Category: English

15

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A man lies slumped on the ground, as if drunk. A fresh bandage has been wrapped around his head, covering his eyes. Food remnants lie scattered around his unconscious body. Kepa sleeps. He does not know who keeps him trapped here but he knows that every time he wakes up from a sleep as deep as this one, that his dressing is fresh and he has been washed.

As he emerges from sleep, he tries once more to put the pieces together. They know who he is and they know what they have made a mistake. But who are they? The Burnt City. That had not been scheduled. That was why he went to investigate – there are no rumours when the burning is scheduled. It would not have been the work of vigilantes; Companies have too much to lose. Who was it? And why was he still alive?

Approaching footsteps echo from the far end of the chamber. It is a familiar gait, one he trusted still. It was a long time since someone remembered his birthday.  Pedro had been right, and Kepa was thankful he came from a large family. The money he received on his birthday during his childhood helped to pay off the last installment every year.

When the camps opened first, there had been hundreds of them but only a handful near his city, and his mother fretted about sending him so far away. The camps lay in designated areas outside urban settings and were lauded by critics for their ability to connect with the next generation of citizens, advance knowledge and ensure a healthy population. They began as state services, provided by the Council as a way to provide education programs and other activities to young inner city children who otherwise had little chance of accessing formal education. Each camp combined the standard education system requirements with special ‘development programs’. The camps were used as testing grounds for the latest pedagogical theories, they offered psychological services, intelligence tests, physical endurance tests, practical skills knowledge and much, much more. Each area was subdivided based on the percentage of human component in each candidate. Kepa could still remember the awful aftertaste of a blueish grey liquid he had to rinse with once a month. He had no idea now what it was for, it was simply something they all had to do.

What had begun as free, state-funded activities, however, were soon taken over by private investors. The introduction and increase of fees was slow enough to prevent widespread condemnation but fast enough to quickly affect poorer families. By then, Kepa had long since moved on.

Pedro stopped in front of his old friend and hoisted the weakened Kepa to his feet.

–          Where are we…?

–          I know someone who’s recycling fresh meat. Let’s go get you cleaned up.

 

14

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As he begins to prepare the room, tools clatter to the floor. Leaning towers of paper, sagging forlornly on desks and chairs, tumble. Among the medical paperwork empty tins of takeaway food rations, fliers and copies of local newspapers are revealed in the sudden whirlwind of activity.

 

 

 

 

traveltravel2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

sarifindustries

Image via Kotaku

 

 

 

Image via ReCode

Image via <Re/Code>

 

 

 

 

A small tablet falls from his pocket. It is set to Historical Popular Culture, subsections Medical and/or Technology.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DISCLAIMER

Some images here are not mine or I have altered images to suit the story. All credit to the original owners are provided through links under the respective image. The First cartoon image I created with ToonDoo: http://www.toondoo.com/

 

 

 

13

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The man with the cane selects the bags he wants and the custodians haul them inside the room, dumping them unceremoniously into different piles. When they are done, the custodians return the remaining items back into the cart, replace the tarpaulin and drag the cart back through the dirt and debris, out towards the elevator.

In the room, fluids begin to leak from some of the bags, mingling with the fresh footprints on the grimy floor. There are bags in four of the five corners of the room. The largest has been set aside and left in the centre.

On his own now, the man begins to examine his new arrivals.

Tap, tap, tap

Starting with one pile..

Tap, tap, tap…

before moving to another,

Tap, tap, tap…

and eventually,

Tap, tap, tap…

turning to the centre of the room.

Before he walks to the last bag, he flicks a switch on the wall then grabs a narrow set of drawers with wheels and drags it with him. As he makes his way to the centre of the room, the floor rises beneath the bag creating a table that reaches the man’s waist. He cannot see any identification on the bag, which is unsurprising. Turning to the set of drawers, he extracts a pair of rubber gloves and, without opening the bag more than a few inches, cautiously slips his arm in. He gropes around until he finally finds what he is looking for and extracts a slim folder. Snapping it open, his rheumy eyes flick through numbers and graphs, through pages of text and pages of photographs before snapping it shut again.

For a moment, he leans on the table, gazing at the closed binder. Then, he gently takes the zipper and slowly opens the bag fully. It is the first time that he has seen the affects of Substance Q on a live human subject. The next stage had begun. Something had to be done.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptap

He scrambles to the wall, sweeps the assortment of paperwork, coffee cups, Styrofoam containers and other odds and ends off the counters until he finds a First Aid box. Inside are phials of clear fluid. There are no labels on any of them. Rubbing his thumb over them, he selects one and rummages again until he finds a needle.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptap

Tearing off the seal with his teeth, he thrusts the needle into the phial, measures out 50ml and plunges it into the neck of the body. Her eyelids flick open. The pupils dilate. That was all he needed.

She cannot be reclaimed, but she can be recycled.

The next stage must begin immediately.

 

12

  By

They shunt the trolley over debris of wire and metal shafts that lie strewn on the floor. The bumpy path jostles the load beneath the tarpaulin and things begin to shift but neither masked figure seem to notice.

When the reach an unremarkable door, the front figure reaches out and gives three sharp knocks; and then they wait.

Time passes.

Neither move.

Eventually, the door opens and an unmasked man appears. He is old, with rheumy eyes and a face the colour of deep blues and blacks, as if permanently and completely bruised. He leans on a wooden stick, a feeble figure, framed by the doorway and a white light emanating from the room behind him. He looks from one custodian to the other before turning his attention to the trolley. With his stick, he raises the tarpaulin and peers inside, stepping closer for a better look. The corner of his mouth twitches and he whips his stick back. He looks at both custodians again before slamming the stick on the trolley. He then lifts it an inch from the trolley, and begins to tap. Both custodians gaze at him, unmoved. When he finishes, they nod and proceed to remove the tarpaulin altogether and begin to empty the contents.

Bags of needles in brightly coloured bags, medical equipment, and medical clothing are thrown on the ground until, at last, they reach the bottom section of the trolley. The old man approaches again and peers in. He brings the tip of the stick over the edge and stabs it into the cart, twisting it sharply before slowly bringing it back up again, a red bag stuck to the end.

He nods and the custodians reach in to remove the final contents: Phials, cracked and leaking, and packed into toxic waste bags. Medical equipment, including breathing masks. A selection of similar, smaller bags. A head, a hand, an arm, all tagged and labelled. The last bag is bigger than any of the others and far heavier. Even with the two custodians it takes great effort to remove it from the bottom of the trolley.

Flesh and bone are dragged out for recycling.

11

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Two short, frumpy figures trundle down a brightly lit hallway. Neon bulbs overhead ensure that every inch of the smooth, white surface is perfectly visible. Cameras couched between the wall and roof follow the pair of workers in their overalls. Their mouths and noses are covered by a dark breathing apparatus. Air is pumped into the hardened plastic of the front piece from a small metal canister on each of their upper backs, which is connected via a slender hose that runs from under their chins and over their shoulders. They are moving a large, heavy metal trolley, which is covered with a heavy tarpaulin. One stands at the rear, the other at the front, pushing and pulling with large, rubber gloves protecting their hands from whatever might spill out. Neither of the figures says a word as they continue on down the brightly lit corridor. The sharp, rhythmic squeak of the front right wheel is the only sound that breaks monotonous quiet, masking the sloshes, slaps and scraps from inside the cart.

They turn a corner and face another hall, this time, however, the walls on either side are punctuated with evenly spaced doorways. Every doorway has a scanner to its left. The pair trundle past all of them; from 1.A through to 98.A, until they come to the end of the corridor and reach an open exit. The space beyond the exit is just wide enough to contain both bodies and the trolley. The figure to enter last inhales deeply and shimmies along the side of the trolley. The door closes behind them and they descend to the basements below.

When the door opens again, the light is softer shades of red and orange. The cameras do not follow them this time. Both figures are now equipped with helmets and dark visors that cover their head, neck and eyes. On either side, there are more doors, but some appear sealed and others have broken scanners. Behind the rest are the whines and screams of various disposal units at work.

 

 

 

 

Catalan Poetry on the Internet Day

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Ésser en el món (1949) is the first published work by Manuel de Pedrolo. As the anniversary of the first 50 posts of our project, Open Time v 11.1, coincides with Catalan Poetry on the Internet Day we have decided to celebrate both by publishing a new translation of the first section of Ésser en el món everyday for a week, beginning Monday 17th March, 2014.

 

Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate!

DANTE: Inferno

 

Every poem an epitaph. And any action

is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea’s throat

or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.

T.S. ELIOT: Little Gidding

 

We know, like isolated, sullen roots,

they are the shadows that bind us,

they are the tears that poison us,

slowly, secret…

 

It is us and love,

the dense love of our dreams,

nothing more,

as one, wings unfolding, trusting

fully and silently,

at the moment of hesitation, it spreads and flies away,

irrefutable.

 

We awaken, carnivorous members,

Wild animals with bitter appetites

that cannabilise and infantilise:

moments as long as sapless centuries

exploding: the latest delirium!

 

All will be vain kisses, dear:

Lips will feel the crime of hours and depart;

And vain will be touch:

Flesh is a frigid liquid,

And love like that, it is so naked,

That the sun refuses – and shadow transgresses.

 

Manuel de Pedrolo. Barcelona y Tàrrega, 1948.

 

 

The early stages of this translation process can be viewed on the Chicano Conversations blog.

Thank you to Pedro for his help with the early stages of this translation (I have no knowledge of the Catalan language) and to Donna M. Alexander for her advice on the final stages.

9

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Kepa put his hands in the air.

“Just a wandering minstrel. Sorry boss, didn’t realise this area was out of bounds. Didn’t see any signs. Just thought it was abandoned ruins. They’re always good for a song!”

–          This area is quarantined. All occupants have been evacuated. No personnel are permitted within the boundaries of the city until the area until further notice. You must vacate this area immediately.

“Sorry boss, I’ll leave.”  The minstrel went to pick up the case and then stopped to look up at the guard. “Tell me boss, is the beach off-limits too? I hear the sunset down there is not to be missed, well, that’s what a poet told me, anyway. Tho, to be honest, his information’s not been the most reliable of late. Told me there’d be lots of people to play to on the way here! Not a sinner! Almost glad there isn’t anyone here, ‘cos I couldn’t afford a hunk of bread.”

–          The city has been quarantined. You must exit the area.

 “All right, boss. I’m on my way.”

As he passed the guard, he looked up into the visor and said “Nice windows, looks familiar. Maybe I’ll add it to my song.”

He felt a sudden burning sensation before the world went dark.

 

——————————————————————————————————–

Regulations for Item Disposal:

Identify item for disposal. Personnel must be provided with requisite data as to the composition of item for disposal. The correct method of disposal may then be ascertained and carried out.

Any chemical substances that require special collection must be declared before personnel are sent to retrieve any item. Failure to do so will result in delay and possible fines to the relevant department. Loss of life claims will be directed to the same department.

Personnel may be identified by their distinctive uniform:

***********************

 

 

8

  By

As Kepa watched, the figure stepped over the threshold of the church, out of the shadow of the door frame and into a shaft of sunlight that poured in from a gap in the fallen roof. Small clouds of dust billowed up around black leather boots with the first step, and the next. Tucked inside the boots were the legs of a crisply kept pair of trousers. These, and the matching sharp jacket, appeared to be a mottled grey colour, almost identical to the shade of grey of the church’s stonework. As the figure moved from shade to light, Kepa noted with appreciation, the colour of the uniform also seemed to change. A holster hung loosely from either hip. Most of the face was hidden under a brimmed hat with a tinted visor, only the ghost of ginger stubble peaked out.

–          They left a calling card.

–          You’re getting sloppy, granddad.

The man made his way slowly down the aisle, creating dust storms with every step.

–          Big man now you’ve got big clothes, eh? Look.

Kepa turned his shoulder to the approaching uniform, and looked back to the window, gesturing.

–          A great big, intricate pane glass window, complete with industry logo.

The guard drew up next to Kepa. He was half a foot taller and twice as broad. He glowered.

–          I could hear you a mile away.

–          No wonder with those ears.

–          Cheeky.

–          Always.

For a split second neither said a word, then, before Kepa could move, the guard dropped the bags and grabbed him, swinging him up in the air, laughing a deep belly aching laugh.

–          You always were a little shit! Haha!

Then, as soon as it started, it finished. The guard jumped back, releasing Kepa, who stumbled slightly as his feet hit the floor again.

–          This is a restricted area. Identify yourself.

The laugh was gone, another voice had taken over, one which brooked no argument. It was the uniform, not the man who was talking now. Kepa had landed next to the violin case but whoever was seeing through the guard’s visor would know that he had seen the window, wouldn’t they?

7

  By

He entered through the city gates, strolling past houses and shops whose windows were reduced to dark, vacant holes, their panes of glass now shards that lay scattered across roads and footpaths. Where doors still hung to hinges, they were warped and cracked, no longer fit for their original purpose.

Further on, he passed a church with a sagging roof. There was a gaping crack on its bell, clearly visible from the road below as it hung silently from the crumbling remains of a steeple.

Finally, he reached the central plaza, and stood before an immense fountain. Whatever idyllic scenery it had once boasted was now almost completely erased; shattered remains of cherubs, the leg of a horse, a broken flag and the butt of a musket were all that was left.

Kepa gazed at it for a minute or two, his face revealing nothing. Then, in brief, swift movements, he swung the bag from one shoulder, the violin case from the other, and rolled up his sleeves. Gingerly, he drew two fingers across his smooth forearm, lifted a section of skin, and removed a flat, square object from underneath. It was no bigger than a fingernail, and just as opaque. He pressed it to his temple, holding it for a second with his forefinger.

He looked back at the fountain, and blinked. Nothing seemed to have changed. He turned and gazed around the entire plaza, taking in everything before heading back towards the church. His movements, now, changed perceptibly. He was still relaxed but appeared more alert, his eyes darting from side to side as he walked down the centre of the street.

There was nothing to mark the church as anything other than one more of the mass of ravaged buildings. The stonework, position of the doors, shape of the bell, the shape of the room, all seemed to fit. The sun moved away from the centre of the sky as he entered the building. Walking down the aisle, he kept looking about, as if trying to find something. As he approached the back of the room, he caught sight of a soft red glow coming from around the corner. He made his way towards it and discovered a stained glass window.

He paused and looked back. A large, bulky silhouette stood at the church entrance. Kepa could not make out any features, but he could see what it had in its hands: a bag and a violin case.

 

 ———————————————————————————————————

Termination of 79:20:NZ

Disposal of unit to commence immediately.