The Escapist (3 page)

Piggy caught up with him just before the lobby, where their paths would diverge “I expect Edmund will want to see you later, get you to fill him in on all the details.” Piggy remarked through a mouth full of bread.

“He'll just want to know how I did it, and if he thinks I’m going to tell him he can think again.” Oscar replied with a slight grimace.

“Don't go crossing Edmund.  He's as bad as the matrons when he wants to be.”

“Thanks but I think I’ll be fine.  I've been dealing with Edmund a lot longer than you.”  With these parting words Oscar bounded up the stairs, not wanting to incur any unnecessary reprimand from Matron Clarke for being late.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Oscar found his back became the least of his worries as he spent hours on hands and knees cleaning the various surfaces all over the institution.  His ceremonious arrival clearly had not gone unnoticed either, as he found most of the whippings he received for idleness focused on a gradually numbing shoulder – presumably the entire body of staff in the institution had been informed of his new injury.  After having spent the afternoon chiselling dried stew from the lunch hall tables, Oscar came to the realisation that the task was insurmountable in a single day.  Whilst daunting in the scope of the chore, this realisation also provided some measure of relief.  Even though the punishment would extend for possibly a couple of weeks, at least there were not going to be any nasty surprises.

The day was coming to a close and Oscar looked around for some form of indication that he might finish.  His supervisor was a janitor named Simms.  A scrawny man, he had spent the afternoon reclining on a chair with his feet propped up on a spare metal bucket.  It seemed Oscar was lucky; whilst the man had clearly enjoyed his new sense of power and abundance of spare time, he was not spiteful and finally acknowledged the day’s hard work.  With a sudden nod and a toothy grin he gave Oscar the dismissal he was waiting for.

Yet Oscar’s relief was short lived.  Unbeknownst to him, Matron Clarke stood waiting outside the entrance to the lunch hall with much in store for the rest of the evening.  Oscar was oblivious to her presence as he passed out of the hall. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” she exclaimed, catching Oscar off guard.  Heart sinking, he turned around.

“To wash up ready for supper, Matron.  I’ve been dismissed for the day.
” he replied, though something had already told him that supper was off for tonight.

The matron was clearly enjoying herself.  Wagging a finger she put him straight.
“I think not.  To my office, now!”

The walk back to the matron’s office was conducted in silence with Oscar following two paces behind.  He should have known he wouldn’t have got away with simply a hard day’s labour.  Thinking longingly of the bread roll he had foolishly given away, Oscar entered the room.   Scanning around he soon sussed his evening’s entertainment; a desk positioned in front of the wall with a thick old textbook and piece of parchment.

“Sit there and copy from the book until I tell you to finish.”  With a sign of resignation, Oscar obliged.  It was going to be a very long evening.

***

The boy’s dormitory consisted of rows of double level bunks that spanned the length of a large hall.  The Institute was not suitably funded to afford electrolamps, so instead situated at regular intervals between bunks were small drawers each with a solitary oil lamp on top.  Passing into the dorm Oscar was greeted again by a sea of mildly curious faces and a lull in conversation.  The other children were quietly chatting or playing games using makeshift boards that consisted of bottle tops and other conveniently shaped scraps of rubbish.    As the low murmur began to build back to a normal level Oscar strode through the dorm to the end where his bed was situated.  

As Oscar stretched out on the bunk in exhaustion, Piggy’s head appeared by his feet, peeking up over the frame from the bunk below.

“Hey Osc, didn’t see you around at supper.  Take it Clarke is making you pay?”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, something like that - just wish I had eaten more beforehand.  I tell you, if I knew I would be missing supper, I would’ve taken a leaf out of your book and licked the lunch table clean.”

Piggy reddened slightly but didn’t look as though he really minded the ribbing. “Oh, so I suppose you won’t want this then?” he said, chucking a half eaten bread roll in Oscar’s direction.

Oscar caught it and stared at the roll, uncertain at what to say to this uncharacteristic act.

“Thanks Piggy, are you sure?

“Just remember where your spare lunch belongs if you're not hungry.” Piggy said with a wink.  Oscar smiled in return and went about devouring the humble offering. “So how long do you reckon this is gonna' go on for?”  The chubby head at the end of the bunk enquired.  Oscar shrugged an ‘I don’t know’ with his cheeks bulging.  The bread was dry and sucked the moisture from his mouth so that it was like chewing a handful of sawdust.  All the same, it would keep his stomach quiet for the night.

“You know, the new kids think you’re pretty tough the way you upped and left.  Edmund won’t be a fan of that.”  Piggy continued.

As though on cue, Oscar saw a large figure haul himself out of his bunk.  Tossing a stick he had been carving to one side, the boy made his way over to Oscar’s bed, his whittling knife still in hand.  In an inversion of the way that Piggy was abnormally large about the waist, this new figure, Edmund, was excessively tall - and it wasn’t just the year’s extra growth he had on Oscar.  His square face, with two tiny eyes set closely at the centre, gave the impression of an adolescent ogre. 

Oscar believed the boy's imposing figure was the reason why he seemed to escape the matrons’ wrath – they knew only too well that any reaction from him could become out of hand very easily.  As such, Edmund was given a relatively free rein over the rest of the children with clear signs of disobedience going unpunished.  

“So Osscar.” Edmund hissed, the sibilants drawn out provocatively through his jutting jaw.  As he spoke the boy rested an elbow on the rail of Oscar’s bunk so that the scene almost had the appearance of a casual conversation between friends.  Yet Oscar felt far from relaxed, eyeing Edmund warily in the full knowledge that he was anything but a friend.  He could not help but be conscious of Edmund’s hand, which never seemed to stray very far from the handle of the whittling knife.

“Edmund
.” Oscar nodded an acknowledgement and shifted as casually as possible into an upright and more defensible position.  Piggy’s face remained frozen, peering over the end of the bunk as his eyes darted between the two figures facing up to each other nearby.

“Did you miss me Osscar?”  Edmund said, again placing an altered emphasis on the name.  His eyes burnt through the side of Oscar’s face as the boy did not turn to address him.

“Hmph.  Can’t say I’ve given it much thought.” Oscar wasn’t going to give Edmund the satisfaction of deferring to him but would instead walk closely along the cliff edge that any small act of defiance represented.

“Well, I must say I’m quite hurt, Oscar!  I would have enjoyed a day’s outing as well, you know.” Oscar didn’t really want to look into those thuggish features, let alone enrage them, but the opportunity to tease him just a little seemed too tempting to resist.

“Well next time I go, Ed-munnnd,” Oscar pushed his luck mimicking Edmund’s drawn out pronunciation. “Maybe I'll send you an invite.”  He looked at the huge boy keeping his expression deadpan and wondered if the taunt would be registered.  Edmund showed no hint that the teasing had hit home but moved his face a little closer.

“Well, Osscar, how about you just tell me how you did it and I can get out in my own time?”  Although Edmund experienced relaxed supervision during his stay at the Institute, the place was well enclosed and it wasn’t just the matrons he had to worry about.  Wardens regularly patrolled the area and would show no hesitation in giving Edmund a kicking, despite his relatively grand stature.

“I’m sorry Edmund.” Oscar’s voice dripped insincerity.  “I’m keeping that one for myself.  I might need it for the future and I wouldn’t want it getting discovered beforehand.”  The two boys stared at each other, eyes locked in an internal battle for power.  Edmund broke the gaze with a harrowing laugh

“Alright Ossscar, you keep your little secret for now. I’ll get it in due time.”  His hand strayed further towards the hilt of his whittling knife, perhaps seeking comfort in light of the confrontation.

“Get lost Edmund, Oscar’s said his bit.” Piggy’s comment was almost lost, it had so little volume.  Almost lost.  With a slow twist of the head Edmund’s focus shifted.  He thrust out the knife so that the tip was only inches from Piggy’s face.

“Shut it, you, or I’ll stick you like the pig you are.”

“Is there a problem here?” Oscar couldn’t believe how happy he could be to hear a matron’s voice.

“Hmph.  No problem here.” Edmund remarked and stalked back to his bunk, very nearly barging the middle aged woman.

“Right! Well!  Lights out then.”

Thanks to that little confrontation bed time was imposed on them fifteen minutes earlier than usual, though to Oscar this was blessed relief.  The hard day’s labour and lack of nourishment ensured that he passed quickly into the deepest of sleeps.

Some hours later Oscar awoke in a dazed stupor, his eyes attempting to focus in near darkness.  The small, shuttered windows high up in the dormitory allowed only the faintest rays of moonlight through.  He vaguely made out the dark shape of a figure sitting up in a bed along the opposite wall, perhaps Edmund.  Yet, the drain on his body overwhelmed his mind and for now he couldn’t care less.  Nestling his head back into the cold pillow he drifted back to sleep, the murmur of sleeping boys and the scurrying sound of rodents fading in his ears.

Chapter 3

The weeks passed with little incident as Oscar saw through the remainder of his punishment.  Having finished chipping the veneer of dried stew from the various surfaces of the food hall, Oscar swept the floors in the dormitory, classrooms and workshops before moving on to chemically purging the toilets and bathrooms around the Institute - at which point he found himself looking back almost fondly on his previous chores.  To say that the time dragged would not fully justify the extent to which Oscar found his soul numbing or the meagre amount of energy he could retain come the close of his ordeal.  It was a process of trudging upstream through an unrelenting flow of backbreaking labour, occasionally interspersed with eddies of excruciating pain.  It was only at the point by which Matron Clarke realised that - short of scrubbing the outside stonework - there was no more gruelling cleaning to be done, that Oscar was finally released from his punishment.

Outside on a lichen plagued bench in the Institute grounds Oscar sat and day-dreamed away his Sunday.  A day of freedom, when most of the matrons were not to be seen, many of them having retired to their private wing of the Institute to make the most of their day of ‘rest’.   Grey clouds loomed overhead and threatened to drench the land at any given moment but the opportunity to escape from the suffocating tedium within the Institute building had spurred Oscar on to endure the unpleasant conditions.  Sitting with chin in his hand and elbow upon knee, Oscar studied the overgrown grounds before him.  The aspiring explorer within attempted to create vast, bountiful lands that he had yet to see anywhere except within picture books.  At will, the weeds and bracken that filled the estate began to transform to mighty trees, laced with vines and colourful flowers teeming with exotic life and mystery.  But alas, even his imagination had its limits and the scene soon faded back to the dreary vista before him. 

The Institute could not afford a gardener and no one dared try to tame the greenish brown tide that swept over the grounds.  Thistles, knotweed and ivy meshed as one, jointly up-heaving the slabs of stone that had been laid as a path many years before.  Further away from the Institute towards the rear of the estate the wildlife grew in aggression; bracken and thorn bushes rose up to form an imposing barricade against the solid brick wall that ensnared the miserable Institute within.

The building itself was a peculiar construction and it was hard to tell whether in a previous life it had been a small manor house or some kind of fort.  Stone walled structures butted together, forming wings and spires which were capped in dull lead or black slate.  The overall homogeneity was broken completely by a central tower that loomed over everything, reinforcing the Matrons gaze as it afforded their view over the grounds.  Oscar knew the tower to still be equipped with klaxons and a spotlight, relics from the time when the frontline of the war lay much nearer to where he now stood.  He half imagined the matrons might have kept the old guns up there too, but dismissed this as too far even for them.  This place was no longer being used by the military after all.  It was just an Institute, even if it didn’t quite feel that way much of the time.

Wrought iron gates stood off in the distance, a formidable presence that could be felt even at the other end of the Institute grounds.  They were secured about the waist with a sizeable brass padlock, so that any visitor would have to ring a bell to alert the Matrons to their arrival.  Standing proud above the twelve foot wall it was a formidable challenge to even the most adventurous of the amateur climbers.  Having surmounted the lack of footholds, the would-be climber would eventually have to vault over the razor sharp barbs that still adorned the uppermost part of the gate.  To Edmund –who clearly still had no idea of how Oscar escaped - climbing over must have seemed the most likely explanation.  However, Oscar knew that Edmund would refuse to accept this as a possibility.  After all, that would mean that Oscar had achieved a feat that even he had not had the courage to undertake. 

As it were, Oscar thought wryly, the truth of his escape was by far a more demanding task.  Not content to pass the time with a mere hobby, Oscar had long striven to acquire a range of skills; things that might stand him in good stead in the future, whatever that may hold.  The most recent talent he had been honing was lock picking, an incredibly slow and frustrating skill.  Initially he had stolen a support wire from an army surplus bag he was supposed to have been repairing, as well as a thin and crooked steel rod.  Armed with these tools he set about the painstaking task of picking the main gate padlock, a pursuit he could not easily spend time on unobserved.  Waking at the early hours of the morning Oscar would creep along the corridor between the dormitory and the toilets before squeezing carefully out of a window.  In the near darkness he would practice picking the brass pin-and-tumbler lock using his makeshift pick and tension rod.  At the point when the sun began to rise he would call it a night, his eyes strained and his numb fingers lacking dexterity.   Even after the wonderful sound he had been waiting for –the laboured click of the lock and the creak of the gate- he would still sneak out to practice, though less frequently, to ensure he remained well trained.  For him, the gate was no longer the barrier between worlds that it had once been, but it still embodied the steadfast power of the Institute.

It was late in the afternoon, and despite not being able to track the sun’s descent to earth, Oscar noted a dimming in the atmosphere.  His lazy Sunday would soon come to an end, a day of reprieve in trade for six of struggle.  Feeling tiredness in his behind and restlessness in his legs, Oscar ventured towards the gate where a group of children had clustered.  They seemed to be amused by something.  As he got closer he could hear the clear noise of sniggering issuing from the younger children, who were blatantly pointing through the gate towards a stranger on the other side.  Piggy, who stood on the outskirts, turned at the sound of Oscar’s approach.

“Hey Osc, come here, have a look at this.”  Piggy nodded in the direction of the gate. “There’s some crazy lady just outside, talking about birds and weird stuff.”

Perplexed, Oscar gave Piggy an enquiring look.

“Birds and weird stuff, huh?”

“Well I can’t explain, just come and have a look for your self.”

Sure enough, Piggy was correct.  A slight and bedraggled woman stood just five feet from the entrance of the gate.  Her hair was long and matted, with so many leaves and pieces of twig tangled within that it almost looked as though a bird might once have nested there.  She wore many layers of clothing; mismatched skirts and shawls that were so torn and muddied that only a few faded colours were visible.

Oscar faintly detected a musty scent of herbs carried on the breeze.  He soon saw the source – on the floor was a basket from which there sprouted a vast array of somewhat suspect looking plants.  Certainly Oscar had not come across any of them before.  Nestled in amongst them were a number of unmarked brown bottles, full of murky liquids in a variety of hues.  He supposed then that she must be a trading woman; a herbalist of some kind.  Perhaps even one of the roaming gypsy folk that occasionally seemed to descend upon the town, though the disrepair apparent in her clothing made this only an outside possibility. 

Muddy and bedraggled, the woman had clearly seen too many nights on the streets and Oscar knew it was unlikely anyone would be willing to let her into their home in that state.  She would be lucky if anyone would entertain her long enough on the doorstep to even consider buying her wares.  It certainly seemed unlikely at the moment.  Oscar doubted she could appear sane enough for even the few minutes needed to convince them to take a look. 

The woman's gaze drifted over the group of children, her eyes flitting across each of them, unseeing.  Only when her focus reached Piggy and Oscar did she finally seem to realize she was not alone.  She stepped forward and flung her arms aloft, crumpled skirts swishing as she moved.  Speaking aloud she preached with the conviction of a priestess, giving a sermon before her followers.

“I see you, still here. But there are birds, great creatures encircling this place.  Sadness in their eyes!  They have what they seek and they will never relinquish it, though they know not what they do.  They will nurture it, cultivating the weakness and feeding on the pollution.  But all that will remain is poison.  The birds…the poison.  They will never relinquish it…the birds.” 

The young children laughed to each other as a few mimicked under their breath “The birds!  The birds!”  The wanderer, whose senses were keener than her appearance had led them to believe, started towards Piggy and retorted.

“Do not take me for a fool, for my eyes see beyond this veil.  Heed the warning, for they sit just overhead.  You do not see the damage they do.”  She gazed up at the sky above, flinching in fear and covering her head with her hands.  The children followed her line of sight, but soon returned to their whispered mocking upon seeing that the overcast sky was completely clear and uninhabited.  As she looked around again, an intense pinkness flushed in the woman's cheeks so that Oscar imagined he could almost feel the radiated heat.  Incited, she made a sudden rush at the gate, arms flung between the railings, her outstretched hands imploring.

“See!  Why won’t you see?” she wailed, but it was to no avail.  Sinking to her knees, arms holding the rails she bowed her head and just sat there.  The show clearly over, the children began to drift away, apparently content with the afternoon’s entertainment.

Oscar and Piggy still stood before the sorry state of a woman.  Oscar was not scared and in a way he felt quite sympathetic, after all, they swirled around together in the dregs of society.  Standing on the outskirts of the recently departed crowd, Piggy turned to Oscar.

“What do you reckon she’s on about Osc?”

“No idea.  She’s probably just seen too many cold nights outside in the rain.  It would certainly be enough to drive anyone crazy.”

“I’m sure those strange concoctions don’t help either though.” Piggy said with a grin.

A gentle sob issued from the collapsed figure.

“Come on Piggy” Oscar said.  “Let’s go and see if she’s okay.”

“Sorry Osc,” Piggy said, his voice wavering.  “Much as I would love to stick about, I’ve got stuff to do.”   And with that, Piggy dashed across to the Institute entrance.  The dismissive departure seemed slightly off, Oscar thought to himself.  After all, nobody has ‘stuff’ to do around here.  But perhaps Piggy had been somewhat more shocked at the woman's outburst than he was letting on.

Eyes fixed on the crouching figure, Oscar walked up to the gate, being careful to keep a foot or two out of arms reach.  Piggy was right about the concoctions; a strong whiff of alcohol reached Oscar’s nostrils in amongst the pungent scent of the herbs.

“
Are you okay Madam?” Oscar asked in a voice as polite and as calm as he could muster.  The woman had stopped sobbing and was now just mumbling to herself.

“Madam?” Oscar enquired again

“I see things...”  The more coherent response took Oscar by surprise.

“I see things that others cannot but they stay forever out of grasp. Is that not enough to drive any person to insanity?” The rhetorical question was laced with paradox, Oscar couldn’t help but realise.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.  What things?  No one else can see any birds.”

The woman raised her head and brushed her tangled hair back from her face.  Her eyes met Oscar’s and for the first time he realised that they belonged to quite a young woman.  The caked on dirt which covered her face merely gave the impression of wrinkled, ageing skin.  Though he tried to look away, Oscar felt like the piercing eyes fixed upon him had him pinned, the gaze penetrating right to the core of his being.  But before he could try to decisively tear himself from the spotlight, the young woman had returned her gaze to the ground and continued mumbling.

Although he was slightly scared to attract that level of scrutiny again, Oscar tried to talk to the woman some more, hoping that her fragmented mind could sustain the same level of coherence.  But, after numerous failed attempts to elicit even another sentence, Oscar finally gave up and left her to it.

Passing by a stagnant pond on a roundabout route back to his bench, Oscar gazed up at the sky recollecting the wanderer’s words.  Great birds?  Well, there were only pigeons around here, occasionally the odd crow but nothing that could signify anything of grandeur.  But it was not really the birds that had bothered Oscar, more the irrefutable conviction with which the woman had spoken.  There was a yearning in her voice but for what?  The woman was clearly long disconnected from this plane of life.  She had joined the nameless multitudes - the depressed, shaken and battered masses that create and live through their delusions and fantasies, too far gone for anyone’s help. 

Oscar stooped, picking up a handful of gravel at the pond’s edge.  He tossed the stones absently at the thick film of green algae that suffocated the aquatic habitat.  Glancing back at the gate he could see that the wanderer had passed on, vanishing without noise or incident.

Standing on the cleft of a rock the boy balanced on his heels, teetering close to the brink of falling forward into the pool.  He navigated his way around its circumference using the hazardously placed rocks as stepping stones.  Staying focused, he moved with feline agility concentrating solely on the next rock and the balanced leap necessary to take him there.  In fact he was concentrating so hard that it was a while before his ears picked out the crunch of footfalls on gravel behind him.  Spinning on his heel he just caught sight of Edmund’s outflung arm releasing a stone to knock him off balance.