The Anchors of Aydreon

Chapter 2 The Life of a Nemo
Right now I’m having amnesia and déjà vu at the same time- Steven Wright

He opened his eyes. It hurt to move his head so he just lay there looking at the ceiling. He could hear mumbling nearby. He had no idea where he was and the white panels above him offered no clue. Maybe, if he concentrated very hard, he could make the sounds become words and figure out where he was. He closed his eyes again. Somehow that made it easier to hear.
“The whole top of the cliff just fell! It was terrible,” one voice was saying. “The path will be closed for weeks!”
“And you say they found him at the bottom of it all?” a second hushed voice asked.
“Yes, buried beneath everything. Just his foot was hanging out. The shoe was so dirty and dusty they almost didn’t see it. Can you believe it? He was carrying a G.L.O.B.E.”
“Nothing else? How will we know his name?”
“It’s so badly damaged we can’t even tell from which village.”
“Another nemo,” sighed the voice. “We have too many of them as it is.” The voice trailed away.
The words sent a thrill of horror through him. “No! Not a nemo!” a voice in his head screamed. “I’m somebody. I just can’t remember!” Even though he was unaware of his circumstances, he knew that a nemo was not a good thing to be. Panic filled him.
“Maybe they are talking about someone else.” Cautiously, he opened his eyes. Everything was white. The walls blinded him with their whiteness. White and blank, like his mind.
Without turning his head, he looked to each side. There were small metal-framed beds on either side. They were empty. Empty like his memory. No one was there; even the two voices had left. This was bad. He wanted to see some poor boy lying battered in a bed. He did not want to be the nemo the voices had talked about.
The glow balls in the corner emitted a softened light. Must be night-time. There! He’d remembered that lights are lowered at night. It was a start. What else could he remember? He raised his head painfully. Ouch! That hurt. He gave a wary look around. The sharp smell of antiseptic tingled in his nose. A healing house. He must be in a house of healing. It gave him an uneasy feeling. What was he doing here? Could he really be the person who had been buried in the avalanche? The evidence was beginning to pile up, much like the rocks must have piled up over him. No, not him, the other boy, the nemo.
Slowly he moved his arms. One was wrapped up in white gauze. He put his hand to his head to feel a thick bandage covering his scalp. He bent his chin to look down. Under the blanket he could see two lumps. They moved when he waggled his feet. This was good, he recognized his own feet.
What else was good? Mostly his mind just keeping ringing with pain; he hurt everywhere. And that most definitely wasn’t good. He sighed and dropped his head back on the pillow. It felt soft. It was too hard to remember anything right now. Better to lay on the soft pillow and not think yet. And he knew, deep down, he was not the nemo they were talking about. He would figure out who he was. It would come back to him. He just needed rest.
Days later, the healers had mended all his wounds. And there had been a lot of them! Broken bones, contusions, a deep, four-inch scrape down his shin, and a very shiny black eye, now still a little red and purple. For a while there had been more bandage than skin on his body. The healers had been thorough but detached. Their competent, cold hands had dressed his wounds and changed his bandages in a succession of diminishing cloths. Impressive magitechnology had been used on him. Good-smelling, (and some bad-smelling), herbs smeared on him at intervals; sometimes covered and other times their strange textures open to view. He had submitted to all of it, in the hopes that it would make him better.
And the machines! Oh the intimidating machines that beeped, whirred, chugged and glowed different colors. No one explained their purpose, but they were wheeled in and out on a regular basis. He couldn’t tell if they were doing him any good, but they helped to break up the monotony.
There had even been a visit from a magidoctor, trained in the new ways. He had poked and prodded, held his hands over his chest and muttered in a low, rhythmic tone, but left without comment. When most of the bandages had been removed and he no longer smelled like an herb-garden, a special nurse-healer had performed the final procedure. His head had been scanned with a yellow glowing wand. The nurse-healer had looked anxiously at a panel, then at him, then at the panel, pursed his lips, flipped switches, punched buttons and even smacked the top of it with his hand. And wanded him again. But to no avail. His memory didn’t return. And no one had come to visit.
The nurse-healer assigned to him came to his bedside one day later. Her nurse’s cap as always, perfectly level and her crisp uniform as blindingly white as the walls. She never smiled, or told him her name. A name, that was real the trouble. He didn’t know anyone’s name. Not even his own.
“I know it’s hard, but…” she was saying, in a slightly nasal tone. The same tone she used when bringing his food, “I know this is a little cold but…” Or when she changed his bandage, “I know this is going to sting but…” Or when he had rung to be helped to the bathroom, “I know I’m late but…” She seemed to know so much about everything. Except the one thing he really needed to know.
She was saying, “I know this is hard, but no one has come forward to claim you, and nothing more was found at the cliff where you were buried. You are healed sufficiently. It is time for you to go. What else can we do?” she asked reasonably.
Apparently nothing and Nemo was given new clothes (his old ones were unwearable), and told to change into the long tunic and leggings that manual laborers customarily wore. Then he was assigned to the Fairview Halfway House; a place where orphans lived. A place where society put people it wanted to make invisible, like him.
The Fairview was run by the Council and overseen by the Presbyter. Their attitude was that all who were capable should contribute to the city’s welfare. Therefore they provided for basic needs, in return they expected service. In charge was Sergio Jan Seirzant; a fair man who tried not to get too involved. It was his task to find everyone jobs. Children could stay in the halfway house until they were grown. Then it was up to them. There were not many options for a nemo. People without names were not well received in Validian society. Few people were willing to hire or rent to a nemo and so they were often forced to live on the streets.
The Fairview was clean but small, and the amount of privacy enjoyed by the residents, even smaller. On the first day, Jan Seirzant had carefully scrutinized Nemo. He had taken in his light brown hair which was growing back thick but uneven in places and yellowish bruises. “Well, you seem kind of scrawny, even for a nemo” had been his comment.
Silently, Nemo thought, “I am not a nemo.” Out loud he said, “I was injured in an avalanche.”
“I’ve heard all about that,” he said dismissively. “Now then, I have a good job for you as a delivery boy. It will get you out and about and will help you pay off your debt to the city.” As he spoke he stroked the small pencil-like moustache that graced his upper lip with a finger. As if that would help him brush the words out. “You owe a lot, you know. What with the hospital care and now your upkeep here.” More brushing. “Yes, quite a lot. Well then, you will also have some jobs here at the house, keeping it clean and in good working order. Any destructiveness and you’re out. Remember, living here is at the pleasure of the Presbyter. We don’t have to keep you. It’s because the Council is so good that they built this place.” He smiled showing small, white teeth. Nemo realized Jan Seirzant was waiting for him to express his gratitude. When Nemo said nothing, he continued. “Most cities would just throw you out in the street, you know. But in Medford, we are a little more…” further moustache combing, “… sophisticated. You wouldn’t last two days in the streets having to fend for yourself.”
Still Nemo said nothing. How could anyone know what he could do? Before this, maybe he had lived successfully on the streets. It was so frustrating not to know what he knew, or even what he didn’t know.
Growing impatient at his silence Jan Seirzant snapped, “You just behave yourself and help out, and you can stay.”
“Will I have some free time to try and find out who I really am?” Nemo had asked as politely as possible. Jan Seirzant ran his hand over his luxuriant golden-brown hair, his pride and joy. He kept it constantly brushed so that it sometimes almost seemed to shine. He sighed at Nemo. In his experience every nemo thought he was a lost child; waiting for parents to come and claim them. It never happened. He gave an impatient wave of his small hand and narrowed his eyes.
“The Presbyter believes in hard work. If you have free time, you’re doing something wrong. Come to me and I will give you more work,” was his curt reply. He eyed Nemo with disfavor. “As soon as you accept that this is the best it’s going to get, the better!” he said tartly.
Work was all Jan Seirzant gave the people in his halfway house. “Our Presbyter is not a selfish man,” he had explained, “He doesn’t believe in amassing possessions. We will follow his example. Therefore, you don’t have possessions. Everything in this house belongs to this house. You may borrow what you need to complete your work. But remember, you don’t own anything. Everything must be returned, and in good condition. We are all equal here at Fairview.”
Nemo soon learned that this was not strictly true. There were five older children in the halfway house that moved around in a pack. Their burly leader had great ham fists and bright red curly hair that he wore longer than was fashionable in Validian. His face was so stiff, Nemo believed he had couldn’t change expression if he wanted to. He sat down first at meals and got his choice of food and also got his first pick of anything that was donated to the halfway house. He made Nemo wish he really was invisible. He and his gang had been assigned to cleaning up the rubble from the earthquakes, and they came home every day covered in dirt and dust.
One day a package arrived filled with sweaters and jackets. Nemo was told to unpack them and hang them up. One in particular had caught his eye. It was thick blue with padding and looked almost new. He held it up to the light and noticed that it made his hands feel strange, tingly-like. It had a nice smell, like freshly mown grass and as he brought it closer to his face he thought he heard very faint laughter. A child playing perhaps, without a care in the world. He was just putting an arm in to try it on when the leader and his cohorts noticed him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled. “Gimme that!”
Nemo was too scared to speak. He held the jacket out to him, hoping things would calm down. But the leader gave a jerk of his head and one of the other followers got up behind Nemo and twisted his arm behind his back. The jacket slid to the floor. The leader pushed his face right into Nemo’s. “I am the house,” he whispered in a dreadful tone, “Everything belongs to me. Don’t ever forget it.” The other nemo gave his arm another painful twist and pushed him to the ground. As he swept away, the leader took the jacket with him. After that Nemo always called him “House” in his mind.
Delivery boys had to wear a special uniform. Jan Seirzant gave him two bright, blue tunics to wear over tan leggings; one to wear and one to wash. Every morning, Nemo would dress and begin a series of errands. The faster Nemo finished them, the more time he could steal for himself. It was best to spend as much time as possible away from the house. Now that he had regained his strength, he enjoyed being sent out into the city. He had a quick and observant mind and the strays of the city showed him all the shortcuts leaving him time to carry out his own plans.
Though he had scoured all the neighborhoods nearby, nothing looked familiar to him. His memory did not return. He searched down alleys and into the faces of strangers, always hoping that he would recognize something, or someone or that they would recognize him.
One day his deliveries took him to the Cathedral. It was an imposing building with colorful, stained glass pictures. They depicted the stories of past Prevosts and their contributions to the city of Medford and the country of Validian. Nemo stared at the images, trying to read the stories that they told. In the windows, the Prevosts were all great leaders of the people, overcoming terrible hardships and bringing bounty to the people of Validian. One of the windows had been broken in the earthquake. Colored bits of glass adhered to the window frame and the rest was covered by a thin piece of wood. “That’s like me,” he said to himself. “Blank, but soon to be repaired.”
He parked the bike and entered the stone archway at the entrance of the Cathedral. The wooden doors were secured shut by a massive wooden beam and guarded by a very tall man in a leather jerkin with thick, untidy black hair. He was carrying a sharp battle axe and looked as if he were just about to walk away.
“What’s your business here?” he asked, not unkindly.
“Delivery for the Prevost,” answered Nemo, looking at the man curiously. Normally the Cathedral guards wore bright purple and yellow uniforms and he had never recalled them carrying an axe. They usually had long, thin spears.
After giving him a hard look he replied, “Wait here,” and walked through a side door. While waiting Nemo tried to gather his courage. He was going to use the delivery of this squashy package as a way to talk to the Prevost. He had overheard that the current Prevost was a wise and kindly man. He was also the keeper of the G.L.O.B.E.s until the election. Nemo was going to ask the Prevost if the G.L.O.B.E that had been found with him had been repaired. Or if someone had sent word from a village about a missing boy. Or if the Prevost recognized him as the son of an important person who had been frantically looking for him all this time. Or maybe, maybe the Prevost would just want to help him. It had taken Nemo a long time to work up the courage for this, and now that he had an excuse to be here, he was not going to lose this opportunity.
A moment later the dark-haired man returned. “Hand me the package,” he said, “And I will deliver it to the Prevost.” Nemo could see that he had bright blue eyes with wrinkles radiating out from the corners. Almost nice. Nemo found his black beard and moustache intimidating though, because he couldn’t see his mouth to tell if he were smiling.
Encouraged by the eyes he said, “I was hoping for a moment of the Prevost’s time.” The guard took a closer look at him. He saw before him a small boy with light brown hair whose almond-shaped eyes were filled with fear.
“Who are you again? I didn’t get your name.” Nemo knew he was defeated. Without a name there was no way the man would let him in to see the Prevost.
“I was told I must deliver the package in person,” Nemo said with false bravado. But it was too late. He hadn’t said that at first and now the man was suspicious.
“Better to hand me the package and be on your way,” the man said, again not unkindly, his twinkling eyes gaining ground over the daunting beard. Nemo handed over the squashy package and got on the bike to ride away. He looked behind him in the mirror and could see the man was watching him, his bushy eyebrows twisted into a puzzled look.
“What?” thought Nemo, “Does he recognize me?” He almost went back to ask but at that moment the beard prevailed and his courage dwindled.
That night after dinner, Nemo sat late at the dining room table. He had been left to clean up by “House” and his gang. Nemo’s only friend, an older boy sat with him. Jochim’s life had been normal when he was younger, but his parents had been killed in an accident. He had no other family to take him in and his last name had been taken from him. Now he lived at the Fairview. At least he had memories, though, and knew what it was like to have a family.
Jochim had a modicum of standing at the Fairview. His strong, steady hands and his skill at repairing magitechnology were always in demand by the people in the neighborhood. Jan Seirzant enjoyed the reputation that his halfway house was earning due to Jochim’s abilities.
“Did you get to see the Prevost?” he asked, once the dinner dishes had been cleared; his brown eyes frank and inquiring.
“No,’ replied Nemo ruffling up his short, brown hair. “It didn’t turn out the way I thought it would. I need to come up with a way that I can look at the image in the G.L.O.B.E. It might help me remember who I am and get me out of here!”
“Well there’s still Voting Day,” he said, in his soft-spoken voice. “All the G.L.O.B.E.s will be on display then and all the Presbyters will come. Someone will be standing by yours.” He stood up and yawned. “And its open to the public. Even a nemo will be allowed inside. You just have to wait.” He stretched, reaching his arms up almost to the ceiling.
“I know,” said Nemo, “But that’s still almost a week away.” Nemo laid his chin on his crossed hands.
“I heard they might even postpone the election,” said Jochim leaning on the table and giving Nemo’s arm a pat. “Due to the earthquakes that are happening.”
Nemo sighed and put his head down into his arms, “That would be just my luck! My village Presbyter won’t come and I’ll never find out who I am!”
“Don’t worry,” Jochim had said. “Eventually it will all get sorted out. It always does.”
“How do you stay so positive?” Nemo asked.
Jochim shrugged his broad shoulders, “It’s just the way of things. Sometimes everything is going your way, and then sometimes you have to struggle. But even in the hard times, it’s good to have friends, right?”
Nemo smiled at him, admiring his ginger colored sideburns and rugged good looks. Even “House” left him alone. He knew that Jochim had gone through some difficult times losing his parents, but he did have some good memories. “Show me again,” Nemo asked.
Jochim smiled, “I don’t know why you like looking at this so much,” but he good-humoredly pulled out the shiny metal coin.
Nemo shrugged, “I don’t know, it makes me feel good. It has happy memories in it.” He turned the smooth metal over in his hand, playing with it between his fingers. In his mind he could hear voices, voices but not words. They were loving, almost tender. The weight of the coin was comforting, as if it anchored him; made him feel like he belonged. Reluctantly he handed it back to Jochim, who looked at it anew.
“I hardly think of them anymore,” he said. He gave Nemo a thin-lipped smile and patted his shoulder again. “I guess I’ll go to bed, now.”
Nemo nodded, “See you tomorrow.”