rather gloomy this time of year. The rain as of late has left the barren skeletal branches with a drowned appearance. Everything is twisted shades of rain-soaked gloom. Even the air, when you breathe it in, has a heaviness that hurts your lungs. This is not only from the cool dampness but also from the lingering pollution from the factories, which remain open despite the constant mentioning of the environment.
It will take awhile for me to reach the other side of the park. I remind myself to be cautious when I exit. For all I know, the man could have figured out by now that I had probably entered the park and could be waiting for me on the other side.
And who is that guy? Does he have any importance, or is he just a busybody? How can I possibly return to that store now? That guy could be dangerous. Or, he could accuse me of being up to something, which could be just as dangerous.
I start to relax a little once I realize that with my slackened pace hardly anyone is taking notice of me anymore. But then, there is the exit, and I can’t help but wonder who might be waiting for me on the other side of it. I brace myself. Just one more thing to do — just one more obstacle to overcome before I can go home to be with Mark. I blush despite myself.
Fortunately, the journey out of the park winds up being uneventful. That man from before … I don’t see him again. Though, I do look for him repeatedly. I look for him so often, in fact, I become concerned it will make me look suspicious. Though I can’t stop myself from looking occasionally, just in case, I do restrain myself and look less often.
Now it is time for the train … I take the same one as I did before. I have to take it in order to connect back up with the line that services the area of town the Instructor’s mansion is in. The same sort of thing happens that had happened before. A guard walks the aisles looking for a victim. He finds one — a woman this time. She isn’t beaten; she is just pushed to the front of the train — apparently in order to be interrogated. I now know why so many people on the train look numb. I am numb. It’s like we are all being emotionally throttled. And still, that doesn’t explain the people who appear to be turned on by the scene.
I find I too am grateful that it wasn’t me this time, but I feel too drained and too ashamed to be happy. I cast my thoughts to what may have become of that woman … maybe nothing. Maybe they just wanted to scare her — scare everyone. Maybe she was released. Who knows how many people they do that to. Is that the kind of thing the Instructor wanted me to see when he sent me to Mison? Will he insist on my seeing it again?
It has been a far too stressful day. When I return home, I lean back against the now closed front door, feeling a sense of relief rush through me.
“Thank goodness that’s over.” I tell myself. It’s hard to imagine going through that gauntlet again.
I sigh. That is a problem for another day. The important thing right now is I survived the day. And … I get to see Mark again. I remove my coat. Then, I look around me. Every time I enter this front room I analyze if anything has changed. I memorize certain details before I leave and go over them one by one when I return. If the world I lived in were any less disturbing than it is, I realize my behavior would be bizarre. But this is the way it is.
I feel gratified when I conclude that nothing has changed … not here at least … and that’s something. I proceed onward and upward … heading slowly toward the wing where my room is, where Mark is hiding. How glad I am that Kurt stays in a different wing!
I hold my breath when I get to Mark’s room. My reaction is probably mostly due to the past when Mark was hiding at the complex while looking for his sister. Kurt had tried to kill him then, but it seems it was the Instructor who had been responsible for his sister’s disappearance. Fortunately, the Instructor never did … or, at least, never seemed to have found out about Mark.
I open the door to the darkened room and slip through the opening. If I am being watched, there’s really nothing I can do to avoid drawing attention to myself.
“Mark.” I whisper.
“Yes?” he answers.
I turn on the light.
“You’ve been gone awhile.” he observes, sitting up from the mat that he has been lying upon.
I can hardly argue with that statement, I think, looking back.
“It was an ordeal.” I admit. “It is pretty rough out there.”
“Yeah.” he responds.
“I just hope I managed to get everything you need. It could be a problem for me to request these things from the Instructor’s staff.”
I set my bag on the table. I finally have a chance to scrutinize my purchases.
“We’re going to have to do something about that.” Mark adds.
“About what?” I ask absentmindedly.
“We’re going to have to have a plan where I can come for you if you get into trouble. I need to know where you’re going to be.”
I look at him with alarm.
“It’s necessary, Aronade.” he insists in an even tone of voice.
“All right.” I finally agree, still not liking the idea of a wounded Mark walking the streets — let alone what could happen to him on the train.
“We will have to talk out the details.” I conclude.
He nods in agreement.
“Well, it looks like I got most of your medical supplies, thank goodness. I’ll have to raid the kitchen to get you more food — just like before.”
I start to unpack the supplies and arrange them in some sort of order. I have a lot of antiseptic and bandages. It will hurt — undoubtedly —but that can’t be helped. Even if I could find someone professional to help Mark, who knows if I could trust anyone to keep Mark’s whereabouts a secret … particularly if that person were threatened.
Then again, sometimes I wonder if I’m being paranoid being so cautious. Maybe my upbringing has given me a distorted view of reality. But then, I reflect on what happened before on the train, and I realize I don’t want to ever get used to that idea of “normal.” And still, it is a concern. I can’t allow myself to trust in what I learned from the Instructor. Some of it may have been useful, but I am fairly certain now that most of it was just manipulation in order to gain control over me. So, I have to keep an open but wary mind. To that end, I now pray every day and read the Bible. It is far too easy to be deceived otherwise.
I bring the supplies over to Mark along with a chair that had been next to the table. Mark appears to be bracing himself for the worst.
“I wish I’d gotten pain killers.” I admit.
“I don’t.” he states to my surprise. “The people at the store would have made you for sure.”
I return my attention to his dressings.
“You’re right.” I say. “But I do wonder. There was a man who was following me from the store, but I don’t know why. I’m not sure it’s safe to go back there.”
“Probably isn’t.” Mark responds.
He moves his fingers then clenches his hand into a fist after I finish wrapping it.
“But maybe he thought I forgot something …”
“Then why wouldn’t he have just yelled that out?”
“Maybe he couldn’t speak …” I reply drily.
I smile at him with a wink in my eye. We both get a chuckle out of that one. I return to my work. Then, I’m struck by another thought.
“What if someone followed us from the police station?”
“I kept an eye out. I’m fairly sure nobody followed us.”
“It’s weird they would have just let us go — the police, I mean. Why didn’t they follow us?”
“Who are you? And who am I? To them we’re nobodies, and they have plenty of nobodies.”
“I did pray.” I add.
Mark looks at me steadily for a moment then mentions, “That probably helped.”
Copyright © Jennifer Alice Chandler 2020
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