Holy City: Chapter Five - Part Two

V held up the pad and pencil, trying to give it back to the captain. The captain didn’t move at first. Then he brusquely took the pencil from V’s hand. Fontan took the pad back. The captain slouched in his chair and examined the pencil, turning it around in his hands several times. V was sitting upright on the edge of his bed, not in his usual defensive posture.

“Can I ask you a question, captain?”

“If it helps you tell the truth, why not?” The captain stopped looking at the pencil.

“Why do you fight?”

“I’m a soldier.”

“I’m old enough to remember a time of other soldiers in your country. We heard stories about them in Alexandria. You are close to my age, if you are a soldier as you say, you would have served in that army. But if you had served in that army you would be either dead or in prison. So, captain, you were not always a soldier. That is not the reason you fight now.”

Cpt. Horace let out a small laugh. “Maybe you’re a spy after all.”

V didn’t say anything. He waited. Horace looked over to the new MP. At first, he was trying to gauge her reaction. But the longer the captain thought the less he cared. He ran this base. If they wanted to shoot him, they would find a reason to shoot him, until then he would say what he wants.

“I was a republican. I enlisted with the republicans during the civil war.”

“But you are not a republican now.”

“No.”

“Are there any republicans left in Damasia?”

“No. No. There are no republicans anywhere. Not even in the decadent Republic of Vitesia. After we won the war, I saw the error of my ways.”

“It would seem that your entire nation did.”

“Yes. It did.”

“Human beings always like to tell each other what to think. Actually, we don’t just tell one another what to think, we make them think it; at the end of a gun, a sword, a pitchfork, fists. When I was a young teenager there was a brief civil war in Alexandria. It wasn’t so much a civil war as a civil skirmish. There was a change in government, much like the one that occurred here. I suppose such changes can be contagious. It was only for a few years. It was an aborted revolution.

“Before this revolution, the entirety of Alexandria were Monkist, it was the official religion of the state, attendance at prayer was mandatory three times a week, all schooling was done through the religion, all marriages, even employment was predicated on an oath to the church.

“Then the revolution came, it had been a couple of bad years in the field, many were hungry, many talked of a better way, to end the hunger, to provide jobs, prosperity. And the first thing the new government did was not to provide jobs, but was instead to abolish the church. Not only was attendance at prayer no longer mandatory, one couldn’t go even if one wanted, under threat of imprisonment, even death.

“The Citizens, that’s what they called themselves, banned any mention of church or God. It was perfect in its symmetry, before we were told that we had to believe, and after we were told that we couldn’t believe, with nearly identical punishments. Before the revolution I could not utter god’s name aloud because of reverence, after the revolution I could not utter god’s name because of hate. I was too young at the time to understand, but just as I never understood the Monkists before, I never understood the Citizens. They lasted for only a few years and then we had freedom of religion, freedom of thought. I suppose that will end once one of the three armies wins the war.”

“Don’t you have any beliefs?”

“Surely. But I am wise enough to keep them to myself. If there is a god he can hear me. I have no reason to shout my ideas at others.”

“And if a dictator tried to take over Alexandria you would do nothing.”

“They have tried, and I have done my duty to keep Alexandria an open city. It seems we have been too successful, we have become an appetizing morsel for much larger beasts with a great hunger.”

“You were right. I wasn’t always a soldier. I wasn’t born to do this, but we can’t choose the times we live in, the countries we live in.”

“I’m choosing which country to live in.”

“To survive one must be a realist. My father tried to change the world. He worked as a civil engineer. We were stationed in many countries during my childhood. He worked on roads, infrastructure, the water supply, good work that helped people who needed it. He saved lives. I believe that, even if it was only for a brief time. After he died, all of that good was forgotten, all of the lives he had saved were swallowed up by other…” the captain searched for the right word.

He couldn’t find it. He stopped, tired of the speechmaking. “But this isn’t my interview. It’s yours. I do know one life you can save today. That would be a start no matter what your mission is.”

“Death isn’t always an end, is it?”

“I’m afraid that it is.”

V’s gaze drifted to the barred window.

“Tell me more about your father. Was he a republican, too? What happened to him during your civil war?”

The captain’s eyes hollowed. V had caught him off-guard once again. Horace wasn’t going to answer the question. There was no need to answer a question that both of them knew the answer to. Instead of saying anything, the captain carefully reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. There were only a couple left. He offered one to V.

V took a cigarette from the pack. The captain took a cigarette for himself and lit it and then held the lighter out to light V’s cigarette. V shook his head.

“No. Later. I will save this for later.” V put the cigarette in his breast pocket. The captain took a long slow drag. He looked at the MP again, her face was blank as night, and then he looked back to V.

“When I was eight my father worked in Nabta. That was one of the first jobs of his I remember. The poverty there was… crushing. It made the air heavy, humid, all of the people on the street begging for scraps. I remember a wedding, there was a wedding at the temple, one of the colonial families, and rice was thrown as they made their way to the street. After the wedding party left, there was a mad scramble for those grains of rice. I’ll never forget that fight; children, women, grown men, pushing each other out of the way, trying to pick rice up off the street.” Horace shook his head.

“I remember the leper camps out on the edge of the city. My father would drive past them on his way to work. Every morning he would stop at the market to buy bananas. It was always bananas, I don’t why, but he would buy several bunches, and then on the way to work he would stop and pass them out to the lepers. I was in the car several times when he did this. My mother would plead with him not to do it. She knew the dangers, how contagious the disease was, there were constantly outbreaks among the aid workers, but that didn’t stop my dad. Every morning he would be carrying this basket of bright yellow bananas. Everybody in that camp knew him by name, they knew our car by sight. Waiting in the car as he wandered into the camp is one of my earliest memories.” Cpt. Horace took another drag of the cigarette.

“Did your father catch the disease?”

“No.”

“Then god was merciful.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with god.”

The captain’s eyes slowly hardened. He realized the interrogation was over.

“My report is due tomorrow. I’m going to recommend that you be executed. Without knowing your name, whether you’re a deserter from our army or a spy from another, the risks are too great. It’s what I have to recommend.”

“I understand,” is all V had to say in defense of his life.

“If you were a deserter from one of the other two armies, I could recommend to send you back to the interior, it would keep you alive.” Horace gave him one last chance, whether it was true or not, it was a way for V to live.

A thin smile formed across V’s lips. “I’m a poor civilian who walked from Alexandria because I was determined I wasn’t going to die there when the inevitable clash between the three armies takes place.”

“So you’re willing to die here?”

“I made it out of the desert. That was my goal.”

“It’s a shame to make it through that journey only to be killed at the end of it.”

“Mercy is either given or it is not. Begging for it does not help. I cannot force your country to grant it to me if it does not care to do so.”

“If I don’t recommend an execution, I’ll be the one walking the desert.”

“I understand.”

“I wish you would stop saying that.”

“I under….” V caught himself. V and Horace shared a small laugh. Pvt. Fontan didn’t think it was funny.

The captain stood up and threw his cigarette on the floor and then stubbed it out harshly with his boot.

“It’s been said many times before that war is hell, many innocent lives are lost in the middle of it. I don’t know if you’re innocent or not, but you’re going to be one of the casualties.”

“It’s the lives we save that matter.”

The captain looked at the smashed cigarette. “That’s meaningless. We don’t save any lives. We just postpone the inevitable. I can’t save your life and you can’t save mine.”

The captain shook his head. “War is hell. War is hell.”

There was no more conversation. Horace left, the new MP behind him, Fontan behind them. Fontan sat down at her desk as the door to the brig opened and closed. V looked to the window again. Then a thought struck him.

“He never gave you your notes back.” V shouted to Fontan who was lost in her own thoughts.

“What?”

“After the captain took the top two pages from the notepad, he put them in his pocket. He never gave them back to you. And then when you took the notepad back from me, the captain took the pencil. I’m afraid you don’t have anything to type up for today, Pvt. Fontan.”

“I don’t think it matters.” Fontan said quietly.

“What? I couldn’t hear you?”

“The captain will give me the notes if he wants me to type them up.”

“I’m not sure it’s his decision to make any longer.”

Fontan didn’t say anything. She stared into her hands as they rested folded into each other on top of the desk, the fingers interlocking.

“Why do you want to die?”

“I don’t. If your nation is intent on killing me there is only so much I can do to stop it.”

“We’ve given you a chance to save yourself. We’ve been fair, very fair. The captain’s been fair.”

“If it’s all been so fair, perhaps it is inevitable. By the time this war is over my death will be but one drop of rain amidst a downpour.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Six
Previous Chapter: Chapter Five - Part One