Right, so I've done previous iterations of Maggie Noyr here on this site, but the story didn't really click until I decided to take the favela more seriously. Maybe this version will work out better.
On
a peninsula at the center of things sits La Ciudád, where everything
has been orderly for many years. It is an alabaster-white and
lemon-yellow city, a city of red firetrucks and little green
taxicabs, and blue doors in pink walls, red-and-white striped bars on
first-story windows, green-uniformed police officers and
brown-spotted stray dogs, green leaves on the grey boughs of ancient
oaks, green palms on tall bending trees, purple and pink flowers in
window boxes, and lots of people in all shades, wearing all manner of
things, bustling here and there. Why, it’s a veritable picture
postcard of a city.
It makes a lovely backdrop for where our story actually begins.
For across Division Road, and rising up the hills toward the rest of the peninsula, there is Los Hijos. It is mud-stained grey and sheet-metal-green tangle of streets, a hillside of inconsistent electrical service, untrustworthy running water, nonexistent garbage collection, more rats than you can shake a stick at, more rodent rats than you can shake a stick at, and only occasional health care. All of which only even exists because certain groups of people know that running a protection racket sometimes means you have to actually protect people. Certainly no respectable person from La Ciudad would bother to cross Division Road unless they were paid well above their usual rate.
The people of Los Hijos can't avoid crossing Division Road, mind you. They need whatever chicken feed they can get, and the people of La Ciudad need servants and expendables for so many things. This arrangement has been orderly for many years.
But
not for long. For now, here on the sidewalk of Division Road, stands a woman -- tall, dark as good rich soil, with close-cropped hair and inquisitive eyes.
“I’d
say I got lucky,” said the tall woman. “There was a nice peach
floral print sundress left among the tattered scraps. Perfect for the
morning sun, don’t you think?”
“I
don’t understand,” said a fair lady, a short and stout woman
wearing a glittering silver cocktail dress. “I don’t understand
how you can be blithe when we’re both looking at a worst-case
scenario. Have you never seen this before? Have you never been caught
by this before?”
The
two of them were looking up at a low mud-yellow apartment
building, in the spring morning light, at the spot where Division Road met the docks. There was but a
gentle breeze upon the air, just enough to lift the gulls high in
their search for fish and scraps, just enough to make the waves kiss
the shore with a gentle rushing sound, to rock the boats up and down
without rolling them. Yet the spot at which the two women gazed, the
fourth-floor corner apartment they had just vacated in haste, was
behaving as if it were a roof caught in a hurricane. Bits and pieces
flew off and vanished, leaving a yawning hole in the block’s top
corner, rapidly spreading.
“Never
seen this in my life,” said Maggie.
“You’ve
lived in this city all your life and you’ve never seen nor heard of
this,” said the fair lady. “How is that possible? Is this your
first time sleeping with someone, that you would forget to close the
window?”
“It’s
my first time doing anything,” said the wine-dark lady. “I didn’t
exist
until a few moments ago, and I was not granted a background that
included such knowledge.”
Maggie
felt a hand upon her shoulder. She tore her gaze from the apartment
building, and stared into the eyes of a fair lady whose expression
brooked absolutely no possibility of accepting any further nonsense.
“My
dear,” said the fair lady with not a trace of softness, “to begin
with, I do not recall asking your name last night. If you would be so
kind as to tell me.”
“Maggie,”
said the tall woman. “Maggie…uh…Noyr. Maggie Noyr.
Yours?”
“Alejandra
d'Surdeville,” said the fair lady. “I’m pretty sure you just
made up your name on the spot, but, more to the point, I would have
some words with you on our way to the police station. Come on.” She
took Maggie by the hand without letting her companion offer a word of
protest, and led her away from the shore.
…
The
city in question, La Ciudád, is one of those places where everyone
does their work early in the morning to avoid the midday heat. Only
mad dogs go out in the midday heat. Sensible people are done by
mid-morning. So as Alejandra led Maggie down Division Road, under shade cast by high tenements and tall palm trees, their haste did not seem unusual. Everyone they passed, the men carrying laundry, the women carrying lumber, the people in suits carrying briefcases, the children carrying broken bike wheels, the young lads rolling automobile wheels, had things to do and places to go that needed doing before the ninth hour of the day. The markets that Maggie and Alejandra strode past were full of people haggling insistently before the mid-day heat spoilt whatever fruits and fish they sought. The police officers who were kicking open doors and smashing open windows on the other side of the street were not even bothering to loot anything from inside, such was their haste to open every possible portal of each house.
The
greatest difference between these people and Maggie was that Maggie
wanted to slow down. She did not wish to leave Alejandra behind
entirely, not when the city was entirely unfamiliar to her. Yet
neither did she wish to visit any police station. And so she
attempted to loose her hand from Alejandra’s grip, to no avail.
At
last, when the two were standing in the shade of a tree, in front of a
low green slab of a building that said Estación de Polícia, Maggie
said, “You know, I don’t actually have to follow you.”
And
all of a sudden, Alejandra’s grip upon her was loose. She stood stock-still, staring straight ahead. "You are absoultely correct, my will is yours. You do not have to --" She shook her head rapidly. She stumbled sideways and slumped against the trunk, crossing her arms over her abdomen and doubling over, shuddering like she had been caught in a cold rain. Maggie stepped around to look at Alejandra's face -- wide-eyed, nauseated, like she was about to vomit.
“Mother
of God,”
said Maggie, “What happened to you?”
Alejandra’s
convulsions ceased, and her eyes relaxed. She straightened up and
smoothed her hair. “I do not know,” she said. “It’s like
someone reached right into my will and pulled a lever. Was that you?”
“I
do not know,” said Maggie. “if it was, I’m terribly sorry – ”
“Do
it again.”
“What?”
Alejandra
stamped her foot. “Do it again!”
Maggie
looked confused, and said, “I don’t actually have to obey you.”
Alejandra’s
eyes stared into nothing, a goofy smile on her face. Then
she went rigid as if she was a soldier in formation, and she
shuddered again. "There," she growled, glaring at Maggie. "There it is."
“There
what is?”
Alejandra
turned, and pointed to the buildings standing on a hill above the police
station. They stood tall and gleaming white in the morning sun, with
their roof ornaments, the little cherubs all holding spears at a
convenient angle to discourage roof-climbers and pigeons, shining
with a blinding light already.
“There,”
she said, “there is my home. There is where I come from, which I
refused to tell you last night. The neighborhood of Les
Gens Biens.
Where all the good people live, who are so good that they are worthy
to command everyone else.”
Maggie
raised an eyebrow. “Are they really.”
Alejandra
snorted. “Are you serious? Nobody can really control anyone else,
and even command is shaky. But then you
come
along and manage precisely that, and it feels like someone reached
into my soul and shook it. Like you’ve come down from Los Cinco Ojos to rule us all directly. Who even are
you?
What
are
you?”
Maggie
shrugged. “A real character, I suppose.”
“Please
don’t tell me you’re being literal.”
“Um…”
“I
would like to believe you are having a laugh at my expense,” said
Alejandra. “Otherwise it would mean that I was also born this
morning, and all beforehand is but a fiction. I shudder at the
thought. Do not make me shudder again, Maggie.”
“Why
should I not?” said Maggie. “Police are dangerous. You took me
this close to them. I don’t have to get any closer.”
Alejandra
shuddered again, and doubled over, retching.
“Good
heavens,” said a voice from the shadows. “How powerful your words
must be, Maggie.” A man stepped out of the shadows of an alley, a swarthy and
scruffy man, shorter even than Alejandra, a man whose tarred rough
hands and sun-browned skin bespoke much of his life without him
saying a word.
The
fact that the pretty-faced fellow beside him was holding a large
Dolphinfish simply illustrated the point.
“Who
might you be?” said Maggie.
The
swarthy man looked confused. Then he sighed. “I had feared thus,
Maggie my dear. That when you returned to the world you would have
lost all knowledge, again. Yet at the least you can walk, and speak.
That’s something.”
“What
do you – ”
“Rafael
and I can’t stay here,” said the pretty-faced man with the
Dolphinfish. “There’s no place in this city that’s safe if you
don’t look busy. Los Ojos are always watching. We’ll
meet you at the fish market.” With that, both men left as fast as
they appeared.
Maggie
turned to Alejandra and gave her a look of utter confusion.
“I
never did tell you what I wanted out of the police station,” said
Alejandra.
“Tell
me,” said Maggie.
Once
more Alejandra shuddered as if caught in a cold rain. “Please,”
she said, “be careful about ordering me to do anything.”
Maggie
sat in the shade of the alley, and said, “My apologies.” She
patted the ground next to her. “I would appreciate your telling me
what your goal is here, if you don’t mind.”
Alejandra
sat, and said, “This city. La Ciudád. Things happen here. Things
vanish, before our eyes. People vanish, before our eyes. For vices.
If you have intercourse with someone and you leave the windows open
all night, you and the room will disappear. If you gamble with the
windows open, you and the room will disappear. If you smoke tobacco,
if you are drunk in public, if you urinate in public, if you hand out
racy photographs, then woosh, you are gone.”
“Do
you mean, like, the police come in and – ”
“No!
No, and if you are as naïve as you say then you should have accepted
the truth of your eyes, Maggie. It's the wind. It's as if many eyes are watching us from above, and sending down the wind to sweep away anything they deem licentious. The wind itself is a damn vice squad. We call the whole situation Los Cincos Ojos, and they do not miss anything. There was a whole wharf district where the prostitutes left their windows open and woosh. There was a whole district full of pornography theaters and woosh." And so on.
Maggie looked back at the police officers across the street. One of the houses they had laid bare to the outdoors, a slab of concrete that would have been impossible to remove under any other circumstance, was flaking away from the top right corner down, as the wind picked up. Maggie gasped. "The police are working with Los Cincos Ojos? Why the hell did you want to take me near them? Why would you get near them?"
Alejandra
drew herself up in an attitude of pride and dignity. “I mean to demand that they cease their awful behavior. I mean to demand that they bring actual order to Los Hijos, instead of simply being a buffer between it and La Ciudad proper. Once upon a time I was told the police were here to protect us, and I will hold them to that promise."
Maggie frowned. A scrap of memory came to her -- a moment when she herself had berated a police officer, only to receive incredulous laughter in reply. "Something tells me that this won't work."
"No excuse not to try," said Alejandra, moving towards the door of the police station.
Maggie reached out and grabbed Alejandra's shoulder. “If you
would be so kind as to wait and think about this."
Alejandra
stopped, and did not shudder.
“Think
about you versus me,” continued Maggie. “You’re from Les
Gens Biens.
If that is what will make them listen to you, then it implies that
they would not listen to anyone else. Would they even accept my
presence at the station? There are pieces of my past that are coming
to my mind, Alejandra, bits and pieces. Memories of clubs swinging
down upon people beside me. Rough handling of people who looked like
me.”
Alejandra
turned, and gazed at Maggie with a quizzical look. “Were you born
this morning or not?”
“Perhaps
I was,” said Maggie, “and all these memories are fictive. Yet
fiction is illustration, not lies. Have you seen anything like what I
describe?”
“Only
towards ruffians and troublemakers.”
Maggie
raised her eyebrow.
“Well
they were!”
“According
to…”
“The
police. Look, it’s coming on mid-morning. Are you going to be following me into the station or not?"
"Not," said Maggie. "I want to get to the fishmarket as soon as my legs can carry me."
"You don't want to deal with the police." Alejandra spun on her heel and moved towards the door. "Then I'll do it. Leave me and run to meet your Rafael. I will be fine." She opened the door and stepped inside, leaving Maggie alone.