It felt strange to move my jaw. Having been unable to do so for the majority of my life, the muscles were weak so every opening and closing of my mouth was agony. At least at first. Now, it is a mild discomfort unless I’m eating. That still hurt and I preferred liquid forms of food, but they were harder to come by in the wild. Now, crouching by the clear river water, I examined my face. I still had a few minutes before my appointment with the camp speech therapist. Even though the stitches had been removed as soon as I got here, the dotted scars where they were stood out around my lips and cheeks, especially because the lower half of my face was still so much paler than the upper half.
Looking at those scars, I thought about life before I ran. The noisy silence of robotic announcers and no human voices. Like everyone born into the New East, my mouth was free until I turned 10. I had been so excited to get my mask. Little did I know that it came with metal wires forcing my lips together. That I would no longer sing. At least the mask looked kinda pretty. I wore that mask for 11 years. Eventually I stopped missing my voice, missing being able to sing. The silence became accepted. And then I escaped.
I should get going, but I dreaded walking through the camp. People who had been born in the Old We-. I shook my head. People who had been born in the dwindling NATO area had a hard time understanding that I didn’t have a choice. That I never really wanted to be silent, but had been brainwashed into thinking that it was what I wanted.
They would smirk at my scars, ask me questions that I was never taught the answer to, and the mean ones would ask if it felt weird to be wearing a “real shirt”. Like it had been my choice to live under the regime, to have no opportunity to learn anything of worth, like I hadn’t grown up being told there was nothing wrong with what I had been doing.
Getting up from the stream, I walked the long way around camp to the speech therapists’ tent. Well, she did a lot more than speech therapy. Taught all the runaways how to read again, how to write on paper, basic skills like cooking, how to survive while living in a rebel camp fighting against the most powerful regime to ever come into power, everything we needed all while being the highest-ranking officer in the camp. But right now, I am going to work on my language skills. Maybe by the end of the month I could start singing again. I made it just in time, according to my watch. I was proud of how fast I learned to read an analog clock. Math took a little longer, but I was getting there.
“Welcome Lidia, good to see you,” Corporal Jones was at her desk in the poorly lit tent. This was her office and living quarters all in one. The joy of camp life.
“Hello Corporal Jones,” my voice was still scratchy, but getting better every day.
“You’ve been drinking your tea, good,” she nodded, gesturing for me to sit down.
As friendly as she was, there was still a military feel to the camp that became second nature much faster than speaking. I obeyed. The chair wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was a chair. Most tents didn’t have a mattress yet alone a chair. In front of me were some yellowed looking pages.
“Okay Lidia, go ahead and read those to me out loud, best you can,” Corporal Jones had her little pad of paper ready to take notes as I read.
“But there will be no more gloom for her who was in anguish; in earlier times He treated the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali with contempt, but later on He shall make it glorious, by the way of the sea, on the other side of Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles.
The people who walk in darkness,
Will see a great light;
Those who live in the land of the shadow of death,
The light will shine on them.
You shall multiply the nation,
You shall make great their gladness;
They will be glad in Your presence
As with the gladness of harvest,
As men rejoice when they divide the spoil,”
The words were confusing to me as I read them in a raspy voice, stumbling over the bigger words and asking for help with the strange names. Corporal Jones was happy to help, and overall seemed quite pleased.
“Good job Lidia, your reading and speaking skills are progressing really well,”
Corporal Jones praised me, and I beamed with pride.
“Really,” my voice was scratchier than normal after having read so much.
“Yes, one of the fastest learners I’ve had,” she handed me a cup of tea.
I could feel my face turn red as I sipped the slightly bitter tea. It was made of some plants called ginger and lemon. Apparently, they helped heal sore throats, but tasted really bitter without sugar, and especially when you were used to the synthetic food in the New East controlled cities.
“What does it mean?”
“Sorry?”
“What do those words mean? Where are they from?” I also wanted to know this about everything Corporal Jones got me to practice with.
She smiled, clearly happy to explain.
“That is from the Book of Isaiah, which in turn is part of a larger book called the Bible. It was the holy book for a group of people called Christians. There aren’t many left, even in what’s left of NATO, but the ones that remain are faithful, and we do our best to tell others of our saviour,” She explained, as happy as ever to feed my curiosity.
I looked at her, still questioning.
“The passage is talking about how even though God was going to judge His people for the wrong they had done, one day He is going to restore them and make them an even more prosperous nation than they had been before,” she finished.
I sat for a moment contemplating. This was not the “god” the New East condemned as “a mean guy in the sky who wants to keep you from having fun”.
“What’s this God like?” I whispered and Corporal Jones beamed.
“Well,” she began but a soldier came running in.
“Corporal Jones, we are detecting enemy fighters in the sky,” the soldier was out of breath.
“Get the camouflage up and erase all heat signatures,” She was back in military mood.
I ran out with them, heading to the shelter in the centre of the camp – regulations stated the anti-infrared shelter had to be within five to ten seconds from everywhere in camp. It has a lining that blocks infrared sensors from picking up our heat signatures, or something like that. It didn’t really make sense to me. Our camp was a runaway camp.
A place for escapees, like myself, to hide and recover some skills before being sent to NATO territory. Or, to wait until the fighting in the area calmed down so it was safe to get across the border. It was better to hide out here than make a run for it when the risk of getting caught was higher. Everyone knew what happened to New East traitors. That was the one thing they never sugar coated. I didn’t realise how glad I would be to not have a television in front of me all the time. The only problem was this was a waypoint, nothing more. No major weapons or a large group of fighters, just a few guards the main fighting force could spare in case something went wrong.
The last time we had to hide, we were there for three days. There are accommodations inside, but we did run out of food. I hope they re-stalked sense then. We were among the first to reach the shelter and Corporal Jones immediately began to do a head count. I counted with her, wanting to get better with numbers. Quickly, she reached 75 and the door was shut. Corporal Jones and the other leaders met at the back to go over rations and such, so I moved to the edge where the other three runaways were.
I had been around for the longest, but even so barely spoke a word to the others. There was an older man who I was yet to hear speak a single word, so I wondered if he even knew how to. He had sad blue eyes that I could imagine once looked kind. I heard some of the soldiers whisper that he had once worked for NATO but had been kidnapped by the New East before the war. Maybe he didn’t speak because he simply didn’t want to. I never asked, but I did see him go into Corporal Jones’ tent for long periods of time so maybe it was true. The man was also the newest arrival, and the scars from his stitches were still red and fresh.
There was another girl, but she always looked mean, so I had no desire to talk to her. I could often hear her make snide comments at the soldiers. She didn’t seem like a runaway. Currently, she was glaring at someone. I didn’t know her name either. I did, however, know Sky. He was found stumbling through the forest not long after I was. It was raining the day they brought him back. As soon as the medic removed the wires he started to try to speak.
“Sky. I..Sky,” he kept repeating until someone finally figured out he meant that was his name.
It took me a couple days to even try to speak. We spoke on occasion and normally ate our meals together, so I would call us friends. I hoped he saw me as a friend too. I sat by him now.
“Hi Lidia. How are you?” Despite how harsh his voice sounded from the years of neglect, he spoke to anyone and everyone at any opportunity.
“I was doing great until this happened,” I whispered back.
He laughed, and even though it sounded like tree branches scraping together, I liked the sound. Very few people laughed here, and those that did were often making mean jokes.
“Well, it could be worse,” Sky had a refreshing optimism to him that was nice to be around.
“Fair point. I mean, we are having a verbal conversation,” I laughed, but started coughing.
Sky handed me his canteen and I drank greedily. I didn’t want to talk anymore, but seeing Corporal Jones over in the corner, whispering to herself, curiosity got the better of me.
“You make my head lie down in green pastures, and lead me beside still waters…,” I think she knew I was there but kept saying this poem. I wonder if it was also from her holy book. It sounded like the same kind of writing.
“Hey Lidia, something is wrong?” She finally turned to me.
I shook my head. I think she picked up on the reason behind my silence, but also noticing the curiosity on my face, kept talking.
“That was a Psalm, a type of poem found in the Bible,” she confirmed my suspicion.
I nodded and tried to communicate that I wanted to hear more without talking. Corporal Jones understood without much effort.
“Unlike what the New East told you, the God of the Bible is a kind God who loves His people like a shepherd loves his sheep. Now, sheep, they are stupid creatures, running off and hurting themselves. But, the shepherd loves and cares for them anyway. He brings them back home, heals them, and makes sure they don’t run away again. This Psalm is praising God for that,” she explained, and I could tell she was really happy to have someone willing to listen to her.
I thought for a moment about what she just told me. This was interesting, and I couldn’t help but like that image. A kind man looking after a fluffy sheep. I liked this God of hers the more she told me about Him. Pointing up and then giving a thumbs up, I hope Corporal Jones understood what I was trying to say.
“Yes, He is a good God,” She smiled, and I smiled, happy she understood.
“Want me to read you some more Psalms?” she offered and I nodded vigorously.
“Okay perfect,” she pulled a little book out of her pocket.
It was well used, and the letters were so tiny I couldn’t read them, but Corporal Jones seemed to know what she was looking for. I thought for a moment and then held up my hand for her to stop. She looked slightly confused but I signed that I would be back the best I could. She nodded, and I got up to go get Sky. He would love to hear about this God and about the songs His ancient followers wrote. He hadn’t moved and I could tell he was on the verge of an argument with the other girl, so I grabbed his hand and got him to follow me across the shelter to Corporal Jones. She smiled, seeing that I bought another runway.
“Okay, why don’t we start in the beginning,” She cleared her throat before beginning, as I leaned closer, hoping to be able to read as I listened.
“Psalm 1. How blessed is the man…”
By Janie Dean, 2023
The SciFi Spire 