Dangerous Ink

Thirty years ago, a stranger saved me by purchasing my life.

I cost one pound of coffee and two pounds of sugar. It was the opinion of everyone in the village the stranger had overpaid.

The gates of my village closed behind us the next day, and I began to cry. The stranger stared at me and climbed onto his two-wheeled machine, beckoning me to do the same. I had been bought, so I did as he desired, holding on to his waist and letting go of my family. The roar of the machine drowned out my sobs, but nothing could still the fear in my heart or quell the unease in my soul.

Until I saw the ocean.

                                                          __________

“Your dad told me your name’s Ophelia. Pretty.” The stranger looked out over the Pacific Ocean as he spoke, his words whipping around in the breeze.

Ophelia nodded, also staring at the ocean, but for her it was different. She had never seen such a vast amount of water. She cringed slightly as waves crashed against the rocks below, fearing the power that they brought.

“My name’s Zale.”

Ophelia faced the man who bought her, eyes blazing. Her fear had left her as soon as she saw the ocean, but she couldn’t say why. Not yet.

“You aimin’ to have your way with me?”

Zale turned an icy glare on Ophelia. He shook his head and walked back to his Harley.

Ophelia continued to stare at the endless waters, imagining all sorts of fantastic creatures under the waves, wondering what their lives were like. A breath of sadness entered her soul. This was the sort of thing that got her in trouble. Imagining things. Wanting to know more. Becoming the property of a stranger.

She heard the powerful burble of Zale’s motorcycle and trotted toward it. Her decision had been made. Any man who wants me to see this is a man worth exploring.

Just like books.

                                                     ____________________

I can’t say that I liked Zale right off, but he was interesting. And me? I had always been interested in seeing what was outside the village. We traveled for weeks, and camped within the sound of the ocean each night. I soaked up the sights, listened to his tales, enjoyed life outside the high village walls. The evil land that the Ruling Council talked about didn’t seem so evil. It was intriguing, like the mystery of existence.

Zale caught fish — mainly salmon — from rivers, and picked blackberries and nuts along the way. He killed a deer one day, with a bow and arrow, and roasted its meat. I had never tasted anything so different, so wonderful. I had been with him for a month and he had given me experiences beyond anything I had ever dreamed of.

He never asked me why I chose to stay with him. He let me be me. I was allowed to bathe in private, and to enjoy solitude when I desired. His actions declared me autonomous and independent. Bought and sold, yes, but free. This was a concept that took some getting used to, for village life taught me obligations and rules but never anything about liberty. Liberty was bad.

Criminal, as it turned out.

                                                        ______________

“They locked me away because I went to a forbidden place and brought back forbidden stuff.”

Zale looked up from the fire, his eyes asking Ophelia for more but not demanding it. Ophelia sensed that it was the right time to confide in a man she barely knew. After all, he had shown her an ocean and had fed her meat. The man deserved something, and all she had to give was her history.

“I used to sneak out of my bedroom and squiggle under the fence. One night, I found the Forbidden Building. Big! And full of books. I found some that I really liked. They had pictures of a funny-looking cat wearin’ a funny-looking hat. And a green furry animal that walked on two legs and had cheeks like a squirrel. And all sorts of red fish and blue fish and green fish and, well, I liked those books. So I took some of ‘em home and hid ‘em under my bed. My mamma found ‘em and that’s when they locked me up.”

Zale didn’t laugh. The story was too sad to be humorous, worthy only of a melancholy smile.

“Owning books has been a crime for years. I’m surprised they didn’t stone you to death.”

Ophelia shuddered. “They wanted to, but my daddy’s on the Ruling Council, so they gave me twenty years of confinement. Two years later, you bought me.”

Zale poked the fire, sending a riot of sparks cascading to the heavens. “Your daddy was weak.”

Ophelia bristled. “My daddy loved me!”

Flames licked the air, and the flickering light alternated between shadow and illumination. The chill in the air became noticeable.

“Yes, he did. Just enough to save your life, but not enough to make your life matter. It’s the bane of mankind. Take religion. We tolerated each other just enough to think we satisfied God, but not enough to stop killing each other over the interpretations of His words.”

Ophelia felt the truth of this, but it rankled her. She turned away from Zale and feigned sleep, her mind a whirl of conflicting, disturbing thoughts. An hour later, she heard Zale preparing for sleep. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of wishing him a good night because she wasn’t going to have one, and she feared that this new awareness of her father’s character would cause a lot of sleepless nights.

Zale slept soundly.

                                                        ______________

Zale told me more about the Dangerous Ink Law. All the powerful nations passed a law that forbade any book dealing with opinions, insights, or beliefs. Mankind was on the brink of collapse, and it had been determined that such books brought it about. There was only one punishment for owning a work of fiction or belief, and that was death by stoning.

A lot of people defied the law, and a lot of people were stoned. Libraries were locked up, and plans were being made to burn the houses of the forbidden books. Then the world ended.

                                                         ______________

Zale opened the door. Ophelia stepped in and gasped at the size of the house. Zale drew back the curtains in the living area, and the setting sun lit up the space, bringing it alive.

“My house. One of ‘em, anyway. The furniture’s old but serviceable.”

Ophelia went upstairs, marveling at a house that had another house on top of it. She opened doors. She explored.

“Take whichever bedroom you want. Mine’s at the end.”

Ophelia picked the bedroom farthest from Zale.

They met downstairs a few minutes later, on the front patio. Ophelia sat across from him, gazing at an ocean that never ceased to amaze her.

“Why here?” Ophelia had seen many houses on their journey, and she made up stories in her head about the people who used to live in such fine places.

Zale pointed to the north. Ophelia squinted, trying to locate what Zale was pointing at. Finally, she saw it.

A man!

They hadn’t seen anyone in the four months they had been traveling. Ophelia was beginning to believe that the only people on this earth were the villagers and Zale.

“Who is he? Is he dangerous?”

Ophelia’s heart pounded. Her new life had been amazing, but she would trade it all, right now, to be safe from others.

“No.”

Ophelia wasn’t comforted by Zale’s one-word response. After four months of searching her soul, she had become determined to trust Zale, and it had taken its toll. Getting used to another person in her life was more than she was willing to take on.

“How do you know?”

He told her.

                                                      ______________

Zale had been stoned for doing what I had done: own books. Only, he didn’t die. I suppose that’s obvious, but I’ve seen people stoned to death. It’s gruesome and bloody and sickening. No one can survive it.

Zale did.

We sat on the patio while he recounted the experience. He told me about it with so little emotion! I don’t know how the man couldn’t break down from such a horrible experience, but he seemed calm, almost peaceful, as the words slipped out of his mouth.

His dad and some other villagers tossed his body in the woods after the stoning, not even bothering to give him a proper burial. Turns out, that was a good thing. An old man and his wife found him and nursed him back to health. The old man Zale had pointed out to me.

Later that night, Zale told me the rest of the story. It was a warm summer night in July, and the breeze from the murmuring ocean was a welcome relief. I felt the peace of an empty land as it kissed the endless waters. I recall the night with vivid detail because it was the night I fell in love with Zale.

                                                       ______________

Zale continued his tale. “They brought me here, a good five hundred miles from where they found me. I don’t know why they saved me, but I’m grateful. Juan and Consuela, just a couple of old Mexicans who want to live their lives and move on to the next life, or so Juan said.”

Ophelia sipped some wine, something only the Ruling Council was allowed to drink. It was a little sweet, a little bitter, and made her feel like the world could be a better place someday. Zale smoked a cigarette. She declined to try this, fearing anything that made one breathe out smoke.

“After I was able to take care of myself, I vowed to get revenge. Juan couldn’t stop me, but he asked me to do something first.”

Ophelia looked at Zale. Even in the gloom of the evening, she could see a hardness to his face that hadn’t been there before. She didn’t ask any questions, though she was burning to do so. Better to let him tell it in his own time.

“He wanted me to learn how to read. Said he could teach me. Well, hell, Juan and Consuela saved my life, so I figured I owed ‘em. He taught me to read the books that almost got me killed. And many, many more. Lots of philosophy books. Adventure books. Mysteries. Romances. Thrillers. The holy books of religion.”

Zale paused to light another cigarette. Ophelia sensed that this was difficult for him, the recounting of his need for vengeance. She understood that need.

“Five years and 200 books later, Juan and Consuela loosed me from my obligation to them. Juan gave me a motorcycle, a bow and ten arrows, and sent me on my way.”

Ophelia gazed at Zale’s face. It was hard and unforgiving, like a stone.

“I found my father in the fields a few days later. I stood ten yards away from him and yelled his name. When he turned to me, all the blood left his face. He stared at me and started crying, begging me to kill him and put him out of his misery.”

Zale stood and paced the patio, his agitation not allowing him to sit still.

“So I did.”

Ophelia watched Zale closely as he sat back down. He wiped some perspiration from his forehead and lit another cigarette, breathing easier. Zale became Zale once more.

“You – you killed your father?”

“No. I hugged him and told him I forgave him.”

                                                        ______________

We stayed here through the summer before traveling south. We talked of many things, but mainly about how the world ended. The UKP-223 virus. How odd that something we can’t see can do so much damage. A little bug that attacked the body.

Almost everyone died. The few people who lived had a rough time of it, and many died of attrition. The remaining survivors formed bands, for protection and to raid others for goods. Within a decade, humanity had been virtually extinguished. I could attest to that. Zale and I had been together for almost a year now, and we had seen no more than a handful of small villages.

I began my lessons in reading. Imagine how excited I was to know that, in time, I would be able to understand those strange symbols. The secrets forbidden me were to be laid open! Oh, how my father would detest me if he knew.

But not as much as I detested him. I reflected upon his deeds, and the deeds of the other villagers. They had outlawed the free trade of ideas in exchange for a harsh, unforgiving life, and this, I supposed, was because they were cowardly.

My reading had taught me a new word to describe how I felt about the Ruling Council, and especially my dad.

Pity.

                                                          ______________

“It used to be called Cabo San Lucas.” Zale rowed out past the marina and into the ocean. Ophelia threw out three fishing lines and waited for something to nibble.

“What’s it called now?”

Zale grinned. “Anything you want to call it.”

The day passed, slowly but pleasantly. The couple caught three red snappers and grilled them on the beach, feasting on the delicate meat.

Ophelia, full of fish and feeling philosophical, bit an apple and gazed at it in the dying light.

“I blame God. If this is the end of the world, it’s His fault for putting the apple tree in The Garden in the first place.”

Zale laughed. “It’s easy to blame the fisherman for the hook caught in your finger.”

“Admit it, He put temptation there.”

Zale stood up, brushed sand from his clothes, and pulled Ophelia up. They walked along the beach, watching the ever-present waves try to overtake the land.

“I admit nothing but the presence of free will. Right now, I’m hoping you’re willing to —"

Ophelia kissed Zale, and all thoughts of God and free will dissipated.

                                                      ______________

It took me ten years to accept Zale’s allegory about the fisherman and the hook. He didn’t get a chance to witness it.

                                                     ______________

“Ok, you son of a bitch!” Ophelia kicked the dirt beside his grave. “I buried you next to Juan and Consuela. Happy?”

Ophelia, for the last time in her life, cried. Her tears, unabated, ran down her face in rivulets, falling silently next to Zale’s grave. She cried until she could cry no more. She moaned and screamed until her throat was raw, she beat the ground with her shovel, punishing it for housing the man she now had to do without.

Ophelia blew her nose and wiped her face, spent from exertion and emotion, empty and aching and shattered. She trudged to the house and slept a dreamless sleep.

                                                           ______________

I understand the world now. The apple is not evil. The stone is not deadly. The ink is not dangerous. It’s the heart of man that caused the world to end. The Great Virus was simply the executioner.

I stop by Zale’s grave from time to time and relay this insight — and other pearls of wisdom — to him, but I bet he isn’t listening. Why should he? The man has been gone for almost twenty years; if he had anything to say to me, he would have said it.

Well, he was the lucky one. He never had to live with a heart under constant repair.

                                                       ______________

Ophelia sat beside the fresh flowers around Zale’s grave, and gave a respectful nod to Juan and Consuela. A few bees investigated the flowers, found nothing of interest, and flew away to other, more promising flora.

“Well. The big news is that I’m getting pudgy. Can you believe it? That waif you bought twenty-five years ago is finally filling out. I blame the gardens. All I eat is from the gardens. When you died, I lost my taste for fish. But I understand the nature of fishhooks a lot better now. Ha! You should get a kick out of that.”

Ophelia plucked a weed from the spot directly above Zale’s head. The dew-laden, verdant grass sparkled in the early-morning light, a few blades bending to the gentle, fitful breeze. The ocean’s roar had subsided to a murmur, but it was ever-present and comforting to Ophelia, a thing that never changed, though everything all around it had changed.

“Not much else to say. Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow. I need to exercise some, I think, and some brisk walks along this path would do me good.”

Ophelia stood, brushing off her clothes and pushing the hair back from her face, letting the growing breeze cool her. She looked toward the blue waters, but she didn’t dwell on the lives of the fish under the surface. Not any longer. The days of dreaming about possibilities in an impossible world were gone.

“I miss you like hell.”

The sea understood. So did Zale.