Holy City: Chapter Four - Part One
Several hours passed until the brig door opened again. Larkin marched in first with the captain behind. “He hasn’t escaped, has he?” Cpt. Horace asked the standing, saluting Pvt. Fontan. “Get your notepad.”
The prisoner was lying face up on his bed as usual, eyes closed as usual.
“Good morning.” The captain greeted his prisoner.
The prisoner’s eyes opened. He did not sit up. He eyed the captain without responding as they both waited for Larkin to unlock the cell door.
The smoldering cigarette from the day before was still on the floor, no longer smoldering. The prisoner hadn’t picked it up and kept it and he hadn’t thrown it out the window in disgust. The prisoner hadn’t even stamped it out, which would have been the courteous thing to do. The captain paid no attention to this relic from the previous day when he entered the cell. Fontan’s report had already given him the information he wanted. He had begun to make judgments about his reluctant prisoner. He felt he had his first clue. And, more importantly, a patrol had discovered an even more vital piece of information out in the Avaris Valley.
The prisoner sat up in bed. The captain watched him coldly as they waited for Fontan to sit down and for Larkin to lock them in. He tried to mask this coldness behind a gregarious face. It wasn’t a friendly face. It was the face of a salesman, of a conman, not the gregarious warmth of a friend. “I think you might have a future as a barber,” the captain joked to Fontan. “Maybe you can do mine next week.”
“Don’t let the teasing bother you, Nadia. It’s the captain’s way of showing affection.” The prisoner surprised everyone by addressing Fontan not by her last name or rank, but by her first name. This embarrassed Fontan even more than the teasing. It made her feel complicit with the prisoner even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. This feeling of complicity was made even worse with the captain sitting next to her.
“I see you two have become friends.” The captain said.
But the prisoner did not respond nor did he look at Fontan as the captain hoped. His eyes stayed on the captain for an uncomfortably long time. The captain broke the silence. “I heard congratulations are in order.”
“Oh.”
“It was your birthday a few days ago. Forty, is that right?”
Once again, the captain hoped the prisoner would look to Fontan to show some sort of nervousness or unease, instead he kept his stare on the captain as he answered.
“That is correct.”
“Pvt. Fontan told me about it. If only I had known I would have had them treat you nicer on your first day.”
The prisoner’s head still did not move, but Fontan’s did, quickly to the captain, showing the nervousness the captain wanted for the prisoner. It was a lie of course. Fontan hadn’t betrayed the prisoner’s confidence. Larkin told Cpt. Horace just as Fontan had hoped in her initial calculations. But Fontan didn’t like the lying. She understood the need for it, but it made her feel used. She knew it was important to remember that no matter how calm or sincere the prisoner seemed he was still likely a spy, or at least a deserter, and therefore the private shouldn’t care what he thought of her. However, her emotions weren’t as easily controllable as the captain’s, she wasn’t an experienced interrogator. Maybe that’s why the captain wanted her in the room, as a counterbalance, a wild card to throw off the prisoner’s sense of calm.
“I suppose you’re not going to tell me your name today?”
“My name is V” the prisoner’s stare remained on the captain.
“V? I don’t think that’s your name.”
“That’s what it says on the outside of my cell.”
He was right about that. The three cells in the brig were numbered with Roman numerals. The first cell was labeled III, the second cell IV, and the third cell, the one the man occupied, was labeled V. Why these three cells started at the number 3 instead of the number 1 had puzzled many a soldier throughout the twenty years the Accadan checkpoint existed. Perhaps it was originally some kind of joke that was lost to time or maybe there was another prison at another outpost with the first two cells. Whatever reason for those specific numbers, V was the number of the prisoner’s cell and it had become the prisoner’s name.
“I believe it stands for the number 5.” Horace said.
“I would prefer a letter to a number for a name. It’s more personal.” V responded.
“If you told me your real name it would be even more personal.”
“I prefer V for now.”
“For now.”
The previous day, when Pvt. Fontan typed up her official report she referred to the prisoner as V throughout the document since she couldn’t figure out anything else to name him and didn’t like typing ‘the prisoner’ or ‘the man’ over and over again. ‘V’ was quicker and Fontan felt more descriptive. She was proud of herself for coming up with it, Fontan thought she was being clever when she had given the prisoner that label. Now she wasn’t so sure.
There was no way the man could have known that was how Fontan had referred to him in the report. It had to be coincidence certainly. It wasn’t far-fetched that the man would come to the same conclusion as Fontan. At least this is what both the private and the captain were individually thinking as they resumed the interrogation, neither dwelling for too long on the private joke the three of them now shared.
“Have you ever been to Hatusha?
“Hatusha?”
“The capital of Lyonesse. Are you not familiar with it?”
“I am familiar with the place. It seems an odd question.”
The captain didn’t say anything, letting the silence fill in the empty space in the conversation. If he waited long enough he knew the prisoner would answer.
“Yes, when I was a child.”
“So you know the covered market. You can get wonderful ice cream there.” This was a lie like the captain’s earlier comments about Fontan divulging the prisoner’s age. Cpt. Horace had never been to Hatusha, but he knew enough to entrap the prisoner.
“I didn’t have ice cream when I was in Hatusha.” V answered carefully.
“How old were you?”
V made a face that was halfway to a frown.
“Five, maybe.”
“Who were you with?”
“My mother.”
“Where was your father?”
“Dead.”
“Dead?”
“I never knew my father. I never knew my mother either. I was adopted you see, by this very wonderful lady, the one I called my mother just now.”
“And what was her name?”
V’s half-frown turned into a smile.
“I do not wish to get her involved in my activities.”
“We don’t control Alexandria yet. There’s nothing we can do to her.”
“Why this obsession with names, Cpt. Horace?”
“Because I want to know who you are. I want to know where you come from. I want to know why you are here?”
“I have already told you all of those things.”
“But I don’t believe you. I don’t know much about life, but I know you didn’t walk through the Aten Desert from Alexandria. And I know you didn’t appear at our front gate to seek some sort of asylum as a refugee. And I know you are either a deserter or a spy. I just want to know which one, so I’ll know whether I need to have you shot or not.”
“I think I will be shot either way.”
“As a deserter from our army, perhaps. As a spy from one of the other two armies, yes. But as a deserter from one of the other armies, you would have some value to us. Most likely you would know things; about troop movements, defense postures, resource allocation. If you’ve deserted from one of those armies we will keep you alive, maybe even grant the asylum you wish for.”
V showed no emotion at the offer.
“Of course, you could also be a spy from our army, which would make things more complicated.”
This did get a reaction from V, but not the one Cpt. Horace hoped for, it looked like genuine surprise.
“Why would your nation send a spy here?”
“To test us.”
“Do they trust you so little?”
“The leadership needs to be sure of the soldiers’ resolve.”
“And how would sending a spy here test that?”
“The premier has her methods. It’s not my place to question.”
“How can a society survive if you trust each other so little?”
“How can a society survive if we can’t protect it from traitors. Either way there are problems.”
“It doesn’t seem like a pleasant way to live.”
“Maybe you should have walked to Vitesia. They claim to be a paradise of a different kind.”
V laughed. It was an inscrutable laugh. At least it was inscrutable to Fontan who looked up from her notes. V’s laughter broke up the conversation. It stopped the line of questioning, resetting the interrogation. V took advantage of this break to ask a question.
“I’m confused, Cpt. Horace.”
“That’s a shame. Maybe I can help clear up your confusion.”
“If I said I was a deserter from the Vitesian army, for example, how would you know I wasn’t a spy from Vitesia? Isn’t that exactly the type of thing a spy would claim to be? Then let’s say I was a spy from Lyonesse, I think I would claim to be a deserter from Lyonesse or maybe from Vitesia. I’m confused because answering your question the way you want doesn’t answer it at all. It only provides you with information to give to your superiors. But you have no way of knowing if that information is true.”
Horace deliberated. He seemed to be making progress, the prisoner was close to revealing himself.
“We have ways of verifying.”
V laughed again, this laugh was more obvious and telling, a wide, mocking laugh that a nonbeliever gives to the devout.
“You’re bluffing. I now realize I will be shot no matter what I tell you. Perhaps I will be tortured first if I admit to being from another army, but no matter what I say it will always end the same. I walked out of the desert to be executed by a firing squad. Besides, it would be a lie. I would be lying because I am not a member of any army. I believe in peace. Even if that is not possible, I still believe in it. I walked from Alexandria, the city everyone wants to possess for reasons that have nothing to do with the city itself….”
“Alexandria is a very important city.” Cpt. Horace cut V off.
“Why is it an important city?”
“Because it is home to the Sebk shrine.”
“I thought Damasians do not believe in a God or religion.”
“The Sebk shrine is an important historical site, maybe the most important historical site.”
“And that is why you want to invade Alexandria?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand,”
“The nation that holds the Sebk site controls the writing of history. Those that control the writing of history control the future.” This was an oft repeated mantra in Damasia.
“I now understand.” V said. V still did not understand.
Horace shrugged and looked over to Larkin standing outside the bars of the cell. “At least that is the official explanation.”
“I understand.” V repeated.
“Perhaps we want Alexandria because the other two nations want it.” Horace continued. “Perhaps we want it because it is an important territory to control for military reasons. Perhaps we want it because there are still some Damasians who believe in a God and they believe that Alexandria is a holy city. There can be many reasons to want a piece of land. The official reasons are not always the true reasons.”
“I do not think an omniscient, omnipotent God cares about who controls different pieces of land. Humans care about that a great deal. God would seem to have other concerns.” V said quietly.
Horace leaned forward. V had fallen into his trap. “Would an omniscient omnipotent God care if someone is murdered and burned in the desert?”
V looked at Horace. He did not answer.
“Would this God care if the murderer tried to pass themselves off as some kind of refugee?”
V still did not answer.
“Would this murderer care what God thought of him? Would he try to hide, to lie, to escape punishment?”
“I do not know the answer to these questions.” V said, even more quietly than before.
“We found a body in a cave in the Avaris Valley. It was burned beyond recognition, both legs broken. The doctors say it had been there for less than a week. You say you walked through the Aten desert, through the Avaris Valley, perhaps you passed by this body. Did you not see it?”
“No. I did not.” V averted his eyes.
The captain let the silence linger. Then he abruptly stood up. “This conversation has been very helpful. Today has helped me make up my mind. I know the truth now. I will be back tomorrow to give you one last chance to confess. If you do not confess to the truth, which I now know, you will indeed face that firing squad.”
Horace walked out of the cell. V stayed seated on his bed. The captain did not look back as he walked out of view straight to the door of the brig. Fontan quickly followed and Larkin locked the door. V stared at the bars of his cell for a long time as the black iron went in and out of focus forming pinstripes against the backdrop of the concrete wall behind.
Next Chapter: Chapter Four - Part Two
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