21st Century Bogatyr: Heading Towards the Exit

"As soon as we submit / to a system based on causality, linear time / we submit, again, to the old values, plunge again / into slavery. Be strong. We have the right to make / the universe we dream." Diane di Prima

[This is the seventh installment of a fictional work in progress. Links to the rest are at the bottom of this page.]

by Zvi Baranoff

I had not slept much but I was feeling surprisingly rested. I gladly accepted a cup of java. I really wasn't very hungry but Maria strongly suggested that I eat a full breakfast because it might be "some-some" before another meal and we had a strenuous "some-some" ahead of us.

Abuelo talked about gardening. "I am really quite a lazy gardener, and I favor a lazy approach. My garden is full of plants that mostly care for themselves. Besides my cannabis and tomato plants, I hardly do any planting."

Maria sighed audibly. "Now he is going to tell you about his bok choy," she muttered.

"Yes, dear child," Abuelo continued. "The first cycle, I planted some bok choy right there," he said, pointing to a spot just beyond his greenhouse. While gardeners within the Zone no longer measured days, months and years, they had to acknowledge seasonal changes and they euphemistically referred to "cycles" or "rotations" rather than years.

Maria snorted and continued for him, with a good natured imitation of his Georgia accent and speech pattern, "...and the plants bolted because I neglected them and they went to seed and mulched themselves and replanted themselves and have been growing like that…"

Abuelo cleared his throat and regained control of his conversation. "Some of us, of course, are far more industrious than others. My granddaughter, for instance, has her own orchard. She produces far more apples than she can consume, even with all the cider she manages to drink."

"Si. This is true, Abuelo. I do like cider, and I do apologize for being overly industrious at times, but apple trees will just not plant themselves. I will be putting one in the ground in some-some, on the way with this one," she said, indicating me with her chin. "I am Sherpa hoy, taking Tío through the In and Out, if all goes well."

"As far as producing apples, I do no such thing. The trees produce the apples. I clone the trees and plant the saplings and they do all the rest." Maria mixed self depreciation and pride together as if in a bowl as she worked at the stove over morning vittles.

Indeed, "if all goes well" is the best of all possible outcomes and really seemed like a long shot by then.

It was sweet to hear her call me Tío, which I hoped was a term of endearment rather than mockery. I was pretty sure that when she used the term "this one" to refer to me...well, it seemed at least somewhat derisive. So, I warmed up to her perhaps another degree or two and dialed back my resentment concerning my boots.

"What we don't have in the Zone," Abuelo continued, "is anything resembling agriculture as it was understood worldwide before the walling off of the Zone. We don't have any financial incentives to make raising of food into an industry and we have rediscovered plenty of gardening space, once we started tearing up the streets. We all eat quite well here, don't you think?"

Well, I suppose that all made sense. That's about the way it had appeared to me, especially as I looked at the breakfast spread in front of us.

"We manage all that with no government, no commerce, no banks, no force, no coercion, no police and no laws. Imagine that!" he concluded. I imagined that.

We finished breakfast. Leaving the dishes on the table, we said our goodbyes - Maria giving Abuelo a hug and he and I shook hands - and we started off, towards the In and Out with Maria leading, of course.

There was blustery winter-like weather when I arrived in ChiTown. It was still bitter cold when I regained consciousness in the Zone, but it had warmed up quite a bit during my recuperation. Then, without much warning, Spring sprung. Putting aside that all plans had been shot to hell or put through a wood chipper, it was truly pleasant weather for whatever it was that I was doing there.

We walked on an outdoor trail winding through trees and past buildings and some midsize gardens and moderate to small fish farming as well as lots of various berry bush hedges, which is common throughout the Zone.

Similarly to the greenhouse pathways, there were rest stops along the way where one could heat water for coffee or tea and there were benches and picnic tables which we took advantage of, as needed.

Maria set a fairly relaxed pace to the hike, partially in deference to my stamina, partially as a reflection of the cultural norms of the Zone and perhaps somewhat because she actually did like spending the time with me. She walked quite comfortably in my boots. The shoes that she had given me were pretty good, though. I did have to admit that.

We came upon a pleasant rest stop with a park-like surroundings across from a row of multi story buildings. "We will stop," Maria told me. "Have a cup of tea and rest yourself for some-some. I have an errand to do. I will be back some-some."

Well, I made some tea and had a seat on a bench. I looked up towards the buildings and I saw Maria scaling the outside of one of them. I watched her climb to the third story and enter through the window. Moments later, I heard a bang and saw a nearly simultaneous flash at the window she had just entered. My heart jumped.

I saw something large fall from the window and heard a thud. Then I watched Maria exit the window and climb back down the wall.

In no time, she was standing in front of me with a large bag over her shoulder, smiling pleasantly. "How was your tea?" she asked me. "Are you rested enough to go?" she queried nonchalantly.

My tea was untouched, in my mug. I turned the mug over, emptying it on the ground and put the mug into the carrying case. We proceeded along the trail, without another word spoken between us for quite a while.

We entered a grove of trees, a small orchard. Towards the back there was a mound of fresh dirt with a shovel standing upright in the mound beside a moderate size hole in the ground. There was also an apple tree sapling in a bucket size garden pot.

Maria unzipped her bag and dumped the contents into the hole. I didn't want to look and I couldn't not look. In the pit lay a naked man, around six feet tall, probably in his late thirties or early forties. Most of the back of his head was missing, a gaping entry wound where a large caliber bullet had made short work of his biological functioning. Maria began filling in the hole.

I backed away, trying not to vomit. I steadied myself as much as I could and found a grassy swath to sit on, where I could no longer see the hole. I chain smoked muggles to calm myself and keep the bile down. I heard the sounds of the dirt hitting and Maria's rhythmic breathing. I was looking as far away from that as I could and trying to think happy thoughts most unsuccessfully.

As I reached for my fourth or fifth reefer from my cigarette case, a shadow was cast on me. I looked up to see Maria standing above where I was sitting. She smiled, helped herself to one of the few remaining muggles in my cigarette case and sat down next to me on the grass. We sat together, smoking wordlessly.

I tried to speak. All I could do was stutter.

"Wh...wha...wha...what…" I think that was all that came out. I stuttered as a very young child. I haven't stuttered since second or third grade. Suddenly, I couldn't speak without stuttering.

Maria looked directly at me, smiled sweetly, touched my knee gently and said "What is bothering you, Tío? You look a bit shaken."

"You just buried someone over there," I muttered. I turned in the direction where there now was a freshly planted apple tree.

"Well, he is dead and he needed to be buried," she replied.

"But...but...but…" I resumed stuttering. I took several deep breaths. Finally, I found the words to describe the situation. "He is dead because you shot him."

"Of course, Tío. That is why I buried him. It is my responsibility. Cause and effect. Everyone is responsible for their own actions. The one in the hole is now being the best that he can be. His deadness was an inevitable effect of his actions. He has taken responsibility for his actions by being dead. He needed to be dead and the dead must be buried."

"Wha...wha...what about all that stuff I have heard here about the transformative effects of community and tolerance and…" I trailed off, again running out of words.

She answered that he has now been transformed into fertilizer, smiled again and retrieved two sandwiches from her pack. We sat there on the grass, in the shade of the apple trees and ate lunch.

The sun had been moving steadily westward and afternoon was flowing into evening. We continued onward towards the In and Out.

Links to the earlier posted parts of this story, Chapters 1 - 26.

Part 1: Grace and Mercy If Luck Holds

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/05/grace-and-mercy-if-luck-holds.html?m=1

Part 2: Everything Was Fine Until It All Went Sideways

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/everything-was-fine-until-it-all-went.html

Part 3: I Blink In & Out and Awakened In the Zone

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/i-blink-in-out-and-awakened-in-zone.html

Part 4: Out Of Time

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/out-of-time.html

Part 5: Even Without Clocks

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/even-without-clocks.html