If Not Free, Then Freely Laughing

Private Penn could hear a noise in the communal cell: a drum-like chant and a rattling chain. Curious, he cracked open the peek door and peered inside.

A man was dancing, hopping from one foot to the other while raising a hand over his head- Almost like someone running in place. “He’ll come,” He declared, “The Warrior of Liberation will come!”

“Pipe down!” someone hissed, “It’s a myth.” Grumbled another.

“He WILL come!” the man insisted, “He’ll show up and take you out into the sun! He’ll come laughing and smiling! With this rhythm he’ll come and bring laughter to the people: Doom-dut-da-da Doom-dut-da-da!”

“Be quiet!” Someone said, “They’ll kill us!”

“We’ll die regardless!” He said, “If we can’t die free, then let’s die freely laughing!”

“Boy,” came a stern voice behind Penn, “Why are you letting the chattel act out of order?”

“Oh! I- uh.” It was Penn’s commander, Bode.

“It’s your first day in the Stock Yard, yes? I’ll show you how to manage them.”

Commander Bode moved Penn aside and peered through the crack, carefully studying the man as he continued his chant.

Commander Bode shook his head, “Do not tolerate disorder, boy. Bring swift, accurate judgement.” He slowly unlocked the door and opened it. The room fell quiet as eyes turned to the floor, but the man kept dancing and laughed as he looked at the commander. Without a word, Commander Bode pulled his pistol and shot the man in the chest. He dropped to the floor, one woman gasped, but quickly contained herself.

“Boy,” Said the commander, “Remove the corpse. Unless,” He looked around the room, “Anyone needs a reminder that chattel should be seen and not heard.” None dared speak or look at the commander.

Penn stood frozen in place. Commander Bode turned to leave and looked at Penn, “Do not make me repeat an order, Boy.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

The commander smiled coldly at him, “Good answer. The ropes are on the wall.”

Penn forced himself to move and entered the Stock Yard, a communal cell where the slaves were chained along the walls. They had some movement from their chains, just enough to reach a communal water fountains and defecation holes. He pulled a blackened rope from the wall and made his way to the dying man. None of the other prisoners looked at him, though a woman wept nearby.

“He’ll come,” gasped the man, “You’ll see. Haaa!” He coughed, and spluttered, “The drum. I hear. Dut-Da!”

Penn knelt beside him and began unlocking the chains, the man turned unseeing eyes on him. “See! He’s here! Haaa haa! Nika! Nika! Ha!” the man smiled broadly, “I’m Free!” and he chuckled as his life left him. His smile remained even as his staring eyes lost their light. Penn gently shut his eye lids, then worked the rope beneath the corpse. He pulled the body out, leaving a smear of blood along the floor.

As he shut the door behind him, he could hear the soft clamor of voices. A mix of sorrow and scorn.

He looked down at the grinning body, “How could you smile like that?” he asked, “and where do I take you, anyway?”

“Straight down the hall,” came a voice, “To the trash shoot.” Penn jumped as the head guard came down the hall, “Commander Bode said you were to report to him when you’ve finished.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Penn. The head guard nodded and checked the Yard’s door before assuming his position.

Penn drug the body down the hall to a hole in the floor, “So much for going to the sun.” he muttered. He glanced over his shoulder, then clasped his hands together “May your spirit be free,” he said. He hesitated a moment, “Orders are orders,” he said, then shoved the body to the hole. There was a moment of suspension, then a dull thud. Penn didn’t want to know where it led.

A few moments later, he had made his way to Commander Bode’s office. A bright-lit room near the front of the complex. The commander stood over his desk, examining a file.

“Private Penn,” He said as Penn entered, “Enlisted six months ago and put on duty here just this morning. You’re fresh out of training.”

Penn saluted and stood in form while the commander surveyed him, “Do you know the meaning of your uniform, boy?” he asked,

“Sir! It’s a mark of service, sir.”

“Service to what?”

“The Crown, sir.”

“And how do we serve the Crown, Boy?”

Penn hesitated, “Fealty to Order, and ordered to fealty.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, sir, uh…”

“Meaning?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know.”

“I’ll instruct you, boy.” The commander stood and walked to the fire place, “Order is the philosophy of the Crown. Order means each occupant of this kingdom has a place: a role to fill; a function to make a peaceful nation.” He took the fire prod and jostled the coals, holding the rod in place, “As long as Order reigns, we will have peace. We all must know our roles or disorder reigns and Peace is compromised. Chattel are for labor. That is their role and their chains affirm that role. Guards are to manage the chattel and ensure that they behave with Order, and their uniforms affirm their role. Both have a role to play in this great kingdom. Do you know what happens to those who don’t know their role, boy?”

“Sir, they must be taught…?”

“Correct. If they do not obey, they must be taught to obey. And if they cannot be taught, what then?” He looked over his shoulder at Penn,

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“They must be removed lest they spread disorder. The chattel must obey the guards, just as the guards must obey their commanders, likewise the commanders obey the Crown. Disorder must not be tolerated and must be readily stayed. Chattel must work, and obey, and do so quietly.” He lifted the poker from the fire and admired the red hot pike, “That is part of the Order. Guards must not hesitate to enforce Order. Sympathy to a lower thing is a breeding ground for disorder. Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He placed the pike back in its place by the fire, “Dismissed. Do not forget your role, Private.” Penn turned to leave, “Oh, and Private: be sure to clean the floors. The Chattel’s blood can carry all manner of foul things.”

As Penn approached the Stock Yard with the mop bucket, the head guard nodded with approval. “Good,” he said, glancing at the streak down the hall, “Be sure to cover your face, you never know what foul things the chattel might carry.”

Penn began his work near the cell door and worked his way down the hall, working the water towards the hole. The slapping of the mop on the stone floor made him think of chain rattles.

“The slaves wear rags and chains,” he thought, “Bound to a role. And I’m not much better. But I AM better, aren’t I?”

He plunged his mop into the bucket and plopped it to the floor, Shlosh-slap, then worked the bloody water to the hole, Scrub-scrub.

“A warrior of liberation,” he thought, “who brings laughter to the people,” shlosh-slap-scrub-scrub, “would you free me too, I wonder?” shlosh-slap-scrub-scrub.

He paused, “What am I thinking? Disorder!”

He dumped the remaining water and worked the fluid to the hole, as it fell he thought it sounded like laughter. He shuddered.

“Ha, ha,” he muttered to the hole, “But you deserved to die for spreading disorder.”

As Penn returned from the hole, the head guard gestured to the cell door, “Don’t forget the Yard- doesn’t have to be thorough, just a disinfectant wash will do. Can’t risk an outbreak.”

Penn saluted, then went to fill his bucket.

“We all have a role to fill,” he told himself, “A guard follows orders. A guard guards the chattel for their own good. They’re too stupid to understand, right? The chattel work for the good of the crown. The good of the crown is the good of the people. What’s a few dumb chattel when compared to the good of the nation?”

Penn pushed his fresh disinfectant water to the stock yard and entered. The head guard shut the door behind him as he made his way to the drying blood. Penn noticed that no one looked at him, “They really are chattel, aren’t they?” he thought, “So weak. So useless. They know their role. In fact, they probably deserve it. I should embrace my own role for the sake of order. I’m better than them, and I must keep them in their place to preserve the Peace.” His eyes fell on the young woman, who was still crying softly. “No,” he thought, “I’m not much different after all. I’m just too scared to do anything. Too weak to fight it.”

He plugged his mop into the bucket and got to work, shlosh-slap-scrub-scrub shlosh-slap-scrub-scrub

“He’ll come,” He said, not quite knowing why, “I don’t know how, but he’ll come for us all.”

He glanced at her and made eye contact, he smiled and then quickly finished his work. At the door, the head guard and commander Bode were waiting.

“Unfortunate,” said the commander, “I see you do not understand your role, Boy.” He grabbed Penn’s sleeve and gave firm tug, ripping the shoulder. “You make yourself Chattel by descending to their level,” The head guard forced Penn to the wall and strapped his hands to a wooden block. They whipped him, then led him back into the cell and locked him in the dead man’s empty chains. “A Private is above the Chattel. If you can’t remember even a small distinction like that, then you deserve to be one.”

Penn gasped in pain, his hands clenched to his chest, and he forced out a laugh, “Ha ha, If-f… die free.”

“A pity,” Said the commander, shutting the door.

“Haha!” chuckled Penn, delirious from pain, the woman reached out and tenderly touched his shoulder. He looked at her and smiled, too pained to speak he just laughed: “Hah hah!” He unclenched his fist and revealed the key he’d stolen.

He was trembling horribly, as he unlocked his chain, but stammered out, “I-if I’m t-to die,” he unlocked his chains, then gave her the key. She unlocked her chains, then another’s, “If I’m to die,” he coughed horridly as more and more chains came off in the yard.

“No!” hissed a voice, “they’ll kill us!”

“I-If we’re” he tried to call, then the woman stood up.

“We’ll die regardless,” she shouted, “If we can’t die free, then let’s die freely laughing!”

Then she began to chant, “Doom-dut-da-da,” and danced from one foot to the other, “Doom-dut-da-da,” and one by one others joined. The door swung open and a shot sounded out, but no one stopped, “Doom-dut-da-da,” they continued, a few pressing to the door as more shots fired out, “Doom-dut-da-da,” the chant grew louder as more chains fell loose, and more voices began chanting and laughing freely.