Upon This Waste

Chapter 14

They had walked for miles before they saw it in front of them. In the distance it looked like nothing much. A couple of short and ugly buildings surrounded by a wire fence. Isaiah thought that it was a farm owned by some poor farmer who had been caught in the whirling commotion of it all. He felt sorry for the family that he imagined lived there. Their animals smothered in dust, their crops trampled by men and machines.

As they got closer its blurriness became clearer and he could see with surprise some kind of animals gathered in the yard of the place. Some were huddled up against the fence, others wandered around the dead fields alone and sluggish. They were tall and slender animals, certainly not cows or horses or pigs. He was confused by it all.

And then the sight animated further and he could see that the animals of the yard were men. He didn't understand at first and he began to raise his rifle, but then he knew. He hadn't seen one before. A prison camp. He thought that's what it had to be, but he didn't want to ask and look foolish, didn't really want to know. Anyway, how would the others know any better than he did?

Some were crippling around the yard like sleepwalkers, like the shadows of distant dreams. Some paced around the buildings like they were on a track. None of those who moved moved quickly. Most didn't move at all, but sat or stood in the yard and uttered in hushed voices. They whispered among themselves like they were planning their escape and they didn't smile like they knew their plans were futile. They were dirty and their clothes were tattered.

Once they had gotten close, Isaiah thought he could see the stench floating over them like a fog. He could hear their muttering, and though he couldn't understand it, he felt like he could, like the language of ancestors embedded in forsaken blood. He could see around the corner of a building where its shadow was cast, and in the coolness of the shade several men leaned up against the building. They looked like they had long become part of it, melted into the stained walls.

As they walked passed, the men didn't look up. They continued to pace, to whisper, to not smile, to melt. Their conversations, those possibly articulate inchoate utterings, seemed to get quieter as they passed. Their paces slowed. A few men limped out of one of the buildings. They hobbled but didn't wince. One of them fell down and yelled out sharply, like a yelp, but made it to his feet after a minute's effort and limped on like nothing had happened. One man whose face had been covered in shade turned to look at them. But as his face was revealed by the light, Isaiah could see a scar running from one ear to the other and that he had no eyes. Still, he was the only one who looked at them, albeit in darkness. Isaiah wondered if the man truly saw darkness, like when you close your eyes, or nothing, like sleep.

When they got to the entrance of the place a guard called out to them and reluctantly David replied. He was the only one who could. They spoke several times back and forth and then David turned to speak to them.

"He says that if we're hungry we should come eat. Apparently the shipments got messed up and they received one they weren't supposed to, and they'll never eat it all before it goes bad," David relayed the message.

"Well what are we waitin' for?" Mike asked speeding toward the entrance. "I ain't one for wastin'."

"Hold on a second, Mike," Isaiah said. "Those prisoners surely haven't had their fill. Look at them." He turned to look David in the eyes. "Can you ask him why it isn't going to the prisoners?"

"Hold on a minute," David replied and turned to ask. They spoke briefly. "He says the prisoners have had more than they need, and that giving them extra strength hadn't struck them as a good idea."