Esperanza: A tale from the Blue Books

“We have been having these little talks for six months now, and I feel like we have gotten nowhere,” Gabriel calmly chided with a tired and frustrated grin. “You said you have a story to tell, but you just haven’t shared it. Don’t you trust me?”

The man’s companion sat staring into space, his contemplative visage subtly breaking with the hint of a mirthless smirk. “You haven’t asked the right questions, I suppose,” his voice came out in a tired mumble. As he continued to peer off into nothingness, his hand seemed to unconsciously drift into his coat pocket.

Gabriel watched the man for a moment, shifting his eyes to the shallow coat pocket. He placed his pencil down on his notebook and rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand before addressing the man again. “What’s with the locket, John?” He asked with a faint sigh.

The man’s grin seemed to brighten slightly. “What locket?”

“The one you play with whenever you think I am not looking. I always just assumed it was some heirloom or simple trinket, but I have been interviewing you for a while now and I can see that it holds some importance,” Gabriel gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “If you say I haven’t been asking the right questions, that is the only one I haven’t asked”.

John pulled his hand from his coat pocket, drawing out a small heart-shaped locket. The golden heart was dull and in need of a good cleaning, and its design was plain, but it seemed to hold a simple charm to it. He held it up to his eyeline for a moment and smiled. “Now that is a story worth telling,” He turned his gaze to Gabriel and took a deep breath. “I think you will truly appreciate it, and when I’ve finished, I know you will understand why I waited so long”.

Gabriel shot a look up at John before scrambling to take up his pencil and notebook. He had been taking these meetings with John for awhile now, trying to gather the compelling story of a modern legend: a detective who braved the dangers of the Labor District and routed out the insidious threats to the republic. Gabriel’s profession was to find the stories that gripped the hearts and minds of the citizens of the Commerce and Governing Districts, to fill them with the inspiration to work their best for the glory of the republic. As with all things, though, it seemed even inspiring stories had their season. It seemed more and more that the season of fear was omnipresent. This could be his opportunity to usher in a spring of national pride.

Gabriel took a sip of coffee and pivoted to present an attentive posture. “I am ready, hell I’ve been ready”.

John grinned and looked down at the locket. “We’ll see”.

*****

I was assigned to the Labor District, not as any kind of punishment, but actually by request. The chief thought I had to be crazy for requesting the assignment; either I was going down there to play out some dirty cop fantasy or I was some adrenaline junky looking to dangle my life on a string every day. The fact was, I saw the opportunity to make some real change, and yeah, part of that change was a potential chance at being able to move up to the Governing District.

No one really wants to be in the LD. There is a feeling of desperation and despair in that place that can become infectious. The only people who don’t feel as though they are just waiting to die on the assembly line are the Koppa. Now, most people in the upper Districts know the Koppa as just a bunch of rowdy fans of the governors, which is all you ever really need to know if you have no intentions of slumming it with the Labor class, but for those of us who have really spent time in the Labor District, we quickly learn that they are so much more. It is Justice Ministry policy that the Koppa are not only permitted to “defend themselves and their community”, but are generally supposed to be given a pass on most behaviors that would be deemed uncivil in the upper districts. The idea is that the Koppa police the labor district so we don’t have to, and since they are extremely loyal to the message of the Governing class they will never be a real threat. The governors even commissioned armbands for the Koppa and passed quiet legislation naming them the one recognized militia of the LD. Needless to say, they made my job of attempting legitimate investigation in the district difficult, but those are the hazards of the job.

The assignment was simple: continuously investigate the LD for any signs of dissidence, insurrection, or sedition against the governors, and clear up any other little problems I might find along the way. Most detectives saw this assignment as a way to become some kind of kingpin, since it is general practice to assume any laborers not wearing a Koppa band are guilty of something and oversight is almost non-existent. I’ll be honest, it was tempting, but I was there to prove something to myself and to the governors.

At the center of the LD is the last remaining library in that district. Most of them were either dismantled during the Great Ordering or fell to complete disrepair and unpopularity as many of the laborers turned to the Republic Forum for their reference, news, and entertainment. The librarian there was an old man that many in the district took to calling Shakespeare. He was the kind of man who loved to write, snatching up any piece of discarded paper to jot notes and poems, keeping little nubs of pencils until they were nothing more than aluminum and rubber. He wasn’t a Koppa, but he was generally left alone, either because people had known him their whole life or simply because no one cared to go to the library, I never really knew which. I spent a lot of time at the library, mostly because it was quiet and Shakespeare kept the place in a presentable manner that made it feel closer to home in the Commerce District. Shakespeare and I would talk quite a bit, he even taught me a touch of Spanish as it made it easier for him to express himself. Mostly I would ask him questions about the LD, the internal culture and activity, trying to get the inside perspective on the flow of the whole place.

I would try not to stay too late into nighttime as things would get troublesome. That fog of desperation and despair would turn to dread. You could just feel in the air that something was going to happen. I had a few nights where I missed the train out of the LD and had to stay in the station house. You would have impromptu Koppa rallies, which would mostly be an excuse for copious drinking and drug use, that would cause the other residents to lock themselves in their apartments and homes. You could feel the fear and panic caused by this chaos, like mice scattering from a pack of hyena. There were times, though, that I got to see just why people were so frightened: rallies turning into raids when they decided someone in the district wasn’t loyal enough to the republic or just seemed to embody whatever evil they wanted to purge that evening. The other detectives on assignment would just set up shop in the quietest bar to wait out the ruckus if they weren’t participating themselves. Detective Ponchetta would often wave me over with a bottle of bourbon and chuckle “forget it, John. It’s the LD”. I never thought too much of it; I mean, the laborers were the animals outside the walls anyway. You don’t judge the pack of wild dogs for how they hunt, as long as they don’t bite the hand of the master, right?

Going through the communities during the day actually turned out to be very fascinating. You didn’t have too many laborers with dreams of moving into the Golden Tower, but on occasion you would find the inspired few that had plans of earning enough to move up to the Commercial District. These dreamers would frequently have their fantasies challenged by those who had chased those dreams before, only to find that there was never any chance they would succeed in the CD. The bigotry in the LD is in your face and loud, but sometimes I think it is kinder than the CD where the bigotry is offered with a smile.

Jason was one of those few who had made it to the CD only to be spit back out into the slums. He was an artist in more than one sense of the word. He was quite streetwise and very good about being that guy who knew everyone and everyone knew. He was a true hustler, spending a nickel to make a dime which he would spend to eventually make a dollar. He knew how to play the game so shrewdly that he was able to make enough to pay the fee for a district passport by age 20. He had it all figured out, except of course for the real nature of the CD; you see, if you don’t have the right connections you have to have enough cash for bribes, and you won’t have either of those things coming out of the LD. Jason was flushed back out into the LD within 2 years of arriving, and certainly not because he didn’t have the skill or the product to sell. The detectives on assignment had a watch list, and Jason Levy was on it.

You don’t hear much coming out of the LD, partially because no one cares to know but also because “reporter” is a bad word down there. If it isn’t coming from the Republic Forum then the Koppa don’t want to hear it and everyone else prefers to get their information from the grapevine, tends to feel more real that way. With any kind of reporting highly regulated by the governors, you can imagine how popular black market news had become. In fact “Blue Books” were one of the most common crimes we would actually investigate.

Blue Books were anything from cheap rags denouncing the Republic to detailed pamphlets presenting radical ideas as legitimate political opinions. Most of the books we investigated were easily traced back to their authors and quickly burned before they caused any unrest or general stupidity. Some of the more sophisticated pieces were sent to analysis at the hub of the Justice Ministry. Violators would often be sent to detention, though some were unfortunate to be caught by the Koppa before arrest, and that always ended messy.

Only one Blue Book seemed to elude us: The Liberty Tree. This thing was a manifesto if anything could be called such. It was well worded and even convincing at times. It talked about concepts like true freedom, equity, and abandonment of ordered caste, pretty radical stuff. It would pop up all over the LD, it even found its way into the CD on occasion, hell someone even found a copy on the district train once. Needless to say, the governors were less than thrilled with this rag floating around. That was the quarry I was gonna catch; that was gonna be my ticket to promotion and accolade.

The summer of my second year on assignment was intensely hot. I spent most of my days in the library to beat the heat, but also to get in some good conversation with Shakespeare. The old man had seen the LD grow over the years and still managed to keep a content demeanor about him, unlike most of his neighbors. Even the Koppa carried a sense of anger at their lot in life, though they tended to place the blame of that misfortune on whichever scapegoat they chose today. Shakespeare didn’t enjoy his place in the social order, but he also didn’t let the despair get to him. It was fascinating, inspiring even, and it made him the best company in the LD.

I asked him about it one day, about how it was that he seemed unfazed by the shithole that was around him. The old man got this look on his face and simply said “My Esperanza”. I would have taken that as some girl he had on the side but I never saw him with anybody the whole time I had been down there. I pressed him a few times about it, asking who this mystery woman was or where she was or even if she was real at all. I would always get a similar answer “My Esperanza is my heart” or “My Esperanza is my promise of the morning sun”. All of his answers were, honestly, very beautiful, poetic, and it gave me more of an understanding of how he got his nickname.

One day when I asked about his Esperanza, the old man gave me a look; it was just some paternal grin but it stuck with me. He seemed to nod to himself before reaching into the neckline of his shirt and pulling out this gleaming golden heart-shaped locket. I had no idea what to make of it, but I was impressed that a laborer had something like that.

“My Esperanza. I carry her with me, always. As I have told you, she is my heart, my morning sun, the promise of a brighter future,” he held the locket out and let it spin, clockwise then counterclockwise, in a mesmerizing pirouette of glittering light. He tucked the locket back into his shirt with a warm smile and continued about his work. I couldn’t get it out of my head. This Esperanza must have been an amazing woman, but I never saw anyone that would fit that description anywhere in the LD.

This mystery became a slight obsession of mine. Shakespeare would never let me look in the locket, always telling me that it wasn’t for me or I wasn’t ready. There were even times I began to get frustrated and considered confiscating the locket just to appease my curiosity, but I had grown to respect Shakespeare and didn’t want to break that trust. I attempted to look into any files on the old man, checking to see if there was anything that could help answer these questions I had, but there was nothing about a wife or any previously known companions.

I let my personal investigation go when a report came through that copies of the Liberty Tree pamphlets were increasing in numbers throughout the CD. The governors believed that they had to have been coming in from the LD, so it fell to us to find the source. The concern was that agitating literature making its way into the hands of people with means could lead to more challenging behavior and calls for reform. With the rising concern over this contraband, my tackling of this case was certain to gain me some elevation.

I took the opportunity to pull aside Jason for a series of interviews. He had his district passport, even if he was forced to come back to the LD to make a living, so it stood to reason that he might have some insight as to how these books were getting through the district borders. There was a reason he was on the watch list since he still kept the connections that he was lucky enough to make in the CD. While most of his interactions proved to be nothing more than legitimate business, there was always the expectation that he would use that shrewd business acumen to fire up a smuggling operation. Through my interviews, I learned that he had little intention of turning criminal and was more than willing to turn informant. I was pretty sure that his eagerness was driven by the wager that he could get an opportunity at elevation to detective if he played his cards right. I took to meeting him at the train station diner to discuss theories.

“Whoever it is pushing these rags can’t be a laborer,” Jason mused.

I gave him a puzzled look. “Why is that?”

“While there are a few people down here with a passport, no laborer would ever be able to move contraband into the CD,” Jason rambled while picking at the fries on his plate. “Laborers attempting to move into the upper districts are searched every time, coming and going. Half the time I’m shocked that they let me keep my clothes when I take a run to the CD for business. I can barely carry a pencil on the train, let alone a blue book”.

“They have to be coming from somewhere. The highest influx has been in the LD, so the most likely answer is that it is originating from there”. I studied him to see what his reaction to my logic was. He reacted, but not how I would have expected.

Jason began to eye me for a long moment, almost as if he were appraising me like a gemstone. I figured it was his way of illustrating that he could be a good detective if given the chance. “It’s possible. It could be a Koppa or even a detective, but how likely do you think either of those theories are? It would make more sense to be originating in the CD and distributing it down. Soft hand commerce folk are less likely to get searched and are almost never suspected,” He leaned in close, glancing to either side. He lowered his voice to a hushed tone. “Now here is a theory, and I mean a theory ‘cause it could never be real, but a governor could have a passport and would never be checked...again just a theory”.

I stared at him hard for a long, cold pause until I could see the bead of sweat forming at his brow, marking his fear that he had just made a horrible misstep. “And that is a theory you will never repeat or I will arrest you for sedition, understood”?

He gulped hard before letting out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, you’re right. That is completely unfathomable. I’m embarrassed it even came up”.

I knew he was trying to help, so I didn’t add that little exchange to his file. I did not have any more discussions with Jason after that, feeling that it wouldn’t be prudent to encourage his mind to wander any further down that track. Of course he grew anxious after that, assuming that he had just blown his chances at advancement and fearing that he must have ended up on a watchlist, still oblivious that he was already on one.

The Liberty Tree investigation stalled as the frequency of sightings decreased. It remained a quiet anomaly, but it would still be my big catch. I found myself going back to the mystery of Esperanza. I searched census records for the LD to see if there was any record of an Esperanza, but I could find nothing. With my conversations with Jason being cut off, I returned to my days at the library. Shakespeare seemed happy to see me and was quick to return to our usual conversations.

“Have you ever dreamed of elevating to the CD?” I asked the old man.

He smiled and shook his head. “I do not long for a day when I can be in that place. No, I dream for a day when that place can be here,” He started stacking a pile of books that had been left haphazard on a study table, likely by some of the local kids. “This is the community I grew in. I have seen so many strive so hard to board that train, and I have seen as many lose the passion for that dream when they learn that they will not be permitted to elevate beyond this district. If they fueled that same passion into building up the district they live in, they would find themselves in their own Golden Tower”.

That sentiment hit me. Why do we all strive to elevate from our caste? I had ambitions to elevate, driven by a desire to possibly earn a governorship and gain the right to vote or at the very least gain the privilege to post in the Republic Forum. Other than those goals, I was free to do much of anything those in the Governing District could do. If I was successful enough in a trade, I could possibly even earn a place in the Golden Tower. So it was a voice and a vote that separated me from the caste above. That thought sent an icy chill through me, so I shook it off as best as I could and tried to turn my thoughts to something else.

“You said you grew up here. Was Esperanza your childhood sweetheart?” I asked to change the subject. I knew what the answer would be, but a good shift into talking about the mystery woman would help divert my mind from seditious thoughts.

“Not my sweetheart, no, but my heart yes,” Shakespeare smiled while glancing out of a nearby window into the golden afternoon. “My mother gave me this locket when I was young and told me to cherish it. Inside was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and will ever see. My Esperanza”.

This caught my attention like a lightning bolt. This was more information that the old man had ever provided. Was Esperanza his mother? Another relative? Perhaps it was someone he had never met before or maybe it wasn’t even a person at all but a place; could it be some ancestral home? I felt electric with the excitement of receiving another piece to the puzzle.

The old man placed the stack of books on a cart and began to reshelve them. I leaned back in my chair waiting for Shakespeare to come back, though I knew the afternoon reshelving would take awhile, especially after the kids had stampeded through. After a moment of silence, I glanced at Shakespeare’s desk and had a thought. Maybe his poetry would give some further clue as to the mystery of Esperanza.

I hopped up and quietly padded over to the desk to see if he had any of his scribblings in view. I was not denied as he had a number of notes and scribblings scattered over the desk. Aside from the occasional to-do list, most were definitely written in the flow of some of his poetry. Unfortunately as I began to glance through them, I encountered yet another barrier: most of the poems were written in what I could only assume was Spanish. I chuckled to myself and attempted to read one of the short pieces:

Puedo marchar al ritmo de un solo baterista, pero prefiero bailar con la sinfonía de una orquesta

I had no clue where to start in translating it, but the absurdity of trying to spy on the old man hit me at that moment. I shook my head and let it go, placing the poem back in the chaotic little pile. I paced around the open reading room, glancing around and taking in the peace of it all. One of the tables was still covered in books, spread all over like toy blocks. I figured I would help the old man out, ease my conscience a bit after invading his privacy. I began stacking the books before a small unbound booklet came tumbling out of one of the books. I recognized it immediately as I had been staring at them almost every day in my investigations: a copy of the most recent Liberty Tree pamphlet.

I stared at the booklet for a long moment trying to process the implications. The simplest answer is that some kid brought the copy in to read with their friends. I held on to that explanation like a safety rail on the train, so tight as to not get thrown upside down from any other implication. I knew that if anyone else saw the blue book here, Shakespeare would be blamed. The sound of the main entrance door slamming open kicked me into attention. I snatched up the booklet and slipped it into my pocket before turning to see who was intruding on my quiet sanctuary.

Mussy red-blond hair hung over a pockmarked, froggy-looking face and greasy goatee. He was scrawny and small, as if he stopped growing in his mid-teens. It didn’t take long for me to notice the red armband that sported the white circle and line symbol of the Koppa. His name was Roman Breager, a slacker that managed to get by through his association with the Koppa. He was the kind of personality that would cause trouble just for something to do, and oftentimes he didn’t have the skill to back up his bullshit. People knew he was a troll, but they also knew he had friends and family in the Koppa that would finish every stupid thing he started.

“How can I help you, Mr. Breager,” I calmly intoned with the undercurrent of caution.

He turned his attention to me and gave me an exaggerated once over while baring his twisted teeth in what seemed to pass as a grin. “You the new librarian, de-tect-ive?” he uttered my title through hyper exaggerated syllables, as if he were trying to make some kind of jab out of it and failing. He glanced around directionless before grabbing a random book off of a nearby shelf and waving it in front of himself like a child shaking their empty bottle. “I’m looking for a book, you know, ‘cause this is a library”. He meandered around the tables aimlessly for a moment, tossing the book in his hand carelessly on a nearby table. His look was very much that of a man casing an area to find whatever mischief seemed the most attractive to him.

“I was not familiar with your love of culture. Perhaps I can make a suggestion,” I responded with seething sarcasm. He threw a spiteful look at me before his gaze drifted past me at Shakespeare wheeling his cart from the stacks.

“There’s the old bastard,” Roman sneered. “Got any new books in lately, Shake-a-spear?”

The librarian pressed his lips together tightly in a look of frustration before pulling a soft smile. “Nothing new, but we have plenty of classics if you would like to take a look. Was there something specific you were looking for?”

Roman’s meandering brought him to the old man’s desk where he glanced down at the notes and poems I had just peeked through. The little compositions caught his eye and I could see the shit-eating grin crawling up his cheeks. “What is this gibberish?”

Shakespeare’s demeanor changed to a look of worry as Roman reached down and plucked a handful of the delicate notes off of the desk. “Stop! Those are my writings. Please put them down,” he pleaded in a pitiful whine.

Roman glanced up at the panicked man, a crazed look of triumph on his face. “Or what, huh? What if this is the book I want? You gonna tell me no?”

I had enough. I took a step toward Roman and locked him with a serious glare. “Unpermitted seizure of another’s property is a crime, Roman,” I growled. “As is destruction of that property and disruption of the public peace. I would hate to have to arrest you and recommend your expulsion from the Koppa”.

It was an idle threat, that much was obvious, but it got his attention. He scattered the notes in a childish toss and turned back to the door. “I may just have to come back later with my book club. Tootles”. He left the library just as rudely as he entered and the tension hovered in the air for a few minutes after the door had finished slamming shut.

I turned to Shakespeare and studied his face. He stared at the messy pile of papers for a long moment before taking a deep breath and letting a faint mirthless smile touch the corner of his lips. He walked over and pulled together the scattered notes before placing them back on the desk.

“I’m sorry if I made things difficult for you. Is there anything I can do?” I asked, now feeling guilty that I may have painted a target on the library.

The old man shook his head with a soft smile. “This isn’t the first time some trouble makers thought they could make a name for themselves by tossing up the library and it won’t be the last. It is usually a very ill advised idea as most laborers will look down on the poor fool that chose to disrupt the peace,” he looked at me and his smile grew warmer. “What you did was a great kindness, and I will never forget it”.

I wish I had felt the same way, but I accepted his gratitude happily. I left and headed to the bar for a drink to calm my nerves for the day. Ponchetta was already deep into his cups and was excited for the company. We threw back drinks to build and maintain that blissful numbness that the end of the day provides. Ponchetta gabbed about the most recent trending topic on the Republic Forum as he knew I rarely checked the app when I am focusing on an investigation.

“The governors have been expressing great concern about the spread of dissident ideas. They reported that a rising cancer of manipulation and misinformation is forming in the LD. I can only assume this is their way of saying we are really screwing the pooch on this Liberty Tree case,” he put down another shot and chased it with half a long neck in a solid chug. After letting out a deep belch, he locked his bleary eyes on mine. “They announced this afternoon that it is ‘the requirement of all true patriots to weed out this corruption and these traitors’. We may as well just sit back and let the Koppa finish this job and kiss any medals and pats on the back goodbye”. He gave a half-hearted shrug before shoving a fried cheese stick into his mouth.

This bit of news set my stomach into knots. With the multiple rounds of liquor sloshing around my now turning gut, I quickly made my way to the bathroom to throw up. I stared at myself in the mirror for what felt like an eternity. There was no doubt that Roman and his gang would take the opportunity to make a name for themselves by taking out Shakespeare and claiming some twisted patriotic victory, even if he wasn’t the source of the pamphlets. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the copy of the Liberty Tree I had grabbed from the library. So much trouble over such a simple little thing.

I thought hard about what I could do to help Shakespeare avoid a humiliating and brutal death that I am certain the Koppa would be preparing to meet out. After sobering up a bit more, I came to the only conclusion I could. It wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, but I could make the case for Shakespeare being the man behind the Liberty Tree. The logic was simple: spending years in detention was better than being beaten and hung by an angry mob.

I stayed in the LD that evening to make sure I could collar him early in the morning before the Koppa could gather. Waking the next morning was hard, and the sun seemed to sear into me as if to punish me for what I was about to do. I made my way to the library with the pamphlet in hand. The old man was already getting things in place and preparing for the day. He smiled and waved me in, motioning to a couple coffee cups and a full carafe that he had brewed in anticipation for one of our talks. I gave a faint, hollow smile and walked to his desk.

“Good morning, my friend,” I said softly. He could tell something was off, but he listened intently. “Would you mind locking the door for our talk this morning?”

He didn’t question my odd request, but it was clear he suspected this talk would be less pleasant than our other conversations. He rose and headed over to the door to lock it up. While he headed to the door, I reached down and plucked one of his notes from the desk and slipped it into the pamphlet to provide a solid connection for evidence. When he returned, he sat calmly and cut right to the point. “Please John, tell me what you have come to say”.

It took much longer for me to speak than it should have, but as I looked into the man’s eyes, I knew I had to proceed. “Emilio ‘Shakespeare’ Marques, you are here by detained and charged with the creation and dissemination of seditious material intended to undermine the unquestionable authority of the Republic. You shall be sentenced to no less than 30 years in detention for your crimes and stripped of all assets and possessions. You may submit an appeal of this decision subject to the judgment of the governors,” while the words were rote, they were still the hardest words I had ever let slip through my lips. The raspy choking sound was clear in my voice with every syllable and I could not keep my gaze leveled with his. Despite not being able to keep his gaze, I knew his eyes remained locked on mine. “Do you have any words in your defense you wish to be added to your file?” I slowly lifted my eyes to see his reaction and was taken aback at what I saw. He was smiling. It was soft and subtle, but genuine. He was smiling.

The old man stood up and took a step toward me. He cupped my freehand in between his hands and shook it slightly, a gesture to let me know he understood and forgave me for what I was doing. “I accept your judgement, detective. I only have one thing to say, and it is for you alone,” he looked me deep in the eyes and his smile brightened even more. “Do you know what I see when I look into your eyes?”

It was an odd question, one I could not even begin to answer with confidence. My response was a very faint, dumbfounded shake of my head.

“My Esperanza,” His smile seemed relieved and devoid of any anxiety. He let go of my hand and began to walk toward the door. I glanced down at my hand to look at the locket he had placed in it. His locket, now my locket. I glanced back up at him and began to follow, preparing to escort him to detention.

*****

“Emilio Marquez?!” The interviewer started. He fell back into his chair and lifted a freehand to his temple. He let out a long steady breath, before glancing back at John to gauge his demeanor. “Are you saying that Emilio Marquez was not responsible for the Liberty Tree pamphlets?”

John nodded quietly, rubbing the locket idly with his thumb.

“You are aware of what happened to Marquez, right?”

John stared into space once more, long and somber. “His execution was broadcast on the Republic Forum. It was a moment of triumph and authority for the governors. I earned my elevation,not into a governorship, but into a director position in the Justice ministry. I was never going to be elevated out of my caste, and my dreams of a vote and a voice were dashed. It was never meant to be Shakespeare, and my plan to save him from the fiery, chaotic brutality of the Koppa only delivered him to the cold, orderly brutality of the governors”.

Gabriel sat stunned as the implications of John’s words struck him like a bullet. He mulled over what the man had said for a moment before snapping a look back at him. “What do you mean ‘it was never meant to be Shakespeare’?”

John lifted the locket to his eyeline and let it dangle, like a man hanging from a gallows. He took in a long, deep breath and turned toward Gabriel.

*****

I celebrated my big case in the CD, as I couldn’t see myself feeling celebratory after that arrest. It was also best to avoid the Koppa since I had just stolen away what they would have seen as their victory. I heard they still burned the library to the ground claiming it was just a den of manipulation and indoctrination. This was my big win, but it felt off somehow.

While the other detectives were singing songs in my honor and enjoying all of the libations the local club had available, I spent much of the time looking at the locket. I hadn’t opened it, still feeling as though I wasn’t worthy to do so because of my guilt. I stepped outside the club for some air and to help hear my thoughts over the din of the party. I played the arrest over and over in my head, trying so hard to find a thread of the forgiveness and acceptance that the old man had shown so I could feel better. My plan had only ever been to improve my standing and career, but this kind old man helped me see something bigger, and now he was going to spend the rest of his days in a cold, colorless box with no paper to write.

I rubbed my face and began to head back to the party, when I noticed a man making his way toward me with purpose. As he grew closer, I could see it was Jason Levy. His face was contorted in a faint snarl and he had the look of confrontation in his eyes. I knew I could duck back into the party and never see him again, but this was my opportunity to have my own personal reckoning and hopefully be rid of this guilt. I stepped toward the alley to provide some privacy and turned just as Jason had reached my heels.

“We both know it wasn’t Shakespeare,” he spat in my face. He was so close I could feel his breath as it buffeted against my skin. “There is no way that old man did this, hell, he never even got himself a district passport. How are you gonna explain that?”

I suddenly regretted the confrontation and attempted to avert my eyes. Jason’s boldness was unnerving. In every situation challenging and accosting a detective can not only lead to detention, it has a high chance of leading you to execution, and Jason surely knew that. No man would ever be so bold unless they had nothing to lose...or unless they had an insurance policy. My eyes started to widen as Jason snaked his head to force eye contact. His sneer peeled into a malicious grin.

“I knew it! No laborer could have gotten those books back and forth through the district borders, and there aren’t many commerce folk that would go slummin’. The easiest answer has to be a dick!” Jason stood tall, feeling like he had just grown a hundred feet. My fixed stare and shrinking demeanor was enough to confirm his theory.

I rolled the moment around in my head, desperately trying to figure out which way was up. It was never supposed to be Shakespeare. The old man was loved and had no motive or means to speak of. It was always supposed to be Jason. He was on a list after all, it would be easy to implicate him. Make up a number of pamphlets using the choice literature from the most sophisticated and compelling blue books, feed them to the lower districts, enough to create a panic among even the governors, then arrest the most likely suspect to win the case of a lifetime. I even walked him into making statements that further supported his guilt for effect. I just never expected that the perfect target would be as shrewd as I was. It didn’t take long for survival instincts to wake me from my shock.

I looked at Jason with dark and determined eyes. His demeanor quickly fell as it became abundantly clear from my expression that he had made a miscalculation on what I was willing and able to do. I straightened up to my full height, causing him to shrink and step back. My lips curled and twitched like a wolf’s maw. “You’re right,” I uttered in a low growl. “He didn’t even have a district passport…” Jason’s eyes widened as he quickly understood what I was about to say. “But you do. Jason Levy, you are under arrest for aiding and abetting the act of sedition…”

Jason didn’t let me finish before quickly stepping forward and shoving me. As I recovered, he turned and ran as fast as he could. I couldn’t let him get away for fear that he would attempt to expose me, so I took up pursuit. It was at the train station that I was finally able to catch him. The border guards noticed the pursuit and did not hesitate to box the young man in. His head darted around like an animal in a cage and panic began to run down his cheeks in salty wet tracks. The guards wrestled him to the ground and pinned him to the concrete. I took the opportunity to slow down my pace and catch my breath. As I drew nearer the dog pile, I could see Jason’s face turning purplish red from the limited oxygen he was able to suck in between being pinned on his chest to the ground and the obvious state of panic he was in.

He had only ever tried to do the right thing; working his way up to the CD through hard work and determination only to be cast back down due to a system that had been stacked against him from the start, and then working with the detectives to solve a high priority crime only to be used to cover up that detective’s crimes. He followed nearly every rule and still he was going to lose his livelihood, everything he ever accomplished, and the only one who will ever care is the one that caused him to lose it.

Jason’s breathing began to slow down as it became obvious he had passed out. The guards hoisted him off to the holding pen to await the next train to detention. No one would believe his ramblings in the detention center, but to be sure I detailed his “scheme” to concoct an elaborate story as to how a detective of the Justice Ministry had really been guilty of his own crime. As it turned out, I hadn’t even needed to bother as Jason hung himself in detention on his first night.

I had requested a sabbatical after that day, which the ministry was happy to give me. I spent my days in my apartment trying to reconcile everything that had transpired. More often than not, I kept coming back to my conversations with Shakespeare. I kept thinking about his poetry and about how beautiful the world seemed to look through his eyes. Letting my mind work deeper and deeper into those memories, I found myself returning to the mystery of Esperanza. What had he meant when he said he saw her in my eyes? Why did he give me the locket? After a while, my curiosity finally overcame my shame. I opened the locket and looked inside.

*****

Gabriel had placed his notes to the side long before, shock running through his whole body. He was attempting to process everything that he had just heard but couldn’t seem to reconcile any of it. He felt sick, but he also felt himself running over the greater philosophical implications of the man’s tale.

After a long silence, Gabriel’s mind finally reached the last thing John said. “What was in the locket?” He asked, unable to bring himself to look at John.

John opened the locket and gazed at it for a moment, a somber smile on his face. “It was not at all what I imagined, but it was just as beautiful as he made it seem”.

The vague answer seemed to fill Gabriel with a sense of frustrated rage. He threw his pencil in John’s direction, narrowly missing his head, and quickly rose from his seat. “After that, after all that, you are going to play games with me?!” He snatched up his notebook and coat, turning to make his way to the door. He stopped and spun on his heel, storming toward John with a finger pointed at him like a bayonet. “This is over! Our little talks are done! You are done!”

John quickly stood and intercepted the interviewer, grasping Gabriel’s hand with both of his. Gabriel started but took the moment to quiet, giving John his moment to rebut. John locked eyes with Gabriel and smiled. “Do you know what I see when I look into your eyes?”

Gabriel was stunned. He parted his lips to answer but could bring a sound to his lips.

John closed Gabriel’s fingers around a small object and took a step back. He released a long, resigned yet satisfied sigh. “My Esperanza.”

Gabriel was numb. Somehow he knew what this exchange meant, what all of their talks had been building up to. John had been right: he now knew why it had taken John so long to tell his story. John had been waiting for the moment when Gabriel would listen, really listen. Despite all the hurt and the anger and disgust that he felt at this moment, Gabriel could also see the message that had been sent. The message Shakespeare had died believing in his heart. The message that Jason had spent his life learning. The message John was now sacrificing his life to teach.

Gabriel’s eyes began to well with tears, yet he stoically nodded to John and left the man behind. He walked down the gilded path of the ministry promenade until he found a bench to sit at. He glanced around the area that had just this morning felt so colorful and now seemed so stark and cold. After a moment, he glanced down at the object in his hand. The dingy little golden heart seemed to gleam brightly in his hand, seemingly the only source of pure color around him. He stared at the simple, beautiful trinket, wondering if he was prepared for the possibility of anymore shocking disappointments or world changing revelations. With a deep breath, he opened the locket and peered inside. There were no pictures, no images, no hints of the woman they had all assumed would be found inside. All that lay inside this golden heart was a single word etched into the back:

Hope