The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey (3 page)

“Sofia, come. Look,” John yelled pointing towards his
discovery.

Sprinting from the other side of the building, leaping and howling, Sofia strode up beside him, panting and out of breath. Holding onto his arm, she peered over the side.

Glancing at each other with heartfelt smiles, it was hard for them not to laugh at the thought of the
limping man
in the hallway. The mystery was solved, and the outside world was unmasked for their pleasure… all because of Mr. Sanders, whom, having left a personal item of his as evidence that he was up on that rooftop earlier, would now be one shoe short of a pair. Sofia’s face was aglow. And John knew that henceforth, nothing would ever be the same
again.

The most beautiful things in the world had been hidden from them: the warm rays of light, the gentle, blue sky, the rustling leaves of the trees outside the wall. The breeze of life sifted through the short bangs of John’s hair. A new world had been waiting for them. A new world was found.

Peering around the corner, John was surprised to find the glow of artificial light emanating from under the door of his parent’s apartment. They never left the lights on if they were not home. With the morning having become quite worn, they should have been gone by now. But the shadowy beams that broke through it made him question whether or not they had, for some odd reason, not left for their work quarters for the day.

“Why are the lights on?” whispered Sofia.

“I’m not sure,” John said, as a puzzled expression smeared across his face. “Maybe they left without turning them off.”

Although the words fell from his mouth, he knew it was not true. Something was not quite right.

“Wait here,” he whispered.

As he edged forward, each step seemed to increase the volume of the thumping of his heart, causing an intense pressure to build in his head. When he finally reached the door, he pressed his ear against its cold, white metal. There were voices inside! He quickly glanced at his watch. At this time of the morning nobody should be home!

The loose, metallic release of the door’s security lock caused John to step back. He looked down the hall at Sofia.

“Find a way to get to the hills, girl. I’ll meet you there,” he called out.

Sofia’s hair fluttered about her face by the force of rushing air that rippled throughout the hallway as the door was torn open.

“There you are!”

It was
he
… the Monster!

“Where have you been, John? Star gazing again, no doubt,” he roared, “Do you think we’re that stupid? Do you really think we don’t know? You’ve been up there-on the rooftops- with that… that girl, haven’t you?”

Sofia pressed herself against the wall trying to stay still and hidden in the darkness. John’s white shirt crinkled between the fingers of his father’s hand. His head snapped back under the violent convulsion of the Monster yanking and dragging him into the apartment. The floor beneath her trembled in synch with a heavy, dull report that echoed in her ears, like the sound of John’s body dropping to the floor.

The Monster stepped back out into the hallway. He was burly and cold. By the faint light of the apartment he appeared to be split in two: half black, half revealed by the dull glow. His thick arms protruded out from his broad shoulders, hung high off the ground by his unusually long, thin legs. His eyes seemed to be scanning the cross cut shadows, moving back and forth… back and forth. He was patient and calculating. Then suddenly he stopped and stared straight ahead. It appeared that he had caught sight of something that needed his attention… something at the corner where Sofia lay huddled in terror. He took one step forward, paused, then took another.

A tear drizzled down Sofia’s cheek. The creature was closing in on her. The hallway suddenly filled with screams and cursing, issuing out of the walls where John had been taken, and yet, the cautious, clacking sound of the Monster’s shoes on the linoleum floor kept their pace. Like drum beats playing to the tune of the shattering glass and John’s cries, closer and closer they moved.

Sofia wanted desperately to go to John, but there was no way. She had to get out of there before it was too late. She was not supposed to be there. She was supposed to be sitting at her desk in the Education right now. And the worst part of all: the Monster knew of their paradise on the roof! She had to move. She needed to move! Pulling herself up to her feet and preparing for her escape was absolute. John would find her if she fled to the hills by herself… he had to! Whatever was beyond the walls, she thought, had to be better than this place. What could possibly be worse?

The only way to escape was down the elevator or through the fire escape. There was no other way to get away from the approaching beast. Due to its location alone, the elevator was out of the question. The fire escape, on the other hand, was down the corridor near the Forbidden Room. Opening it would certainly set off the alarms. She could make for the rooftop. Over the years she and John had figured out ways to reach all of the buildings with little effort. With no one to see them they had become quite adept at using the system of cables and pipes that connected all the structures in the city. That was her only recourse, her best chance to make it away safely. Getting down to the streets and then finding a way out of the Corral would be the most difficult task of all, but it was not something she could let herself be concerned with at the moment.

By the sound of it, the steps appeared to be within an arm’s reach around the corner. It was now or never. With that thought, she turned to make her way back to the Forbidden Room, but found herself face to face with Mr. Sanders. The old man quickly pressed the palm of his hand against her mouth.

“Say nothing,” he whispered.

His large fingers firmly coiled around Sofia’s upper arm. He quickly, but quietly, guided her along the hallway into the crimson glowing of the Forbidden Area. Pulling her out of the doorway he pressed her against the wall.

Sofia did not fight him. She obeyed, not out of fear of the old man, but out of fear of the approaching Monster. Mr. Sanders peered around the corner. Deep wrinkles protruded from his face, giving him a terribly contradictory appearance relative to the assistance that he was providing at the moment.

From Sofia’s position, the hall appeared to be alive as the shadows of the Monster swayed to and fro, seemingly reaching out to them. As the echoing, methodical tapping of his footsteps suddenly stopped, Mr. Sanders reared back, pressing himself heavy into the wall, as if he were trying to become one with its material being. As the beads of sweat began to form around her helper’s temples, Sofia could smell the mildew-like perspiration spilling from his pores. The Monster was near. He was coming for them.

The glaring eyes of madness had made their way to the opposite end of the hallway leading up to the Forbidden Room, squinting with a suspicious aura. As the tone of John’s screams intensified, the Monster, looking back from whence he came, hesitated. Then, returning towards the direction of his abode, he retreated. The tap, tap, tapping of his footsteps faded away until they were heard no more.

Mr. Sanders’ apartment was similar to the one Sofia’s parents lived in, maybe a little more decorated, but none-the-less similar in all other aspects. She sat on a dark wooden, four-legged, flower patterned sofa set against a lime-green wall. There were old pictures hanging about the room of what appeared to be Mr. Sanders and his wife when they were much younger. With a hint of suspicion she watched the old man gathering some teacups and small, porcelain plates from the cupboard as he slowly prepared something for the two of them to snack on.

There was a light rising of steam twirling up to the ceiling from a shiny, stainless steel kettle that whistled from the stovetop. He placed a couple of teabags into the cups and, as he began to pour the water from the kettle, his hand revealed a tremor that, under most circumstances, was otherwise unnoticeable.

Henry Eugene Sanders was his full name. He was as equally well known in the city of Labor as John’s father, the Monster. He was the oldest person in the complex, perhaps even the oldest person in the history of Labor to not get sent to Restful Haven upon reaching such a late term in life. He was a rather plump man with a peculiar, horseshoe-shaped mustache that tapered inwards at the edges of the lips, giving him a rather somber demeanor, even if he was not actually feeling sad. His nose was somewhat round and large, supporting a pair of circular spectacles near its tip. He walked with a slow, steady gait, as if he were sore somewhere on his body that he was not complaining about. And although he was not short in stature, his suspenders held his pants a little higher than the waist, giving the illusion that he was lacking in the height department. He also had a distinct way of speaking, using exaggerated gestures with his arms and hands.

“I’ve been watching you two,” he said.

The corners of his mouth pulled back, creating ripples upon his pale cheeks, an odd half-smile spread across the left side of his face. It was a discomforting statement, to say the least. How long had he been
watching
them, she wondered, fearfully drawing the conclusion that he was going to turn them in to the Labor Security. The revelatory declaration was quite unnerving. As she was now unable to maintain eye contact with the man, Sofia nervously looked around the
room.

“I know that the two of you are thinking of running,” he said, turning and pointing toward the wall, in the direction of which the Savior set. “To the hills, right… out there?”

For a brief moment the desire to lie began to build up within her, but Sofia refrained, choosing to remain silent instead. He seemed so sincere, in a foreign sort-of-way, as if he wanted to help, but, what his actual motivations were she could not discern.

The cushions of the sofa were beginning to show their thinness as she fidgeted about in the seat, trying to get comfortable. Having both the physical and mental uneasiness at such a disconcerting time was nearly all Sofia felt she could endure. Her head was beginning to throb as she fought back the urge to let herself go, to completely and emotionally let her mind break down.

Mr. Sanders began to open his mouth, as if to complete his thoughts, but he was caught unawares, interrupted by the muffled yelling and screaming emanating from John’s parent’s apartment across the way. It was beginning again, trickling through the door, instilling a fresh assault on the auditory senses. Casting his gaze in the direction of the voices on the other side, Mr. Sanders’ expression of concern revealed somewhat more to Sofia that his motives were other than malicious.

“That boy’s getting a good lickin’ about now, yes indeed,” he mused before glancing back at Sofia. “But, I don’t want you to worry about that right now.”

Placing the cups and porcelain plates, served with slices of bread, onto a two-handled tray, he gathered up their late morning refreshments. Steadily walking over to Sofia, he set the tray on the coffee table situated in front of her. Pulling up a chair with a matching, flowery-patterned seat, he sat down, simultaneously scooping up one of the teacups.

His eyes disappeared behind his steam-fogged glasses as he lifted the cup to his mouth and took a sip, giving him the appearance of some kind of bizarre android with digitized visual organs.

“Go on, now. Help yourself,” he said.

Hesitating for a moment, Sofia politely gathered up her teacup and began to take a drink. Another muffled scream brought her to a pause. With a quivering lip, she eased the teacup away from her lips, forcing herself to swallow what sweet liquid had made itself into her mouth.

“I was about your age when the misses and I met,” Mr. Sanders began again, picking up a tarnished picture frame from off of the coffee table. “We were so in love, Helen and
I.”

He turned the picture toward Sofia.

“This was Helen, my wife”, he said, gently handing the picture frame to her, as if it were a newborn child.

It was not an unfamiliar face Sofia was looking at in the photograph. She remembered seeing Helen Sanders many times as they passed one another in the hallways and on the busy sidewalks, sometimes even riding up the elevator with her.

She had been a secretary down the street before being taken. And although, in the past, she and Sofia had several close physical encounters, Sofia had never once spoken with the woman. With the exception of John, Sofia gave little mind to the other citizens of Labor. They just existed.

Yet, something about the black-and-white image was quite odd to her. The picture was not exactly the same Helen she had the occasion of seeing. The photograph before her was different and more composed: it was the picture of a Helen that was young and lively. She generally looked the same, of course, except that the thin, gray hair that Sofia remembered her to be adorned with was flowing so vibrant and healthy, her skin was so smooth and her eyes so bright. This was a woman from a different era, a different time altogether. This was the woman that Mr. Sanders was in love with.

From above his steam-coated lenses, Sofia could make out what appeared to be the formation of tears at the inner corners of Mr. Sanders’ eyes. A flushing sensation spread across her cheeks as she noticed that he was staring at her with a protective affection. As she handed Helen’s memorial back to him, Mr. Sanders received it with earnest, grasping her by the hand. Leaning forward, his voice was soft, almost private in tone.

“We often spoke of running, too,” he said.

Slipping her hand away from his, Sofia could feel that recently experienced, startling uneasiness beginning to fill up within her heart once again. Although it had been waning while staring into the comforting eyes of Helen that appeared to gaze back at her from the photograph, it was now a mixture of fear and curiosity, a dreadful denouement that was exposing to her that someone had somehow heard her speaking with John today on the rooftop. That had become one of their most intimate secrets, as equally secret as the Savior watching and wishing stars. And yet, this complete stranger had somehow become privy to their dreams.

“What do you mean?” Sofia stuttered.

Sinking back into the chair, accompanied by the creaking of its old wooden frame, Mr. Sanders smiled.

“Oh, come now. I’ve seen you two up there,” he said, pointing to the ceiling. “You can see right over the Corral, can’t you? The hills are covered with trees. Trees are everywhere, as far as the eye can see.”

With an accusing smirk on his face he leaned forward and said, “They’re quite inviting, too, aren’t they?”

Sofia did not answer the question. Her nervously wandering eyes were speaking for her. Mr. Sanders reclined back once more and said, “Yes, indeed. I’ve been watching you two for quite some time: roof hopping, swinging around the cables, walking across those structural, connecting beams. The smiles on your faces
and…”

He hesitated and took another look at his Helen in the picture, “…and the way you two would hold hands.”

He cast a glance to Sofia from above his spectacles and said, “I’ve been there, too.”

Standing up, he took a deep breath before walking to another picture hanging within a rustic frame upon the opposing wall.

“We were just too old and unfit to survive out there,” he said, turning around. “But, we did have a plan. We had everything planned.”

He strolled over to an old wooden, roll-top desk. The tremble of his hands appeared to increase in intensity as he slid open a small, hidden drawer nestled within its side. Black as coal was the aged box that he exposed to Sofia’s eyes. With a queer expression of determination, he picked it up, placed it against his chest and brought it over to her, setting it upon her lap.

“Go ahead. Open it,” the old man gestured with his hands, as if he were the one opening the ebony colored package.

The top of the box slid off with ease. Inside, wrapped within a thin, white paper, Sofia found a peculiar knife with a blade that folded into its own handle, a brass compass, a monocular instrument and a black leather notebook.

Lifting the book out of the box first and fanning through all the pages, the familiar aroma of fresh air and green trees filled the air. The leather of the book was worn and limp from, what appeared to be, extensive use. Upon closer examination it was some type of homemade, field manual. There were drawings of edible plants, maps for locating water sources, shelter designs and other relevant items for such a book as this. But, what caught Sofia’s eye as the strangest wonder was a sketching that spanned the entire last page and onto a piece of matching paper glued to the inside of the back cover. It was a bird’s eye view of Labor City, but it was scaled to about one centimeter. Surrounding it was an extensive, hand-drawn, topographical map of a single landmass upon, what had to have been, their tiny planet: the hills, the mountains, the streams and rivers. There were places noted with question marks. Some were drawn with skulls and crossbones surrounded by square perimeters made up of Xs done up in red ink. A thin, black line, which apparently represented The Highway, extended northeasterly out of Labor. It was long and winding, continuing for quite a relative distance before heading due east and finally terminating at a picture of some type of flying apparatus that was surrounded by more red Xs.

To the west of Labor, nearly equidistant to the city as the image of the flying machine was to the northeast, there was drawn another rather peculiar object, a sketch of another flying machine. But this one was different. It was broken in half and entangled among the trees. It had the words
food and shelter
scribbled next to it in large print, bold and underlined.

Sofia placed her finger on the picture of the northeasterly compound. “What’s this?” she asked.

With lowering brows, Mr. Sanders began to take on a more serious demeanor.

“That’s a place I do not want either of you to ever go near… ever! Do you understand me? It’s…”

A sudden crash, accompanied by the creaking of the opening of a door outside, caused him to stop mid-sentence. Quickly, but silently, Mr. Sanders made his way to the front door, placing his ear heavy against it. Holding out his arm with a hushing sound towards Sofia, she realized that she had made a rustling of the wrapping paper that was held in her hand beneath the leather book. Ceasing her activity, she would only move at his
command.