The House of Dust - 6th Chapter

The Mass

John

“Found ‘em! There! Y’all see ‘em blood!” screamed the younger boy, one John could not remember his name.

The stain on the wood beams was blood indeed, not the red dusk sky reflecting. The scarlet pool flagged the tragedy below the debris.

Barehanded, Mark and Feit cleaned up the trash and found the older boy covered in blood and dust, barely breathing. Only his torso and head were visible.

“Dylan!” his brother shouted and tried to reach his dying sibling, but Mark grabbed him.

“John, get Ignacio out of here!” Mark screamed, holding up the crying boy.

“His name’s Virgil,” Feit said.

“Yes, get Virgil too,” Mark said.

“No, the name of the one you’re...”

“Just take them out of here, now!”

John took both teens to the priest, who still prayed in the backyard. When he saw John, the holy man asked, “What’s going on there?”

“Call emergency services. The boy’s hurt,” John said.

“There’s no telephone in town, and I’m the closest thing to a doctor,” Father Octaviano said.

“What are you waiting for then?” John barked.

John left the kids with Stephen, who didn’t move a finger to help.

The priest tried to climb the wreck, but he was still a fragile old man despite being a powerful presence, so John aided his steps, noticing his icy hands. The priest was probably in shock.

At first, the priest didn’t know what to do. He knelt by the boy and observed. Dylan breathed irregularly, his eyes were opened, and painful tears rolled down his dusty face. Mark and Feit still removed the garbage from the boy, and only when they carried out the larger piece could they see the damage on the whole body.

“Oh my God!” John said.

The boy was dead; he just didn’t realize it yet.

The boy’s head was cracked, hidden by hair and blood, and he had a flat and broken chest. It was possible to see the ribs pushing against his belly skin. There was blood everywhere, mainly coming from his mouth.

“God help us all!” the priest said.

“Aren’t you a doctor? Do something!” Mark shouted.

“My son, this boy is already dead; he just don’t know it,” the priest answered and turned his head down to pray.

“Gerbert’s hir!” Feit screamed from a few meters away. Mark was divided between grieving the boy or helping Feit, looking back and forth. Finally, something clicked in his mind, and he ran to help Jack, leaving John and the priest with the dying boy.

The boy tried desperately to catch air, suffocating on his own blood. John didn’t know what to do, so he knelt and held his hands, looking for something brave to say. John noticed then that the boy had lost three fingers in the accident. Still, before John could think what to say, the last tear rolled from the lifeless eyes. The boy was dead.

The cold-hearted lawyer cried, still holding the boy’s hand, and only stopped when Mark shouted, “John! We need you.”

They partially uncovered Gerbert. The farmer’s head was cracked open, and the right arm was all bruised; blood was everywhere.

It was too much! The boy’s death, the farmer hanging from a thread... John couldn’t take it anymore. Too many memories came to him when he was forced to watch people under torture by the councilor’s thugs. John ran to a corner and threw up the egg sandwich he had eaten earlier.

Oh my God!

“John! Get your shit together, man. We need you,” Mark said

John went back to Gerbert and noticed that his hand also had three missing fingers.

“What-the-hell?”

Three fingers were missing in both Gerbert and the boy: the index, middle, and thumb. The priest knelt by the body, particularly interested in the missing fingers.

“He has a pulse. But… his blessing fingers!” Father Octaviano said.

“Blessing fingers?” Mark repeated.

Damn, Gerbert is alive, this strong bastard! Now he can help me with the fuel, as he promised. Or maybe I could ask for the diesel to take him to a hospital! Here’s a good idea!

“Feit, find Mann and ask him for the truck and my medical kit. Take the kids to their mother too and explain to her what happened. We need to take Gerbert back to the farm, so I can treat him,” the priest said.

“To the farm? Father, this man needs a hospital!” John squeaked.

“Nonsense. Gerbert would not survive the trip. First, he needs to stabilize.”

“But Father Octaviano, I can drive him right now! We’ll get there in no time, and Gerbert will have the medical care he deserves. My Jaguar is fast, comfortable, and….”

“John. Just shut up,” Mark said.

“But I can help…” John said.

“Just back the fuck off!”

“Shut up, both of you. Grab those beams and that plank. We need to build a stretcher,” the priest barked.

Feit took the kids away, and John chose between building up a stretcher or removing Dylan’s body. Obviously, he decided on the stretcher, and Mark took care of the dead boy.

Feit was back in no time, driven by Mann and his truck. A rusted trailer was attached to the hitch, where they carried Gerbert in the stretcher and Dylan in white sheets. The priest and Feit jumped in the truck and left, leaving Mark and John behind.

“What the fuck did just happen? That boy… that boy is fucking dead!” John was the first to speak.

“John, please stop trying to take advantage of these people. What were you thinking about pushing to drive Gerbert away?” Mark looked tired, more and more like a caricature of a prophet.

“I would never do that,” John lied.

“I’ll look for the fingers. Maybe Father Octaviano can put ‘em back on.” Mark went back to the wreck for a task John thought was pointless.

The sun settled, and John couldn’t tell a rock from a nail on the wreck. Still, Mark never gave up finding the fingers, throwing out garbage everywhere. John just watched from a distance, never crossing his mind to go and help his brother.

“Beardy over ther’ is better than y’all, ain’t it, cake eater?” A voice came from behind and took John by surprise, Stephen. John forgot him entirely.

The short man strolled by his side and said, with a hint of threat, “Y’all better leave town now, before another accident happens.”

John couldn’t tell why those words made him cold.

Mark returned from his search just in time to hear Stephen’s last words.

“A hell of a job to put this thing back up tomorrow, eh?”

“What an asshole! Forget about him. I found Gerbert’s fingers, but I couldn’t find Dylan’s. It’s too dark,” Mark said and showed three fat fingers inside his cigar pack, sharing the space with a half-smoked bud and two “new” cigarettes. The fingers had a strange clean cut like they were removed with a sharp blade.

“Look at the thumb,” Mark said.

It was dark, so John couldn’t tell at first what was the thumb and what was not, but he finally recognized the funny short nail.

“You mean his short nail, is that it? Mine’s like that too, and you don’t see me thrilled about it,” John said.

“Yes, Dad used to have a thumb like this too. Mom used to say that the only thing pretty in me was not having the same thumb as Dad’s.”

“Yeah, but that’s pretty common. I met other people with the same thumb, and I remember even seeing someone on the farm with it. Not a big deal.”

“Maybe you’re right, but what about the same fingers missing in both hands?”

Finally, the brothers walked back to the farm. It was pitch dark and stupidly cold.

When they reached the cornfields, John heard the bulls crying aloud like a deja vu, similar to the night before. All the lights on the farm were on, making the path visible, a sign that something was going on. A dense fog covered the air like an omen.

John felt exhausted. His hands, chest, and arms hurt, covered in minor cuts and bruises. Mark looked pretty bumped too.

The woman John met earlier in the church waited for them on the porch. Her voice was still perfect despite her upset tone. “Howdy! Finally, y’all back. Filthy things y’all is, so go shower. The mass start soon in the barn.”

“Nice to meet you; I’m Mark. How’s Gerbert?”

“Alive, barely. Father Octaviano said he may not survive the night. Miri and the priest are with’im in his chamber. Name’s Lilian, by the way. Call me Lili.”

So, her name is Lilian. Like the flower, Lili. She is so perfect! John thought.

“What about Cam?” Mark said.

“She’s helping Jack to set up the Mass. She loves doing that, poor little thing. Gerbert offered the big barn to celebrate Mass since the old church burned. Cam knows he’s hurt but doesn’t know much more.”

“I found Gerbert’s fingers. Can you please give’em back to the priest?” Mark handled the cigarette pack, but Lilian didn’t dare to open it.

In his mind, John fantasized about charming that perfect woman, even knowing that the circumstance wasn’t ideal. He knew that staying another night in Esperanza was inevitable at that point, so at least he would have Lilian to pass the time.

“Lilian don’t worry. We’ll stay and help with anything you need,” John charmingly said.

The woman smiled and led them inside the house.

“So now you wanna stay, asshole?” Mark whispered.

After they took a very brief and unconvincing shower, Mark insisted on checking on Gerbert, which John opposed strongly. How good would it do to see a dead man? Still, after Mark argued that Lilian would appreciate his concern, John shamelessly agreed.

Gerbert’s room looked remarkably like their own dorm, only with a double bed, which Gerbert laid clean of all the blood and dust, wrapped in bandages. His chest barely moved, and his face was pale from all the blood loss.

Miridiana sat by Gerbert while the priest stood in the doorframe with his garments full of dust and blood. He blocked the passage, shielding the privacy of the farmers.

“I’ve done what I could, but now it’s up to God,” the priest said.

“I can still drive him tonight to...” John started.

“John!” Mark interrupted.

“You should leave. Gerbert needs to rest now, not hear two imbeciles discussing. I need to go too to get ready for the Mass,” the priest said and closed the door behind him, following the brothers downstairs.

The men headed downstairs, and to John’s surprise, Mann waited in the living room. He was surprisingly clean.

“I find ‘em casket, eh. I put ‘em body in ‘em barn.”

“Thank you, Mann. Is the truck still outside? I need a ride out.” The priest looked back at the brothers with strange humbleness, different from the arrogant man he was before. “I take responsibility for this. I suppose you’ll stay to help this family, so thank you. Miridiana and the little girl need you. I see you in the Mass.”

The priest was leaving with Mann when John grew impatient. “Wait! Mann, Gerbert told me that you have fuel reserves for the mines, and I want to buy them and leave in the morning. I’m sorry, priest, but you said yourself. ‘You caused this,’ not us. I have other places to be.”

The priest opened and closed his mouth, speechless by John’s boldness. Mann was quicker to react, on the other hand.

“Ther’ ain’t no fuel, Ya half-wit. I told ya many times, you dumb immigrant!”

“I’m not an immigrant. Gerbert told me, so why don’t you stop lying and start sharing?”

“Oh yeah? Tell’it to Sweeney!” the old man shouted and left with the priest.

John was enraged! He couldn’t shake the feeling that these people were deliberately keeping him in this stupid city, like a conspiracy. John looked at Mark for help in his last attempt, but his younger brother simply ignored his pain and walked away, leaving him behind, alone.

Mark

Mark grew tired of John’s narcissism. How could he not? John just wanted to either screw Lilian or screw with the Sylvesters, despite all the pain around him. Cold bastard! That fucker deserves all he’s going through.

Noises came from the kitchen, and Mark found Cam suppering with Feit. Her dish was untouched. Feit stared at the wall, eating in silence until he noticed Mark coming in, saying, “There’s food in the cocker.”

“Thank you,” Mark said.

Mark checked the food, which looked great but cold. Still, he made a small plate and joined Cam. Not long after, John came in and grabbed a plate himself, seating soundly in front of Feit, far away from Mark.

“Do you think he’s gonna live?” Cam asked with a broken, childish voice, cutting Mark’s heart in half.

“I don’t know, Cam. Father Octaviano said we need to wait for the night,” Mark said.

“I’m afraid he’ll die.”

“Me too, but we shouldn’t. We should have a bit of faith.” Mark thought how ironic an atheist to tell someone to have faith was.

They all ate in silence, and when Mark finished, after ruminating about the events that happened throughout the day, he asked, “Did Stephen and your father ever argue aggressively? Would you know if they...”

“Hello there. May I join you?” Lilian entered the kitchen suddenly, looking gloomy. Mark looked at John and Feit and noticed how stupid they behaved when Lilian was around.

“Sure,” John and Feit said simultaneously, with the same mellow intonation, looking at each other and realizing they wished the same thing. Lilian sat by John’s side and kept touching his arm and addressing only him the whole time they talked, making Feit mad with jealousy.

When John noticed that he got all the attention, he teased Feit like a child. Mark wouldn’t judge if Jack hit John for his smart mouth.

“My father said y’all leave tonight?” Lilian said.

“Me? No, no! I’ll stay and help this poor family go through this difficult phase. But tell me about your father, who is he?” John said.

“My father? He the station attendant, Mann.”

Suddenly all the dialogue Mark had with Gerbert the night before came to his mind. Gerbert mentioned the people who lived on the Farm: Feit was the maid’s son, Lilian was the daughter of the gas station attendant, and Stephen was the traveler like John and Mark, who decided to stay in Esperanza. Mark wondered where the pregnant lady was.

“How could that be! You’re astonishing, and your father... well, I believe... maybe... yeah! Probably it’s an age thing. You don’t look like your father at all; that’s what I meant,” John stuttered.

“Folks say I’m like my mother, but she’s long gone. Childbirth, so I couldn’t tell how she was. There’s no picture left. My father worked in the mines, and I was born in Esperanza. Folks say my father went crazy after that, but that’s passed. He’s a generous sweet man.”

“Excuse me. Where’s the pregnant lady? Gerbert mentioned yesterday that another traveler, like us, was here in Bull Farm,” Mark said.

“Did he? My-oh-my, he must be losing his wit. She’s gone for weeks now, I think. Maybe he got confused,” Lilian said.

“But we saw a car yesterday. A FIAT, parked by the entrance,” Mark said.

“There’s no car there, as far as I could tell,” Lilian said.

Mark got lost in his thoughts, searching his memories to see if he had seen the parking lot empty early that evening.

“What are’y’all think?” Cam said.

“Me? Nothing. Do you feel better now that you ate?” Mark asked, looking at the small girl in front of him and thinking about his dead sister Samantha. They could be siblings, for so alike they were, and even her voice sounded like memories. Cam was going through something hard, and Mark wanted to shield disaster, to protect her better than he did his sister.

“Don’t worry, Cam. Everything’s going to be all right. I promise,” Mark said.

“How do y’all know that? Anyway, y’all leave soon like everybody do,” Cam said.

“I promise I’ll stay for a while, just to make sure you and your mother are okay. All right?”

“What about Dad?”

“Him too.”

John and Lilian still blabbered, and they only stopped for a moment when Feit stood abruptly and said, “I’ll go help in Mass.”

“Jack, can I come?” Cam asked, standing to put her dishes in the sink.

“Just leave it there, dear. I’ll clean it for ya,” Lilian said.

“I could help you with the dishes if you want,” John charmed Lilian, and she colored.

Mark also left John and Lilian in the kitchen not a minute later, hoping to get rid of that awkward flirt. Mark wasn’t Christian, but he was willing to help with the Mass to avoid his brother and put his mind at ease. But when he went outside, Feit and Cam were gone.

Mark was alone.

The lights were on, but not enough to see afar. It was really dark and cold too, and it took a while for Mark’s body to get used to the temperature.

The breeze brought the fresh scents from the corn and wheat and a sweet and citric smell from the orchard. Hera, his mother, used a similar fragrance for perfume, so the breeze brought nostalgia too. The scent, cold, and loneliness sent Mark back to his deep thoughts. All the day’s weight pulled him down, and Mark could only lay on the hammock to think. Aching for a cigarette, he touched his pockets. Still, there was nothing there, only his Zippo lighter since the pack was used to hold Gerbert’s fingers. He flicked the lighter on and off until he got bored. Finally, Mark agreed to focus on the sound and the smells of the farm to put his mind to rest.

The bulls responded accordingly, calming down the softly humming, accompanied by a sporadic rooster and the crickets.

Deep in thought, Mark realized the effect of that city on him. The impact of seeing good people like Gerbert and Cam, so like his own family, going through tough times and the painful realization that he was just a human, just a man, incapable of fixing both his mother and Gerbert. A man still capable of terrible things, like the death of his father and sister and years of drug abuse. But most of all, just a human faded to fail. Mark didn’t remember when he started to cry, only when he cleaned his face with his shirt.

That hammock was useless, for Mark could never relax with so much on his shoulders, so he stood and walked around on the dark farm. He looked at the parking lot unconsciously and realized that there were only John’s Jaguar and Gerbert’s pick-up, no compact FIAT. Still, instead of thinking about the pregnant lady, Mark looked at the pick-up and remembered the accident that killed his father and sister.

Paul had a pick-up like that. One night, Mark borrowed her in secrecy to drive to the lake when he was a teenager. Because of a pick-up like that, a few drinks, and childish behavior, his father and sister were dead. That car was a reminder of his guilt.

Tired of feeling blue, Mark walked towards the pine grove, hoping to see the tractor shed on the other side.

Despite trying to think of nothing, a single image recured in Mark’s brain: Stephen insisting on climbing that scaffolding, plotting with the priest for the accident. Those scumbags were plotting something. But what?

Mark crossed the dark grove and reached the tractor shed. The service door was slightly open, shaking with the wind. Behind the grotesque building, the wheat field stretched beautifully. There, he sat on the wood fence, wondering about his life and the events that led him to that ghost town. Mark wasn’t a believer, but he knew it to be his destiny to help the Sylvester family.

A feeling of pressure started on his chest, the same feeling Mark had when waking up that morning. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe — it was like an anvil rested over his lungs, over his thin child-like body.

Is this what Dylan felt? Mark wondered.

Then he saw something that made his spine go cold, something on the horizon beyond the wheatfields.

The air became chillier. A cloud covered the moon, and the fog grew denser. Mark couldn’t see clearly, for everything was blurred, so he rubbed his eyes with his knuckle and looked ahead.

Something stood in the wheat field, watching him.

It was a black silhouette, looking back at him with four yellow flaming eyes. Mark cleaned his eyes, again and again, telling himself that it was just the hound. The distance creates the illusion that it was four eyes instead of two. But cleaning didn’t make his eyes see anything other than one shadow and four eyes.

Could it be the black hound?

No, it isn’t!

Mark thought, This can’t be happening again, aching for another heroin shot.

John

John walked alone to the barn, crossing the orchard, wondering where his stupid brother was. Mark had been missing since dinner. Not that John really cared, only because Mark was a troublemaker. John had enough problems already: the councilor, divorce, lawsuit, Esperanza, the church’s accident, the teen’s death earlier, and Gerbert hanging between life and death.

It was dark, around eight o’clock, and John barely missed tripping on the boulder and broken branches because of the dim light coming from the barn.

He smelled a sweet citric smell of a big tree in the middle of the orchard on his way. Such a lovely perfume, like Lilian’s.

Oh, Lili.

Nothing could prevent John from being happy at that moment. How could anything when he had just met the woman of his dreams a few minutes before?

She could leave with you, John. A voice spoke deep in his mind. But you need to stay a bit longer to convince her.

“To convince her?”

Yeah! She likes you, and maybe she wants more. But if you leave now, you will never know.

“But what about my trial?”

What’s more important to you right now?

John knew the answer to that, so he sang:

Who’s got eyes that sparkle like a lily sprinkled with dew?

Lily Belle.

Her lips, fresh as autumn rain when summer is through.

Lily Belle.

Would you like a sunbeam on a rainy day

You can catch a sunbeam when she smiles your way

In the barn, John saw a lot of unfamiliar faces, most friendly. Everyone was dressed in black, wearied garments, all of them looked ugly and poor.

Several torches hung on the walls, and a big wooden cross stood in the center. Everyone stood, as there were no chairs. That barn looked like a creepy scene from a medieval Christian movie. Father Octaviano, the shepherd and hero, was the plot’s core. A curly-haired woman cried behind the priest, followed by the boy John had met earlier. They all prayed in front of a crude coffin lying over two trestles.

In the front row, Stephen stood close to Father Octaviano, looking higher than he actually was. Feit was at the backdoor, with his arms crossed, while the little girl, Cam, sat in a hay pile in a corner, crying in silence.

The Mass just had started. John was right on time.

“May the Father of mercies, the God of all consolation, be with you,” the priest spoke, and the choir of sad, lonely people, including John, responded, “And with your spirit.”

Despite the decaying medieval scenery, it was good to be in Mass after so many years. John just wished Lilian was there too, but she stayed in the house to help Miridiana. Just when the thought crossed John’s mind, Lilian’s father, Mann, appeared behind Jack Feit, laying a hand on his shoulder fraternally. In wonder, John stared at the old man. How can that man be the father of such a perfect woman?

The people sang a hymn with their right hands up in the air. John had never heard that hymn, so instead of singing, he looked around and found someone that didn’t seem to belong to that crowd, like himself. It was a young woman with red-dyed hair, green chipped nails, kind of slutty but in a sexy way if not for her huge pregnant belly, probably due in a few days, or even hours! She concentrated on the Mass without deviating from her eyes, barely blinking.

Didn’t Mark ask about a pregnant woman earlier? John thought.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice came from behind. It was Mark arriving late in the Mass.

Finally, John thought, relaxed to see his brother. Still, when Mark went to Cam first instead of coming by John, he got mad. Mark said something to the little girl, and they both looked miserable.

The little shit didn’t come to me? Did he choose that stupid little crying girl over his own brother?

A voice in his mind replied, Yes, he did.

Why does Mark care so much for that little bitch? We are family! I’m his brother, not her!

John felt alone again, and the thought of him being in prison came back to his mind. John often wondered what prison would be like, and, even knowing many jails, his own version was much darker and more disturbing. He always imagined himself alone, sitting in a metallic chair, surrounded by infinitely tall bars without walls, only darkness beyond the cold metal. There was no surface to scratch the number of days he sat on that metallic chair. So instead of scratching the floor, John would carve the time on his bare chest, in blood, with his dirt nails. The pain would be the only thing keeping him sane.

“In this holy Sunday….” The priest continued, but those words rang wrong.

Sunday? Isn’t it Thursday? John thought.

“… A tragedy laid upon our small community. Such a pity to see God’s work so cruel in His mysterious forms. But he knows best, and today’s service will be about Dylan, the best of our hunters.”

Dylan’s mother, the one with the curly hair, cried louder, unconsolidated. John wondered why the funeral was so fast after the accident and concluded that maybe it was the costume in small cities. If they didn’t have telephones, they probably didn’t have a morgue either.

The priest continued, yet louder than the woman’s cries. “Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.”

The service carried on. The priest gave the word to one of Dylan’s brothers to do the first reading. Was that one Ignacio or Virgil? John wasn’t sure.

The boy stood in front of the audience, lighted by a flickering torch, holding the old bible in his tinny hands. With a cracking voice, the boy read thus:

“Revelations 21:1-7. Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, a (…) voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; (…). Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’ (…) And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’ (…) To the thirsty, I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God, and they will be my children.” The boy finished the reading, wiping his tears and closing his holy book.

The priest sang the Psalms, and the choir answered. He sang the gospels and preached about the mystery of life, using Romans chapter eight to salute labor and the worship of God. The takeaway John understood from those words was that poor Dylan fulfilled his purpose on earth by doing God’s work.

This is bullshit! God didn’t kill that boy. You did, stupid priest. You forced them to work until they died. I remember you admitting it earlier today. You are responsible for everything, John thought.

“Excuse me, mighty Father. A word?” Everyone looked surprised when Stephen interrupted the priest during the sermon. The priest looked affronted, but after deliberation, he agreed.

“Go on.”

“Sorry, Father. I not wanna step yar toes, but there’s something urgent to debate, and since we’r’all hir’... Yes, Dylan’s tragedy is, well, sad, but not God’s work. It was yar fault.”

“Mr. Spoleto, I think you shall refrain from your vile...”

Stephen winked, and Father Octaviano became red and guiltily silent.

“Don’t’all worry, I’ll tell ‘em not er secrets, Father. This is not God’s work, no sir; it was the church’s urgency. We’re all guilty of valuing more this church than our own well. Think food, for example. We’ve lost summertime working on this useless church instead of preparing for harvest, and now we have no church nor food. I don’t blame Gerbert, for God bless his soul, but ourselves and the priest.”

“What are you talking about, Mr. Spoletto?” the priest shouted.

“You see the slickers there, there, and there.” Stephen pointed to John, Mark, and Feit. “They heard y’all, loud and clear that the church ought to be finished by Solstice. Didn’t y’all say that? God told’ya to finish by Solstice, y’all say? Did God told’ya the church is falling too? Or what we’ll eat in winter?”

“Mr. Spoleto, that is enough!” the priest screamed, trying to intimidate the short man, but someone in the back yelled, “Let the man speak!”

The bulls started to cry aloud on the pasture; they could feel the tension growing in the barn.

Stephen continued, “Yar concern ‘bout God bring us problems. We, people of Esperanza, must eat before praying. Gerbert’s dying, for God bless his soul, but we’re alive and hungry. How long we’ll starve until Gerbert is back or the church standing? We got to eat, don’t we? There’s no food, no fuel for the mines, or provisions. Our life rely on this farm, and I say, since Gerbert is incapacitated, that we take control.”

A dozen of muscular men in the back cheered. They looked dirty from coal and were probably Stephen’s mine mates.

“I take ‘em charge, and I provide. Y’all can complain, priest, but that was our deal.”

Holy shit! John thought.

“What?!” The priest’s face turned redder than ever.

“Who’s with me?” Stephen repeated, louder and more convincing, and the crowd answered.

“We are!” the crowd chanted.

“Who is with me?” Stephen repeated.

“We are!” the crowd chanted.

The crowd started to talk, all at the same time. It was white noise, not understandable at all. John felt the tension growing on his skin; he was in the middle of the crowd, and a bomb was about to explode. The people pressed one another. Some defended the priest, others agreed with Stephen, all shouting.

“I’m leader now!” Stephen shouted repeatedly.

Some people cheered, others booed, mixing with Stephen’s screams and the bulls’ constant cry. John felt disoriented by the noise.

Just before the mob was about to break, Stephen shouted one last thing, “A warning to our beloved guests! Anyone who tries to leave tonight will be punished. Y’all, cake eater brothers will stay and work to pay for the good food and abode the Sylvester’s provided.”

John gulped. Oh shit, now I’m really trapped!

I must get the hell out of here!

It was decided: John would leave immediately, even if that meant walking hundreds of kilometers away and leaving his young brother behind. He just needed to find a way out of that barn, so he tried to swim through that ocean of people until he felt a hit on his neck.

The crowd was moving, and someone stumbled on John. He fell on all fours and felt a kick in the belly; maybe it wasn’t on purpose, for everyone tried to leave the barn at the same time. Still, the pain was enough to make him squat.

Struggling to breathe and protect his head at the same time from more kicking, John thought, Am I going to die in this dump?