The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Over the phone, Ho-Jin tells me exactly where he is so I can reach him without being bothered by the police walking through the park. The Form of Mistress Salvi seems to laugh at our paranoia, delighting in those culprits' details and attention.

Under the foliage of a low tree, Ho-Jin intently watches a group of tourists who are taking selfies near the 107th Infantry Memorial. Most of the segregationist countries share with us the same tattoo system, and it has therefore become a primary issue to ensure the safety of visitors from non-enslaving nations. Those same countries have therefore agreed on a common tattoo, yellow ink, ephemeral, issued with the visa to access the territories subject to segregation. Once again, slavery appears to be a curiosity and a distraction that pays big.

Ho-Jin is so concentrated that he does not notice immediately that I am standing at his side, and I have time to study him. His eyes are hemmed in, and the friendly little smile that he always has is replaced with a tense grimace. He had scratches on his cheeks, and on his arms, deeper cuts.

"How did you get those Ho-Jin?"

He gets up precipitately and takes me in his arms. I hold onto his embrace with all my might, forgetting the question that I have just asked him.

"I am glad to see you, namdongsaeng."

He looks tired; even his voice changed.

"Ho-Jin, is your Weekmistress or your Weekmaster inflicting this on you?" I say, grabbing his hand. He avoids my eyes, hesitates on his words.

"I struggled to deal with my anxiety at first, but it is better now."

When I met Ho-Jin, Mohamed told me that he was the most incredible boy in the world, the best brother and friend that I could ever dream of, but that I had the responsibility to take care of him. Because if I did not, he would suffer a lot. It was like just that, so lightly, that he told me about his self-harm issues and the signs which I should report to him if he were to injure himself. That day, Ho-Jin was wearing the same marks on his wrists, and just like that day, I hug him again, solicitous about my arms sheltering him from himself. How silly...

"I... I am sorry... for getting you... I regret so much that I got you into all this."

"You did not force me; it was of my own free will that I followed Rachel and obeyed Isaac. You cannot be responsible for both of us. You actually have to stop doing this... We shared the same dreams, the same disillusionment with the enfranchisement. I was also sick of waiting. Whether it was with you, the Grinbergs, or someone else, I would have ended up trying my luck on a boat."

He no longer looks at me and nervously presses on one of his scars.

"Even if I will never be at peace with what we have done, I do not believe that any Master or any Mistress deserves that you die for him or her, brother. Like they say themselves, not all lives are equal. In your case, simple math cannot honor your presence: a life for a life; it cannot work."

Ho-Jin has a small smile, mirthless, in reaction to this reversed caricature, this bad impersonation of a supremacist whom we once encountered, coming back for Sunday School, on our way to Freetown.

I assume that with my provocative formulation, with my choice being spoken out loud, the Form of Mistress Salvi will appear, perhaps, to take me away. But she is not here.

"You too, Kanoa."

His hands fall back into his pockets, and at this moment, I think that I am sure of making the right decision.

"You need to talk to the Grinbergs now. Arrange with Mr. Salvi to leave before he understands and warns the police."

"I will do it."