As I said before, I was already used to the darkness.
No, this wasn't just any ordinary accustomedness. The darkness didn't make me feel peaceful, nor did I feel more comfortable while in it. This was more of a forced habituation. Because when darkness had become such an undeniable part of my world, I couldn't find a way to deny it.
When I think of darkness, I remember my mother's heart beating in the dark, for instance… I remember the anxiety that sprouted within me when I rested my head on my mother's stomach, skin and bones from weakness, and the darkness had permeated every part of me.
Back then, I was probably around six years old. I was just learning to read and write. On weekends, my sick mother constantly wanted to see her family. I used to think my mother's illness was temporary. After all, most people's mothers got sick, and science could quickly produce a solution for every sick mother. But my mother… my mother's illness was different.
Our visits to my mother's family home had started one summer when she woke up in her bed, coughing blood. My father, with great alarm, had rushed to his wife, who was coughing blood beside him. He trembled uncontrollably, as if he hadn't just lost hundreds of soldiers, while desperately screaming for help. My mother's bleeding was stopped after an approximately four-hour operation. From that day on, whenever my mother was going to sleep, she started sleeping separately from my father, in her own special glass chamber.
The doctor who cured my mother was a man named Dr. Joe Stone, bald on top with thinning, curly white hair on the sides, and round glasses. He was a paramedic and a close friend of my father's. He had retired after seeing the Fourth World War. According to him, he had seen so many brutal things that he had become disgusted with medicine, but when it came to my mother, he never hesitated to pick up his profession again.
Joe Stone was a peculiar man. He was known for his raspy voice, unsettling mannerisms, and constant need to go to the bathroom. Not only that… despite his reluctance, he had been elected Vice President of the Ministry of Health due to his battlefield successes. Even though he worked at the Ministry, he had never once gone to the office. Every now and then, the Ministry would send him an email, and he would have his assistants reply to them, and that was it. Even his short replies to those emails contained topics that could revolutionize medicine.
"The situation is very difficult…" he had said to my father, who was in blood-stained pajamas. My father was kneeling by my mother's glass chamber, crying. It was the first time I had seen my father so broken. "…I told you there would be a price for the Chinese Virus treatment." He scrutinized Jenny's exhausted body. "She wouldn't have contracted this illness if she hadn't tried to get treated. That virus… that virus exists for that reason, Marcin." Joe Stone's voice was not one of complaint, but rather of anger. His intention wasn't to reprimand my parents. He seemed angry at grief itself.
As my father ran his hand over the glass chamber, my mother, unconscious with tubes down her throat, opened her eyes; she reached her hand towards the glass chamber and placed it beneath my father's hand. These two lovers, despite the glass between them, felt as if they were holding hands; they were trying to draw strength from each other.
"I told her," my father had said. "But she didn't listen…" As he closed his eyes, a few tears fell between his knees.
"Marcin…" Joe Stone said, adjusting his glasses. "No matter how powerful this illness is, Jenny is just as strong a woman. It's still possible for her to recover from the side effects of the treatment. Even if it's a slim chance…"
"Please don't do this, Joe!" my father said, his hand trembling on the glass. "At least be honest with me. No one comes back once they reach this stage. I know that!"
"There's still a possibility!"
"There's always a possibility. I used to tell my soldiers the same thing on the battlefield. So they wouldn't die hopelessly, at least, before they died!"
"Marcin, you need to calm down."
As if the "calm down" advice had angered my father even more, he momentarily burst out in rage: "My wife wakes up spitting blood on me! Stop talking nonsense and just be a little honest!" he said.
"No, you stop talking nonsense. Your wife can't hear us from the other side of the glass, but if she could hear what you're saying, she'd probably be devastated. Jenny absolutely wouldn't want her sacrifice to be met like this by her husband. You know that too." Joe Stone turned his head and looked at me, who was peeking through the half-open door. I had been secretly watching what was happening for minutes, but now I'd been spotted. "She knew how important having a child was to you."
I remember my father's bloodshot eyes, red from crying, scanning over me. "Edgard!" my father had shouted. I don't know if it was anger or a cry of pain. But Joe Stone's shout was full of anger, and he, too, yelled:
"Oscar!" he shouted. "Didn't we tell you to look after the kid, you idiot!"
At that age, I couldn't understand the seriousness of my father's words, nor what Joe Stone was trying to convey. I had no idea what the price my mother paid would be. When my friends talked about my mother being sick, I'd puff out my chest and say, "Joe Stone will definitely cure my mom. He's the best doctor in the world…"
Oscar Destan was Joe Stone's driver. He was an eighteen-year-old young man. Don't mistake him for a servant or an assistant just because he was a driver. He had been a warship driver in the space fleet of the army; he was one of the army's most senior pilots. Joe Stone had saved his life in the war, so Oscar felt indebted to him and never wanted to leave Joe Stone's side.
He was a witty man… as witty as he was dim-witted. He constantly made blunders… he constantly said things he shouldn't say in places he shouldn't say them. He did all these things and, thanks to his carelessness, continued without taking anything to heart. He had spiky blonde hair and a sparse beard. With his blue eyes, he could be said to look handsome, but his handsomeness was definitely just as much an illusion as his intelligence. Those who knew he was a very good driver thought he was smart because piloting was difficult; yet, he still did addition and subtraction on his fingers.
Oscar came in with my robot dog in his arms and shouted: "Sorry, Joe!" Then he came over, put me under his other arm, and quickly whisked me away, saying, "Weren't you playing with the dog, you little rascal? Was the dog playing fetch by itself, then?"
Whatever my father, mother, and Joe talked about, from then on, on Saturdays, my mother and I would visit an autonomous region called the Lower Quarter, made up of refugees or, as it were, people who could be called second-class citizens.
Joe Stone and my father would make the arrangements. An armored vehicle would appear in front of our house, and the driver would be Oscar Destan. Before I got into the car, he'd pat my head and ask my age, and when I told him, he'd make unfunny jokes like:
"How many times have we met, and you're still the same age, lion cub! When I was your age, I'd jump at least two years a day." They weren't funny, but they were entertaining. In fact, once he said:
"How old are you, Edgard? You look quite grown up…"
"I'm still five and a half, Mr. Oscar…"
"When I was your age, I had two girlfriends, a car, and a time machine."
"But didn't you have three girlfriends and a teleportation gun?"
"I teleported to a science facility with one of my girlfriends, opened a portal with our teleportation gun, and stole a time machine. I managed to save myself and the machine from the science facility, but I couldn't save my girlfriend."
"So what happened to your girlfriend?"
"I went back in time. I found her and broke up. So she wasn't my girlfriend anymore."
"Wow… Unbelievable!"
"Absolutely!"
At that moment, Joe Stone placed his hand on my mother's delicate hand and walked her towards the armored vehicle's door. It seemed my mother was getting weaker with each passing day in the glass chamber. She had turned deathly pale, her skin so thin that her veins were visible. A loose shalwar was put on her so her emaciated body wouldn't show. While my mother's body had become terrifyingly thin, her face still held its beauty. As Joe Stone seated my mother in the back seat of the vehicle, he burst out in anger:
"Stop confusing the kid, Oscar, and get to the car!"
"Yes, sir."
It was around that time that I also got used to the darkness. My mother and I would sit in the back of the armored vehicle. I'd sprawl out on the wide seat. I'd stretch my feet towards the window and rest my head on my mother's lap. My mother would caress my head with her tired fingers while trying to breathe through the mask attached to her mouth. With every inhale and exhale my mother took, a mechanical sound echoed in my ears.
Our vehicle would be dark because it didn't want to attract attention on the road to the Lower Quarter. Care was taken not to turn on the vehicle's lights, and to avoid drawing too much attention while driving through the streets.
Considering the procedures and the journey, going to and from the Lower Quarter would take us about four hours. For those four hours, I would lie in my mother's lap in the dark vehicle. When I got bored, I'd look out the window, scanning the electricity-less streets of the Lower Quarter. Although our vehicle moved like a ghost, it was noticed by the penniless people sleeping in the streets, who would gaze at it as if it were a miracle.
I remember my first trip to the Lower Quarter. Back then, we only saw the Fourth World War and its devastations as propaganda tools on holograms and massive screens. But the moment we reached the borders of our city and stepped out of the glass chamber, we entered that enormous, pitch-dark swamp of death, covered in toxic fumes, where the eye could not easily discern the horizon. I was so shocked that I felt convinced there was no future left for us in this world.
"We've lost," Joe Stone had said. He was sitting on a seat near the vehicle door, facing the wrong way as it moved. As I lifted my head from my mother's lap, her weak arms fell onto the seat. My mother breathed through her mask, gazing out the black window. Like a walking dead person… As I freed myself from my mother's hands, I looked at the old man talking to us. The man he was talking to was my father. He had clasped his hands in front of him, his knee trembling. "…we've lost the world now."
"Not now, Joe."
Joe Stone adjusted his glasses. "Marcin… You're a younger man than me, but you deny everything as if you're older. Whenever we leave the Higher Quarter, the outside world unnerves you. Yet, this is the truth of the world…" Joe Stone pointed outside the window, and I looked out too. We saw a group of people dismembering another person's body, throwing it into a fire, and laughing. Although some people noticed our vehicle in the darkness, they couldn't come and harm us because there was a glass wall protecting us around the path the vehicle was taking. "…humanity, ethics, and the world are obsolete. The First World War showed us humanity's power. The Second World War showed us how cruel humanity could be. The Third World War showed us how stupid humanity was. The Fourth World War showed us that humanity was, in fact, a lie."
"Do you think…" Marcin said, lifting his head to look at the old man. "…this is my problem? Denying that humanity has lost? No… I don't have such a problem, Joe. My brain isn't deceiving me. I know what has been lost. It's just that my body won't allow it. As long as that Supreme World Union continues…"
Joe Stone chuckled softly. "What happened? You feel deceived, don't you? All of humanity couldn't realize it was being deceived until it was annihilated. It couldn't realize it was in a grand game, that it had no free will, until it was taken away. Yet, the signs were always there."
Joe Stone smiled at me as I popped my head up, and extended his hand. I got up from the back seat of the vehicle and sat on Joe Stone's lap. The old man squeezed my cheek and continued talking as if trying to give me a life lesson.
"I don't know what they teach you in school, little man," he asked, bouncing me on his knee. Yet, I, being 5 years old, was learning from Stone at that very moment that one went to school to learn things. "They're probably telling you that you are our future. The generation that will save the world from cruelty…"
"Don't poison the kid's mind, Joe," my father said.
"Look who's talking… Isn't this Marcin Grom, the Chief of General Staff of England? The man resisting the Supreme World Republic. You've chosen the wrong career path to keep your child away from politics."
My father raised his eyebrows and looked at Joe Stone. As if agreeing with him, he turned his head and moved to sit next to my mother in the back seat.
"Edgard…" Joe Stone said. "The world is about to be left behind. Why? Because people, no matter what, want to move on to humanity's next evolution. We are not among these people. We were not included among these advancing people. Just as the Turks of the cold lands, who were annihilated in the First World War, couldn't be among those people. Just as the Jews destroyed by mechanized Germany and the Poles massacred by the Russians in the Second World War couldn't be among those people… Just as the Americans and Germans, who were annihilated in the Third World War, couldn't be among those people… Just as the Australians and Indians, who were massacred in the Fourth World War, couldn't be among those people… Sometimes humanity progresses, and some are left behind during this progress."
"Even I couldn't understand that, Stone," Oscar said from the car's steering wheel. "How will the kid understand?"
But I spoke as if I understood something. "America was very powerful. My teacher told us so."
Joe Stone chuckled. "It was…"
"So how did it disappear?"
"It destroyed itself. To transform into another form…" He looked at my father over his glasses. Then he continued to explain. "America's last president, Dlanod Goldencage, was a man who loved money very much. He saw the country as an extension of himself. He felt as if he became richer as his country became richer.
He had stopped making policies and started working for corporations. And as corporations brought in money, the country experienced short-lived periods of prosperity. False prosperity… Because the money circulating actually belonged to the corporations, not the country.
There was a great collaboration, both political and economic, between Michael Orion, the great-grandfather of Tiberion Solegard, the chairman of one of the largest corporations, Evoke Systems, and Goldencage…"
"Tiberion Solegard's grandfather?" I had said in surprise. "Tiberion Solegard, the founder of the Supreme World Republic?"
Joe Stone let out that 'I-know-everything' chuckle once more and said, "No one is in a place by chance. Ah… What was I saying? Yes… We were talking about the collapse of America."
Everyone, absolutely everyone, knew that a war could break out due to the rising crises in the Middle East. It wasn't just the Middle East; even the Indian Ocean was in turmoil. Every country on the planet knew a world war was imminent. That's why panic-stricken countries were managing the planet miserably. Especially America…"
"No matter how much Goldencage was the mischievous president the corporations wanted, his desires were becoming unbearable. And it wasn't just him… Due to the chaotic and clouded minds of people around the world, corporations couldn't even plan a few years ahead. Stability is the most important thing for corporations. That's why, a few years before the war started, the corporations decided to go into space." He pointed to the sky through the car window. He showed us the space station, which looked like a key, surrounded by white light, appearing as tiny as a fingernail in the sky. "In short, before the war, America's sole corporations betrayed America. They took their people and everything else and went into space."
"Is that all it was?" Oscar asked. "Holy shit, I didn't know that."
"How could you not know?" Joe Stone shouted. "Aren't you in the military, man? Your history can't be that poor."
"Don't come at me, man! I was sleeping in history class," Oscar yelled. Then he muttered, "Just like in all the other classes."
"Anyway, what was I saying? Goldencage was betrayed. Orion, the chairman of Evoke Systems, and Goldencage insulted each other constantly. Goldencage was called a pedophile. Orion was called a rapist… Other countries also supported Evoke Systems' relocation to space. The rich segment of Americans also supported Orion. After all, Orion had promised to take them to space and rid them of the filth of the Earth. And he kept his word…"
"It was the simple Americans who suffered. Because Goldencage also built himself a spaceship and abandoned the world. In the Third World War, American citizens, stuck in chaos, tried to fight against China, but it was futile… Their continents were completely destroyed. Now, you're going to ask why I'm telling you all this in such detail, aren't you, Edgard?"
"Why did you tell it?" Oscar asked. "I'm really curious. Tell me…"
"You watch the road, man!" Joe Stone yelled. Then he turned to me and said in a calm tone: "We are like those Americans left behind on that planet, Edgard. And the Supreme World Republic in the sky… they are the ones who left us behind."
"Holy shit! Are we really like that?" Oscar said, leaning heavily against the steering wheel. "This is really annoying…"
"Didn't I tell you to watch the road!"
At that moment, the vehicle suddenly stopped.
"Could it be that I'm not watching the road because we've arrived? Did you ever think of that, Stone!"
My father, Marcin, was the one who helped my mother out of the vehicle. He held her frail arms, lifting her from the car as gently as one would hold a delicate flower. Before getting out, we all put on a technological device on our noses, as the outside air was unbreathable for simple-lunged people like us. Our driver, Oscar, was pushing the tanker to which the tubes in my mother's chest were connected. I was touching the side of the tanker, as if unable to help him more directly.
Outside, it was filled with soldiers. Soldiers sent by Britain to oversee us… Each one was well-equipped and alert enough to spot even a flying fly.
As we walked into the darkness, streetlights began to turn on. The metal path beneath our feet gave way to concrete. With the streetlights illuminating, the people in the pitch-dark city started to abandon the streets, running into back alleys. Because the soldiers, armed with weapons, were coming towards the darkness where they were. And everyone in the Lower Quarter knew that these soldiers never showed them any mercy. In fact, these soldiers had come to the Lower Quarter many times for "cleanup."
"Commander!" one of the soldiers said, stopping in front of Marcin and saluting. He was much older than my father. He had a face full of wrinkles, a mustache yellowed from cigarettes, and a weathered complexion. Looking at his face, it seemed a miracle that he could stand tall and salute my father. But his body was in good shape, and the man looked fit.
My father returned the salute. "What's the situation?"
"The house has only been attacked once since your last visit. This means the Lower Quarter residents must have learned that they can no longer loot that house."
"Or you've killed so many looters that there's no one left to loot."
"That's entirely possible, sir," he said with a laugh.
"And how are the people inside the house?"
"Their psychological state is sound. They're using their provisions day by day." Then he turned to my mother and said, "Your aunt has been coughing for a few days, madam. Our doctors tried to intervene, but she refused. Just so you're aware, madam."
My mother didn't reply. She continued walking as if a ghost were gliding.
Lights were turning on one after another, and I couldn't help but feel like a Hollywood celebrity walking on a red carpet. At that moment, a shout was heard: "Damn you!" a man yelled, emerging from an alley, and ignited the Molotov in his hand. But before he could even raise the Molotov, he was riddled with holes. And I mean genuinely riddled. With many huge holes in his body, he collapsed in the middle of the street, almost reduced to skin and bones. The soldiers' swift and brutal reaction pleased the soldier beside my father.
The lights continued until we reached a house. This house was a four-story apartment building. On top of the apartment, there were soldiers whose red lasers from their weapons were clearly visible. Each of them was scanning the streets with night-vision goggles.
As much as the apartment looked like an apartment, an occasional breeze would disrupt the hologram on it, revealing the metal fortress-like structure beneath.
As my mother and father walked towards the apartment door, two soldiers accompanied them. The old soldier approached Oscar and said:
"Madam's condition has gotten very bad," he remarked. "Just a few weeks ago, she could chat with us. It won't be long until she's unable to get out of bed."
Oscar whistled at the man, glared with angry eyes, and then subtly motioned with his eyes towards me, barely visible by the tanker. "Maybe we shouldn't say that, Commander!" he said through gritted teeth. He kept pointing at me with his eyes and eyebrows. "I think Madam is perfectly fine! Could you be mistaken, Commander?"
"Ah…" the old soldier exclaimed, slapping his forehead. "…What an idiot I am. It's a hot day today! Ugh… I'm sweating so much. The young lady must naturally be overwhelmed by the heat and not want to talk. How are you, young man…"
"I'm fine," I said, hiding behind Oscar. For some reason, I felt shy around that old soldier. I hesitated to talk to him.
My mother and father had entered the apartment door and returned shortly after. When they came back, a few tears were trickling from my mother's eyes. It was okay… she always got emotional.
Despite her weakness, my mother whispered something into my father's ear. My father then came over to me with a troubled expression and, looking into my eyes, said:
"Your grandmother and grandfather want to see you one more time."
"Okay…"
"Your mother is tired; she'll go to the car. I'll be with her, alright?"
"Alright…"
We were scanned numerous times as we entered the apartment. Retina scans, DNA scans via saliva, and many other scans I didn't understand… I was led through a metal corridor, holding my father's hand. The soldiers had stopped following us.
"I know you're excited," my father said. Yet, I felt no excitement inside. "They're your relatives, son. All I ask is for you to be quiet. Just say 'okay' to whatever they say…"
Finally, the corridor slowly began to resemble a home. The last door we encountered was wooden, and the scent of cookies wafted from behind it. My father knocked on the door. After a moment of silence, footsteps were heard, and the door opened.
A woman with graying but youthful-looking hair opened the door. She held a shawl on her shoulders with her hand to keep it from falling. Her hair was gathered up. As she opened the door, she stepped aside and welcomed both of us in.
Stepping inside, I found a warm, inviting home. The person who opened the door to us was one of my aunts. My grandmother was lying on the large sofa, her cane placed across her lap. She glanced at me. My grandfather was sitting in a single armchair, fiddling with the channels on a hologram television with his remote.
"This is the lad!" my uncle shouted, rushing to scoop me into his arms. Even my father couldn't react to my uncle's speed. He was kissing me, tossing me in the air, then squeezing my cheeks. "Look at him! My nephew is so handsome! Damn it! It's impossible not to envy this handsomeness."
My aunt ran over to me, placing a full, hearty kiss on my cheek as I was still in my uncle's arms.
My girl cousin, thumping her bare feet on the wooden stairs, peeked between the banisters and shouted, "Is that Edgard? He's so big!" Another cousin poked her head out from under my girl cousin's arm and yelled, "But I was the oldest, sis!"
My grandmother, meanwhile, called my uncle over and took me into her lap. "My beautiful, beautiful grandchild! You got your beauty from your mother." Then she sat me on the couch next to her. "Tell us everything."
I told them about my life in the capsule world. All this while, my father watched me from a corner armchair. Every now and then, he'd interject, offer explanations, and try to prevent me from going into too much detail. Everything I said not only surprised these people in front of me but often saddened them too.
"You've seen the Lower Quarter…" my girl cousin said. "…but we're lucky that Aunt Jenny married your father. Look at what a beautiful home we have. The people outside can't bother us. We're happy here…"
At that moment, my grandfather, hearing this, made a sound for the first time. He grumbled and turned up the volume on the hologram television.
"Your grandchild is here, and you're still watching TV," my grandmother said. "Go, son! Hug your grandpa." My grandmother lifted me off the couch and pushed me towards my grandfather. I walked slowly towards my grandfather. The old man leaned towards me. He looked around. Then, with a big smile on his face, he kissed my cheek. As he kissed my cheek, he whispered:
"You're the one who made your mother sick! You're the one who killed my daughter! You are a murderer! You brought death into our home!"
I remember weeping uncontrollably that day, leaving the house amidst screams. And the commotion that erupted inside the house as I left. I never visited that house again after that day. I had banished that house from my mind. But… but those words just wouldn't leave my mind.
Lying in my bed that night, I cried and said, "I didn't bring death! I didn't kill my mother!" I was screaming inwardly, "I didn't kill anyone!"