“I don’t want to die” said the man with a note in his voice that said he knew it was inevitable

“Then stop, now. We could go North.” she replied, though actually it had been a sort of prayer, and stroked his cheek gently. He looked at her; he wasn’t particularly striking except for his eyes. He was gaunt, from walking so much, so far, his face was almost pinched with a mouth that used to smile she thought, but now hung almost in defeat. His long black hair was lank, it looked like it needed a wash, but then they all did. His skin was dark, and tanned from the long hours outdoors. But his eyes still carried that intensity that had attracted her even before he spoke. They were dark, like the rest of him, but lustrous like jewels; they contained a depth that was hard to explain, impossible to explain. He wasn’t some intellectual, well-educated and trained, but his eyes said ‘listen’ and she did, people did. Now his eyes also contained a depth of sorrow; he had warned them often enough but; she looked around; few of his friends seemed to have listened.

Jude did, yes, he listened, he weighed things up; he didn’t like her, he thought she was common and sluttish; he was suave and middle-class; smooth and slippery she would say. But they had come to the same conclusion. If you play with fire like this the result was inevitable. And his mother, you could tell from the looks even across the room, she knew she would lose him when things blew up. She was a true loving mother, she never tried to dissuade him, he was clear in his purpose and she loved him for what he was, not what she would have liked him to be. His father was at home, holding the rest of the family together, or trying to; Mary sighed, she liked him too, she could see he was on the verge of cracking up the last time they had passed through.

The man leant back onto her breasts and she combed his hair with her fingers. “It might all work out, mightn’t it?” He didn’t answer and she, for all the world like a female ape grooming her silverback, continued to stroke and caress his head.

Across the room, one of his two best friends was talking to his mother. “She is bad for the image, he should distance himself”

“You know she loves him, and I think he loves her, as much as he loves anyone.” She had nearly given up (no mother ever entirely gives up) trying to understand her son, he often seemed remote and distant from anyone. She was sure there was nothing the matter with him, that it was a choice rather than a mild form of autism, he just felt it better to be mentally alone even when surrounded by people. Perhaps it was just that he was special, that he couldn’t share his dreams enough to make the people understand him. “Anyone special I mean, he loves everyone, even those bastards who keep trying to trip him up” She had learned to use words she would never have used before; her husband was a proper working man and would happily pepper his language with expletives, that was normal. She had learned to use them as she saw the evil, sly, devious and greedy circle round her son. She wasn’t proud of the fact, but she did feel sometimes they were the right words to use.

“Yes, I know she loves him, but, well, let’s face it, she’s a whore”

“WAS a whore”

“Once a ... well you know what I mean” he ended, remembering he was talking to a respectable old lady, not one of his drinking buddies.

“She is good for him though. Look, she sits there, listening to him, not demanding anything, stroking his head. It calms him down, where you and your friends...” He harrumphed at the suggestion he was friends with all the others “You and they are always after something. No, no it’s true, not in a bad way, but you do pressure him. He needs a break sometimes, he’s only human, and she helps him.”

They both looked over and saw him looking back. They both smiled, one out of love, one out of duty. Pete wandered off to refill his glass and found himself beside John; John the mellow, John the laid back, easy going kind of guy. Pete and John got on because they were so different. Pete was, and liked to think he was and was seen to be, a man of action; why delay and think about something when you can wade in with both feet. Sometimes it was the right move, often it got him into trouble. John liked him for his impetuosity, at the same time as being grateful for being the more thoughtful considered of the pair. He could have been just as imposing and, even threatening as Pete; they were both big, outdoors types. When needed they could both be the personal bodyguards; now though, John could see what their friend needed. He needed some ‘me’ time; he had to recharge. It had been a busy few days, actually a scary few days. A couple of times he thought his friend was pushing the authorities just a bit too far.

For this was a Theocratic Police state, they had freedom of speech, but as a temporary freedom rather than a right. It could be withdrawn at any time, there was no constitution guaranteeing the rights of the common man; no governance of, by, and for the people; this was a fairly tolerant government, but ultimately a dictatorship. Or as good as. Laws could be made and unmade as was necessary to keep order and raise taxes. That was the real aim of such a state. Their friend was good at challenging the authorities; he could parry man-trap questions, he could trip up the most devious of questioners, challenge the very basis of their religion it seemed; and the authorities let it happen. Talk was what they were all good at. They were a little surprised when he lost it a day or so ago, but even there, he had a point. They had let tradesmen get rather too close to worship. Religion doesn’t need people, people need religion. The religious bureaucracy would have been quite happy to have an empty country where only they, the righteous, existed; but the people were needed to pay their taxes to keep the elite in luxury. Which meant the police were also needed to make sure people did so. Some questioning, complaining and resistance was inevitable and acceptable; to prevent any large scale opposition it was necessary to allow a pressure valve to let off excess steam. But not too much. No, too much could cause conflagrations, riots, deaths and mayhem. That was not good for business.

John smiled at his friend. “You really don’t like her do you?”

“I just think she’s bad for his image”

“When she was ‘trading’ did you ever ... you know”

“No! Well, I don’t think so.” responded Pete “I doubt if I could have afforded her to be honest; I understand she was good at what she did and charged accordingly”

“Well, I think she’s using the same techniques now to help him, just in a different way. And if his mum can tolerate her, I’d say you should be able to”

“Probably right, I wonder how my mum would react if I brought a woman like that home”

John laughed “I’ve met your mum, she’d rip your balls off I think; she as impetuous as you”