Martha
Max is right.
Kind of.
Is it my fault Eve’s on death row?
Kind of.
My fault that all this is happening?
Yeah, kind of that too.
I’m tempted to find a way over, past or through this wall and
disappear into the distance and never come back. Chalk this
all up to experience, start a new life in some remote Scottish
village, or jump in the back of a truck going to Europe.
It’d follow me though, wouldn’t it?
If not physically, then in my head.
Someone who didn’t care would clear off, but I do care,
you see. Maybe that’s what’s got me into all this trouble in
the first place.
OK then, Martha, my head says. So you do care and you’re
not going anywhere; then what are you going to do?
I sit down on a log, close to the entrance of the shelter
here at Bracken Woods, near where we made our fires, and
shove my hand in my pockets. My right one hits something
and I pull it out. Huh – an old piece of Mrs B’s honey cake
wrapped in foil. Lord knows how long that’s been there. I
eat it anyway.
Nothing’s changed here in the woods.
But everything out there has.
‘What do I do?’ I whisper to the trees, the birds sleeping in
their nests, the badgers and squirrels.
You’re not fucking Snow White and this is not a fairy story, I
tell myself in my head. The animals don’t listen and they can’t
help you. Buck up, and get on with it.
‘Get on with what?’ I whisper. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
The moonlight on the leaves is like silver. Frost on the ground
like diamonds. The undergrowth rustles quietly, then a rabbit
pokes its head out and looks at me. Bold as brass it hops my
way, its nostrils flicking at the air.
I freeze, watching it.
I’ve dropped some crumbs of food near my feet, reckon it
can smell them.
It comes closer to me.
Why is it so brave?
Why does it trust me?
It doesn’t, I think, but it’s hungry. Starving. It’s weighed up
the danger, knows it can run if you move, but it bets on you being
that surprised that you won’t.
It grabs the food and runs off, and I do nothing but watch
it go.
Clever rabbit, I think.
No, it’s instinct.
I look up to the dark sky and the stars.
Our stars.
What do your instincts tell you to do? I ask myself.
* * *
I walk back the long way.
The very long way; out the back of Bracken Woods, down the
alleyways leading to what was the shopping precinct – mostly
boarded and shuttered up now – past the drunks and the
homeless, so many homeless, and towards the wall.
It looms over everything.
Huge concrete panels slotted between upright posts, big
floodlights at the top of maybe every third or fourth one. I go
right up to the bottom of the wall, following it round; in some
places there are piles of mud and rubble, broken pavements,
knocked‑down trees and street signs, even someone’s garden
fence.
It’s a mess.
And it’s ugly.
There’s a break in it further along. Some kind of gateway
like the entrance into some posh hotel complex or upmarket
housing estate, only it’s not, it’s us. There’s a red‑and‑white
striped barrier across, a turnstile, and some kind of booth that
a guard’s sitting in. There’s another guard at the barrier.
The floodlights blaze down and it’s impossible to hide.
I back up, trying to disappear into the darkness where the
lights don’t reach.
Don’t know if they can see me or not, but I keep quiet and
I move slowly.
‘This is boring,’ the guard at the bar says. He takes a drag
of a cigarette and flicks it at the booth.
‘Pack it in,’ the other one says as he comes out. He tucks a
rolled‑up newspaper under his arm and strides towards the
other one.
‘What are we supposed to do anyway?’ the first asks.
‘Get them in. Stop them coming out.’
‘But what if they want to go out?’
‘Our instructions are only to let them out if they’ve got
work to go to. Weren’t you listening?’
The first one mumbles something and shrugs. I step a bit
closer. There’s a broken bench so I duck behind that.
‘Don’t get why though,’ the first one says.
‘You should pay attention to what goes on around you. These
are dangerous people, and we’ve been given an important, but
dangerous, job.’
‘What?’
‘Read the papers,’ he says, and taps him in the chest with
his copy of the National News. ‘Look at the front page. “Rises
Layabouts Milk The Justice System”. That’s where your taxes are
going. To give these lazy fuckers mobile phones and satellite TV!
Look at all these boarded‑up shops. They won’t work in them,
will they? But they’ll come into the City and take jobs there.’
He nods his head. ‘Yeah, I get you. Then we shouldn’t let
them out at all!’
‘It would be safer if we didn’t. There need to be tighter
controls. We don’t want another attack like the Rises 7 did,
that’s for sure.’
Stupid fucker, I think. He has no clue and he’s spreading
his ignorance.
Bloody newspapers.
Scandal sells.
And as long as it’s selling, who gives a toss if it’s true?
I take a step forward to go and argue with them.
‘Who are the Rises 7?’ the first guy says, and I stop.
‘Where’ve you been? The moon or prison or somewhere?
The Rises 7 – the terrorists who bombed death row and tried
to kill all the people in it and the people outside. How do you
not know about that?’
‘I was out drinking last night. I haven’t put the telly on all
day.’
‘And you just turned up for work without questioning why
we’re being sent to a massive wall and why it’s there in the
first place?’
The first guy just shrugs.
‘It could’ve been carnage if they’d been clever enough to
get it right.’ His voice is lower now. I’ve frozen. Daren’t move.
‘Everyone in the City and the Avenues is talking about it.
There’s uproar. It’s just been on the news – they found a car
full of explosives near the Old Bailey, and another one at the
Royal Courts of Justice. They say it was supposed to be a
simultaneous attack – they found another trigger in the Stanton
woman’s handbag, another in that presenter’s house – Joshua
whatshisname.’
My stomach flips. I feel sick.
‘Public are in uproar. But the PM was already on it, he’d
already ordered this wall. Making plans to put anyone in here
who’s a threat to national security – any sympathisers.’
‘What? Sympathisers are a threat to national security? Why?’
‘Because they sympathise with this lot, you dumb fuck, and
this lot are all a bunch of terrorists.’
I open my mouth to rant and argue. Don’t, that voice in my
head says. Think carefully.
‘Jesus,’ the man says, and he stands a bit taller, puts his hand
on the gun at his belt. ‘Man, you’re scaring me.’
‘You should be scared,’ he replies.
Fuck, I think, and I shrink back into the shadows.
‘The PM’s a clever man though. And that Stanton woman’s
never going to be found innocent now. Public have turned
against her. And people are scared, wondering who else is a
sympathiser. Police are rounding them up, bringing them here.’
‘It’s a ghetto,’ I breathe.
‘We need to be on it. This job, here, this is a massive
responsibility. The police need to make sure all the evil’s in
one place, and we need to make sure it stays in here.’
‘A lie told often enough,’ I whisper, ‘becomes the truth.’
I walk on.
We’re being demonised.
People who don’t hate us already will soon enough.
They class us as one, lump us all together. Like a race, a
nationality or a sub‑section of society.
How can they hate us so much?
What have we done?
We, and that fucking irritates. It’s not we. We are not
one, we are not all, we are not responsible for each other’s
actions.
Good and bad are found in rich and poor, in black and white,
in gay and straight. In everyone.
People are individuals.
Do the authorities fear us?
And there’s that us now.
But it’s easier to control like that, use the media to turn the
public against us.
Manipulate into hating, and let the public do your dirty work.
It’s shit, but I don’t know how to fight it.
All I ever wanted was a fair justice system, without
corruption, but this thing has grown arms and legs.
I walk on. My fingers are numb, the wind’s like ice on my
face. Sky looks heavy.
Things, words, ideas rattle round in my head.
I wonder if we’ll have snow.
Newspaper headlines.
Not long till Christmas.
That everyone reads.
A white Christmas?
And everyone believes.
Wonder if it’ll be a Christmas with you, Isaac.
And everyone talks about.
瑪莎
麥克斯是對的。
可以這樣說。
我害伊芙進死刑列？
可以這樣說。
我造成這一切發生？
是，也可以這樣說。
我很想找個方式通過或鑽出這道牆，消失在遠方，永遠不回來。然後記取這次的教訓，在遙遠的蘇格蘭村莊展開新的生活，或跳進卡車後方前往歐洲。
但我造的孽會跟著我，是吧？
即使不是實際跟著我，也會在腦海甩不去。
不在乎的人大概會一走了之，但我在乎，你知道的。說不定就是因為這樣，我才惹上這些麻煩。
「好吧，瑪莎。」大腦說。「既然妳在乎，又不打算一走了之，那妳接下來要怎麼做？」
我在遮蔽處入口附近、我們升火的地方，手插口袋地坐在圓木。結果我的右手碰到東西，我掏出來看，鋁箔紙包著之前B太太做的蜂蜜蛋糕。天知道這塊蛋糕在我口袋放多久了，但我照吃不誤。
這片森林完全沒變。
外面卻是人事已非。
「我該怎麼做？」我低聲問樹木，鳥兒、獾、松鼠在巢裡熟睡。
「妳見鬼的不是白雪公主，也不在童話故事中。」我在腦海裡自言自語。「動物不聽妳的話，更幫不了妳，所以打起精神，採取行動吧。」
「採取什麼行動？」我悄聲說。「我不知道該做什麼。」
樹葉上的月光似白銀，地面的冰霜似白鑽。灌木幾不可聞地沙沙響後，有隻兔子探頭看我。牠膽大包天地跳向我，牠的鼻子迎風抽動。
我靜止不動地看著牠。
我的腳邊掉了些蛋糕屑，我想牠聞到味道了。
牠靠近我。
牠為什麼這麼勇敢？
牠為什麼信任我？
「牠不信任我。」我想。「但牠餓了。餓壞了。牠評估風險後，知道牠能在妳有動作時即時逃開，而且牠有把握妳現在驚訝到來不及反應。」
兔子一把抓了食物就跑，而我只是眼睜睜看著什麼也沒做。
「聰明的兔子。」我想。
不，純屬本能。
我抬頭看夜空和星星。
我們的星星。
「妳的本能要妳怎麼做？」我自問。
我折回長路。
這條長路在蕨類森林背面外，銜接巷道通向往昔的購物區（商店現在多已關門大吉），經過醉鬼和街友──多如牛毛的街友後，前進高牆。
高牆赫然乍現。
巨大的水泥板嵌合在立柱間，每隔三、四根柱子便有大型泛光燈盤據在其上。我直接走到牆腳，沿著牆面前行，不時可見成堆的泥土碎石、損毀的人行道、頹圮的路樹和街燈，連住家的花園圍籬也不能倖免於難。
混亂。
而且醜陋。
再前面一點的牆面有缺口，看似複合式飯店或高級住宅區的大門，但不是，是高樓區的出入口，有紅白條紋的屏障、一道旋轉柵門，以及警衛坐守的崗亭。屏障處有另一名警衛。
泛光燈錚亮得令人無所遁形。
我退後，試著隱身在光線所不及的黑暗。
不知道他們看不看得到我。總之我放慢動作，保持安靜。
「真無聊。」屏障處的警衛說。他吸口菸後，對著崗亭彈菸灰。
「別鬧了。」另一名警衛出來說。他的腋下夾著捲起的報紙，大步走向另一人。
「我們究竟該做什麼？」第一名警衛問。
「趕他們進去，不讓他們出來。」
「如果他們想出來呢？」
「我們收到的指示是不要放他們出來，除非他們得上班。你沒聽說嗎？」
第一名警衛嘟噥並聳肩。我往前靠近一些，躲在損壞的長椅後。
「我就是不懂為什麼。」第一名警衛說。
「你應該注意社會上發生的事。這些人很危險，我們接獲重要但危險的任務。」
「啥？」
「看報紙吧。」他用手邊的《國家新聞報》輕叩另一人的胸膛。「你看頭版『高樓區米蟲剝削司法制度』你繳的稅金去向，就是發行動電話和衛星電視給這群懶鬼！你看這些木條封鎖的商店，沒人願意在店裡工作，卻進城求職。」
另一人點頭。「是啊，我懂你的意思了，我們根本不該讓他們出去！」
「這麼做比較安全。這些人需要嚴加控管，我們毋庸置疑地不希望再有類似高樓七人組的攻擊發生。」
去他的報紙。
靠八卦營利。
只要報紙繼續發行，鬼才在乎真相。
我跨出一步，準備上前和他們爭論。
「高樓七人組是什麼人？」第一名警衛問，我打住。
「你之前是跑到哪裡去了？月球？監獄？高樓七人組是炸毀死刑列的恐怖分子，他們想殺害死刑列裡外的所有民眾。你怎麼會不知道這新聞？」
「我昨晚出去喝酒了，一整天沒開電視。」
「然後你直接來上工，不質疑我們為什麼被派來看守這道高牆，或為什麼有這道牆？」
第一名警衛只是聳肩。
「如果高樓七人組得逞，事件可能演變成大屠殺。」他壓低聲音，而我定住不敢移動。「城市和大道區的人全在討論這個事件，引起了軒然大波。事件不斷上新聞──他們在老貝利街附近找到裝滿炸藥的車，在皇家司法院找到另一輛。新聞表示這應該是起同步攻擊──警方在史坦頓女人的手提包裡找到一只引爆器，在那個叫約書亞什麼的播報員家中找到另一只。」
我的胃在翻攪，很不舒服。
「民眾議論紛紛，但首相已採取對策，他已下令築牆，計畫將所有威脅國家安全的人──所有同情者，關在裡面。」
「怎麼會！同情者威脅國家安全？為什麼？」
「因為他們同情高樓區的人，你這蠢蛋，而這些人全是恐怖分子。」
我想破口大罵和理論。「不，」我腦裡的聲音說，「三思而後行。」
「老天。」第一人說，他打直背脊，一手扶著腰帶上的槍桿。「老兄，你嚇到我了。」
「你是該害怕。」他回。
「操！」我暗自咒罵著縮回陰影。
「不過首相是聰明人，那個史坦頓女人絕不可能無罪脫身。現在民眾很仇視她，而且人人自危，害怕其他人是同情者。警方已著手圍捕同情者，帶他們過來。」
「簡直是猶太區。」我倒抽口氣。
「我們得扛下這任務、這重責大任。警方得確保所有惡徒集中在一處，我們得確保惡徒留在牆的另一側。」
「三人成虎。」我低語。
我走開。
我們持續遭到抹黑。
現在不恨我們的民眾，很快也會恨我們。
他們將我們歸類、劃分成同類，如種族、國籍、二等公民。
他們怎能敵視我們至此？
我們做了什麼？
「我們」這詞該死的惱人。沒有「我們」，我們不是一體，我們不是公眾，我們沒責任承擔他人的行為。
富人與窮人、黑人與白人、同性戀與異性戀，全人類都存在著善人及惡人。
人是個體。
當權者畏懼我們嗎？
現在又回到「我們」了。
但利用媒體煽動民眾仇視「我們」，比較方便掌管。
操縱仇恨就能讓民眾代勞，不必弄髒手。
真不公平，但我不知道該如何對抗。
我只想要不腐敗、公正的司法制度，可惜事與願違。
我繼續走。吹拂在臉上的風冷若冰霜，我的手指失去感覺。天空看來沉甸甸的。
事物、字句、想法在我腦海裡不得閒。
真想知道之後會不會下雪。
新聞頭條。
聖誕節即將到來。
人人讀報。
白色聖誕？
人人信。
不知道今年聖誕能否與你共度，以撒。
人人談論。
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