Holy City: Chapter Nine - Part One
They came for the men in the morning. V was taken from his makeshift cell and put into the open back of a large transport vehicle. The twenty other men in the camp between the ages of fifteen and fifty were loaded into that same truck. Most of these men had the use of both of their arms and both of their legs, a few did not. It was going to be harder for those few. The truck left the refugee camp driving across the sand first then onto the pavement of smooth roads. None of the men would see the refugee camp again.
A month after those twenty-one men were taken away, the camp was torn down. The women and children and old men were split up to work in three different factories. These factories were relatively safe. Vitesia had laws to ensure the safety of factory workers as they helped to build the armor and trucks and planes that allowed Vitesia to fight the war. Those laws weren’t always followed and in a time of war there was less urgency to make sure they were, but as the women and children and old men worked alongside sophisticated machines for ten to twelve hours a day, injuries were kept to a minimum.
The worksite that V and the twenty other men were sent to wasn’t as safe. Injuries were common as the men constructed a large compound that would eventually serve as the headquarters of the corporation that owned the factories where the women and children and old men worked. When they arrived at that worksite, V and the twenty other men were unloaded from the truck like a new shipment of supplies. They were led to a large courtyard in front of two long thin metal sheds. Over one hundred men slept in those sheds each night in rows of bunks that lined the walls.
The group of twenty-one were told to take off their rags. Their old clothes were thrown into a barrel. A hose was used on them and they were given new clothes, work suits of green and hard black boots. They watched as gasoline was poured into the barrel and their old clothes lit up, flames rising ten feet into the air. If it was cold outside the men would have huddled around the barrel for warmth. But it wasn’t cold, it was beyond hot, the hottest day of the year, so they backed away from the heat, some even turning away completely to face the large scaffolding in the center of the worksite, the metal skeleton of a structure that would become the main building of the corporate headquarters.
The work was difficult. The men weren’t whipped and they weren’t beaten. They were worked like donkeys. The supervisors claimed the workers could leave at any time, although there were armed guards at the entrance to the worksite and a fence surrounding it. The supervisors also claimed the men would be paid for their work. Eventually. None of the workers who had been toiling on this site for months and years had yet to see any money. It’s possible, they all hoped, they would be paid when the building was finished. Or perhaps when the war was over. It’s also possible the supervisors were lying to them.
Mr. Kane was the foreman above all other foremen who oversaw the construction. He rode around in a golf cart that had his name emblazoned in red lettering on the sides. Every night he retired to his cabana to eat a five-course meal. Most nights he would eat alone. Some nights he would invite a few of his lieutenants. On this first night the twenty-one men from the refugee camp would be Kane’s guests.
There was a feast. Kane invited the twenty-one new workers to the grotto outside his cabana to enjoy a buffet. It was a tradition. He felt this was the best way to introduce the new men to the camp and the best way to get a sense of their character. These were Kane’s boys, that is the way he thought of them, no matter their age, and since they were his boys he needed to instruct them on the ways of the camp and the ways of life.
For one night, V and the twenty other men ate like kings. There were many types of chicken and many cuts of beef. There was fish of all kinds, both exotic and mundane. There were the latest fashionable desserts shipped in from the capital city and the latest healthy appetizers from the wealthy gated suburbs that ringed that same capital city. There were fruits and vegetables shipped in from other less wealthy nations and there was coffee and juices and alcohol to serve as refreshments for all of the different courses.
The twenty-one refugees were seated around a long dining table just after sunset. Torches lit the grotto from all corners. There was a waterfall in the center of the grotto. Servers, dressed in business casual tuxedoes or maid costumes, flitted around the dining area placing various silver pods that contained the various dishes of food on a table that lined a far wall. Tiny heat lamps underneath each of the pods kept them warm as everyone waited. Security guards in khaki shorts with shirts that looked like they had been drowned in a pool of algae stood around the edges of the grotto next to the tiki torches watching over the twenty-one men. Kane was not there.
V studied this tropical paradise that existed on the edge of the worksite, on the edge of a bustling society of wealth and commerce on one side and a barren desert on the other. There were palm trees and banana trees that grew large flat dark green leaves that felt like there were from an earlier geologic era. There was bamboo furniture and bamboo covered walls and tiny pools that had miniature waterfalls that flowed like tributaries from the main waterfall in the center of the grotto. There were volcanic rocks and the sand of a beach and luscious St. Augustine grass laid out in a geometric pattern to please the eye.
Of course, all of this was fake, a facsimile of a tropical paradise. A cabana on the edge of the desert, on the outskirts of a worksite, is still a cabana on the edge of the desert, on the outskirts of a worksite no matter how many artificial palm trees or miniature waterfalls are installed. V studied his falsified surroundings and then he looked at the steaming silver dishes that contained the food. He was waiting like the other men. But before they could dine on this night Kane wanted to meet with each man individually in his back study. It was a type of job interview.
V was the fifth worker brought in to see Kane. Kane was sitting comfortably in a large wicker chair. He was out of his work clothes in a more informal attire of long khaki shorts, a short-sleeved white linen shirt and sandals. His clenched face belied the casual attire as he sat in his wicker chair. Kane was still Kane no matter what he wore or what he sat in.
Kane stood and shook V’s hand with force. “What’s your name?”
“Fontan.” V said without hesitation.
“Are you from Gom?”
“Yes, I am from Gom. I lived on Riverview Street.” This meant nothing to Kane, but V thought it was important to keep his details consistent.
“Please sit.” Kane said and V sat across from Kane in a much smaller wicker chair.
“I’m going to tell you what I told the others, it’s not easy here, you’re going to work harder than you’ve ever worked in your life, but there’s reward in that work.” Kane leaned over to look at V. “You look in good shape. You look fit. That’s good. We can use men like you. If you work hard, you could make it to watch lieutenant by the end of the year. I’ve seen it done. A man like yourself, in good shape, with experience of life, you can move up here. I’ve seen it done.”
V wondered if it was possible to move up out of the worksite.
Kane sat back. “I’ve been talking so much it only just struck me you speak good Vitesian.”
V wondered if Kane usually made his speech to men who didn’t understand a word he was saying.
“That’s another reason you can move up. Of course, you’ll need to know other languages. Can you speak any languages besides Gommese and Vitesian?”
“Only a little,” V said.
“You’ll pick things up.” Kane tried to smile. Something in his face stopped him. It looked like his nose had an itch and he wanted to sneeze. “I hope you’re hungry. We like to have a nice meal on the first night. A celebration. But don’t get drunk.” Kane’s face turned serious. “There’s always work tomorrow.”
One of the security guards escorted V back into the grotto as another of the twenty-one took his place across from Kane to hear what V assumed to be the same speech. The food still lined the wall, still waiting in their polished silver eggs. The twenty men who sat around the table waiting for Kane to finish his interviews looked at those gleaming silver pods with a desire that bordered on the obscene.
Every now and then one of the servers would open a dish to see if the food inside was still there, and the hungry men would all lean forward to catch the fragrance of beef tenderloin or chicken piccata or some other food they hadn’t eaten in a long time or perhaps ever. V leaned forward with the rest of the men when this happened, but he was not as hungry as they were. A part of him expected this to be some cruel trick and if Kane wasn’t satisfied with the interviews all of the men would be sent back to the barracks to eat whatever it is they eat in the barracks or perhaps nothing at all.
But it was not a trick, at least not a trick that would deny the men a chance to eat from the generous buffet of delicacies hidden under those dishes. Once he completed his final interview, Kane took his seat at the head of the table and the servers began their dance, an intricate choreography that resembled one of the elaborate ice skating shows they did not have in this part of the world.
Lids were removed from the serving dishes. Liquids were poured. The men, the refugees, the workers, were happy as they began to eat. And talk. Kane dominated the conversation in the beginning. He told stories and the men listened for the first hour.
After Kane was finished with his stories, and tired from the consumption of the food, the men talked amongst themselves reveling in a festive atmosphere that most of them had not enjoyed since the war had begun. Kane watched the men as they did this. It looked like he was about to fall asleep as the twenty-one men continued to a second course and then a third and a fourth and as they continued to drink and drink and drink, some heeding Kane’s earlier words about getting drunk, others definitely not heeding those words.
As the food was consumed to the point it was random crumbs on the table and the alcohol and other beverages were taken away by the servers, the party became just a party with happy conversation. Kane woke up from his brief slumber of boredom and overeating, his eyes once again alert to the men before him. For a minute he watched over the laughing, relaxed group like a bird of prey. Then he stood up. “Now it’s time for entertainment.”
Next Chapter: Chapter Nine - Part Two
Previous Chapter: Chapter Eight