THIRTY-NINE

Cool. Wet.
Caitlyn woke to the sensation of a gentle touch to her face. Someone using a damp cloth. She was on her back.

Instinctively, she flinched and tried to roll away. No one touched her. Ever.

But there was no place to roll. No place to sit.

She realized she was in a horizontal chamber, like a coffin, but open only on the side. Her vision was filled with the outline of a woman, sitting on a chair, level with the chamber. Her chamber, then, was only a few feet off the ground.

“Easy, easy,” came a soft voice. “You are safe here. Under my protection.”

Caitlyn reached her hand to her jaw. She winced at her own touch.

“The men will apologize,” the soft voice said. “But only when you are ready. I sent them away, the idiots. You should rest. Relax.”

“I don’t know where I am.”

“Among us. Beneath the city.”

Caitlyn heard a sound she had not heard in a long time. Laughter from a child. It sounded like the child was running. She knew nothing about her surroundings or these people. But how bad could it be where a child’s movement and laughter were unhindered and unadmonished?

“I’m thirsty,” Caitlyn said.

“Would you like water?”

“Yes.”

“Then ask.”

I don’t like to ask anything of anyone, Caitlyn thought. Then she wondered if that was precisely why this gentle old woman had said this.

“Please,” Caitlyn said. “Could I have something to drink?”

The old woman reached down and, when her hand came up, passed across a plastic bottle.

Caitlyn wondered how she would manage to drink it. She was flat on her back. The chamber fit her so well that there was only six inches clearance above her.

Again, the old woman anticipated her thoughts.

“Are you well enough to roll out and sit up?” the old woman asked.

“I am.”

The old woman pushed back her chair, but remained sitting.

Caitlyn swung her legs out. With her feet planted, she twisted slightly and turned and stood but was faint headed. She leaned against the wall and breathed deeply.

“Idiots and morons,” the old woman muttered. “Trust me, they’ve heard from me what I think. But they’ll hear it again. What were they thinking, hitting you like that? You’ve been left under our protection.”

This room was barely more than a chamber too. Hard-packed dirt floor. A bare light bulb, softly glowing. Caitlyn looked back at where she’d woken. It was a coffin-sized hole cut into the wall. Blankets for a mattress.

It wasn’t the only bed space. Beneath that was another horizontal chamber. And above it another. The entire room was cut with these sleeping holes. All of them lined with blankets as mattresses.

The child’s laughter came from outside. Joined by another child. It sounded like one was chasing the other.

It was such a natural, joyous sound that it again countered Caitlyn’s foreboding at the strangeness of her surroundings. Such a bright sound in such a dark place.

Caitlyn opened the bottle. Clear plastic. In contrast to something as ancient in design as a spear of wood and sharpened metal.

“My name is Emelia.”

Caitlyn sipped at the water, then couldn’t constrain herself and gulped it until the bottle was empty, aware of the pain in her jaw with each slight movement. She nodded in gratitude as she studied the old woman.

Emelia’s stooped back almost brought a bitter smile to Caitlyn. Unlike Caitlyn, the old woman at least had a natural excuse for her hunched back.

Emelia’s head had sunk into her shoulders; gravity and age an enemy she could no longer push away. The wrinkles in her face had assembled in an expression of patient endurance. Her hair was held in place by a dark-colored scarf to match the formless dress over a squat body.

Caitlyn noticed, too, the old woman’s smell but couldn’t decide what it was. Smoke and animal grease?

“For how long?” Caitlyn asked.

“How long?”

“You said I was under your protection.”

“You are under Razor’s protection.”

“Who is he that you listen to him?”

She laughed. “He brings us money. Food. Medicine. He helps people in the shantytowns too. Razor is, well, Razor. Comes and goes. No one owns him. Does as he pleases.”

Caitlyn tried to fit this into what she already knew of Razor. It seemed like a contradiction, so she didn’t pursue it.

“How long am I here?” Caitlyn asked.

“Until the refuge is no longer needed.”

“There it is again. An answer that is not an answer.”

The old woman spoke softly. “You’re the one who came down here with Razor. He didn’t tell us why you need refuge or when he’d be back. You don’t know?”

“I don’t.”

Emelia said, “I want you to kneel beside me.”

There was such compassion in the woman’s voice that Caitlyn found herself obeying. On her knees, her head level with the older woman’s shoulders.

“Tired child,” Emelia said. “Whatever has sent you here must be a tremendous burden. I can see you vibrate with the effort to hold yourself together. You can’t live like this. You must not live like this. Let me hold you.”

No one touched Caitlyn. Ever.

But when the old woman put her arms around Caitlyn, she didn’t fight.

She closed her eyes. Breathed in the old woman’s smell. Allowed herself to be pulled in close.

And began to sob in great racking spasms.