Wild Jack (4 page)

After two days had gone by, I concluded he must have forgotten. I was trying to make up my mind whether it would be wise to try a third guard when my name was called out on one of the seven or eight parades we had during the day and I was escorted to the commandant's office.

The walls of the room were gray, but the fittings were quite luxurious. I noticed a big TV screen, an ornate drinks cabinet, and a plushy daybed on which the commandant could rest when the cares of office overcame him. His chair, too, was an armchair rather than a piece of office furniture, in soft green leather, air-padded by the look of it. His green leather-­topped desk had nothing on it but a control panel and a gold pen set. He stared at me as I saluted.

“So you wanted to see me, Anderson. I hope you have a good reason.”

“I wondered if you could tell me why I have been sent here, sir.”

He laughed with a touch of the bray. “Your
records are kept by your city police. But obviously for the same reason as all the others—extreme misconduct.”

“But I haven't done anything.”

“No one comes here without a good cause. A police airship delivered you, didn't it?”

“May I tell you how that happened, sir?”

He said, with an air of benevolent contempt, “If you want to. It will make no difference.”

I told him my story. At the end, he said, “And what else?”

“Nothing else, sir. That's exactly what happened.”

He fixed me with a fat glare. “Don't lie to me, Anderson. I don't like boys who lie. And this is something I can check up on if necessary.”

I said quickly, “Then check it, sir. I want you to.”

He paused and said, “You were delivered here in the authorized fashion. I'm not going to disturb headquarters on account of a lying boy. Dismiss him, sergeant.”

There was something behind the bluster, a touch of uncertainty. He was afraid of his superiors, I guessed. As the guard moved toward me, I said,
“There will be trouble when my father gets back.”

“Your father can't change a police order.”

“I think he can. He's a councillor.”

“Anderson.” He looked hard at me. “That Anderson?”

“Yes, sir.”

The uncertainty was very plain now; it showed in the twisting of his face, the small movement back into the security of the padded chair. He said, after a moment, “I'll look into it. Now go back to your duties.”

• • •

Our life in the camp formed a hard and unpleasant routine. First parade was at six in the morning, the last at eight in the evening. Between parades we had marching, drill, physical exercise, and the rest of the time we worked. Most of the work was pointless. We did things like picking up stones and loading them into lorries, which carried them to another part of the island and unloaded them. Sometimes we took them to the end of the breakwater in the old harbor and unloaded them into the sea. Another favored activity involved digging holes and trenches in the ground, which we or other working parties filled in the following day. We were also required to dig
holes in the sand on the beaches, but at least did not have to fill them in again; the sea did it for us.

The food was so bad that you needed to be rav­enously hungry to eat it—but we were, all the time. Apart from being terrible, there wasn't enough to go round. Fights broke out over crusts of bread, and the guards would watch, laughing, until they tired of the amusement and came in, swinging their batons. Practically without exception they were sadistic bullies.

The dismissal from last parade usually left us too tired to do anything but sleep. Sunyo was an exception to the general rule because he would go out for his meditation, sometimes for as long as an hour. One night, to our surprise, he asked Kelly and me to come with him.

When we were away from the tent, Kelly said, “What's all this? If you were thinking of switching to group meditation, count me out. These days I'm too tired even to daydream about steaks.”

Sunyo shook his head. “I found something in the sand today. I want you to help me dig it out.”

Kelly groaned. “Not more digging! What is it, anyway?”

“I'm not quite sure, but I've got an idea.”

The sun had gone down but it was still light. No one else was about, but the sound of music came from the direction of the guards' houses. Partly intrigued, partly reluctant, we followed Sunyo down the hill, past the ruins of the old town, toward the beach.

We reached the spot where we had been working. The tide was coming in and had already filled some of the holes we had dug that day. Sunyo led us to a point a few yards past the farthest hole and scraped away sand with his fingers. A smooth blue surface showed, and he straightened up.

“Let's get the shovels.”

They had been stacked for the night above the tide level.

Kelly said, “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“I don't start digging again without some reason why. You said you had an idea. OK, explain.”

“I think it might be a boat,” Sunyo said.

“Well?”

“Which we might be able to use to get away from the island.”

We stared at him. I said, “To go where? The
nearest city is Cherbourg, and that's at least thirty miles away. You'd never make it. All the nearer coast is Outlands.”

Kelly said, “And it's been buried in sand for years, maybe centuries. It'll be rotten.”

“It's plastic. Plastic doesn't rot.”

Sunyo walked on toward the shovels. We followed him, protesting. I said, “The whole thing's ridiculous. Even if the boat were seaworthy, and by another miracle you managed to get to Cherbourg, what good would that do? They'd only send you back here.”

Kelly objected as strongly as I did, but Sunyo paid no attention. I had already noticed that when he had made up his mind about anything he was difficult, if not impossible, to budge. He picked up a shovel and went back to the spot. We watched him digging for a few moments and then Kelly, with an expression of disgust, got another shovel and joined him. Somehow, cursing both Sunyo for his stupid obstinacy and myself for being weak, I found myself following suit.

The sand seemed even damper and heavier than it had been in the afternoon, and I was ready to quit
almost as soon as I started. But Sunyo slogged away steadily, and Kelly, though groaning audibly, did the same. Pride kept me digging alongside them.

It was soon clear that Sunyo had been right in his guess. The lines of an upturned hull began to emerge, belonging to a dinghy about nine feet in length. We got down to the gunnels on one side, with the dusk fading into a moonlit night around us and the last of the gulls long since retired. There was no sound but the slap of waves and our own exhausted breathing.

We tried to lever the boat free with our shovels, but it would not budge. Sunyo, without saying anything, started clearing the other side as well, and we reluctantly followed him. We loosened it all round at last and managed to turn it over. I dropped my shovel and lay thankfully on the sand while Kelly and Sunyo examined the boat.

Kelly said grudgingly, “It
looks
sound. But the whole idea is still crazy. As Clive said . . .”

Ignoring him, Sunyo returned to his digging, attacking the sand which had been under the hull.

Kelly demanded, “What are you looking for now? A plastic outboard engine?”

“Oars,” Sunyo said, and returned to his task. Kelly and I just watched him; we had had enough. Sunyo at last gave a grunt of satisfaction.

I said, “That doesn't look much like an oar.”

He held something up in the dim light; it was a kind of crumpled fabric.

“No,” he said. “But a sail. Also of plastic, so that hasn't rotted either.”

We stared at him in silence. I didn't know about Kelly, but I was almost too tired to speak. The whole enterprise seemed as pointless as when we had started, if not more so. Sunyo had found his boat, and a sail to go with it. So what?

But Sunyo unmistakably was pleased with himself. He said in quite a cheerful tone, “Just one more thing.”

“What's that?”

“Help me carry it. It's fairly light, but I don't think I can manage on my own.”

“Are you quite crazy?” Kelly asked. “Carry it where? Back to the tent? Are you proposing to sleep in it?”

“The tide's coming in.” Sunyo pointed to the moonlit ripples creeping up to within ten yards of
where we stood. “And we need to hide it where the guards won't find it. I marked a good place behind those rocks over there.”

Kelly and I looked at one another. Crazy was right, but the whole thing had been crazy. And having come so far, we might as well finish it. We bent down and helped Sunyo lift the boat.

4

N
EXT DAY SUNYO WAS IN
trouble.

He was disliked by nearly all the guards, probably because they sensed the deep contempt he felt for them as bullies and lackeys, a contempt which even though unspoken showed in his eyes. There was one in particular, though, who detested him and did everything he could to persecute him.

Sunyo's response originally had been silent disgust; he had simply ignored the continual chivvying. Then by accident the guard found a weak spot; he called Sunyo a son of a donkey and saw the
instinctive flash of anger. I never properly understood what it was Sunyo felt about his ancestors—a remark like that would have meant nothing to me—but that was where his feelings ran deep, and that was where he was vulnerable.

Having found the weakness, the guard was quick to exploit it and took every opportunity to pile on similar insults. Kelly had seen what was happening and urged Sunyo not to rise to the jibes, and in fact Sunyo had made a strenuous effort to ignore them.

Tiredness on this occasion probably made him edgy—all three of us were feeling the effects of our extra stint of digging. Fatigue certainly contributed to the incident which sparked things off. Sunyo was normally the strongest person on our work team, but now, lifting a heavy plank into one of the lorries, he fumbled and dropped his end with a clatter.

The guard, who was only a foot or two away, laughed. “The descendant of a long line of apes ought to do better than that!”

I saw Sunyo's mouth tighten, but before I could do anything to check him, he had slammed into the guard and knocked him down. Two other guards had their guns out right away. They forced the rest of us
back while they picked their companion up. A trickle of blood showed at the corner of his mouth. He whispered, “All right, ape boy,” and swung his baton.

The beating that followed was bad enough, but there was more to come. The commandant appeared on the next parade and so did Sunyo, his hands pinioned, a guard on either side. His face was badly bruised.

“Obedience,” the commandant said. He let the word hang in the air. “Obedience is the road to good citizenship. You are here because you have lost your way, but we are going to set you right.”

White clouds scudded across a blue sky. Even for the island, it was windy. Sea birds howled in the distance.

The commandant said, “Obedience as far as you are concerned means obedience to the orders of your guards.” He paused. “So what is there to say about a boy who strikes a guard?”

He turned to look at Sunyo. “You will go to the stockade for three days.” I was aware of Kelly stiffening beside me. “And then you will make a proper apology to the guard you struck. You will not come out of the stockade until you do.”

• • •

The stockade was situated between the parade ground and the guards' houses. It was square in shape, about twelve feet along each side, surrounded by a wooden fence eight or nine feet high. There was a small gate in one side.

Inside there was nothing—no shelter from weather, from sun by day or cold by night. No food was provided. The usual punishment was a day in the stockade, very rarely two days. There had never been a three-day sentence before.

I have left the worst part till last. The floor of the stockade was of concrete which before setting had been formed into ridges and tiny sharp pin­nacles. There was discomfort even in standing upright and no way of lying down without hurting yourself.

The guard Sunyo had struck watched him being put inside. He said, “You're going to have a bad time of it, a very bad time. And at the end you are going to crawl at my feet and admit your father was a monkey. I'm looking forward to that.”

Sunyo looked at him through blackened eyes. “Never, to scum like you.”

The guard laughed. “Carry on talking! It makes the final prospect that much better.”

• • •

Kelly and I did what we could to make things easier for him. We could not get near him during the day, but at night we were able to sneak out and talk to him through the fence. We saved our bread and tossed it over to him; there was no way of saving the watery stews and gruels which made up the rest of our diet. We also managed to roll a couple of blankets into balls and threw them over, picking them up again early the next morning before the guards were about.

Thirst was not a problem. The hollows in the concrete floor held water, and when, as at present, there was no rain, water was thrown in from a bucket by a guard each day. But to drink, Sunyo had to crouch down like an animal and lap. I could imagine how that made him feel.

The real agony was sleeplessness. By wadding the blankets up in a corner he could manage to doze a little during the night, sitting with his back wedged in the angle, but during the day he had no such
respite. He had either to stand or to accept the torture of the jagged floor.

The first evening he was low enough in spirits, the second utterly wretched, the third confused and rambling.

I said, “At least this is the last night. Tomorrow afternoon you'll be out.”

Sunyo did not speak for a moment. Then: “I won't crawl to him. Never. . . .”

Kelly said, “It doesn't
mean
anything. And we'll find a way of getting back at him. The three of us.”

I said, “You've got to do it, Sunyo—go through the motions, anyway.”

He whispered again, “Never. I'd rather die.”

As we went back to the tent, I said to Kelly, “He'll feel different when the time comes.”

Kelly shook his head. “I wish I could be sure of that.”

“It would be stupid not to do it. And pointless.”

“I agree. I'd apologize—crawl if necessary. Then one night I'd kill him. I think I may do that, anyway. But Sunyo's different—that pride of his. . . .”

• • •

The desperation of Sunyo's situation was very much in contrast with my own. Since my interview with the commandant I had thought I detected a difference in the attitude of the guards. I came in for less abuse than the others and had an impression I was being given the easier jobs, or at least not landed with the really nasty ones. The feeling was sharpened by an incident on the morning of Sunyo's third day in the stockade.

We were among the ruins of the town, loading granite blocks which we were removing from the crumbling ruin of a church. Most of it had fallen, but part of the belfry remained, raggedly etched against the sky. A guard said:

“We want someone up on top with a pickax. Anderson! No, belay that. Mustn't run risks with the councillor's son. You get up there, Trudillo.”

He spoke sarcastically, but it was still significant. I had told no one but Sunyo and Kelly about my father—Sunyo and Kelly and the commandant. Word must have gone out from his office to go easy on me while things were looked into.

It was almost a week since I had been brought
here, four days since I saw the commandant. The order for release could come through at any moment. I could be back in London, in my home, this very day.

I checked my daydreaming with the thought of Sunyo. But at least the end was near; in a few hours he would be out of the stockade.

• • •

In the afternoon it was raining. Sunyo's persecutor, with two other guards, opened up the gate and looked through it at Sunyo, who leaned with buckling knees against the fence.

He said, “What a pretty sight. The son of the apes looks more like a drowned rat. Well, time's up. You can come out now.”

Sunyo took a few lurching steps toward him. He was soaked through by the rain, which trickled off the waterproof capes of the guards.

“Come on, then,” the guard said. “Come on, yellow monkey. Only one little thing to do. Down on your knees and say you're sorry.”

Another few steps brought Sunyo in front of him; he stood there, swaying.

“Now,” the guard said. “Down.”

Sunyo threw himself forward, reaching for the
guard's throat, but it was a pitiable attempt. One hand sent him spinning across the stockade. The guard laughed.

“Still not learned your lesson, monkey? Never mind, there's plenty of time. All the time in the world.”

• • •

That night Kelly and I went back to the stockade. The rain had stopped and there were fitful indications of moonlight behind the clouds, but it was very dark. We threw our hunks of bread over to Sunyo, but there was not enough light for him to find them.

I was sorry for him, but also angry. I was hungry myself and could have eaten the bread, which now lay somewhere on the wet floor of the stockade. And there was no reason for him to be there, no reason for carrying on this futile business. And the word I had been expecting from the commandant's office had not come yet.

Kelly tossed over the blankets, which Sunyo managed to retrieve. Kelly talked to him, trying to convince him he must give up. He was very weak now and bound to get rapidly weaker. Kelly was very earnest and persuasive. But when he finally
stopped, there was only silence from the other side of the fence.

I said bitterly, “He isn't even listening.”

“I'm listening,” Sunyo said feebly. “But it doesn't do any good. I will not submit to that pig. I can't. The words would choke me.”

“Which would you sooner do,” I asked, “—choke or starve? Because you're starving to death in there. You can only really defy him by staying alive, and you need strength for that.”

“I can't do it.”

We both argued with him, but with no success. We left him in the end and set off back toward the tent. The clouds were breaking up, showing the light of a three-quarter moon.

Kelly said suddenly, “Only one thing for it.”

“What?”

“We've got to get him out.”

I laughed. “Sure. That's the answer.”

“I mean it. He'll die sooner than give in. I'm certain of it.”

“So what do you suggest? Do we go along to the guards' houses and ask for the key to the stockade, then come back and open up?”

“Blankets,” Kelly said. “We can tie them together in a rope and haul him out.”

I was tired as well as hungry and looking forward to wrapping myself up in the one blanket I had left. I said, “And if we get him out, what happens? He'll still be on the island. He'll have to give himself up eventually. They'll know who helped him, so all it means is that when he's put back in the stockade, he finds us waiting for him.”

“He doesn't have to be on the island.” I looked at him. “There's the boat.”

“You said yourself that was ridiculous.”

“I thought so then. Things have changed. He'll die in there if we don't get him away.”

“He'd die in the boat. We don't even know if it's seaworthy. And there's no means of navigating. Anyway, where do you wind up? If it's a city, you get brought back here. If it's the Outlands, you get killed by savages.”

Kelly said, “Look, all I'm asking is for you to help me with the stockade part. You don't have to come in the boat.”

“The whole thing's mad.” Kelly did not reply; we were almost at the tent. “All right, I'll help you.”

• • •

We went in quietly and picked up the other two blankets. Everyone seemed to be asleep; at least, no one asked us what we were doing. The clouds were continuing to clear, and we could see our way back to the stockade reasonably well.

Kelly told Sunyo what he proposed. Sunyo tried to argue, saying there was no reason why anyone else should get involved, but he was too weak and miserable to put up much opposition. Kelly knotted our two blankets together and threw them across the top of the fence, and Sunyo, though more slowly, tied his two blankets onto the end.

But at the next stage he failed. The idea was that while Kelly and I held on, Sunyo would swarm up the blanket rope and so get out. He did make an attempt—we could hear him scrabbling against the inside of the fence—but had to give up.

He said, “It's no good. No strength in my arms. You go back. Thank you for trying, but it's no use.”

I was prepared to agree, but Kelly said, “Clive, make a back. I'm going in.”

He climbed on my shoulders, reached for the top of the fence, and hauled himself up. He gave a grunt
of pain as a spike of wood dug into him, then dropped inside. I heard his whispered instructions to Sunyo.

“Take an end and get up on my back. I'll crouch down.” He called through to me, “Clive, heave on your end when I say the word.”

The first time Sunyo slipped down before the word could be given, and there was another exclamation from Kelly as he fell over along with him. But he got Sunyo in position again and pushed him up.

“OK, Clive. Now!”

I pulled hard on my end. The blanket was taut across the top of the fence, and there was the full weight of Sunyo on it as well. I didn't think I could budge him. But as I sweated and strained, Kelly managed to get his hands under Sunyo's feet and thrust him higher. I pulled again, and suddenly the tension slackened. A moment later I saw in the moonlight the dim figure of Sunyo on top of the fence. He fell rather than jumped, landing beside me.

All that remained was to get Kelly out. He pulled himself up by means of the blanket and crashed heavily down on our side. Both he and Sunyo seemed to have made a lot of noise, but fortunately loud music was coming from the direction of the guards' houses.
It still seemed a good idea to get out of the area as quickly as possible.

Sunyo was very weak, and we had to stop several times on the way to the beach to let him rest. When we got there, he collapsed on the sand and Kelly and I went to the place behind the rocks where we had left the boat. I had half a hope that the guards might have found it and taken it away; the sea, though calm in the moonlight, looked horribly wide and unwelcoming.

But we found the boat. Kelly said, “I'll take this end. OK to lift?”