Journey of a Girl

Polite Society: Chapter Three

The cart had stopped at a clearing in the woods.

The prisoners were marched towards four plain houses, little bigger than huts, and Credence realized that her line was not the only one there. She counted three others, at least twenty people long, and the rattling of their chains filled the night with a mournful rhythm. 

Credence wondered if this was the towns, as she remembered hearing one of the men mention its name.

When they reached the houses, the lines were positioned into four rows, one behind another, and a man built like a mountain walked down each one, inspecting the prisoners.

After swift scrutiny he gave every person in line a number, calling out one, two, three, or four before moving on. Behind him scrambled a smaller man who was juggling four paint pots and a brush. Once a number had been called, the smaller man swept a stripe of color across each prisoner's chest, with the same indifference as the caller before him.

Credence's row was last, so she had the opportunity to watch and notice a pattern.

Ones were men and women with white hair and haggard features, the elders of the lines, and their clothing was painted with an orange stripe.

Twos were men only, near Pa's age, and they were painted with a blue stripe.

Threes were a blend of children and youths, boys and girls, and were painted with red.

Lastly, there were fours, the rarest number given, who were given a black stripe. This grouping puzzled Credence, for they had no discernible similarities, and contained children, adults, and the elderly, male and female.

The most distinguishing thing about a black stripe was the agitation it caused the person receiving it. A few prisoners begged against it when they were given the color, and fell to their knees and wailed, but they were quickly and violently silenced, and in little time no one spoke if they got the black stripe.

But oh, how they trembled and whimpered!

Credence could instantly recognize who had received the number four by the way their shoulders hunched and shook.

"What's happening," Credence dared to whisper to Wonda, who had remained silent since the incident at the cart. Wonda didn't answer, still sulking, so Credence waited in dread, praying she would not receive the designation of four.

At last, the huge man came to her row, grunting numbers while the smaller man painted. Credence didn't dare turn to look at her cart mates, fearing a retaliation similar to Wonda's treatment. It was only now that Credence noticed a third step in the process: After each person received their number and color, a third man, armed with two knives that swung from his sides, followed with a bucket. It was stained and full of holes and chipped edges. After the caller and painter moved on, the armed man stopped in front of each prisoner and withdrew a small chunk of bread from the bucket, which was greedily accepted and devoured by its receiver. A few even thanked the man who had given them bread.

The only ones who weren't offered something to eat were the black-striped fours.

It was Credence's turn, and the caller looked her over without a hint of interest, instantly designating, "Three," and moving on. The small man, likewise uninterested, had his paintbrush ready even before Credence was given her number, and swept a long stripe of red up her torso. Credence was still shaking from the shock of it and barely noticed the third man holding a piece of bread towards her. She eyed the portion, noting the strong smell of old dust rising from it. Spread throughout it were patches of blue and green mold.