Роберт Уилсон: Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758

Surrounded by the height of hundred-year-old oak trees, a group of women gathered by the creek, chatting quietly, cautiously beyond prying eyes. Some words could not be shared—these thoughts were better told through subtle gestures—a code only they knew. Too often, guards stood closely by. The women couldn’t afford to step out of line.

They drowned blankets and clothing—a white foam cleansing blood and unsavory stains. Flat stones covered in soaked fabric. A large woman with a paddle pressed the water from the balled up material. The others hung the damp cloth along a clothesline.

“I’m going for it. I’m done,” she said, her nervous eyes darting between the row of sheets—just a harmless peek toward the top of the ridge. Four guards posted atop its edge, pacing amongst the trees, mostly watching over the women. Only occasionally did their faces turn.

“They’ll kill you,” another woman reminded her.

“What’s the difference?” She looked her companion straight in the eyes. “If I make it out, good, if not, at least it’s over.”

“But your sister?”

“The Butcher cares for her. She won’t leave.”

“But what if he takes your escape out on her?”

“He won’t. Just give her my chits. Maybe she’ll save enough to buy her freedom.”

“I just—” Quickly, the other woman draped a dingy, white sheet to dry, blocking the approaching guard’s view from her as she nodded a hush down the line—each woman relayed to the next.

“What are we talking about here?” He moved his eyes from woman to woman, from top to bottom, moistening his lips while admiring their state of nudity. “Your twos mouths are moving quite a bit. Care to share?”

“No sir,” they said in unison. Their eyes dropped in unison. Trained. Submissive.

He reached out and cupped her breast.

She turned her head away from him. “Nothing important.”

“You mean, nothing important, sir.”

“Yes, sir.” She gulped. “It was nothing important, sir.”

“Then shu—”

“Bill! Get up here! Quit messing with the women!”

“Alright, John! Just trying to have some fun!”

The guard scoffed, took another look at the women, winked, and then turned from them. He crossed the shallow creek and climbed the steep embankment, joining his squad. Their attention was drawn toward the service road that wound its way through the valley between the ridges.

“This is my chance. When you see my sister, tell her I’m sorry.”

She casually walked behind the clotheslines, hidden, gradually making it to the end. One last look—a bob of her head and she bolted, scrambling up the hill opposite the guards. The other women continued working, muttering prayers to themselves that their friend would make it.

“Hey!” John pointed to the frantic woman. “The Butcher’s gonna have our asses if we don’t get her.”

Bill raised his rifle, but it was swatted away.

John pulled at Bill’s arm, and the two raced away. “Marcus, stay with them!”

“On it!”

The woman crested the top and continued her race through the trees. “Don’t look back. Don’t look back.” Her pale body slipped in and out of view between the trees and brush.

“I don’t see her,” Bill said, panting as they scoured the woods.

“It’s been too long. They’re gonna know.” John raised his pistol in the air and fired off several rounds. “I’ll wait here. Get them women back to the tents. Make it believable. No one gets away.”

“Mr. Tom?” A young boy’s voice. Thomas could feel a tugging at his arm, but not hard enough to bring him from his dream. “You got to wake up.”

“I can’t believe you did it.”

“Why?”

“It just isn’t you. Going to basic training, getting yelled at for nothing. I don’t know—it just isn’t you.”

“Have to pay for college somehow.”

“I’m surprised your dad didn’t kill you for doing it.”

“We looked at everything, and this was it.”

“So for sure it’s happening? The gentle giant’s going to war?”

“No one calls me that anymore.”

“I’m kidding you, Tommy.”

“They don’t call me that either.”

“Lot’s changed, I see. You’re not that guy in the street with the picket sign anymore, huh, soldier?”

“Nope. I realized that’s not ever going to be enough. We weren’t saving anyone.”

“What is it you think you’re gonna do?”

“Something real, maybe some real damn change for once.”

“They brainwashed you good, huh?”

“It’s not like that. After seeing the pictures of their people—the kids, I know this is the right thing. The shit in Syria’s been going on way too long. Everyday those people are being slaughtered over there. Their own people, man. Those protest signs aren’t saving shit.”

“I don’t know…”

“I do.”

“Come on, you’re in the Reserves. How much action you think you’ll really see? How much do you think you’re gonna change?”

“More than you will.”

“At what price, though?”

“Mr. Tom? Mr. Tom, wake up!”

“But in all seriousness, man, I’m not trying to give you too much shit. I don’t want our last conversation to be—

“Last conversation?”

“Not like that, I just… I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Yeah, someone has to do it. This war isn’t going to be won from over here. That just isn’t going to happen.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you.”

“They told me I have to go, so yeah, it does have to be me.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’ll be here when I get back whether he agrees with my choice or not.”

“Don’t get yourself killed out there.”

“Yeah… got ya.”

“Don’t try and be the hero. Just do your job and get home.”

“Mr. Tom? It’s time.”

Thomas rolled onto his side and gradually opened his eyes. A round, smiling face, unblemished and innocent, came into focus. “Hey, big man.” Thomas’s voice was raspy from just waking up.

“I’m not very big.”

“Sure you are.” Thomas lifted the frail boy from the floor and set him into bed next to him. He scooted himself over to make room, and the two of them lay there next to one another staring at the ceiling. Thomas brushed a few stray hairs from the boy’s face—the rest of his dark hair swirled from restless sleep. Last night’s storm must have kept him tossing in bed. “What do you see this morning?”

“The dinosaur.”

“This same one again?” Thomas purposely pointed in the wrong direction.

“No, here.” The boy tugged on Thomas’s arm, trying to redirect him. “It’s a T-Rex, see!” The boy traced the shoddy patchwork of the plaster ceiling that had become discolored and started to show signs of another leak.

“I don’t know how much longer he’s going to make it. Looks like I’ll have to try and patch it up again.”

“But I like that one.” The boy finished his tracing with one final swoop of his index finger. “He’s big.”

“I know he is, buddy, but that’s the problem. We don’t want water getting in here, do we?”