Claire Zorn - The Sky So Heavy

Alan goes to his things and rummages around. He comes back with a small plastic bottle. He shakes some pills into his palm and hands them to Matt.

I sit with Alan, neither of us is able to get back to sleep. Alan polishes his boots on a sheet of newspaper, says he may as well make use of the time. He has a flat round tin of Dubbin and he works the oily cream into the leather with a grey rag. I can see in his face that he has lost weight.

‘Smell that?’ he says, pointing to the boot polish. ‘I smell that and I’m home. Lived out on the land my whole life, used to avoid the city like the plague. Now look at me.’ He shakes his head. ‘You know, it’s funny because back in the fifties and sixties everyone worried about this business, about nuclear war. The Russians were going to nuke us at any minute. And then it all went away. I wonder if we got complacent. My mother was a wise old stick. You know what she used to say to me? She used to say, Alan, never underestimate the human race’s ability to bugger things up… Much like your mate Noll was saying.’ He nods toward Matt, asleep, curled into a tight ball. ‘Don’t reckon I slept for a month after I got back from Vietnam.’

‘You were in the war?’

‘Oh, yeah. Seen things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And I was barely eighteen, just a lad, like this fella. I hate to say it, but if you make it out of this, you’ll never be the same.’

Lucy has scissors. She stands behind me and cuts my hair as short as she can, then she takes Alan’s razor to it and shaves the rest. Side by side, Matt and I don’t look all that different. I pull on his uniform, tie the laces of his big black boots. He gives me his ID badge and I put it in my pocket.

‘What do I say to them?’ I ask.

‘Yer walk up, stand to attention.’ He does it and I copy him. ‘Yer salute.’ He salutes and I notice as he stares into the middle-distance beyond me that his eyes are watery. I copy his salute. ‘Yer say “Permission to enter, sir.” And he will open the gates for yer.’

‘Do I salute everyone I come to?’ I ask him. He says nothing, still at attention, staring into the distance. ‘Matt? Do I salute everyone?’

‘Don’t salute yer own rank.’

‘What’s my rank?’

‘Private. Yer the lowest, yer nuthin’.’

I hug Lucy before I leave. I hold her close and breathe in her scent.

‘If I don’t come back, look after Max, yeah?’

‘You’ll come back. I like you in uniform by the way.’

‘Thanks. I concocted this whole thing to impress you.’

She grips my hand. ‘You will come back.’

I go to the car, open the door and reach under the driver’s seat. I feel around until my fingers find the handgun, Starvos’ gun. I am about to tuck it under my uniform when I turn around to see Noll standing behind me, watching.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m bringing the gun.’

‘That’s a really stupid idea.’

‘No, going there with nothing is a stupid idea.’

‘At least give it to me.’

‘What?’

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘You don’t have to. You don’t have a uniform.’

‘Do you even know how to shoot that thing?’

‘Well…’

‘I’m coming with you. You’ll get yourself shot on your own.’ He takes the gun from me and tucks it away in his coat. ‘Come on.’

‘I’ve only got one pushie.’

‘Then we’ll find another one. What? Did you think I wouldn’t want to steal a bike because it’s against the Ten Commandments?’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘That is so Old Testament.’

‘Is that your version of a joke?’

‘Shut up.’

We have to double on my pushie for a bit before we find another one. After that it’s a fairly quick ride into the business district of the city. We approach Town Hall from a different direction to the first time I came here, cycling up George Street, past the broken façades of the cinema complex and fast-food outlets. We stop on the corner adjacent to the cathedral, outside a gutted KFC store.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Noll asks.

I shrug, ready to vomit with nerves. ‘I go up, say I have a message for her.’

‘From who? They’re going to ask.’

‘I dunno. Was just going to make up a name, “Lance Corporal Mitchell”. That’ll do it.’

‘You think?’

‘Well, what other option do I have?’

‘I think it would be better to wait until they are distracted with something else. Ask when they are busy, when they’ll just want to get rid of you.’

‘Are you offering to distract them?’

‘No, I’m not. Just wait until they’ve got another arrival coming in or something. Be patient. See what happens.’

‘And what are you gonna do with the gun, exactly, if something goes wrong?’

‘I don’t know. But, I’m sure as hell not letting you in there with it.’

‘Seriously, Noll, I should take it.’

‘You can’t. They’ll pat you down before they let you in. And really, like you say, what are you going to do with it? Shoot your way out?’

He has a point. So we wait and after about half an hour, when I am just about to tell him his plan sucks, a truck engine rumbles through the silence.

Noll raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Try not to die. Good luck.’

I leave him and attempt to stride toward the barrier gates in a confident manner, repeating my rehearsed lines over and over in my head. A banner advertising a Wednesday morning ‘healing service’ hangs limply above the cathedral doors. I reckon that one will be popular when all this is over. If it’s ever over.

The truck pulls up at the gates, I walk beside it. The guards talk to the soldier driving the truck. They see me but don’t even say anything. I walk straight through the gates. I go up the marble steps. At the top before the doors is another guard, his name badge has an ‘Lt’ before it. I stand to attention, salute. My mouth is so dry I wonder if I’ll be able to speak at all.

‘Permission to enter, sir?’ I say. He examines me.

‘What’s your business here, private?’

‘I have a message for a Libby Streeton.’ His face doesn’t change, waiting. ‘From, ah, Lance Corporal, ah, Lance Corporal Noll.’

‘Lance Corporal Noll?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You seem a bit on edge, private. Everything alright?’

‘Everything is fine, lieutenant. It’s just an urgent message. Is Libby Streeton here?’

‘I couldn’t say. You’ll have to have a look.’ He steps aside and opens the door.

Inside, the building bristles with noise and movement. I feel a sensation I haven’t felt in a long time. Warmth; not the heat on my face from a fire that doesn’t come close to warming my whole body, but a complete, enveloping warmth. In the foyer, fatigue-clad officers stack towers of ration boxes and pallets of bottled water beside a wall that is still lined with tourist brochures offering information about guided tours and the building’s history. I walk through the foyer into a large room with high, ornate ceilings and gilded cornices, a chandelier the size of a small planet hangs in the room’s centre. Rows of trestle tables have been set up beneath it and military personnel sit looking into laptop screens, rivers of electrical and telephone cabling run out to an adjoining room, the whole scene crowded with the relentless hum of generators. Other people stand in discussion before the vast wall space papered with maps. I can see through to the next room, larger still, filled with more desks and more people. At the far end, on the stage, is a huge screen showing footage of a desolate, rubble-strewn landscape.

‘Can I help you?’ an officer asks me, irritated. I realise I am clearly in the way.