Peaceful Quiet Lives

Forbidden lovers fall foul of laws in both nations born from the ashes of the Second American Civil War — Part 1, Chapter 4

Continued from Part I: Chapter Three

Part I: Chapter Four

We stare at one another. The same hypnotic gaze that captivated me when our eyes met across the playground roots me to the spot.

‘Who are you?’ she asks.

‘Sam Wright,’ I say, offering her a hand to shake. ‘And you are?’

The woman shakes her head. ‘Not until I’m sure I can trust you. I’m going to have you checked out, Sam Wright. Be here, at nine tomorrow night. If you check out, I’ll be waiting. Until then, go home. Don’t talk to anyone else about this. Don’t look for me, and don’t follow me.’

She walks away. I watch her disappear into the darkness. My heart races. She both frightens and thrills me. What does she have to do with Marcy, and why is she here?

I head home, astonished at having met the dark-haired teacher, but frustrated that I don’t know her name, or anything about her.

I toss and turn in bed that night, finding it impossible to sleep. I can’t get her out of my head. Why did she make contact with me? I’m not even sure why I went to look for Marcy. Did I want to find her, and perhaps help her if I could? Or was I just using that as an excuse to hire a prostitute? The various tangled threads of this curious web weave themselves around my mind, and when I do eventually drift off to sleep, I have unsettling dreams. I see Doug and Christy watching with approval as I stand next to a bound, naked Marcy. I realise I am on a platform with a great crowd at my feet. They are howling for blood. In my hand is a whip.

‘Go on,’ Christy urges. ‘You investigated this. You helped uncover the truth about Matthew Ingram. Now the guilty must be punished.’

‘But she isn’t guilty,’ I say.

Christy’s expression hardens. ‘Would you rather it was you? Would you prefer to be bound and flogged? Would you prefer to spend the next twenty years in prison, instead of her?’

‘No. I would not.’

‘Then do it!’

The entire crowd scream for the punishment to commence. I see Marcy whimpering, but ignore her pleas. I raise the whip and bring it down with a terrible crack. Marcy screams.

I wake with a start. I feel horrible, as though I really have brought this appalling punishment upon her. By agreeing to investigate Matthew Ingram… By questioning Christy as rigorously as I did… By not investigating the faked photographs further than I did… By writing my editorial on the entire scandal… I have destroyed Marcy’s life. I may as well be the one flogging her to within an inch of her life. I may as well be the one locking her prison cell and throwing away the key.

And yet, amid the guilt, I feel a sense of elation. This sordid business has contrived to create a way for me to meet the teacher with the long dark hair. I have no idea how she is connected to this, or how she is having me investigated, but given that she apparently has criminal contacts, perhaps such a prospect is relatively easy for her. The only thing that worries me is that any investigation will show I work for Badger News Inc. My editorials reflect their political stance. They are not my views. Will the teacher with the dark hair be smart enough to realise? Will she be intrigued enough to want to know the truth?

On the other hand, she is a party member. She will have the contacts necessary to destroy my career, should she wish it. What if she is working undercover, trying to infiltrate the criminal underworld?. I know that by trying to find Marcy I have exposed myself to great risk. Yet despite everything, I have a curious optimism which refuses to be quelled.

I glance at my clock. Almost time to get up for work. I have a shower, dress, have breakfast, and head for work as usual on the metro. The hours at the office pass in a blur. I edit articles by our staff journalists, including one on the increasingly hostile view taken by the New Puritan party regarding sex for pleasure. They want to eradicate sexual gratification as a reason to marry, and state they will only sanction marriages where procreation is medically proven to be possible. Having children, it seems, is now the only reason to have sex. The age of romance and lovers, if such an age ever existed, is well and truly dead.

I wade through the usual propaganda stories regarding the supposedly decadent DEAR. With so many problems lurking beneath the surface in the NPAR, it is understandable that the media should distract people by pointing them to problems elsewhere. There’s nothing like uniting against an enemy people agree should be demonised, to bring national unity in the face of increasing hardship and draconian legislation.

Finally, the working day is over. I head home on the metro, not pausing near the elementary school. I’m too nervous to eat, so watch a few episodes of The Waltons. I pretend to enjoy them, even though I’m not sure who I’m trying to mislead. Perhaps I feel the need to act like a model citizen because I know very soon, I will head out into the night, to meet up with the teacher with the long dark hair. I have no idea what will result from this rendezvous. Perhaps she won’t show up at all.

When the time finally comes, I’m a bundle of nervous energy. After dark, I head in the direction of 26th Avenue West once more, and halt on the corner of Newton Street. As before, I see prostitutes flitting in and out of the shadows along the street, but so far there is no sign of the teacher with the long dark hair. I glance at my watch. I’m early. There are still two minutes to go.

As I wait, I think back to my childhood, recalling my school days. I was never in trouble with teachers. I never so much as got told off for talking, or got sent out of the class. I adhered to the rules, and passed all my exams.

After my school days, but before the Catastrophe, I was a law-abiding citizen. I stuck to the speed limits, never cheated on taxes, and never had so much as a parking fine. Basically, I did as I was told.

My mother and father brought me up to respect law and order, and whilst I was slightly smothered as an only child, I think my parents generally did a good job. I wonder what they’d make of me now, frequenting in an area like this. Would they understand? I know they’d have hated everything the NPAR stood for, so perhaps they would have sympathised with my predicament.

The teacher with the long dark hair turns up precisely on schedule. She approaches and nods. ‘You checked out.’

‘Great,’ I say. ‘Er… So, now can you tell me your name?’

‘Eve Young. I saw you the other day, standing by the school. I could see you wanted something, and now I think I understand what that might be.’

‘And what is that?’

‘You’re trying to find Marcy Hicks. Perhaps you thought you could find her through me.’

‘You know her?’

Eve glances over her shoulder. ‘Not here. Let’s talk in the park.’

We cross the road and walk for about five minutes in silence, before turning left onto a path that leads into a large park. We pass lamp-lit lawns and ponds, surrounded by elm trees. Eve leads me to a secluded bench some distance away from the main roads where we won’t be overheard. I can hear traffic in the distance, but aside from a few people walking their dogs, we are alone.

We sit down. I shiver. Branches blow in an increasingly cool breeze. Something about the situation feels like a dream. I can’t recall ever doing something quite this outside of my usual routine since I came to live in the NPAR.

‘Privacy is an increasingly rare commodity,’ says Eve. ‘But here is fairly safe. This park is used quite a bit by people in Marcy’s profession, if there aren’t any safe houses to go to. It’s also used by gays, people having affairs, people who have been forbidden to marry, or even just people who want a one-night stand with no strings attached.’

Eve has the look of someone who knows what she’s talking about. In an age of prudery, I find this endearing. But I remain cautious. Eve is a party member. She has to be, in order to hold a teaching position. Her long dress and New Puritan crest remind me of the barriers between us.

‘So how do you know Marcy?’ I ask.

‘We grew up together,’ Eve replies. ‘She’s an old friend. Unfortunately, after rumours of what she did at night reached the ears of my parents, I was forbidden from seeing her.’

‘Your parents forbade you from seeing Marcy?’

Eve nods. ‘They made it very clear they thought she was a bad influence.’

‘And this was last year?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you must be over twenty-one?’

‘Twenty-nine.’

‘I don’t see how your parents can ban you from seeing any of your friends, at your age.’

Eve laughs. ‘You’re obviously not a churchgoer, are you Sam Wright?’

‘Not really. Only now and then, to keep up appearances.’

‘Then you won’t really understand how it is for young, unmarried women in this country. You must know about maiden guardianship laws?’

‘Yes. Some guardians are more liberal than others, right?’

‘No-one likes to use the word liberal anymore. But perhaps you Brits don’t understand the stigma attached to it.’

‘No, I understand. I’ve been living here for some years.’

‘Well, in that case, you know unmarried female New Puritan party members have to submit to legal guardianship, either by their own parents, or by others designated by the eldership of their local congregation. I’m not allowed to live by myself, in case I fall into a life of immorality.’

Eve smiles, but I see genuine sadness in her eyes.

‘And you’ve managed to avoid such immorality?’

‘I’m not making any admissions to someone I just met. I told you what this park is used for. You can draw your own conclusions.’

I like her feisty tone. I like the wicked glint in her eyes. But I also perceive great sadness and concern for her friend.

‘So why are you interested in Marcy?’ Eve continues. ‘You’re not an undercover cop. I didn’t think that last week, to be honest. You didn’t look and sound the type. But I had to investigate first. Can’t be too careful. My informant says you write editorials for Badger, but analysis of your text indicates possible subversive tendencies and deviant potential. Are you one of Marcy’s clients?’

‘No.’

My denial is very abrupt. I feel embarrassed and look away, but sense Eve’s shrewd gaze assessing me.

‘You were considering it though.’

I don’t reply. Eve laughs.

‘It’s fine to admit it. In a society like this, I’m not surprised people like you end up desperate enough to seek the services of someone like Marcy. Everyone has needs, and whilst this place does it’s best to suppress them, those needs don’t just go away.’

‘I don’t know why I was looking for Marcy,’ I reply. ‘I mean, perhaps a part of me felt sorry for her, because of what will happen to her if she’s caught.’

‘That’s why I’m looking for her,’ Eve says. ‘I know a few people… I had hoped to smuggle her out of the country. If she gets caught… Well, you know what they’ll do.’

‘Have you any idea where she went?’

Eve shakes her head.

‘Then I guess it’s a dead end for both of us.’

‘How do you know Marcy?’

I explain what happened at Badger, and how Matthew Ingram was framed by Christy Hendrick to cover up her financial fraud when he threatened to expose it. I show her the faked photographs, and she seems to understand my predicament.

‘Sounds like you’re a repressed crusader for justice,’ Eve says.

‘I’m nothing like that. To be honest, what you said earlier was correct. I’ve often been tempted to seek out company. It gets very lonely at times.’

Eve stares at me, as though she can read my mind. ‘I think you wanted to do the right thing. I think you wanted to help Marcy, as well as Matthew. It’s understandable. But there’s nothing you can do. The party sticks by its own, thick and thin. As a party member, I know this. And if you went to church, you’d know that too.’

‘I’m constantly frowned on for not doing so. But technically, non-church attendance isn’t illegal.’

Eve laughs. ‘It isn’t? Trust me Sam. The day is coming when people who don’t regularly attend a New Puritan church will be social outcasts. You’d better get on the right side of that quickly, even if you aren’t a believer.’

‘I hate churches.’

‘Not a good thing to admit in the NPAR.’

‘Don’t you hate them?’

‘Well… I like the music, the singing, and I do have a faith in God, even though I think the New Puritan doctrine sucks.’

‘Eve, you were born here, right?’

Eve nods.

‘And your parents brought you up in church, with the New Puritan ideology?’

‘Yes, although they aren’t really my parents.’

‘They aren’t?’

‘My real mother was a refugee from the DEAR. She fled here and was given refuge whilst she was still pregnant with me. I have no idea who my real father was. Someone back in the DEAR, no doubt. Anyway, my adoptive parents, Glyn and Linda, took my mother in, but she died when I was very young. I only have faint memories of her. I was raised by Glyn and Linda, and took their surname. They are both party members, and regular attenders of the New Puritan congregation on 22nd Street East.’

‘So how is it you’re not…’

Eve raises an eyebrow. ‘How is it I’m not completely brainwashed by all that bullshit?’

The use of the swear word is unexpected and refreshing.

‘Yes. How is it you aren’t completely brainwashed with all that bullshit?’

She looks at me mockingly.

‘Careful Sam. You’re risking serious fines. It’s my moral duty to report all such verbal violations.’ Eve continues to watch me, and I feel as though she can see through to my deepest, darkest, buried secrets. ‘I think those aren’t your only violations, are they Sam? I think you’re quite the deviant, at heart.’

She laughs, breaking the tension. ‘To answer your question, most people are brainwashed, it’s true. That’s because most people accept everything they are told without question. But that was always the truth, even before the wars, the Catastrophe, the NPAR, the DEAR, and everything that came afterwards. There are very few truly independent minds in the world. They have always been rare.’

‘So even though you were raised in the NPAR, you still question what they do?’

‘I question much of what they do, yes. It’s not all bad.’

I laugh. ‘No, I suppose not. It could be a lot worse.’

‘It’s going to get a lot worse, in time. That’s the problem.’

‘I think it’s already really bad, if you’re a woman.’

Eve raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you displaying signs of Enlightenment Sympathy? You know how the NPAR views feminism, and everything associated with it. We are not truly happy as a gender, unless we are subjugated and told what to do at every turn. Our natural state of happiness is in submission. Surely you know that?’

The sarcasm in her tone is refreshing and energising.

‘Naturally. I mean, that’s why the likes of Christy Hendrick are, of course, in full submission to the New Puritan ideology, and are not on any kind of power trip whatsoever.’

‘Actually, for all her cruelty, corruption, and general unpleasantness, I find her admirable in a way.’

‘Admirable?’

‘She’s found a way to make the system work to her advantage. Yes, she has to live with her father, but he sounds pretty doting to me. I reckon he’s not one of those genuine religious maniacs, but more a New Puritan for the sake of political expedience. She was spoilt, and perhaps that’s why she found ways to embezzle.’

‘She’ll have had to sign that Absolute Chastity clause,’ I point out.

‘Yes, but who knows what she gets up to on the side? I’ve signed it too, and I’ve found ways around it.’

‘Sounds reckless,’ I say, unable to disguise my increasing admiration for Eve.

‘It is dangerous, but there are ways to minimise risk. Besides, I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. I enjoy my work with the children at that school. Being in position like that, here and there you can drop hints and suggestions that will mould the minds of the next generation, so perhaps they don’t swallow everything they are told without thinking.’

‘You’re a snake in the grass. What would the party say if they overheard you talking this way?’

Eve laughs. ‘Oh, we’re all guilty of Enlightenment Sympathy, from time to time.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

It feels great to finally admit this to someone else. For years, I have squashed so many of my thoughts and opinions, and tried to deceive myself. After a while, I discovered self-delusion can be an art. I became numb, indifferent, apathetic.

‘So, tell me, Sam Wright… Why did you watch me outside the school? I thought it was because you knew of my association with Marcy, but now you’ve told me it wasn’t.’

‘You’re right. That wasn’t the reason.’

‘Then what was?’

I stare into Eve’s eyes. She’s so beautiful. Should I keep the truth inside? Perhaps I should disguise it. I should be careful, even now.

Eve stares back, and I get the uncanny impression she can read my mind. Eventually she nods and speaks again.

‘You saw me from afar, and were attracted to me. But I wear the New Puritan crest. I dress according to their rules. You had no reason to assume I would act any different. You saw, me… You found me physically attractive… You wanted to talk to me, as is entirely natural… Yet our society doesn’t allow men and women to meet the way they used to. So your interest in me became a fantasy, in which you save me from my naivety and prudery, and introduce me to a world of sexual freedom.’

Her insight staggers me. I want to reach out and touch her, but am conditioned against such an utterly forbidden action.

‘Everything you said is true.’

Eve smiles.

I am lost.

We continue talking for a while, mostly about the peculiar coincidence of her having a connection to Marcy Hicks. Eve, who has a faith, wonders if our footsteps were divinely orchestrated, so that we might meet. But to what end, she does not say. Her eyes tell a different story though, and when the time comes to part, we are making plans to meet again.

‘Where did you tell your parents you were going tonight?’ I ask.

‘I didn’t tell them,’ Eve replies. ‘They will be out until midnight. I left the house without their knowledge.’

I tut mockingly. ‘In violation of your morality code, no doubt.’

‘Absolutely. I could lose my job for this.’

‘You’re not kidding?’

Eve shakes her head. ‘No, I’m not kidding. I felt like I had to do something for Marcy. I felt like I owed it to her.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll explain next time we meet.’

‘Next time?’

‘Of course. You’ll want to meet up again, right? I think you enjoyed my company, and I certainly enjoyed yours.’

‘You mean…’

‘I mean I’d like to see you again.’

‘But… how will I contact you?’

Eve passes me a piece of paper. ‘This is an email address you can reach me on. It’s not mine, but I can get messages this way. Can you give me yours?’

I give Eve my email address, which she scribbles down.

‘My email address isn’t safe to use,’ Eve says. ‘Married women get a bit more privacy, but even then, their messages have to be monitored by Church Accountability Committees.’

‘It just seems crazy…’

‘I bet you don’t even think about owning a phone, an email account, internet access, and so on. We aren’t allowed any of them, unless they are strictly supervised. Everything we search online, everything we write, every call we make… It has to be registered and monitored. Don’t worry though. The email address I gave you goes through a third-party contact, and let’s just say he’s morally flexible. He’s a janitor in the school where I work, and will find a way to get a message to me. If I can get messages to you through him in the same way, there won’t be a problem.’

‘But will I have to wait until your parents are next out?’

‘Something like that. There are other ways you could see me more often, but that would be in more of a group context.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You could join our church on 22nd Street. I could speak to you there, although we’d have to be careful.’

‘I told you, I hate churches.’

‘Then you have to ask yourself one question.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Is your hatred of churches greater than your desire to spend time with me?’

I don’t know how to respond. I feel simultaneously elated and terrified. A sudden fear of being caught overwhelms me. I want to go home and hide in my apartment, where it will be safe to dwell on every detail of my time with Eve this evening.

Eve glances at her watch. ‘I need to get going. Wait five minutes before following so we aren’t seen leaving the park together.’

She winks at me, and without another word gets up from the bench and strides away. I stare after her, watching her figure silhouetted against the streetlights as she disappears across the lawns and vanishes into the night.

To be continued in Part 1, Chapter 5.

Copyright 2020 Simon Dillon. The moral rights of the author have been asserted. For more information about Peaceful Quiet Lives, including articles exploring the themes, inspiration, and initial reactions, as well as purchase links for e-books and paperbacks of the novel, click here. For more information about Simon Dillon on Medium, click here.