Chapter 8

He had dinner with Norris and his live-in companion later that night. They ordered Chinese food and ate on paper plates with plastic forks and knives. Luckily, Norris’ friend didn’t have anything of her own prepared.

Simon didn’t say much. He ate his chicken and broccoli slowly, methodically, and because he didn’t say anything, Norris and his companion didn’t say much either. Only their chewing mouths could be heard, both Norris and Simon ruminating over the day’s events. After dinner they watched the national news on television. A great recession continued with unemployment on the rise. A once colorful bull market had turned bearish and mean. The constant threat of terrorism hung over the city. The federal government, through homeland security, consolidated power domestically while picking yet another fight with the dictator Saddam Hussein overseas. Simon hadn’t been near a television set for some time, as he purposely ignored all types of news, both local and national. He viewed the process of news gathering with deep suspicion. The reporters always asked the police what happened and never the guy who got arrested. Those with wealth and power always had top billing, and it seemed a bit odd that one had to live his life listening to the same propaganda, digesting the same stories, seeing things through the same point of view. He threw up his hands and accepted it, even though he could never identify with it or see what the outsiders saw.

It became clear to Simon that the main purpose of the media was to support the establishment while falsely proclaiming that it was on the side of the people. It told him what to think, how to speak, what products to buy, what to wear, and even more dangerously: what not to think, what not to wear, what not to say.

“Norris, can we please turn off the television.”

Norris grinned for a second before shutting it off.

“Had enough?” he asked.

“It’s been a long day,” said Simon, “and the last thing I need is the news.”

“I think he’s right,” said Norris’ companion, passing around chicken fried rice.

Simon ate the rest of his meal in silence while Norris prepared his instruments for another night in the village clubs.

“I lost my girlfriend today,” Simon explained.

“That’s a tough one,” said Norris.

“I lost her to the same guy who caused all of this.”

“I’m sure you can still call her if you like.”

“No, I can’t. They’re engaged to be married, and I’m on a totally separate road now. A totally different direction.”

“You must feel terrible.”

“Yeah. I never thought I’d lose her, never thought there was even a possibility of losing her. With my father I couldn’t care less, but now my girl? I’m wondering what else there is to lose.”

“Maybe it’s something you can’t control.”

“Regardless, I stand by my decision.”

“Good for you.”

“And there’s no turning back. Hell, Norris, let’s go to before it’s too late.”

“is just a dream. I want to see the place before I die, but -”

“Then let’s go. There’s nothing left of this place. All three of us can go.”

“I think it’s a fine idea,” said Norris’ companion.

She sat beside Norris on the sofa with an arm around his shoulders.

“But how will we go?”

“Well, the rest of my money is in stocks right now. I can sell the stocks, get the cash, and we can start an entirely new life down in.”

“Hold on, boy. Just hold on one second. Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves here? Your money won’t support the three of us.”

“No, but at least you’ll have your guitar, and we can share the expenses. Three people will rent a pretty big apartment in the heart of. The cost of living is much cheaper down there.”

“Not that much cheaper.”

“Much cheaper than, I tell you that. A pack of cigarettes here costs twelve dollars. In it costs only five.”

“How do you know? You don’t smoke.”

“I’m picking up the habit,” said Simon, brandishing a pack from his pocket.

“I guess a lot’s changed about you. It only took a few months in the school of hard knocks, and finally we have a graduate of the streets.”

“Money is an interesting thing, Norris. When you have it, the world is a sunny day. All the women look beautiful, and the world is wide open. So the man with the money does whatever he wants until he finds that money just isn’t enough. He wants loyalty, he wants friendship, he wants things only bestowed to cute children, but it is the passage back to youth that has eluded him, as the money he’s got only makes him grow up a little faster, his instincts always on the edge, and with it a never-ending feeling of guilt that compels him to trade it all away for something real, something pure, something better than this earth.

“And the money he’s got doesn’t matter one thin dime, because he has spent his entire life calculating, spending, saving perhaps, and even destroying. Man’s reach will always exceed his grasp, and always reaching for money doesn’t make anyone the happier. A man with money reaches but never grasps.”

“Yeah, but money sure as hell helps,” said Norris, laughing.

“This is quite true, but money was never meant to die for. Money can never be a substitute for strength of character.”

“True. Very true.”

“And I have learned enough from the school of hard knocks. I have learned enough how the machinery works and how easily it can deprive. I no longer wish to be a part of the machinery. It has chewed me up and spit me out for no known reason. I have always been a good man, and will always be a good man, and this good man is getting out before the machine stomps on him.”

“Sounds like a cop out to me,” said Norris.

“is not a cop out. It is a chance at a better life.”

“Maybe you haven’t learned enough yet.”

“What are you talking about?”

The two of them sighed in front of him, and he wasn’t sure how to interpret it. They looked disappointed.

“What did I say wrong?”

“It’s not anything you said,” said the companion.

“We’re not looking for an escape,” said Norris. “We could do that on our own. You see, you think by going to you can escape your past, escape what happened to you, escape this building. We, on the other hand, want something else.”

“Like what?”

“and respect for the way we live.”

“You demand a lot from people. That’s not anything two tickets to can buy.”

“No, it can’t. That’s why I’m saying that is like a dream to me. It can’t be achieved. Imagine for a second if we leave, get there, and no one around us treated us with dignity, because we were poor, because I was black?”

“That was a long time ago. It doesn’t happen today.”

“Bullshit it doesn’t.”

“It happens to us,” said the companion.

“It may not happen to you, but it happens to us.”

“Then you’re asking the impossible. You should really be asking: why the hell should I care what other people think.”

“It’s not as simple as that. Remember how you felt when you first moved into the hotel across the street? That’s what our people feel like every day of their lives.”

“Your people? Who’s your people?”

The companion interrupted Norris before he had a chance to respond.

“Simon,” she said, “I really do think you should think it over. I mean, we want different things. We don’t want to escape more than we want acceptance and to have certain opportunities that are closed to us within the city.”

“will have that.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Norris.

“We deserve better than this, that’s all I’m saying. I mean, you’re a musician, and you deserve to be heard, and we deserve a better life. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Good lives don’t magically appear, Simon. People don’t flock to the sound of a guitar. Something more needs to be gained.”

“An adventure? Is that what you want?”

“No. I want us to be accepted. To be treated equally as a couple.”

“I never knew it’s been so hard for you two.”

“My family disowned me,” said the companion, a white woman. She was also quite attractive in the similar way Caitlin was attractive. Maybe they had similar upbringings as well. She had maintained her beauty while enduring tumultuous times with Norris.

“Harder for her than it was for me,” he said.

They held hands, though – a sure sign of their lifelong solidarity against people who tried to separate them.

“Well, I was disowned by my family too,” said Simon. “Since two out of three of us were so politely disowned, I’d say that it’s two-thirds majority that we forget about this higher meaning shit and get three tickets, not two. I didn’t know she was coming along as well.”

“First, we visit,” said Norris. “Get two tickets. All we need is two.”

“But all three of us should go. Norris, we have to forget about this place. Can’t you guys see that? And we can sleep soundly tonight, after we pack our bags and get our shit in order, and we can take a slow bus ride, and I want it to be slow, because we finally get to see the rest of – all those dumb towns – the heartland, all of that shit. We have to mobilize. The both of you are sick and tired of living in the ghetto, I know I am, and we just get up and go. It’s as simple as that. Why are you creating complications? Why does it have to be so complicated?”

“You’re still young, Simon. There are things you can’t possibly understand.”

“I’m thirty years old.”

“That’s still young,” said Norris. “How long have we lived here?”

“Ten years,” said the companion.

“Our people have shown us the way towards a stable and fruitful life. We have no reason to leave. Our life has been good so far. We are poor, but we have lived in peace, and our people, especially the folks down in the village, understand. The understanding we have received there is unparalleled. People accept us as a couple. That is why we visit for the time being. Black and white don’t necessarily go together so easily down there. What I call political correctness and mutual understanding they call bondage, and so we have to be careful.”

“Who is ‘our people,’ Norris?”

“All you need to do right now is get two tickets to. Just go up to the Greyhound counter and order two tickets. That’s all you need to do. Stop questioning so much. Grow up a little and order the tickets.”

“Fine. I’ll call my broker first thing in the morning, but just to let you know, isn’t necessarily the stew of understanding we think it is. It’s not a perfect city. Look what they did to me: it took a good, just, and honest man and turned him into an animal, and I, for one, refuse to accept it. I refuse to accept defeat.”

Visiting and moving to, however, were two different things. His excitement calmed a notch, as he hoped he would be leaving the city for good. Unfortunately, no one wanted to leave with him.

His spirited walk on the way to the Port Authority bus terminal a week after he had sold his stocks attracted many onlookers and those begging for change, an inverted dandyism of sorts, considering his wardrobe hadn’t changed in three months. They didn’t see his clothing but admired the way he walked, as if his clothes were a regal badge and his aura imperial. He felt like himself again, a smile on the edge of his lips and the old Sample gleam in his eye. It was the same gleam of his father at the sale of one of his properties and his own gleam when he broke a fundraising record and his candidate won the election by a landslide.

He found his way to the Greyhound ticketing area in the basement of the Bus Terminal. There were two parts to the Bus Terminal, the first taking up a square block and the second another square block further up. Walkways above and below ground linked the two buildings. Simon had never been to the bus terminal before, so getting to the right ticket counter took a few queries at the various information booths. It was also an annoying excursion between both buildings just to find the damn ticket counter.

He planned to advanced-purchase the tickets for both him and Norris and then return to the apartment for dinner, since Norris had a gig that night. They would depart the following day. When he got to the counter, a long, serpentine line snaked in front of it. Considering the number of people waiting online versus the two agents at the cash registers, the line moved unbearably slow. The line itself had sub-lines of people like those of the post office. The ticket agents instructed people to return to the line after they filled out the necessary paperwork to hand to them. In all, Simon had a good wait ahead of him, and what’s more, just before getting into the cue, a beautiful, tall African-American woman cut in the line before him without giving it a second thought. The nerve of some people. But she was definitely a beautiful girl, a shapely body, a nice knit sweater, and soft brown skin. Simon thought of starting a conversation with her. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman, and he stood in the line prepared to take her away to his hole in the wall just a few blocks away. The woman smiled as she looked around her. She was as fresh and lovely.

“Where ya headed?” Simon had to ask.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“I said it’s a long line. I hope we don’t have to wait much longer.”

She nodded her head and then looked towards the counter.

“Where ya headed?” asked Simon again.

“.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a real coincidence. I’m also headed to.”

“Wow, that is a coincidence,” she said. “Do you live down there or something?”

“No, just a friend of mine and I are visiting. We haven’t been out of the city in a long time.”

“There are plenty of places to stay down there.”

“Yeah. We figured we’d stay at a motel for a couple of days, hopefully close to.”

“I love! That’s the first thing I want to do when I get down there.”

“We’re traveling musicians. Well, I’m not a musician, but I’m assisting a musician.”

They had a full conversation by the time they got to the ticket counter. Everything about her exuded an intelligence and beauty he wanted all to himself. She smiled and laughed as he charmed her. She lived down in, and it occurred to him that he should ask if they could stay with her for a couple of nights. As of yet they didn’t have accommodations, and he worried their money would run out should they stay in hotel rooms.

The woman ordered one ticket to. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. She seemed to know the guy at the ticket counter. They were on familiar terms. She must have taken the bus to often enough to have known him. She bid Simon a quick farewell and then headed towards the escalators that led to the gates below. Simon faced the ticket agent with a wide smile, as though he had finally made contact with planet woman and passed through her atmosphere without burning up. He noticed too that she had left her ticket at the counter by mistake.

Simon never liked moral dilemmas, but unfortunately he stared into the strange face of one. He knew he should behave properly and always held himself to high moral standards, but now that he had seen a tougher side to existence, he wondered what material benefit might be gained from acting in a moral manner. He knew he had very little money left. He had taken a loss in the market, so he had even less than what he started out with. If he took the ticket for himself, he would save quite a bit. He stood in front of the ticket counter like a zombie, staring at the ticket the woman left behind. He looked to the counter person for help, but apparently the guy feigned ignorance of the second ticket.

‘Life is not perfect,’ he thought to himself, as his immediate urge was to take the ticket for himself. He was no longer a young pilgrim trying to reach the center of God. His conscience buckled. He no longer wanted the things he used to want – things like being a good person throughout his life or keeping his conscience clear – so that at an old age, perhaps on his deathbed, he could say to himself that he lived his life well and never stole, never killed, never raped anybody for a buck. Yet he understood that only the rich could afford such a luxury – only the affluent could keep their purity. Those at the bottom had to steal if only to keep their own self-respect in a society that overwhelmingly favored wealth and success to that of poverty and failure. What they taught him in all of those years of fine education never prepared him for this. Never had he imagined that he needed to steal in order to get by. Sure, people did it every day without thinking twice, but Simon learned never to cut corners, even though things like stealing were widely accepted, glorified at times, just so long as no one got caught and evaded the authorities with a savvy and intelligence that made everyone in the society declare: ‘Look, this guy stole and got away with it, so he must be savvy and intelligent.’ Anything moral translated into an earnest stupidity that people respected him for but never won him the girl, never bought the car, never gave him power. He never knew morality could also be his greatest weakness.

He reasoned that there was practically no material benefit in exercising the conscience, especially if one is a very small man, at the bottom, wanting so much. He needed the free ticket. Why not be a gentleman about it, chase after the girl, and give her the ticket?

It was the right thing to do after all, even though it pained him. Then he reasoned that there are other situations unforeseen that require a strong conscience. To the realist’s trained eye, the conscience is but one component in the overall picture of the human being. Yet to the idealist, perhaps the conscience is a gateway to the world’s unforeseen, the ingredient that prevents future mistakes from happening, the vehicle by which better worlds are created, better perspectives that take hold and improve the spirit. It all sounded very nice to him. He grabbed the extra ticket and raced after her down the escalators.

He saw her ahead, her pace quickening as she moved through the terminal. He called out to her, but apparently she didn’t hear him. He bumped into those waiting on long lines. The basement terminal swarmed with passengers, the crowd large and dense. At one point he could barely keep track of her, his eyes darting from corner to corner hoping he had the right person. She then exited the terminal through one of the metallic doors, into the roadway where the other buses stood idle. Simon diligently pursued her.

She exited the terminal through one of the gates and traversed an underground roadway used solely by the buses. The sound of bus engines on their way out of the terminal was ubiquitous. She crossed the roadway, and he followed, not knowing where she went or why she headed in such a strange, unorthodox direction. He called out to her again, but she kept walking, as though she ignored him on purpose.

Interestingly enough the woman looked over her shoulder every few feet, and at first Simon thought she meant to evade him. As he crossed the wet roadway she moved farther into another tunnel perpendicular to it. This dark tunnel was closed to traffic and may have served as an emergency exit ramp for official use only. Simon had pursued her this far, and although a thought told him to turn around and forget about the pursuit, he still pressed on, finding her behavior completely out-of-line.

He crossed the roadway, and he followed her into the dark tunnel. The lights from the roadway illuminated the mouth of the tunnel but nothing beyond a few hundred feet. At the edge of the roadway’s light and the pitch blackness of the tunnel the woman hurried down a stairwell that led further underground. Simon ran towards the stairwell and called out to her. She didn’t respond but tacitly egged him on. She wanted him to follow, he was sure of it. She disappeared from view as he approached. Her silence and her mysterious smile kept him chasing her.

When he reached the stairwell he faced a doorway at the bottom. The woman had already entered it. A single light shined below, but the stairwell itself was covered in darkness. He carefully descended through the darkness, his hand gripping the loose railing at his side. When he reached the door, he opened it.

“Hello!” he called out.

There was no response, only another long, dark corridor that led into blackness. He shivered as he walked. The further he went, the colder it got. He felt himself going deeper into an abyss. As the corridor sloped downwards, he searched for a light switch, but he couldn’t find one. He ran his hands along the moist concrete walls, his footsteps slow and apprehensive. He had no idea where this woman went. Amazing how she raced ahead of him, as though she already knew these corridors.

The path ended at a wall, and there was nowhere else to go but to the left, and when he turned, he thanked his luck, because now there shined another light ahead of him. As he approached this second light, he moved through puddles of cold water. The walls were still wet, indicating some sort of underground leak or faulty pipes or even rainwater seeping in from above. The puddles were deep as he walked towards this shining light. He must have been several hundred feet below ground when he confronted a second door after reaching dry ground. The air was stale and cold, his breath visible, but when he entered this second doorway, the air grew warm and moist, the underground passageways exposed by a row of soot-caked lights. He heard conversation ahead of him and walked softly in that direction. He heard voices and didn’t know what to expect.

In the short distance, he made out two tall, muscular figures. They were African-American men in threadbare military fatigues, rifles slung around their shoulders. He moved closer. The woman he followed disappeared beyond them.

“Welcome,” said one of them.

They guided him through a set of double doors. What was once a corridor fanned out into a larger room the size of an auditorium. The crowd at the rows and columns of chairs stood and observed him walking down the aisle. To his strange horror, the hairs on his body on end, he saw Angela Ruiz in the audience staring right at him. He saw Manny the computer guy from office headquarters. He saw the woman who left him the ticket at the Greyhoud counter, and what gave him the greatest shock, he saw Norris and his companion standing a couple rows back from where an empty chair waited for him.

The audience packed the underground auditorium to the hilt. More people flowed in through the side entrances. Many stood along the side walls. In front, a spotlight from overhead bathed a small stage. A pair of armed guards kept watch at the corners of the stage, their stiff, rugged bodies facing the audience, their faces firm and expressionless. The audience whispered amongst themselves.

Simon kept silent, talking to no one, his gaze fixed on the empty stage as well as the armed guards, hoping that the speaker would explain and clarify this irrational event. He wanted to ask Norris what all of this was, but he was too awestruck to turn around. It might have interrupted some predetermined flow, as he knew full well that Norris and his companion had set him up. The same with Angela Ruiz, and even Manny the computer guy who must have been the mole in Briarwood’s office. Next to him stood John Hernandez, the opposition candidate. Only Manny had access to everyone’s email, and naturally he leaked the story along with proof of bribery to Angela Ruiz.

Simon felt like a dope. He never had a clue that his movement to the other side of things was merely a best-laid plan, a grand scheme, and he wanted to know who orchestrated it. Angela, Norris, the companion, and Manny were all pawns in this most dangerous game, and certainly they couldn’t have planned it without a guiding force. He suspected that whoever set him up also needed him while ruining him at the same time.

His general confusion transmuted into an intense anger. He viewed his former life as flawless, Caitlin’s body as flawless, his bank account at one time overflowing, and his work the thing he loved most. All of that was stolen by a few people with a plan, and how dare they toy with the fragility of his life. It wasn’t a complete scam, though. He still believed there was some higher purpose that brought him to the packed, humid auditorium. He stood next to strangers who looked at him and smiled. He peered behind him to Norris and his companion. They held hands. How clever they were. They knew his every move. They knew his mind and the decisions he would make. They had monitored him, knew his dreams, and understood his weaknesses. The audience knew of these things. They had a unique power over him, and he kept still instead of running for the exits and straight up to street level.

The audience quieted themselves as an older woman walked upon the stage. She commanded the attention of the entire audience. She was an elderly woman, gray hairs like coarse wires sprouting from her head, her wrinkled skin illuminated in the bright, hot spotlight, her clothing plain and earthy, as though she belonged out West or drifting on a friehgt train. Her skirt was a tapestry of colors, and she wore a woolen gray sweater with a jade necklace hugging her collar. Her presence exuded a beauty lost to older age, a venerability that took on the form of some vague leadership based on an ideology the audience drank up like water in an endless desert. She had chlorine blue eyes that stared straight into him like hot lasers. She had a sense of his presence and knew his thoughts and feelings.

They knew each other on some intuitive level as she alone was responsible for his excursion to the underground. He knew this, but he still did not see the bigger picture. He had many questions, but he held them for now. In front of a small microphone she spoke.

“Welcome, every one of you,” said the old woman. “We are finally complete, and I certainly thank all of you for ending your work early this evening. Our movement gets its strength from those who work, as labor is our most valuable commodity. Our cabinet is now ready for its final showdown with the outer world. We have all worked incredibly hard to get here. Our arsenals are full, our guard strong, our collective will unbreakable.

“No longer will our children and grandchildren remain in hiding. With our well-trained revolutionary guard we are finally poised to retake what is ours, not below ground, but above ground. We can no longer stay here. Our numbers have grown steadily year by year, and this place, although special as it nurtured the seeds of our rebellion, is no longer large enough to give room to our vision of a just and equitable society apart from the corruption of the government and corporations above ground. The movement must finally unveil itself to those above, and we now have the strength to conquer whoever stands in our path. What will be is inevitable. What’s to come is inevitable. For us there is no turning back.

“We have kept quiet for too long. We have played by the rules, and every time we are smarted by the same unjust system that had originally sent us below. Well, to this we say that we will no longer be stepped on by the boots of their inhuman, calculating machine. We will not be deterred any longer by the slow inadequacies of the pseudo-democracy shoved down our throats. Each of us started as powerless, and look at us now! Take a good look at yourselves – look into the eyes of your brothers and sisters to both the left and the right of you and realize how far we’ve come. No longer are we powerless. We have an army. No longer does a fate control us. We control our own destiny. And what binds us together is the belief that in a democracy there will always be those who go without, and democracy, contrary to popular belief, is not perfect.

Any system that kills us is neither virtuous nor just, and that is exactly what the system does to the poor, the hungry, the sick, and the ugly. There will always be those who are crushed by the boots of an unjust system, and I say, loud and clear, that we are the people who have been crushed. We were born without guidance, and most of us without capital. We played their game and found that the game was created if only to protect those already in power, those who already have money. We went underground to survive, and now we seek our liberation. We are through playing games. We are through withstanding blow after blow just to have our voices heard, just to have enough to buy food, just to keep ourselves warm during the cold and ruthless winters.

“We do have a plan, and that is to overpower the forces above so that we can live in our own building, a building that will soon become our home, a place where our young shall live for many more years to come. But overtaking the apartments above won’t be easy. It has taken careful planning by our revolutionary guard who will soon usurp the power of the landlords and by degrees of separation the City of and the federal government. The building is ours, and in a week’s time no one among us will have to pay a penny to live there. And no one among us will have to worry about food ever again.

“These are promises that are ironclad and form the basis of our movement. In a week’s time the government above ground will witness the full wrath of our power. We must fight for a better way of life, and no, there is never an easy way. There will be blood and tears, but at the end of battle we shall be victorious. It is up to every one of us to take up arms against the dogs who defend only wealth but never poverty, defend only the blackest of hearts and never the innocent. This is our time, and we shall manifest what has taken years of planning and soul-searching to achieve. We shall overcome, and ultimately conquer the forces that oppose us in favor of the light in our hearts, the light that demands a better way of life for all of our people.”