Infidel's Corner Read online

  Mezox couldn’t help but stare at the bedsheets with their various shades of brown, and composed of different fabrics stitched together in the most unprofessional manner.

  Joe declared. “It’s good to have my old bed back.”

  “Are you always this happy?”

  “No. But you have to make the most of any situation,” he said. “Believe me, if you let them get you down, then you stand zero chances of getting out alive.”

  Mezox reminded him, “We both have a way out,” as he performed a firmness test on the mattress. It was far from uniform with lumps that would induce night-long episodes of tossing and turning.

  “You know my deal, but what’s yours?”

  “Surrender my father’s invention.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Joe. “What sort of invention?”

  “A revolutionary energy drive,” he professed.

  “It sounds pretty major.”

  “It is,” said Mezox while climbing into bed. Laid back, one question plagued his mind. “I have to ask, but, are you, you know, into other males?”

  Joe paused for a few seconds before responding. “And if I was, would you walk around with your arse against the wall and hands over bollocks?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I’ve never known a gay person before.”

  “Sure you have, you just didn’t know it,” said Joe. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re a kid, and that’s not my thing.”

  A few moments later and Mezox noticed a bed that stood out with superior plumpness and cleanliness. Upon closer inspection, it had an enviable level of comfort. “Somebody important?”

  “Oh yeah. That guy,” said Joe with his least enthusiastic tone. “That’s Adams’ bed - the preacher.”

  “I think I already know the answer, but, what’s his role?"

  “These mines are worked by few Christians. Some, like Adams, must convert a number of prisoners within their given residence before receiving a pardon.”

  “Do all Christians get such freedoms?”

  “You won’t,” declared Joe. “You’re here because they also think you’re an infidel.”

  Mezox recalled the moment he mocked Summanus’s deity as an imaginary friend. “Ah, that’s why,” he said to himself.

  Joe continued. “You can declare your conversion for all I care, but do it because you’re cold one night and want thicker sheets, just remember, they first baptise you in some icy water.

  Mezox returned to his bed. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “And your conversion would stand as a gesture of submission to Summanus. Your higher status would hang in limbo until all their criteria are satisfied – in this case, when you’ve submitted every last detail of your father’s creation.”

  “And if they knew I was Christian before leaving the Tower?”

  “That’s easy. They would have carted you off elsewhere. Whatever that place, it’s better than this one.”

  “But I am a Christian,” Mezox quietly stated as his eyes closed.

  “Yet, this is how your God repays you,” replied Joe.

  Mezox had no capacity to continue dialogue with Joe and fell asleep within seconds. What could have been a long slumber turned into a nap when other residents returned in their droves. Their black overalls weren’t the standard issue of attire. Men threw helmets onto their bed before collapsing over them. Few took the time to hang it on a designated hook. Others struggled to climb the wooden ladders such was their exhaustion.

  Further sleep was troubled by Joe’s jostling above. His legs dangled over the ledge and waited there. Objects clicked and clanged as the men collected bowls from under their bottom bunks. Placed on the table, many leant over and tucked their face into a folded arm.

  Joe leapt down and informed Mezox that it was supper time before fetching their utensils.

  At the table, Mezox sat in silence while employing the power of observation. The men’s morose expressions gave him a taste of what to expect.

  Cauldrons of soup on wheels made their way down either side of the table with someone that dished it out. All had to squeeze themselves against the table’s ledge. Even for Mezox’s average size, his knees scraped against the underside.

  Soup was transferred to Mezox’s bowl via a ladle and filled with chunks of bread. He swirled the broth with his wooden spoon. It appeared like that of watered milk as the bread crumbled into a paste. A lack of steam indicated an insufficient capacity to warm one’s insides. The bread alone would have been more preferential.

  To their left, a man was tracked by Joe’s eyes. His expression was alike Mezox’s initial response to the so-called soup.

  “Adams?” whispered Mezox.

  Joe confirmed Mezox’s suspicions with a light “uh-huh.”

  With everyone’s meal served, Adams stood at the end of the table and initiated a prayer of thanks.

  Joe refused to submit, unlike the other non-Christians. He administered a swift elbowing to Mezox’s ribcage, halting his prayer stance.

  “But I want to,” said Mezox.

  Joe whispered again. “It’s about principle, not belief.”

  His response caught Adams’ attention, who disregarded Joe’s presence. Adams joined the others and began to eat.

  Mezox couldn’t help but notice Adams’ succulent and salivation-inducing chunks of chicken in a creamy vegetable broth.

  Joe would also stare, albeit for a different reason. He would consume a mouthful and again face Adams.

  Joe’s antagonisms could no longer go on ignored as Adams glanced over before rolling back his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be in the Tower?”

  “I’m back for good behaviour,” said Joe with a mischievous grin.

  Adams snorted. “There’s a story I find hard to believe.”

  “Funny that. You’re normally on the side of believing whacky stories.”

  Adams snatched a personal salt shaker and shook it vigorously over his bowl. “I swear God sent you here to test me.”

  “Well, if he did, he put a first-class stamp and ‘priority’ written on the parcel.”

  Some men laughed in response to Joe’s horseplay. Others weren’t so entertained. “Why don’t you show some respect,” cried one man.

  Joe turned to his disapprover. “What’s to respect, Imam?”

  “Not every man of God hates you for your ways.”

  “Why must my respect for someone stem only from their faith - for whose foundational principle demands my death regardless of whether they choose to heed it or not?”

  Mezox was initially shocked by Joe’s words. The act of challenging faith was taboo in nature. However, Joe’s ability to fearlessly bark back and silence his opponent was inspiring. Such gallantry assured him that Joe was the right sort of friend.

  Adams turned to Mezox. “And what of you. Are you a Christian?”

  Mezox wasn’t sure how to answer. “More of an agnostic.”

  “Agnostic theist or”- Adams pointed his spoon at Joe - “like him?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Adams wasn’t impressed by the ambiguity. “I’ve never seen your face before. What’s your reason for coming here?”

  “I really don’t want to discuss it.”

  “And why’s that?”

  Joe interjected. “Because his father passed away yesterday, that’s why.”

  Adams pressed on. “Was he an Infidel like you?”

  Mezox refused to answer and consumed a spoonful of gloop.

  Adams sneered. “Godless people like you think they can do as they please, then cry about the consequences.”

  Mezox frowned at his remark. “Really? So why are you here?”

  Adams remained silent as his hopeful glint vaporised.

  Joe was more than happy to fill the void. “It seems our friend can’t keep his hands off other women, despite the ring on his third finger.”

  Infuriated, Adams said, “Better than betraying God and country, unlike you infidels.”

&
nbsp; A majority of those at the table were displeased by Adams’ pomposity. A furore of incoherent quarrelling was the result.

  Site wardens stormed the entrance blowing whistles. The instantaneous calm was as if someone had turned off the volume with the press of a button. Unit seven’s penalty for their poor conduct was an early night. With five minutes left until lights-out, all guzzled the remainder of their meals. Clay slammed against wood and foot against concrete before settling to bed. They did so without an utter of complaint.

  For Mezox, consumption of the hydrating mixture wasn’t so simple. His objections were trumped by a necessity for sustenance, however small. Joe was entertained to watch as Mezox squeezed his eyes shut and pinched both nostrils together. He downed five large gulps before almost choking. Joe congratulated him on his efforts, promising it’ll get easier.

  Mezox awoke the following day to a warden yelling out his name. He found that everyone had gone, including Joe. A chunk of bread was left at the foot of his bed by Joe.

  Outside, he joined a band of newbies as they were escorted across a field toward a set of cabins while consuming breakfast. In one, the two dozen newcomers were crammed into a waiting area, but Mezox was immediately singled out.

  Down the hall was a single side-room. There, an obese man serving as site coordinator invited Mezox to take a seat once he’d closed the door. The office was clean and adorned with family photos and religious paraphernalia. An off-putting blend of pungent smells didn’t suit the white brilliance of his surroundings.

  “You were down as a regular miner,” said the coordinator.

  “I have no aspirations here.”

  “I see you have experience in engineering and manual labour. I require someone with your expertise to fill the roof-bolting vacancy. The last one perished in tunnel three just yesterday.” The coordinator struggled to remove a manual from his desk drawer.

  “Can I refuse the offer?”

  The coordinator’s face became serious. “Sure, if you wish to piss off your superiors. Although you’ll likely be dead by the week’s end.”

  Mezox swallowed hard. “When do I start?”

  The co-ordinator threw the manual onto Mezox’s lap. “Today.”

  “All of this, today?”

  “I hope for your sake you’re a fast learner.”

  Mezox was ushered away once the non-optional contract was signed. All had received their roles within twenty minutes.

  A ten-minute walk across a gravel path led them to a warehouse for sorting and quality control. Train tracks ran through the red rectangular building. Cargo wagons awaited their fill. An unseen avalanche of coal stalled the new arrivals in a moment of fear.

  Men traversed the perimeter carrying bags over their shoulder. Mezox caught a glimpse of someone that resembled Joe.

  Conveyor belts of black rocks snaked their way into the front entrance. One acted like a trail when finding its source. And it emerged from a sloped cavern carved into the hillside. It also had two sets of tracks – one for delivering labourers and the other for retrieving empty carts. Men were elevated out via the conveyor belt.

  Each cart could carry eight passengers. Two guards accompanied six first-timers. Mezox was again singled out and invited to go first. A personal helmet with a torch strapped to it was issued. All were advised to return the batteries for recharging after every shift.

  A quick push and the bucket could descend via the action of gravity. All held on tight to whatever they could. The gentle application of a lever ensured a comfortable speed, resulting in sparks that burned like embers in the dark of night. A beam of torchlight revealed nothing but a ceaseless void ahead. Air ducts across the roof and an adjacent wall within one’s reach were the journey’s sole visual highlights.

  After plateauing, the cart continued horizontally under its own momentum. It came to a halt in the middle of nowhere. The eerie silence was shattered by a concert of chinking metal that reverberated around the tunnel.

  The remainder of their journey continued on foot. The main chamber split into three other smaller tunnels. One guard ejected Mezox from the main group and shepherded him down the right shaft. The rest were sent straight to work on the central channel and widen it.

  The eight-foot wide tubular passages were stabilised with regions of wooden framework and plates bolted into the rockier areas above. Men scurried past with sacks of pure carbon. Men also worked on coal faces creating new side-shoots.

  Further down, a boring machine named ‘the muncher’ had broken down. Mezox was introduced to its driver, Assad - the man Joe had referred to as ‘Imam’ the evening prior. The guard left them alone.

  “No guards?” wondered Mezox.

  “Where exactly are we going to go?” said Assad. He brushed past Mezox without any form of positive acknowledgement. “Their lives are far too precious to remain here.”

  Mezox followed him. “What do I do?”

  “I don’t care,” he said while attending to the muncher’s engine.

  “Aren’t one of you meant to train me?”

  Assad presented a passive-aggressive look. “You’re that Joe’s friend.”

  “And?”

  “And so I don’t want you around.”

  Mezox chuckled. “You think we have a choice?”

  Assad continued turning a spanner without a reply.

  Mezox presented his booklet. “According to this manual, your entire crew face a public flogging if they fail to meet their daily targets. Let’s cut the bullshit and begin because I’m all you’re getting.”

  Assad understood the consequences for failure, but Mezox had inadvertently reminded him that others would face the same fate as a result of his actions - or lack of them. He permitted Mezox to watch and listen in silence.

  The muncher’s functionality returned a few minutes later. Mezox learned to operate a ceiling drill fixed on the muncher’s rear platform, or dispense framework through its progression.

  His tasks weren’t so exhaustive as feared, but they presented a greater risk of succumbing to cave-ins. Such susceptibility was clear from day one as rocks and dirt fragmented, scraping and bruising his extremities on occasion. Sympathy was reserved for those that cleared the churned rockface excrement.

  The muncher stalled after churning several meters into a vein of coal, followed by a gust of wind. All laid themselves on the rugged ground. Mezox failed to do the same and became faint before mimicking their protocol.

  Two minutes later and the air quality had improved. The muncher was reversed. Mezox followed Assad as he inspected the culprit. They discovered an air pocket.

  Mezox questioned, “Are there many?”

  “Two or three a week,” said Assad. “I do pray for a cavity and sinkhole leading to the surface.”

  “Has that ever happened?”

  “No,” Assad bluntly confirmed. “And since you’re new here, and if you dared, don’t go all cliché with any future escape attempts.”

  “Such as?”

  “The majority hide in the train carts, only to end up donating their body to the fires of industry.”

  The cavity was safe enough to press ahead.

  The most demanding part of Mezox’s shift came an hour before its conclusion. The muncher required refuelling and reloading with wood, bolt plates, drill bits and pipelines for the extraction of exhaust fumes.

  He figured the best principle was to follow everyone’s lead. Men waited in line to clamber on the empty conveyor belt. A ten-second gap between individuals avoided an overload.

  At the summit, men entered a shower cabin where a slurry of black water poured from its doorway. A thirty-second allocation time meant showering with one’s clothes on, except for jumpers. The walk back to residence was a soggy and chilly affair.

  Back in unit seven, Mezox was surprised to find Joe waiting for supper. “How did you end up in sorting?”

  Joe grinned. “I assigned myself – but not to worry, they caught me. I might join you tomorrow.”<
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  Mezox sat beside Joe but found himself unable to elicit further conversation as he was distracted by Adams’ return. It was Joe’s turn to get a jab in the ribs.

  “Sorry. Adams is the reason I was caught in sorting.”

  Food served, Adams had a question for Mezox. “Like hell down there, isn’t it? Did you find daddy infidel?”

  A fiery rage of uncontrollable anger built within him. Mezox stirred his soup, pressing the spoon down hard in the hope it would snap and create a sharp edge. Adams’ smirk ensured that he would snap first. And he did so with a powerful jolt over the table, administering a swift punch to Adams’s left cheek. Adams fell back and struck the back of his head against a bed frame.

  Joe jumped to his feet with excitement, shouting, “That’s it, my son.” Other residents whistled in jubilation, egging on the fight.

  Mezox’s move did little to quell his lust for retaliation as he pursued Adams onto the floor. Adams fought back and dismounted him. Mezox pounced again for a game of rodeo.

  Joe couldn’t pass an opportunity to express his thoughts. He leapt over the table and joined the wrestling match. There was little to accomplish in the seconds it took for security to prize them apart.

  Sent together in confinement, Joe faced Adams and Mezox faced the entrance, chained to the walls of a rectangular cabin. None could strike the other for hands were bound above their heads.

  “You’re the ones that attacked me. I shouldn’t be here,” protested Adams.

  “Well you did provoke it with an unprovoked derogatory comment,” said Joe.

  Adams responded with a childish, “Whatever. I’m their preacher and surveyor, and you’re nobodies.”

  As Adams and Joe held a verbal slogging match, a rush of thoughts occupied Mezox’s mind until he spontaneously yelled, “Oh for pity sakes will you both shut up.”

  His move took them by surprise. “How many religions and denominations are there here?”

  “How the bloody hell should I know. Countless,” said Adams.

  “Can’t you see they want perpetual disharmony to flourish? It’s the classic divide and conquer tactic.”

  “I’ve had inklings across those lines,” said Adams.