A small depot set down against a monotonous countryside in the far hinterlands of rural Marley. Sat aside is a folding table on the wood-plank platform. Pens, ink well, forms.
A three year old boy holding the hand of a woman, twenty years old, watches a clerk register her name and those of two or three families standing before him. Finishing, he motions to a guard nearby to escort them to an empty and idling passenger train.
The people climb aboard while the clerk gathers his paperwork. Folding his small table, he signals with a wave to the engineer, and climbs up after them.
The nearly empty train pulls out of the sleepy station, rumbling through the desolate countryside.
~
The train's wheels grind against the track, slowing.
A folding table legs scissor open. The lever of the train door is pulled, opening. Lists of names on clipboards are held by an army of bustling clerks moving alongside the tracks.
Now hundreds of bewildered rural faces come down off the train. Forms are set out on the folding tables. Hands straightening pens, pencils, ink pads and stamps.
"When your name is called," one clerk spoke, "go over there. . . and take this over to that table."
Typewriter keys are rapping a name on a list. A face, a name. Keys type another name, another face.
The same three year old boy and woman step towards the clerk. He stares at the form and looks up to them both.
"Lena. . . Broz. . . Anthony. . . Broz."
His hand comes down to stamping a grey stripe across two registration cards and both the boy and mother shuffle away.
More people step forward. The typewriter keys type another name, another face. More names, more faces.
~
On a rust-stained sink, a radio plays a song.
Lena settles with her son in their apartment. The light in the room is dismal, the furniture cheap. The curtains are faded and the wallpaper is peeling.
Laid out on a single bed, Anthony is fetal and asleep. Neither son nor mother had many belongings prior to their departure.
No clothes. Some currency. Passports. Cigarettes–
Static plays from the radio, then, "an important announcement. Existing and settling residents within the Liberio district, are hereby ordered by Governor Magath, to wear visible emblems when outdoors. This decree will come into force on the 1st of December 1929 and applies to all Eldians over twelve years of age. The emblem will be worn on the right sleeve and will represent a white star of Fritz on a white background. The background must be sufficiently large for the star to measure eight centimeters from point to point. The width of the arms of the star must be one centimeter. Eldians who do not respect this decree will be severely punished. I repeat. . ."
Lena's brow furrow. Must she provide the armband herself? She sighs and frowns. She wanted to cry. Then her stomach growled.
Lena methodically looks through her pantry. Oats, two loaves of stale bread, dried fruits. She searched her refrigerator, bulky and stained. Three eggs, half a glass bottle of milk, more oats and cheap cuts of meat.
Forced to ration tasteless meals, it's sufficient. At least they weren't entirely heartless.
Lena steps back and turns to the mirror sitting beside the bed and considers her reflection. She's elegant and beautiful. She feels rotten. Her ugliness inside her is visibly despairing. It's a sickly feeling looking at herself. Her eyes reflected misery exchanging looks between herself and her son.
The radio cuts broadcast and segues to a love song, a simpler version of the first one, without vocals.
~
Lena, wearing her armband, walks slowly along the street, carrying a string bag containing potatoes and carrots, her eyes fixed on the pavement as if her thoughts are a million miles away.
A man, fiftyish, pushes hurriedly past her, almost dropping her bag. Two Marley Officers pass as well, they stop.
"You!" One officer yells harshly.
The man stops, he turns fearfully and approaches the Officers.
Lena, fearful as well, lingers for a moment then goes to shuffle past until the Officer motions her to stay. He smiles but it was cruel. His teeth, stained.
"You just shoved this beautiful girl," his voice was mocking. He takes Lena's hand. "Apologise. Now."
"I'm sorry, I—
The Officer's partner cracks him hard across the face, catching his ear. The man reels himself as best he can–
"Now bow."
The man smiles and bows his head to the Officers. The Officers signal him to leave. He stumbles on–
"You are forbidden to walk on the pavement. Walk in the gutter!"
He steps off the pavement and walks in the gutter. He walks on, getting his feet wet.
"Now you."
Lena forces a smile. He's still holding her hand.
"Careful where you're going, otherwise you might just fall and crack that pretty head of yours, girl." The Officer feigned care but his voice seemed threatening. He stares at her carefully and looks at her up and down, pleased by her appearance. "Thank your god we were here. What do you say?"
Lena, still smiling. Visibly uncomfortable. "Thank you."
"That's right," he smiles. He tips his head. "As you were."
The Officers turn and go while the other makes an inappropriate gesture.
Lena stares at him blankly, embarrassed. She turns heel and leaves for home.
~
In a large cafe, hot and smoke-filled, well-heeled customers, pimps, whores, businessmen sit at little tables, eating, talking and laughing, almost drowning the piano music playing. Some dance.
A couple tables back from the piano, Anthony, fifteen years old, is cheering, but he can hardly be heard above the noise of chatter and laughter. Young men and teens stare at him grumpily as Anthony takes the pot of ration cards, cigarettes and a small stack of coins—some of them twenty-dollar gold pieces.
"Just my luck, sirs." He's beaming. "Here."
Anthony leaves a single coin on the table for drinks. The men's mood lightens and some tip their hats. He leaves the table with his winnings. Satisfied.
Anthony exchanges looks with a pretty whore, who makes eyes at him.
"Cutting school again?" Her voice was sweet.
Anthony shrugs. "School doesn't pay with ration cards."
"The school doesn't pay you at all," she snickers.
"Exactly." Anthony gives her a single cigarette and coin. "Seemed like a slow day."
"Thanks, prick."
He laughs and Anthony pushes his way through the crowd and leaves.
Walking, Anthony passes emaciated children and beggars. He steps over the corpses lying on the sidewalk.
A wall runs the length of the street, dividing it in half and narrowing it. Buildings on one side, the wall on the other.
Anthony continues to walk along, he takes note of a single leaflet.
A piercing whistle from the other side—he stops.
Two women appear from the doorway, approach the wall and look up. Two or three packages come flying over from the other side. The women grab them and disappear.
Anthony walks on and sees a child appear through a hole at ground level. The child wriggles through then turns, pulls a package after him and runs.
Anthony walks on again, he hears a noise, looks back to see a second child trying to wriggle through the same hole. But he's stuck. Angry Marley voices shout after him on the other side.
"Help me! Help me!"
Anthony rushes to him, pulls him with all his might but the boy is jammed in the hole.
From the other side of the wall, the sound of an angry Marley voice and of a boot stamping violently on the boy. The boy screams in agony.
Anthony continues to try and pull the boy through.
The sound of the Marleyan voice swearing and dull, crunching noise made by the boot smashing into the boy continues, and with every thud the boy screams in terrible pain.
Anthony struggles to help the boy whose screams are becoming weaker yet increasingly desperate.
Anthony pulls his arms and finally manages to get him through. The boy lied moaning.
He takes the boy's face in his hands, tries to comfort him, revive him, but the boy has stopped moaning. His head lolls and his jaw sags. He is dead. Anthony stands quickly and hurries away.
~
Lena slumps in her seat, cigarette in her mouth, tea in her hand. She hums along the radio.
Her apartment's different—one could consider a home now. The wallpapers stripped, the lights shone brighter, two single beds, more furnishing. The sink is no longer rusty save the minor rust but is neither noticeable. Several blank and painted canvases sit against the wall or strewn on her floor or resting on her easel.
Lena stops humming. The radio cuts and plays another song. Her mind wanders and she drags from her smoke.
Still visibly distressed, Anthony gathers himself before he enters the room and greets his mother.
Lena acknowledges him and starts, "you should consider work if you're not bothering with school."
His voice a little shaky, "I am working." Smiling, Anthony hands her his winnings from the cafe.
"You can't always gamble a profit. Not with those insufferable parasites in the ghetto." Her voice is bitter.
"Some of those parasites are my friends," he jokes. "And they just about paid for our meals for the next two weeks," he shows her the ration cards and hands them.
Lena counts the cards. "Consider something with guarantee and not by a stroke of luck. You're young and capable." She finishes counting and looks at Anthony and smiles, acknowledging his effort. "But. . . thank you, Anthony."
Autumn. The windows are open and the sound of the ghetto can be heard. Lena sits around the dinner table while Anthony comes around and serves her and himself soup.
"More commissions then?" Anthony gestures to the paintings.
"Surprising how those despots favor art so much."
Anthony slumps a bit ". . .I'd imagine."
It's clear on Anthony's face that Lena knows he doesn't like her creating art for Marleyans. But he doesn't fuss–
Suddenly, there's a roar of engines and a screech of brakes.
Anthony rushes over to the window. Lena remains seated with her face in her hand, sighing.
A vehicle has entered the street and screeched to a halt. Helmeted, jackbooted Marley Officers, pour out of the vehicle.
Anthony gathers at the window and watches. Lena turns off the lights and joins him. Visible horror on Anthony's face. Lena is silently terrified, familiar with this routine. Their half-eaten meals still on the table behind them.
The Officers pour into the building opposite. Sounds of jackboots on stairs, lights go on floor by floor.
In an apartment directly opposite, a businessman, his wife, two young people and an old man in a wheelchair sit at their dining tables. The men burst in, machine guns at the ready. The family was frozen with horror, still remained seated.
An NCO enters and scans their faces.
In a towering rage, "stand up!"
The family rose to their feet fast except the old man in the wheelchair. The NCO bears down on him.
"Stand up!"
The old man, in a panic, grips the arms of the wheelchair in a desperate means to stand. He can't. Without warning, the Officers seize the chair with the old man still in it and carry him out to the balcony.
The men throw the old man in his wheelchair over the balcony. He seems to hang in the air for a second then drops out the chair and out of sight. But there's a terrible thud as his body hits the pavement and a clatter as the wheelchair follows him.
Sounds of shots, slamming doors, screams and shouts.
Anthony hurried to another window.
More Officers herd a couple dozen prisoners from the opposite building.
People watch on from windows as they try not to be seen.
The headlights of the vehicle are switched on and the Officers are forcing their prisoners to stand in the beam.
"Run! Run!"
The prisoners start to run.
The Officers open fire with a mounted gun on the vehicle. People in the opposite building scream.
The prisoners are being shot down. They are being lifted in the air by the bullets, turn somersaults and fall dead.
The Officers get into the vehicle and speed off, driving over the dead bodies.
Lena and Anthony stare at the scene, silent and shocked. The only sounds, the weeping of people.
~
As if in another world, Anthony strolls past the cafe. The cafe is full of customers, but the atmosphere is much more subdued than previously, the mood is somber.
He backtracks to the wall and reads the single leaflet more carefully, debating.
Anthony's familiar with the program, but he wasn't content on enlisting before.
Was it worth offering his life for a nation that hated him? No. Not in the least bit so. But he loved his mother dearly and he wanted her to live—he wanted to succeed so they both could succeed.
His lifestyle would change, he'd be owned in a sense that he was already branded. It's a twisted fate, after all he didn't want to die—not that it would matter much after. But he didn't want his mum to die. She deserves the riches of his efforts–
"Are you going to enlist?"
Anthony snaps out of his reverie, he turns and meets eyes with an Eldian girl. She's a little older than he is.
He drags his words, unexpected by her company, "it's been on my mind." Anthony didn't know what to say much after that.
"Interesting," she smiles weakly. "You look young for this decision."
Anothony stares at her like she isn't much older. "Isn't every other candidate?"
"True," she drawls. "But don't ponder, spots are competitive, and undesirables are more or less. . . dealt with," she emphasises.
"I'm capable."
"I had no doubt."
"Pieck," a man, twentyish and blonde, calls after her.
"Oh. Well it was a pleasure meeting you?"
He's quick to say his name, "Anthony."
"Anthony," she repeats. "Pieck," she offers her hand. Anthony took it and shook her hand. He drifts to look at the young man standing far behind. He waves awkwardly, and Anthony waves back, noticing his red armband.
"Should we expect you?"
"More than likely," he replies.
"We'll be seeing you then," again she smiles weakly and bids him a wave leaving with the young man.
"Bye," he calls after, barely above a whisper, waving.
Anthony couldn't anticipate his mum's reaction, not that any answer mattered or whatever she says stands any ground to sway him otherwise. His mind is made. He wished there was another way, but evidently none.