Holy City: Chapter Eight - Part Two
The next morning V rose earlier than most. Before the sun had pierced the desert. He walked over to the fallen corner of the tent and examined the pieces. He bent down and then circled the corner looking at it from every possible angle.
Satisfied, V took hold of a beam at the bottom of the pile and started lifting. He was trying to do this quietly because it was morning and most were still sleeping, but it’s hard to move metal beams quietly and as he worked there was movement in the corner of the tent. First, those who were trying to sleep moved away hoping to find a quieter place. Then, others were drawn in the opposite direction, towards V. A group watched. A strong woman stepped forward from the crowd.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m fixing this so it won’t fall again. When they widened the tent they made it unstable. I’m making it stable again.”
“What are you? An engineer?”
V made a face that neither confirmed nor denied, and kept working.
He was trying to lift the heaviest beam now. It was a difficult lift.
“Let me help.” The strong woman offered and they started lifting together.
“Okay, now what.” She asked after they had removed the beam from the pile and placed it to the side.
“Now the cross beam.”
One at a time other women and other men came to help until over a dozen were working on the structure with V as a kind of foreman. At the end of the day everyone was exhausted but happy, the corner of the tent back up and more solid than it had ever been.
“Will it hold?” One of the men asked V.
“It could withstand the strongest sandstorm?” V said proudly.
“Don’t tempt god, it is not wise.” The man cautioned.
“I don’t tempt anyone. It will hold.”
A jug of water was brought from the well and everyone started drinking from little paper cups. The group was satisfied after a hard day’s work, happy there was something tangible they could do to help to improve their own condition. They sat around the jug exchanging stories, laughing and talking like co-workers at the end of a day.
One of the younger women in the group made a face as she drank, an older man gave her a knowing look, this was the water they were given, what could they do about it. This man offered his cup to V, who had no choice but to drink showing solidarity with his new friends. V made a harsher face than the young woman had made then spat the water to the ground.
“It’s not very good, is it?”
“It’s not safe to drink.”
“Safer than not drinking any.”
“Where’s the well.” V demanded. “The well where this water came from.”
The man who had brought the jug pointed to one of the contractors. “Ask the boss” The contractor had a red cap. None of the other contractors had a red cap. That must have made him the boss.
“The boss?” V looked to the contractor who was busy hassling a couple of the refugees on the far end of the tent. V kept the cup in his hand half full of water as he walked over to the red-capped contractor.
“Where does this water come from?”
The guard laughed. “The ground.”
He waved V away. He didn’t have time for complaints, he wasn’t running a restaurant. V didn’t move, he continued to stand close to the guard, leaning forward even closer, waiting for a better answer. The guard took a step back.
“This water is contaminated. From the latrines, from the toilets, this water isn’t safe to drink. It’s why everyone in this camp is sick.”
Red cap looked V up and down. He turned away determined to not give this refugee the satisfaction of an answer. V put his hand forcefully on the guard’s shoulder, pressing down, stopping him from turning. It was a strong hand. The guard was thrown off-balance. He reached for his club and brought it up striking V in the face dropping V to the ground, as blood formed around the wound.
V looked up to the guard, ready to stand and charge. The group behind V surged. The guard dropped his club and pulled his revolver from his holster. He shot twice into the air. The group retreated. V stayed on the ground, the revolver now pointed at his head. Another guard showed up. He was also holding a revolver. Then another guard. There weren’t many guards in the camp but they now all seemed to converge on the same point.
“Don’t do it.” One of the new guards said to red cap who still had his revolver aimed at V. “You don’t want to end up on the news. Mersh is coming tomorrow for an inspection.” The more sensible guard continued to plead with red cap. “I’m not hiding a body with a bullet in its head for you.”
This convinced red cap, who put his revolver away. The rest of the guards swarmed V.
V was thrown into an impermanent cell. It was set up along the northern wall and was built solely for V. The contractors hadn’t expected a need for a detention facility, the whole camp was a detention facility, so they had never thought to create a place for rule-breakers. They built one quickly before nightfall. It was flimsy, V could have kicked over the cardboard walls of the cell if he wanted to, but he was tired from the day’s work. He didn’t want to kick in the walls and try to outrun the contractors and their tasers and revolvers. Instead, he would sit on the ground in his shabby cell and wait. He rested his back against the chain-link fence that served as the only side of the cell that didn’t sway in the wind. He could hear the commotion, the talking, the crying, the retching of those in the camp. He closed his eyes and drifted, wishing for the morning.
Next Chapter: Chapter Nine
Previous Chapter: Chapter Eight - Part One