New Huston: Chapter Two

When Jo awoke, Maria was gone. She could see her empty pillow, sheets ripped apart as though by some monster, her clothes still left, spread out on a chair. And, for once she didn’t care that she was strong. She let herself be weak. She was a woman, but in that moment she cried as much as any wife could over the loss of finances in her family; or any patriarch could over never becoming a master. Her sister was gone. And this had happened again. She remembered sisters, whose whiffs still stayed in her mind, whose faces still lingered, but whose names were forgotten. 1

She walked into the other room of her apartment, and searched for the book. It was gone, stolen like her sister, taken by some master. Or at least she suspected it was that. She was no longer sad. She was angry. As angry as any woman had been before her, as fierce as women seemed when they were free and as enraged as women were when they were not. She took a pen and wrote on the wall, ‘Maria Stringer was once here’; she wrote more; she wrote everything she remembered of Maria. She knew she would die, and that this would be painted over by a patriarch in the way dirt was never cleaned but she didn’t care. Her vanished sister’s survival mattered more than her own. Her own existence was factual, as real as Maria’s skin had been the day before. But Maria was gone. She felt as though a part of her had been destroyed, mutilated.2

She dressed in her work uniform and left the apartment. It didn’t matter about locking, the only thing of any value had already been stolen. It was when she saw the Patriarch that she started crying. Alexander looked at her, seeming bemused.3

“Why are you crying?” he asked abruptly.4

“I’m crying because she has gone, my sister. The one I knew of as ‘she’ as a default, where I could not see myself. She was innocent. Why was she taken?”5

“I cannot remember who you talk of,” said Alexander, coldly and robotically. It was then he unplugged the microphone, and invited Jo through to his apartment. He lived on the top floor, the only floor to which there was a lift. Jo knew she would be late for work, but somehow this could count as a duty. She could say she was cleaning his house, scrubbing the floor clean of any trace of dirt or dust. She followed him up into his apartment.6

They sat in the lounge of the apartment. It had a vase, empty of the roses Jo would have filled it with- filled instead with lavender whose purple smell covered the room. It had a sofa, the first Jo had seen in the block. But, despite the comfort, there were signs of poverty. The fire was real, unlike in master’s homes where gas fires were the only ones to be seen. There was no chimney and dust blew back into the room. There was little electricity, apart from a single light. There was a piano with a ripped song book, sealed back together with tape. It was open on The beauty of a caged bird a song speaking of the beauty of a bird which would never fly free. Alexander had been told by his friend, Blandon that he was a caged bird. Beautiful, yet trapped by a world in which cruel masters dominated. Alexander had vowed to one day break free.7

And that was why he was there with Jo. He was angry with the masters. It wasn’t the first time in his life he had been, although unlike the women he was not as naturally prone to dislike of his position. That, perhaps, had been what they had seen when they subjugated women to greater cruelty than patriarchs suffered. The masters could see they would not obey through admiration; they needed to be beaten down. Women obeyed through fear, patriarchs and wives through irrational affection.8

“I know who she truly was. And I know where they went,” he told her. “They took her. The masters. Late last night. I was up of course, I always am- I have to be as part of the job. And I saw it all. She was dragged, screaming, from your house. I’m surprised you slept through it.”9

This made Jo feel guilty. She had slept whilst her sister was struggling for survival. But, Alexander did not feel anger, felt sorrow for her. 10

“Where’s Blandon?” she said, changing the subject as though she could not deal with it.11

“Gone. He went last night. I don’t know where. I was at work all day, went home and he was gone. I hope he isn’t at some other patriarch’s home.”12

But Alexander’s eyes said otherwise. Alexander’s eyes said he hoped Blandon was safe, wherever he was. And Jo felt as though she knew Maria was not safe. Still, she had not the strength to give up hope yet.13