The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Imane and I undertake to lift Ho-Jin out of bed, to place him on a chair in the hall, where Karen and Mohamed are waiting for us. My sister is not in the capacity of such an effort, yet she insists on helping me when she came near the edge of the bed. Every step is torture for her leg, as the grimaces on her face show. She did not seem to notice it, though, and apologizes to our brother that the transport must be so unpleasant to him. A very gentle expression, the one she usually wears, like a sham behind the resentment which I discovered in her, spreads over her face when she looks at him. The horror, however, stealthily reappears, causing her to frown, when in a shaky gesture, Ho-Jin attempts to raise his arm. It is like we have to prove to ourselves something so obvious. If we could not see him for who he truly is, love him in these moments, we would never be able to. If we could not swear that we loved him in these precise instants, everything that would have happened thus far would have been all lies.

There are now in the hall, three other people, framing the figure of Shin in the corner, opposite where my father and Karen are waiting for us. The small group seems to be plotting, arguing viciously for orders in Korean. Finally, the man who appears to look the oldest, and the woman approach us. They point to Ho-Jin.

"No, we are going to carry him," Imane persists.

"It's not going to work if you question my decisions," Shin intervenes.

"Imane, leave them, I say in turn."

I want to join her side to help her, but she quickly limps towards Karen. Shin takes the direction of the small pharmacy, which is immediately on the right, from the corridor. Behind the old chest of drawers whose shelves contain the last bandages, dressings, and Fentanyl tablets of the month, there is the sealed door through which the supplies are made.

"They must surely be waiting for us on the other side, Shin. The existence of this passage is well established among the slaves."

My comment is ignored as the other man clears the cupboard. Shin slides a small key into the lock, largely hidden by the second piece of furniture. The space is so small, barely noticeable from the angle where I am standing. I personally know about this path from the status which my father once had. Mohamed, on the very day of his institution as Mayor, requested help from Karen, Ho-Jin, Imane, and me to transport the medical equipment that the government allocates monthly to the various slave communities. Livestock must be kept healthy, except for COVID-19. Otherwise, there would be no cattle in the first place. It is also because of this objective that some caregivers, like Kyle, have been trained in basic maneuvers, supervised by Caregiver Troy.

The door slides slowly. Shin lets the man and woman carrying Ho-Jin get into it first. I hear a little growl.

"Please be careful," I huff, walking after them.

Shin exchanges a few words with the man, then lingers for a few seconds, as the sound of their footsteps seems to fade away. I panic.

"What are you playing at?" I yell.

"Kanoa, calm down," Mohamed shouts.

"Listen to your old man," Shin says.

Pushing me aside, he crosses the door in his turn and signals us to follow him. To my surprise, instead of taking the narrow path to the left that leads to the underground car park, we walk straight ahead. This exit must have been dug recently; Mohamed himself does not hide his astonishment.

"I beg you, don't ask questions," Shin says, his teeth clenched, just ahead of me.

For a few meters, I manage to remain silent, then no longer holding it, I try again.

"Is that what took Ho-Jin's time all these Sundays? So he wasn't ironic when he said that he was "digging his grave"..."

I only have the echo of the creaking wheels of my father's old chair for an answer. We squeeze through the cramped space, several times failing to slide across the uneven ground.