Tunnel Vision
Written by Abracadebra
Who could say how many days we'd been down here? With no natural daylight, the old Circadian rhythms were pretty messed up. Not that mine are exactly normal to begin with. I work into the wee hours as a usual matter. But no daylight for days on end was starting to fray my nerves.
The stale air of the tunnels smelled like cavemen in desperate need of a shower, and I'm pretty sure deodorant wasn't a thing in 1943. I had a flashback—or technically, I guess, a flash forward—to a trip to Prague in 1992, when I was riding on a crammed subway. It was August, dozens of Czech strap-hangers had their arms straight up in the air and it was lethal in there. A lot like here.
I couldn't help but think it must have been tough when they had visitors down here, especially when it was a crowd. Then I started thinking about that early episode — what was it? Oh, yeah, Flight of the Valkyrie — where Baroness Lili von Schlechter wanders out of the tunnels and up to Hogan's office because she was getting claustrophobic down there and needed fresh air. I always her liked her, but that little scene used to bother me until I was down here. Now I could see why she went on her ramble.
I'm pretty sure the Baroness got a kiss out of Hogan after that little stunt. I'm equally sure I'd get a dirty look and a reprimand if I tried it.
Anyway, I guess I must have dozed off for a while because one minute Sue and I were down here, yapping like we do, and the next thing I saw her out of the corner of my eye, climbing the ladder into the barracks.
I'm not much of rules follower under the best of circumstances, but I do have a healthy self-preservation streak. And as much as I want to climb that ladder and peek around the barracks, I worry that would be exact moment that one of worst guards or a big meanie like Hochstetter would show up. And hiding would probably not be my forte, since I am no longer petite or nimble.
Still, though. We're running out of things to do down here. Sue and I could talk forever, apparently, but we've been shushed a few times by Kinch because he couldn't hear the radio over our yammering. We've drunk a lot of tea, which is the one nice thing Newkirk has done for us in between scowling about all the authors and flirting with the younger women. He makes an excellent cup of tea, and somehow even scrounged up cream and sugar for us. Probably stolen right from under Klink's nose.
We listened to records, cleaned up after the men, and took lots of notes for our future stories. We organized the camp library using our rather impressive command (if we do say so ourselves) of the Dewey Decimal System. And when Newkirk wasn't looking, we did a little tidying up in his sewing and wardrobe room.
We also straightened up Kinch's radio room, and created a keyword system for all their notes as a cross-reference to their chronological files. I think Sue might be the only person I know with whom I could have a lively conversation about information management, or what we used to call library science, although I suspect that if Carter lived in our day and age, he'd be right in there with us, talking taxonomy and content management.
I know, I'm ridiculously boring. Believe me, my kids roll their eyes at me in a style worthy of Newkirk.
Anyway, back to Carter. The only place we didn't touch was Carter's lab. It's possible Sue has the guts for that, but I don't. I mean, I got a C in high school chemistry because I was freaked out after my lab partner, who had already spilled hydrochloric acid once, went on to cause an explosion that briefly turned the air in the classroom yellow. So yeah, no thanks.
So like I said, one minute I was having a nice conversation, and the next thing I knew I was flopped across a high-top table, snoozing because I was now oblivious to day, night, and manners. As I woke up, I shook off the cobwebs, looked up the ladder, heard the distant sound of conversation, recognized a female voice amid the baritones, and thought, she went up there. Well, dang, color me impressed.
Then I thought, why am I holding back? I don't need to await orders. I can go up there and see for myself what's what. I'm a journalist, dammit. I've barged into lots of places where I was not welcome. I've made a pest of myself for a living. I've asked intrusive questions and gotten candid answers. And my powers of observation are going to wither and turn to dust down here.
So screw it. I'm. Going. Up. That. Ladder.