Chapter 39

Perhaps I know why it is man alone who laughs: he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter.

- Friedrich Nietzsche

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Several days later, Harper and Dylan sat quietly on the ground outside their barrack, waiting for curfew to sound. Both were too tired for much talking, but they weren't ready for the stifling confines of the prison yet. For the most part, they were used to the stench now, but sometimes it was nice to enjoy the outside air. Harper also knew that Dylan found solace in the view of the mountains and sunset, and who was he to deny the man one small pleasure in this horrible place.

"Twig's been avoiding me," Dylan said suddenly, causing Harper to abruptly raise his head.

"What?" he asked.

"He doesn't come around as much when I'm by myself, and he keeps giving me this really skittish look; you know that kind of 'deer in the headlights' look."

Harper shrugged his shoulders. Little things like that were lost to him now. "I hadn't noticed. I just thought he was being kinda quiet, maybe extra tired. The Ubers pick on him pretty hard sometimes, and he's only a little guy."

"I know, and it's one more thing about this place that makes me livid, but I'm pretty sure it's not that this time. No, he's definitely spooked by me about something. Just wish I knew what. Can't get him to tell me."

"I can ask him if you want me to. Maybe I can get him to spill?"

"Thanks. The kid's kinda grown on me, too. I miss him hanging around, asking me about our 'adventures'."

Just then the first whistle pierced the night air, ending their conversation. Stiffly, the two friends got to their feet and made their way into the barrack for another night.

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"Harper, you just placed your lowest card down against Dylan's best," Twig said with a little laugh as he crouched next to the two men, his chin in his arms as they rested on his knees.

"Hey, not my fault! You were supposed to be helping me weren't you?" Harper cried indignantly to the little boy. "So I wouldn't do stupid things like that."

"Yup, but he didn't, and that means I win," Dylan gloated teasingly, gathering up the cards.

"Dumb cards all feel the same," Harper grumbled good-naturedly. "I'm done with this game."

"Wanna play again, Twig?" Dylan asked laughing. "Just me and you?"

"Um…no. I think I'm gonna go…um…visit the latrine," the boy said, suddenly sounding on edge. He stood up quickly and started to dash for the door.

"Hey, wait!" Harper called before the sound of small footsteps got too far away. "Wait up and I'll come with ya. I need to visit there myself."

Twig came back and stood by fidgeting while Harper got himself and all his cumbersome chains upright.

"Where are you?" the engineer asked, reaching out for the boy's shoulder and finding nothing but empty space.

"Sorry," Twig said and stepped into his reach. Harper settled his right hand on Twig's shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze while he used his left hand to clumsily pull his irons up off the ground.

"Thanks," he said to the boy with a smile. Then he turned to Dylan. "We might be a bit, honey. Don't wait up," he teased with a wink, but also a knowing nod.

"Fine," Dylan answered back, catching Harper's meaning. "Leave me home alone while you go out on the town. See if I care…"

Harper laughed as they maneuvered their way out of the barrack, but he couldn't help noticing that Twig didn't join in with his giggles like usual.

On the way back from the latrine Harper pulled Twig to a stop. "I'm not ready to go back in yet. How about we walk for a bit?" he suggested.

The child looked at his friend in surprise. "But you don't like to walk around out here without Dylan!" he said.

"Well, tonight I do, just for a few minutes. Just keep our barrack in sight, okay, and lead us some place where there are less Ubers around."

The little boy hesitated and so Harper squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "It's all right, Twig. I trust you."

"Um, okay," he said, his voice lacking confidence. He started to walk slowly forward but Harper stopped him again.

"Here," the engineer said letting go of Twig's shoulder and holding out his hand. "Grab my hand instead. Then you can walk next to me and not in front of me. Makes it easier to talk that way."

Harper felt the boy's little hand slide into his own stiff one and then the child tugged him gently forward.

"So, why are you scared of Dylan all the sudden," Harper asked after a few minutes of what felt to him like walking in circles. "What's wrong?"

Twig was silent for so long Harper wasn't sure he was going to answer. Finally, he spoke hesitantly. "Aren't you mad at him?"

"Me?" Harper asked, stopping abruptly and pulling Twig to a stop as well.

"Yeah," Twig said, scuffing his feet as he stalled again.

"Why should I be?"

"Because…well…he was really mean to you. He said a lot of bad, nasty things to you and it…it…"

The light went on in Harper's head, and he suddenly knew what this was all about. "…and he scared you, didn't he. When he yelled at me."

Twig nodded solemnly, unable to look up. Then he remembered Harper couldn't see and mumbled a "yeah" as well. "I thought he was nice, and then he acted just like all the others and the Ubers!" he finally blurted.

Harper slid his hand up Twig's arm until he reached his shoulder, then reached out and carefully placed his other hand on the opposite shoulder, turning the boy to face him. "Twig, I know this is hard to understand, but Dylan wasn't really mad at me. He was frustrated and tired and worried and hurting and I just happened to be the one who was there when he lost it. But he didn't mean any of it, and he told me he was very sorry later and I forgave him, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because he's my friend. That's what friends do."

"But what if he does it again?" Twig asked fearfully. "What if I'm bothering him and he yells at me?"

Harper sighed. He'd never been very good at this big brother/parent stuff and now he was woefully out of practice. He decided to try a different route. "Twig, do you like living here? Being yelled at and hurt by the Ubers, always told what to do?"

"No…but where else would I live?" the boy asked in genuine confusion.

"Never mind that right now," Harper said quickly. "My point is, neither does Dylan, and unlike us, he's not used to it. He's used to running around out there in the stars and helping people – being free. It's really, really hard on him, being here. Sometimes he just gets angry or sad or upset. Not at us, but at how unfair it is that we have to be here. So I can't guarantee that he'll never get angry and yell again, but he won't be mad at us, okay? And I know he'll try his hardest never, ever to yell at you. You're his friend, too, and he's really worried about you. He thinks you don't like him anymore."

"He does?" Twig asked, his voice sounding hopeful.

"Yep. He asked me to see if you were okay and to tell you he's sorry that he might have upset you."

Twig thought about that for a moment and then finally he nodded again. "Okay. I'm all right now."

Harper smiled. "Good. Should we go tell Dylan he's not scary anymore and that you're okay?"

"Sure," the boy replied and put his hand back in the engineer's, tugging him in the right direction. "But I still say he sounds like a monster when he sleeps," Twig said over his shoulder. "Nobody else's nose whistles that loud at night."

Harper snorted with laughter. "I totally agree, Twig. Totally!"

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The slave behind him gave him an irritated nudge, so Harper shuffled awkwardly forward in line, trying to keep his bearings and balance and let his mind wander far away at the same time.

It was "shaving day" again. Twice a week, the slaves were forced into lines after morning roll-call to be shaved for "pest control and sanitation purposes." Yeah right… Every single living thing inside that camp, right down to the lice who still made themselves at home in the slaves' skin, knew that the sole purpose of these little exercises was power; who had it and who didn't.

And "shaving days" were always the same. Rosie stood in the middle of it all, barking orders as the slaves were herded into lines. Sometimes Dylan and Harper or Harper and Twig managed to stay together. Sometimes, like today, he wound up on his own and at the mercy of others.

First would come the order to "STRIP!" And this time Rosie meant everything. Unfortunately, stripping was much easier for people who weren't kept constantly in chains. They simply slipped out of their rags and held them in their arms until it was over. Harper and Dylan, however, had to make do, improvise, and try not to trip and fall flat on their very bare backsides.

Harper felt another none-too-gentle shove to his back. "Something wrong with saying please?" he mumbled, not really wanting to be overheard as he couldn't be sure who was standing around. Carefully, he shuffled forward a couple more steps.

Soon it was his turn. He went through the process on auto-pilot. By now he was pretty much numb to degradation, but he did admit it was the only hour of his life he was actually grateful to be blind. He sat when he was told to sit, stood when commanded to stand, raised his arms above his head when asked, and basically attempted to zone-out in his mind so he could ignore how foolish he felt…and how violated. Around here the shave-o-matic slave special was an all-body experience, and he really tried not to think about the fact that it was the few, pathetic female slaves that had the job. Of course they were probably a bit more gentle than the Niets would have been, but Harper was still glad he didn't have to watch.

After months in the camp, Harper knew the mortifying ritual by heart, so he was caught off guard by a small change of routine this time. Satisfactorily hair-free, he expected to be sent off to dress and go to work, but instead the slave girl quietly asked him to hold out his right arm. He gasped in surprise when a needle pricked him just below the bend of his elbow and had to clench his teeth as he felt something being injected into the vein. It burned like fire and must have been one heck of a large dose because it took forever to dump it all in.

"What's this?" he couldn't help blurting, but the slave girl gave him no answer. Instead she pushed the last drop in and pulled the needle out. Taking his crippled hand in her own, she guided his thumb to the injection spot and pressed it down. "Keep pressure on it for several minutes," she advised. "Now go put your clothes on and go to work." Then, just as he was about to try and make his way to a safe spot to dress and wait for Dylan to find him, he heard her speak again, so soft he wasn't sure whether he imagined it or not. "I'm sorry," she whispered sadly.

Those quiet, mournful words scared Harper more than the shot itself.