A Haven for the Common Man

Ryan opened his eyes.

Everything was clearer, now. To his Left was absolute darkness. A sandy field visible only as far as the one illuminating source allowed. To his right was the light. Neon lights, shining far away into the night sky. His eyes narrowed into that distance. A good three-four minute walk. He looked to his front. Jeremy was done tinkering with the large camera and gave a thumbs-up. The entire equipment, from the camera to the recording device to a black bag filled with wires, was neatly placed on his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Ryan took a deep breath and held it. The smell of tobacco and humidity. After he exhaled, he put his mike near his chest and nodded to Jeremy, who started counting down on his fingers. 5, 4, 3...

“Before we get to that, Sasha, I wanted to discuss with you the history of Vallago,” Ryan said to the camera. “Believe me, I’m well aware many of our viewers tonight couldn’t care about it, but...” He shrugged. “It’s important, I promise.”

He started walking towards the lights, slow enough for Jeremy to follow.

“We know this as a town of cynics. Of pessimistic superstition. We’ve all heard the saying. Never challenge Vallago to make you more miserable. We toss that around as if it is wisdom. Worse than that, we use it as if it is ingrained in our town’s history and culture. No, I think... I think we take for granted what this town used to be.

“This town, this port... It was a hopeful dream for the ageing sailor. A haven for the common man. If you ever look past our skyline, past these pastures, you would find us nestled between a beautiful ocean and a scenic mountain range.” He pointed out into the horizon, over the light source that was now slightly closer. Only more darkness. “You can’t see it right now, but it's there. Now, these men that were married to the sea often rediscovered their love of land when they ported here. Plenty of open area, warm summer breezes...”

Ryan turned towards the camera with a glimmer in his eye and half a smile on his face.

“Vallago was hope. My home brought about a yearning for some of the most hardworking people in the world. A wife, some children and a house in this town. That was all they wanted. When they bid farewell to their crew, to the sea, these sailors turned around to look at this settlement and smile.

“Does that same town deserve to be thought of as a breeding ground for misfortune and suffering?”

The light behind Ryan was close enough to illuminate the entire frame. However, long before they could reach that bright stage, they had reached the first cluster of crowds. Three women and two men stood before a portrait and a vigil, with some pink flowers scattered in front of it. These small crowds started shifting their attention towards the two-man crew walking through their moment of unbearable silence.

“Now, as much as I would’ve liked to be the one who came up with this idea, it was Maria Vegh who said so. She was told how sailors from all over the world came to settle here. I wish I could show you the ear-to-ear grin she had when she heard this story. She immediately connected it to the diversity of our town. People of almost every creed, colour and belief could be found here, and that was all she ever thought of.

“She... She loved every bit of it. The world grew larger every time she saw something different, talked to someone new. Now, tonight, while Vallago—and this incredibly diverse world—mourns her demise, we do so with such a variety of flowers.”

Ryan looked up at one of the clusters in front and saw her face in the portrait. Maria smiled awkwardly at the camera taking her photo. This was early in her career. Long before she was a success. At this small pub, she was both flabbergasted by the approval she witnessed and frightened immensely by the camera pointing at her. Yet, she was able to flash a grin. A powerful one, that resonated with her fans so much.

At the base of this portrait was a bouquet of lilies.

“I saw Chrysanthemums a while ago. Transience and inevitability. These lilies here are said to be pure and restore innocence. I believe some of her devotees will be using Irises. Not for any cultural or historical reason, but simply for her song, Iris. Everyone who put such vigils around the streets of Vallago, I...” Ryan turned around to look at his audience within the lens, walking backwards for the remainder of the journey. “Thank you. All of you. This is exactly how she would want it.”

A little further down the path and Ryan finally reached the stage. “This... is where she performed all of her concerts in Vallago. She did one last night, right before she announced her retirement. Now, she’s gone. Maria is dead at twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. How can that number be real?”

Jeremy looked over his camera, sporting a sympathetic look to check on Ryan after that break in his voice. The reporter took a brief moment, looked at the mourners on the field waiting for him to continue and powered through.

“Maria’s nature as the childish one was not only the result of her age, or her lack of experience in Vallago. No, there was a remarkable life that led her to this attitude, and with the consent of Suzie Martin, Mr Ito and the Dissidents, I have the privilege of sharing it with those of you who might not have known.”

Ryan braced. Not for the story, it seemed. He seemed almost bitter. His eye diverted to the camera's right, fixating on something for half a second before continuing.

“It might not surprise many viewers, but Maria wasn’t born here. No, we have to go a little further east—to our neighbours. The Republic of Gyseia. Her parents were two labourers in a toy factory and lived with thirty other people in a large dormitory. For her, childhood was a foreign idea. A mythical one. It was school and chores, school and chores. The schools were focused on efficiency and national pride, and the chores were, by all means, labour work. Cleaning the dorms top-to-bottom, sewing clothes, cooking two meals a day, all that and more. Early on in her life, her parents started sneaking out of bed every night, returning hours later as if nothing had happened.

“One night, she tailed them outside. They were trying to hide an ongoing fight from her. Her father had bought half a bottle of clear vodka from his friend. At the same time, her mother, after snapping one of her ankles while at the markets, took the bus home. That was it. These were their crimes. Neither realised until too late that they had nearly exhausted their savings doing so, and tried to blame each other for their misfortune. Their fights even became violent, she said. Saw her nurturing mother scratching at her father’s face. Saw her doting father slap her mother and then cry about it. Both of them did. How will we buy our girl milk, tomorrow?!

“Now, you have to understand—in Gyseia, a term is used over and over. Burden. Gyseians are told never to be a burden on their nation. That’s what seven-year-old Maria felt like. A burden to her parents. Misfortune and misery, nothing more. Her parents’ teachings had always been to grin and bear. Grin and bear, grin and bear. That’s all she ever learned from them. Maria sought a job and kept it hidden from her family. Although, she realised as an adult that they must have known. They only pretended not to. If they had made her quit, they knew they would all starve.

“Finding work turned out to be easier than you might expect. This fear of being a burden extended to the soldiers as well. No war to fight made them freeloaders. Maria was hired as a server in a pub for such soldiers. She felt that these men might’ve been trying to feel better about themselves, paying her ten intars—or about two pennies—as she sang their anthems and hymns and served them beverages she wouldn’t be allowed to drink for over a decade. It’s a twisted story, to be honest, but Maria saw this as love. Life went on and these soldiers never found anything better to do than spend their evenings listening to her melodies. At least, not for another few years.

“Now, in ’70, there was a famine in Keradonia—one of the few countries they trade with. Gyseia’s resources were depleted to nearly nothing. Factories were shut, pubs were closed and nothing remained of the markets. Maria’s father, along with almost a dozen other men, attempted to rob one of the nation’s food reserves. Saved only for the highest-ranking military officers in the country, while everyone else had to wait their turn for the rations to arrive. A few weeks of delays and, the men couldn’t wait. They couldn’t watch their families a little thinner every day. Maria’s father couldn’t watch that.

“Joseph Vegh was one of the victims of the Nevsky massacre. The men didn’t make it anywhere near the reserves when the enforcers shot them all down.”

Jeremy looked at Ryan once more. He kept losing focus, kept frowning... Worse was how he rolled his eyes every so often, and he did so in such an obvious way. Was he not convinced of the tragedy? The cameraman decided to take him out of the frame. He aimed the equipment towards the stage, where a much larger portrait of Maria stared back at the lens. An awkward smile so perfect for the story. For the protagonist of it. Nothing was more emblematic of Maria through such a tale. Grin and bear.

He traced Ryan’s distraction to his right, where a woman stood close to him, her attention not the least bit towards Jeremy as he gestured for her to leave. Once she spotted the cameraman, she waved at him instead of leaving. A familiar face... An unforgettable one. Jeremy rolled his eyes.

“Her... her mother passed away soon after,” Ryan continued. “She was never sure why, but Maria thought it to be complications due to... Well, Maria was short and thin. She could survive long with less food, and she did. Her mother always assured her that she had already eaten and only watch as her daughter gobbled down whatever they had left.

“After that, Maria reached—what she would describe as—the worst year of her life. There was no one taking care of her. No foster care, no government aid, no job... She was waiting for her turn, finding places on the streets of Gyseia where she could cry her heart out. Where she didn’t have to grin and bear. Where she could fall asleep gently instead of screaming. There were times she couldn’t. She would think about how she would be spending her last moments crying, which made her cry even more.

“But... for our sake, the story didn’t end so. She was saved. Pure fate. A convoy passed her by on the street. Not while she was crying, but when she started humming a song for no reason. One of the drivers stopped. He knew that voice. He knew the girl who sang at his pub for seven years. They were all there, preparing to be deployed elsewhere. Somewhere with food, where they would shoot down more thieves like Joseph. These soldiers helped smuggle her out of that country in one of the trucks. From there... Her life changed. The Dissidents found her singing at another pub, she became an icon, fell in love... Above all, she enjoyed something akin to a childhood these last few years. They were filled with wonder and curiosity. Our nation has problems—many problems. I’ll never call us perfect. But... we will always be Maria’s new home. We will be the country that gives Gyseian refugees a chance at the life they missed. We’re a country of joy and passion and romance and...

Jeremy spun his finger, asking for Ryan to start wrapping up. The reporter looked at the distraction one last time before the camera was aimed at him once again.

“I know a lot of you are curious regarding the events that took place in her final hours, but we here at ANTV have decided not to share them tonight. You may seek them out in our paper tomorrow morning, but Detective De Luca urges everyone not to draw any conclusions yet. This is a complicated matter, with many social and political factors at play. Our most appropriate course of action is to be sensitive to her friends and family. Join us in the mourning if you want to. But please—to anyone who has been following Ms Martin around, or writing threatening notes to her address, please stop. AN Daily won’t accept any hateful and intolerant letters to the editor either. Let’s go to Stanley for interviews with the attendees of yesterday’s concert. Stanley?”

After a brief pause, Jeremy gave his thumbs-up. The recording was finished and soon to be aired. Ryan exhaled. Jeremy continued to glare through his lens for another few moments. “What’s she doing here?” he asked Ryan, who could only shrug.

“Nice seeing you too, Jer.”

Jeremy pulled his head out and started to disassemble the equipment. Ryan turned back towards her. The distraction. Before him was a familiar face, masked under the neon lights emerging from the stage behind him. Blue, green, pink, purple... It was at its most recognisable under the devil’s red hue. That judgemental smirk he only ever saw at the most inappropriate moments. That upwards-tilt on her head so she could look down on everyone...

“Nice show,” Catherine said with a nod, her tone almost too familiar for his taste. “Although, a little disappointing, that ending. You need a sign-off. I’m Ryan Wallace, the baby-faced moral-police of Vallago!”

Ryan paid her no heed, not until her self-conceited chuckle faded away. She was almost too proud of that one, as if she had planned it for days. Instead of reacting, he went over to Jeremy and started helping him wrap the sound system.

“Jeremy, I need Ryan.” With force, Catherine tugged on the reporter’s collar and pulled him away from the cameraman. “Load your own stuff for once, that’s your job.”

“Don’t listen to her. No wait, Jere—” The camera operator had pulled away Ryan’s mike and started to wrap it more aggressively. With a reluctant stride, the reporter followed Catherine to where she was pulling him. “Never do that again.”

“Do what?” she asked with an innocent pout. “Oh, you mean Jer—Don’t worry about him, he knows I’m joking, don’t you, buddy?!” No response. “He knows. Enough about him. Ryan... I need a favour.”

“I know your catchphrase, Catherine. I’m busy.”

“I wouldn’t have come to this place if this wasn’t important. Are you ready for this?” She waited for him to hold his breath. He didn’t. “I’m taking over Maria’s case.”

Ryan looked up. “No, you’re not.”

“I am, and I need your help getting it from De Luca.”

“That’s a conflict of interest. No one would give it to Suzie’s...” He held his tongue. Catherine only watched with a frown as he tried to find a term for their relationship. “You’re still her friend. That’s more than enough to disqualify you. Why do you even need this case?”

She couldn’t answer. Ryan took notice. If Catherine is ever speechless, it meant something was wrong, and her regretful expression said as much. She tried intermittently to look up at him, but couldn’t.

“Is this about that dinner?” Still nothing from her, just a gaze averted even further. “Suzie can’t stay angry forever. Not now, at least. She would need you more than ever.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, slowly looking up at Maria’s photo, trying to narrow her eyes into a sombre gaze, but could only stare vengefully. “She sees me, she’d react how you just did. Probably worse.”

“No, she won’t—” Ryan shrugged his lips. “She’ll throw a few well-deserved jabs at you. Take them. You’ll be friends again before the sun rises. Interfering with this case so you could somehow get redeemed... That certainly won’t work. For God’s sake, it might make things worse. You might find something she doesn’t want to hear. Then, you become the messenger.”

As another loud burst of silence followed, Ryan looked down. Catherine was rubbing her feet against the sand, almost like a toddler would when made to give a difficult answer. A parental voice always echoed in his head when she behaved so, acting as a second stream of consciousness she seemed to lack. Did you make your friend cry, Cathy? Caaaaaaathy, look at me. You know you have to apologise.

“Stop doing that!” she yelled at Ryan, who didn’t realise he was staring at her face. It was a paler visage than usual. She hated whenever anyone looked so keenly at her, so he faced away. “I have to do this. All I can do for her. I can’t hear her wail all day, I can’t listen to her talk about Maria for hours. That’s not me. Why are you against this, Ryan? For once, I can help that woman. Help her in a way Maria certainly can’t.” Ryan turned a sharp look back at her, but she had looked away before he could.

“Take that back,” he commanded in a whispered voice.

Catherine shook her head. Caaaaaaathy, take that back. “That’s not what I meant, I—Look, I can’t deal with you, right now.” She grabbed her forehead and sighed, rubbing her hand on her face as if pulling her skin off. “I’m meeting De Luca tomorrow, no matter what. If you don’t want to help, don’t, but stop making such a scene. And... if you find Suzie, don’t tell her I’m doing this, okay? Just... thought you might like to know.”

Catherine walked away, waving insincerely as Jeremy crossed her path after loading all the equipment. He snubbed her once again. “The tape is ruined, thanks to her. Can’t have you roll your eyes at this story. Coming out here just to make things worse and—Who does she even think she is?” he asked Ryan.

Ryan looked at her as she paced away, trying to navigate through the darkness. That was Catherine. That was the embodiment of a language only a select few knew how to read, and Ryan was one of the few cursed with that literacy. That was a woman who never did anything unless she thought about it for much longer than was needed. Even in the simplest of her actions, there was meaning... Ryan looked where he was standing earlier. Then, where Catherine took him to talk. The veil of darkness. She wanted to bring him away from the stage so she could talk unseen. Her face was a pale shade, her hair was tied behind her, and her clothes were more casual than she preferred... It hit him.

Catherine had been in her office on her day off. Ryan pictured her stopping her colleagues—people she hated—to talk to them—an action she hated—and ask about anything, anything they might have known about what happened. Asking about Suzie, where she was, how De Luca was treating her... He pictured her staring at the phone for hours, trying (and failing) to build up the courage to call Suzie. He pictured her giving up, digging up the reporter’s schedule and driving upstate to that barren field, practising in her car. She would ask him for help without—as she often thought—humiliating herself. He pictured her setting up her torch in her car so she could apply some of the foundation she had tucked in her glovebox. He pictured her selecting the wrong colour in her semi-lucid state and finding beforehand where Ryan would end up, and plotting a conspicuous way to pull him in the dark. Think, think, think. That’s all she ever made him do.

“I’m sorry, Jeremy.” Ryan put his hand on his shoulder. “You’ll have to drive back yourself. I have to do something very... very stupid.”

He ran off towards the parking area, leaving Jeremy annoyed and upset rather than surprised. Not again...