I heard the siren and immediately reacted by hurrying home. There was no point in hiding; the enemy’s weapons were so sophisticated that they went through every sort of metal or other matter and killed without a trace. It had been war as long as I remembered, and in the sixteen years since my birth both my father and my brother had been killed. The funny thing about these weapons is that they are not weapons of mass destruction. Instead they killed only one person at a time. We had it explained to us in science class: the bombs people used to make were inefficient and caused too many innocent victims. Scientists had found a way to create a bomb that pinpointed itself on an exact location, and released lethal waves that would only kill whoever it was programmed for. One day it was programmed to kill a little boy under 3: my little brother David.

How my mother had wept, first my father, then David. Now she only had me left, because the bombs rarely killed girls, but I still hurried on home. Because the unthinkable could happen. Sure enough: my mother was standing at the door waiting for me. She hugged me and hurried me inside. We turned on the TV –all appliances still worked, roads were accessible; the only way you could tell it was war were the dead- and watched the news. Nothing important was mentioned, only a list of casualties. Thankfully, we knew no one on the list. My mom switched the TV off and began to make dinner, while I went off to do my homework. Soon enough, delicious aromas were wafting through the house, but I hadn’t written one word of my essay. My teacher had assigned us a paper with the ongoing war as subject, which I found it very hard to write about. Of course I knew why we were at war: the European Council had invaded our country to get rid of a so-called dictator. A noble intention, except that the dictator hadn’t really been a dictator; the Europeans had needed a cause to justify the war, so they invented this. The ‘dictator’ was in fact like a father to us, we actually called him Father Rab. Everyone loved Father Rab; the few that didn’t were taken to the palace and shown the way of the president until they could see that Father Rab was a good man. Anyway, the Europeans were after our diamond mines, which were quite lucrative.

Sighing, I started to write all this down when my mother called me to dinner. I gladly flung down my pencil and rushed to the table. Over dinner, I questioned my mother about the cause of the war. She seemed a little effusive, I noted suprised, but she finally answered my questions.

“Jess, you cannot repeat this to anyone, do you hear me?”

I nodded my consent and she went on, “The way I remember it, Father Rab had weapons no country is allowed to have. The European Council asked him to dispose of them, which he refused. The Council then tried to force him with an ultimatum, which Father Rab ignored. Finally, they declared war and vowed not to rest until he was defeated.”

I was shocked. “That’s not what I was taught,” I exclaimed.

My mother nodded. “To say that the European Council wants our diamond mines is a lie to keep the people trusting Father Rab. Your teachers probably don’t even know the truth anymore, they’ve been holding a lie as truth so long.”

She suddenly turned strict. “If you repeat this conversation to anyone, I will be in a lot of trouble, do you understand?”

I didn’t really, but I nodded anyway. She then changed the subject, but my thoughts were still spinning. After dinner, I went to finish my homework and saw my essay lying on my desk. I decided to write it another time and tried to get my math homework done. But I couldn’t think about algebra at a time like this!

I turned off the light on my desk and opened my curtains to look at the world. The stars were shining brightly and everything seemed at peace, until I heard my mother.

“Jessica, come quick! Hurry!”

I ran to the hall and stopped dead in my tracks. There was a young man lying on the floor next to my mother, and he was bleeding profusely. There was already a great pool of blood next to his head. My mother motioned. “Get some towels and water!”

I went to the kitchen, methodically got the water and grabbed towels out of the linen closet. I gave them to my mother and watched helplessly while she tried to stop the bleeding. She couldn’t, so she told me to get Dr. Carstairs, not to say what it was about, only to say it was an emergency.

I ran as fast as I could to the other side of town, where I banged on Dr. Carstairs’ door. I kept banging until the doctor himself appeared.

“You have to come,” I said breathlessly, on the verge of tears, “it’s an emergency!”

The doctor had already put on his coat and let me lead him to our house.

When he saw the man lying on my mother’s lap, he wordlessly sank to his knees and began to examine him. He opened his black bag and stopped the bleeding. Then he looked up and said, “It’s pretty serious, but he’ll live.”

I tiptoed away and sat on the living room couch. I turned on the TV and muted the sound. The sitcom that was on was suddenly interrupted for an extra news bulletin.

I turned the sound back on and yelled for my mom. She came and recognized the man on the TV as the man in our hall. She shushed me and waited for the voice of the newscaster to come back on.

“This individual is armed and highly dangerous. Should you see him, call 555-0318. Remember, he is a soldier in the European army. To offer assistance to an enemy is a crime punishable with death.”

When the sitcom came back on, we turned the TV off and went to inform Dr. Carstairs of the victim’s identity.

“Well then, we’d better keep him out of their hands,” he said darkly. “Girls, we have to move him. Sarah, do you have a secluded bedroom? We need to place him on a bed and hide him.”

“My room!” I said without thinking. “I’ll sleep downstairs.”

Without another word, Dr. Carstairs and my mother made a makeshift stretcher and carried him upstairs. I set to cleaning the floor and removing all other traces of the soldier. Meanwhile, I was thinking. Although I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk my life for this…this enemy- for want of a better word- I did know I couldn’t give him up to the government, especially after the conversation during dinner. Dr. Carstairs saying ‘them’ so darkly made me wonder too. Had I been blind all these years and was Father Rab not the person I had imagined?

My mother came to wake me the next morning and tried to explain things to me.

“Jess, dr. Carstairs and I talked until late last night and we’ve decided the preferable thing to do would be to let the soldier stay here for the present, and take care of him. But, this will mean a lot of work, secrecy and danger. So you have to be okay with it. If you say no, we’ll find another place for him.”

I was wide awake by now and thinking very hard. I told my mom about my thoughts and we listed both the pro’s and the con’s if the soldier was to stay here. I told her about my doubts about Father Rab. “Mom, what happens to the people that are taken to the palace?”

She turned half away from me and was silent for a while. When she spoke again, her voice was grave. “Jess, I wish you didn’t have to know this. They’re taken to the palace and tortured until they’re so delirious with pain and hunger they’re very easy to brainwash. After this breaks them, they’re told lies, lies like the ones you were told at school.”

This was very hard for me to understand. For years, I had been told that Father Rab was good, kind and just, while the European Council was greedy and wrong. It seemed ridiculous, but yet…I remembered at least one warning sign that something was wrong. My English teacher had once made a remark about Father Rab and had been taken to the palace a few days later. Three quarters of the school year had passed before he returned again. When he did come back, he seemed kind of stiff and nursing his left arm. I realized now his pain must have come from torture, not a sport-related injury, as he claimed.

I was stunned, then I started to cry. Dr. Carstairs poked his head in the room and looked enquiringly at my mother.

“I told her about the torture,” she said.

When I heard her speak to someone else in the room, I looked up and quickly tried to dry my tears.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “When I first learned the truth, I cried as well.”

“Who told you?” I asked through my tears.

“My wife,” he stated.

“But I thought she was…”

“She is. She was caught talking about Father Rab and was sent to the palace. They didn’t succeed in breaking her, though. When she came back to me, she told me everything they had done to her. She had suffered so much pain…” he broke off.

“Why did they send her back if she hadn’t been brainwashed yet?”

“Ah, but they thought she was.” His voice had a triumphant sound to it now. “I was so proud of my wife when I heard how she had fooled them. She was a superb actress, my wife. She convinced them she loved Father Rab and they let her go.” He smiled, obviously enjoying the memory. But then the smile faded, “Somehow, they found out she hadn’t been treated properly and they came to take her back. She was executed a few days later. Her body was sent home with an excuse. Something in the line of: a soldier of the European Army had tried to assassinate Father Rab and my wife had saved him and had regrettably lost her own life in the process.” Dr. Carstairs fell quiet, lost in the recollection.

“Oh…what sad,” I said softly, “I didn’t know.”

My mother turned back to me. “Your father, Jess, almost suffered the same fate. Soldiers came to arrest him a few days after he was killed.”

“My dad?!” I sputtered. I let this sink in. “So the European Council was justified in declaring war on us? And Father Rab is in fact a dictator? He’s had people tortured and killed?” I looked at them with disbelieve plainly showing on my face. “I’m supposed to believe this?”

When I saw the hurt look on my mother’s face, I felt ashamed. “I’m sorry, mother, but it’s really hard for me to hear this and believe it. I’ve always been taught that Father Rab would take care of me, whatever happened. And now you come and tell me something that is so completely contradictory with what I’ve always been told.”

I then turned to dr. Carstairs, “Doctor, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that I don’t believe your story, because I do. No one would make that up about his own wife. But isn’t there some other explanation?”

I looked at them, pleading with my eyes. If what they said was true, my world was about to be turned upside down. I was beginning to believe their words although I wanted to deny them. It would mean so much difficulty and hardship and danger.

But on the other hand, didn’t we have the obligation to do something, since we had the possibility to save this man?

I voiced my concerns to my mother, who said, “I know honey, I know how you feel. I’d like to help this young man, but it’s up to you. Think about it and let me know, okay?”

With that, she left the room.

I lay in bed, thinking as hard as my brain would allow until I reached what I believed to be the only possible decision: we had to take him in.

I got out of bed and went to tell my mom. When I entered the room, she looked anxiously up at me from the couch and asked what my decision was.

“We have to save him,” I said.

I could tell she was happy with my decision, although she double-checked this was what I really wanted. “Are you sure? You know we could die ourselves if someone betrays us.”

“We have to do this, mom, for dr. Carstairs wife’s and Father’s sake.” I said grimly.

My mom stood up and hugged me, saying, “I’m glad I’ve got such a brave daughter. Your dad would have been proud of you as well.” We stood there for a while before my mom broke loose and said, “Let’s get to work.”

I wasn’t quite sure, but I thought I saw tears glistening on her cheeks.

The next few days passed in a blur. My bedroom was quickly converted into a sickroom. I moved my stuff to my mother’s bedroom, where I had slept the previous evening.

Dr. Carstairs had left detailed instructions about how to care for the wounded young man, as he could only visit sporadically to avoid suspicion. He also warned us not to use the phone to contact him; “it’s not safe”.

To explain me summoning him the other night, he had decided with my mother to say that she had fallen down the stairs. To make it seem real, he made a plaster cast for her arm. If anyone asked -as they surely would- she was to say she had broken it.

My mother found the cast irritating, but she knew how important it was to keep up appearances, so she played her part masterfully.

As for me, well, I was scared. I had made a choice, and didn’t know what the consequences would be. I felt strengthened by the belief that we were doing the right thing. But I still couldn’t help worrying about the future.

The doctor had said it could be many days before the young man would awaken, so we checked in on him every few hours. When it was my turn, I sat by his bed for a while. I wanted to look at the man we were risking our lives for. I noticed for the first time how young he actually was. He looked about eighteen, maybe twenty to me. Only a couple of years older than I am, I thought with a shock. Much too young to have been wounded in a war. I felt hatred - deeper than I ever had before - against this war. Usually my anger was directed at the European Council, but now I hated Father Rab with such intensity that I even scared myself.

Luckily, my mother came in at that moment and broke the spell. While we were talking above his bed, he stirred at opened his eyes. “Wh…” he murmured.

We fell silent.

“Where…”he tried again.

“You were wounded. We’ve been taking care of you,” my mother matter-of-factly said.

A line from an old book popped into my head: ‘although he walked and talked like a mortal being, understand him we could not, for he spoke gibberish’. Suddenly I was glad that English had become the universal language long ago.

I turned my attention back to the sickbed and found my mother telling our patient to lie still and rest. The doctor would be coming soon, she informed him.

The doctor did come, but not until it was dark, in the hope he wouldn’t be as noticeable. He examined the patient and grunted quite a few times. I had heard so many of his grunts this past week that I began to decipher them. These meant he wasn’t at all displeased at how the soldier was doing, I figured out.

“What’s your name, boy?” he barked.

“David, sir,” the soldier whispered.

I quickly looked at my mother. How would she react to that? But all was well; she was smiling and saying something. I leaned closer to her until I could make out what she was saying, “Another chance, another chance.”

I understood. She couldn’t save her little boy, my baby brother, but she could at least try and save this David. For my brother's sake.

The soldier recovered quickly, so that even dr. Carstairs was impressed. Before long, he told us his story.

“After high school I joined the army because I didn’t know what to do with my life. I had signed on for three years and had four months left to go when I got hurt.

We were sent out to Jama, the island south of the peninsula. They told us we were only there as a precaution, as most battles are won or lost without both sides actually seeing each other. But one of our spies told us that our bombs seemed to be missing their targets a lot lately, more than he could account for. Maybe you’ve noticed there haven’t been as many casualties as usual? Anyway, we were sent out to investigate, until one of the men stumbled and set of a dog barking. Most of us escaped the soldiers that came; some were killed. They hit me quite hard, but I managed to crawl away and hide, until I collapsed on your doorstep.”

“You’re lucky I heard something. I don’t think the government would have treated you half as friendly as we have,” my mother remarked.

David looked at her, quite seriously, “I do think I’m very lucky, but still I would like to know why you took me in. I mean, I’m the enemy! Besides that, your president would have you executed on the spot if someone was to find out.”

I spoke up to answer that, “I had just learned the truth, well, half the truth about Father Rab that evening that you were wounded. We called dr. Carstairs because we’re human. Enemy or no enemy, we couldn’t let you bleed to death on the doorstep! The next morning, my mom told me the rest about Father Rab, about torture and executions. I figured we had to do something to at least try and stop it. And I don’t think of you as the enemy. For one, you’re much too young!”

David laughed. He was looking much better already, I thought with satisfaction. I was glad he had landed on our doorstep. He somehow brought something into our house; my mom was happier than she had been in years. It wasn’t that this David resembled our David; it was something else. Maybe it was the satisfaction of knowing we were helping to hurt Father Rab’s regime. I still hated him, though not as intense. The idea of Father Rab as a dictator wasn’t as shocking anymore. I did find it hard in class not to let on I knew the truth whenever the teachers mentioned Father Rab. The first school day after I had learned the truth was especially hard: we saluted his portrait every morning, only this morning it hit me that I was saluting a man who had had hundreds of people executed and thousands of people tortured. But for David’s, my mom’s and my own safety, I did salute him, as I have done everyday since then.

Weeks passed, wherein David looked better every day. Keeping his presence a secret wasn’t as hard as we had imagined, since we didn’t have many visitors to begin with. Since my brother’s death, I rarely invited anyone over. Either my mother or I were always at home, so David could make some noise without raising suspicion. No, it wasn’t David’s presence that made us worry. It was the rumors.

Dr. Carstairs had come some days ago because one of his patients had let something slip. We were suprised to see him come up the walkway, but we welcomed him as always. He came straight to the point, “There are rumors something has happened to Father Rab.”

We began to talk excitedly, but he cut us off, “I don’t know much more than that. They say someone has finally succeeded in assassinating him.”

“Do we know who?” my mother asked.

“No. They say it was one of the Carmens, the new religious sect. But I don’t know this for sure.” After answering a few more of our questions he got up to check on the patient and then left the house.

When he was gone we sank back on the couch. My mind raced. Father Rab dead! The war would then be over. No more deaths, no more lies, everything could go back to normal. Except, I thought, that I didn’t know what normal was. It had been war all my life. I hoped normal was a society in which you could say all you wanted to say, could live without the fear that you’d come home and find a family member dead on the couch, and a life without a leader you had to fear. But what did I know?

Almost a week after we first heard the rumor, it was confirmed. Father Rab was indeed dead. The consequences of the confirmation were enormous. The entire land was in chaos; our beloved Father Rab was dead! The country went into mourning and school was suspended until things had calmed down.

Dr. Carstairs had foreseen some of this, and had written down an account of what his wife had told him. He now had this published and distributed them to everyone he could think of. Soon the land was spinning with a second shock: the shock of the truth.

One day soon after the confirmation, our neighbor, Mrs. Odell burst in our kitchen waving dr. Carstairs’ pamphlet and stopped short when she saw David sitting at the table. We introduced her to him, and her eyes opened wide when she heard he was a European soldier and even wider when she understood we had hidden him for a while in our home. She recovered quickly, however and made his acquaintance.

She had come because she knew dr. Carstairs visited us frequently, and asked us if what he had written was true.

“Yes. It is,” my mother said, “Camille, can’t you remember when the war was first declared? Can’t you remember why?”

Mrs. Odell shook her head, “No, I’m afraid not. Your dr. Carstairs says everything I believed in is a lie…”

I cut in, “Mrs. Odell, I had the exact same thing. My mom told me the truth maybe one of two months ago. I didn’t want to believe it either..but it does explain things. The disappearances and the re-appearances of people…” I trailed off. My mother motioned me to hold my tongue, as she saw that Mrs. Odell was almost hysterical. She spoke to her in soft soothing tones, but my words had been too much for her.

It was like Camille Odell had built a wall around her to protect herself and it came crumbling down. Her face betrayed her shock and betrayal, her eyes filled with tears.

“Why didn’t I know,” she cried, “Why didn’t I want to know, how could I be so blind?”

I snuck out of the kitchen while my mother comforted her. Her voice was soft with compassion, “You did what you thought was best for your family, Camille.”

I went to the living room and turned on the TV. I wasn’t watching, though. My mind kept spinning round those six words. I too, had been blind for sixteen years. Although I was a child, it was no excuse. It scared me to think I had been brainwashed so long I hadn’t recognized the truth when it was told to me.

The soldier had followed me out of the kitchen and was sitting on the couch apparently immersed in the TV show that was on. I suddenly sprung a question on him, “David, do you think we’re stupid because we believed in Father Rab for so long?”

The soldier didn’t answer immediately, not because he was stalling, but because he was thinking. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, “Dumb, no. Fear has an enormous hold over people; they will do almost anything if they are afraid for themselves or their loved ones. You didn’t know any better, Jess. You are not to blame for your age or the actions of your elders.”

“You really think that?”

“Yes, I do.” He nodded confidently.

That made me feel better. I didn’t really think I was dumb or anything, but I did feel guilt for believing in the man who was so evil, who was indirectly responsible for the deaths of both my father and my innocent little brother. I talked to David about my doubts and he reassured me, “Don’t think that, Jessica. You didn’t know and you couldn’t have known. Don’t feel guilty. You couldn’t have saved your brother even if you had known. You would have been sent to Father Rab and gotten yourself brainwashed. What would have been the good of that?”

His words calmed me. I knew he was right and I figured my guilt would subside over time.

A couple days later, the substitute government had an announcement to make. In the turmoil following Father Rab's death, no one actually knew anything about the man who had succeeded in removing Father Rab. This was about to change: the government TV channel was going to do a special feature on this guy. It would be broadcasted two days later, during prime time.
That Thursday everybody tuned into the program. It was a typical documentary: they started with his youth, then his adult years and they ended with an interview wherein he talked about his motives for trying to kill Father Rab. He seemed a nice enough guy, if fairly boring. In fact, it kind of surprised me he was the hero, I had expected a big, beefy guy. You know, a bodybuilding, six feet tall macho guy. Instead, he was a ordinary guy named (believe it or not) George.
He was also deeply religious, he believed in an old god, one of the few sects still alive in our country. He talked awhile about his faith, but that didn't interest me very much. His priest was sitting next to him, but he only spoke when George turned questionably to him. I didn't like the looks of the priest and I could tell my mother felt the same way. We turned the TV off as soon as the program had run.
"So," my mom said, "that was our hero."
The tone of her voice betrayed her opinion. So did David’s.
"George seems a nice enough guy, but that priest just gave me the creeps. Still, I suppose we should be grateful, they did save us from Father Rab."
On that note, we went to bed. David still slept in my room, since there was no other room for him. I didn't sleep in my mother’s room anymore, but on the couch. I lay awake for quite a while, thinking about George and the priest. I turned on the TV to pass the time until I was sleepy enough to actually fall asleep, and zapped. I ended up watching a late-night talk show. The first guest was a thirty-year old woman who had lost her two sons and her husband in the war. After she had told her tear-jerking story, they announced the second guest: George and the priest. I jerked awake and watched wide eyed as George talked. He spoke about his faith and urged the viewers to convert to his religion. He said he had been sent by his god to help the people of our country, and was going to try to be elected president in the upcoming election.
That had been another change: we were going from a dictatorship to a more democratic form of government. It had all been explained to us; the entire system of parlement, a president, etc.
I resolved to tell my mother about this in the morning, and watched the rest of the program, before I fell asleep.

I had forgotten all about it, however, when morning came. I hadn't slept enough and was feeling cranky when I opened my eyes. My mom was cooking a delicious breakfast for us, but I could only feel my tiredness. I was in such a bad mood that I snapped at her when she asked how long I had watched TV after they had gone to bed. I immediately felt sorry, when I saw how I had hurt her. My mom was feeling pretty bad these days; she was still grieving for my brother and my father. Hiding David had distracted her from her pain, but now that peace had come, she had nothing to divert her from it.
"I've decided to ask dr. Carstairs for anti-depressants," my mom said, out of the blue.
"That might be a good idea," I carefully said. "Maybe they'll make you feel better."
Tt's all we said about it, but I began to see my mother in a different light. She was a person too, of flesh, blood and bones, and she had feelings as well as I had.
"Mom, I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm just tired," I started to apologize, "I was up all night watching a talk show-" I trailed off. I suddenly remembered the guests on the program, and my intention to tell my mom, so I went on, "George and the priest were on the show! George is going to run for president with the priest as his vice-president, and George also said his god had sent him to be our ruler. He urged everyone to convert to his religion."

"I'm not sure what to make of that," my mom said. "George running for president. I don't know the boy, so I don't know whether he'd do a good job or not, but asking us to convert to his religion? I don't much like missionaries; they always were judgmental of our ways. I don't like being told I'll go to hell when I die unless I embrace their god."

I agreed. Some missionaries had been nice, had helped us in the past, but most of them were bossy know-it-alls who wouldn't accept that we could be happy and live a meaningful life without religion.

"There's nothing we can do anyway," my mom said, breaking my train of thought, "so we might as well wait and see. Now why don't you call David down to breakfast?"

That was my mom for you! Always practical, always efficient I thought as I ran up the stairs leading to the attic room. I paused outside his door, suddenly hesitant. I had hardly been in my room since David was here, and only when he was out of the house. I always sneaked in, feeling like a thief, when I needed something, because I saw traces of someone else living in my room. I knocked and tiptoed in when I heard no response. He was still sleeping and seemed much younger then his twenty years. I watched him for a while, until he opened his eyes and stared right at me. We both screamed and I moved backwards out of fright. He sat up and asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Breakfast's ready," I timidly said. I couldn't stop looking at his muscled bare chest. He followed my gaze and I felt myself blushing.

"I'll see you downstairs," I said and ran out of the room. I went to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face, to stop blushing. I didn't understand myself. Why had I reacted so? He was David, not some guy I had a crush on. I told myself it was just the awkwardness of him living in my room that had made me blush, went downstairs and tried to act normally.
"Is he coming?" my mother asked.

I nodded and asked, "Can I help you?"

"No, there's nothing to do, go sit down. You can tell David about last night."

I went to the breakfast nook and saw David already sitting at the table. Our eyes met and we both looked away immediately. I took a deep breath and tried to get rid of my embarrassment by telling him about the upcoming election. David understood the grave implications immediately, as he had grown up in a presidential democracy and had a better understanding of the system.
"If he is elected president, he'll have so much power. I'm not sure what will happen then, he could be a good president, or use his power to do other things, things that wouldn't be good for our country."

“Our country?” my mom and I said in simultaneously.

“Yes, our country. I’ve decided not to go back home. I feel like this is my home, and I’d like to keep on living here, if I may.”

“But what about your parents?” I asked. “Won’t you miss them? And your friends?”

“I hardly knew my parents. They were businessmen, never at home. And my friends…I’ve lost track of them, being in the army. My army friends don’t matter very much to me, not like you do.”

I flushed. I knew he was talking to my mother and me both, but I felt like he was speaking directly to me. I looked down at the tabletop, trying to hide my embarrassment.

My mom didn’t notice, she was too shocked by David’s announcement, “Of course you can stay, we’re happy to have you here, but…are you sure? It’ll mean hardly ever seeing your parents again…”

“I know the consequences, and I’m sure. I really want to make this my home.”

“Well, if you’re sure…welcome to the family!” my mom said to David.

“Cool.” I said, not wanting to betray my feelings.

“Jess, that reminds me, we’ve have to find some solution to the current housing problem so I can get out of your room. You must be getting tired of sleeping on the couch every day..”

Although I assured him I didn’t mind, he was admandant. In fact, he started looking through the house after breakfast. He looked in all the rooms, searching for a cubbyhole that would hold a bed. But it wasn’t to be found. We lived in a small house, with two bedrooms. My parents had shared a room, of course, and my brother and I had shared the other one. When my brother had died, his little bed had been dismantled and put in storage. There wasn’t a room to be found that could be cleared out and was big enough to hold a bed.

I had left to go to the library after breakfast, and found my mom and David moving a new bed into David’s room.

“What are you doing?” I asked surprised. Was someone else coming to visit?

“Moving your bed,” they grunted.

“My bed? What? Am I getting my room back? But where’s David going then?”

“Nowhere. You’re going to share a room,” my mom said.

I was nonplussed. Sharing a room with a guy? With David? It was bound to be awkward sometimes…but I liked the idea of sleeping in the same room as David. I’d just get dressed in the bathroom.

“Okay…you’re okay with this David?”

“Fine with me…”he said, not looking at me. Instead he was moving his stuff from the chairs and dumping them in the closet.

“I’ll let you two get organized,” my mom said, and then left the room.

I went to get my stuff from my mom’s room, where I had stored them, and returned to find David trying to fold his clothes.

“Here, let me do that. Can I reorganize the closet while I’m at it?” I asked, while easily folding his shirts.

“Sure, go ahead.”

I opened the closet and whistled at the jumble of clothes lying in there.

“I’m not very neat,” David apogetically said.

I nodded, then got to work. First I dumped all of his clothes on my bed and started folding them. It felt weird to be going through his shirts and socks, not to mention his boxers! I was humming a tune as I worked, and I looked up to catch David looking at me. He diverted his eyes as soon as he saw that I saw him, so, confused, I went back to work.

“David?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I’m glad you’re staying.”

“So am I.”

That’s all we said about it, but looking back, I think he already knew how I felt.

Chapter Three

It turned out that sharing a room with David wasn’t very awkward. While I was an early bird, David tended to sleep late, so usually I had showered and dressed by the time he opened his eyes.

I actually liked the company, because of late, I hadn’t been sleeping very well anymore. It took ages for me to sleep in, and while I slept, I mostly had nightmares. Hearing David’s steady breathing seemed to help me fall asleep, and to ease the pounding of my heart when I woke up scared. I hadn’t told anyone about these nightmares, I guess I figured they would go away eventually. They didn’t however, and a couple weeks later, I was spent. I was tired every day, couldn’t get anything to come out of my hands, couldn’t even concentrate on a book, which was once my favorite pastime. That night, I went to bed early, in the futile hope I would finally sleep well. I was feeling so exhausted, I was crying by the time David went to bed. I didn’t hear him enter, as I was sobbing into my pillow, but I suddenly felt someone sitting on my bed and a stroking my hair. First I thought it was my mom, but then he spoke, “What’s the matter, Jess?”

I then realized it was David and tried to stop crying. I didn’t want him to see me like this, but I couldn’t stop. It was like all the pain and fear and general malaise of my life pouring out of my body.

“I don’t know,” I wailed, “I just can’t sleep and I’m having nightmares and I’m so tired yet I still can’t sleep and my dad’s gone and my brother’s gone and I’m scared to lose my mom…”

David didn’t say anything; he just gently turned me around and held me while I cried some more. When my sobs became few and far between, he brushed my tears away and took my head between his hands.

“Jess, why didn’t you tell anyone? Of course you miss your dad and brother, you’re supposed to. But it really helps if you talk to someone about it…are you dreaming about them too?”

I nodded, “I dream that we’re in the yard, eating dinner, and that something falls out of the sky, and that it’s going to fall right on them but that I can’t stop it or warn them or do anything, except eat my dinner. And it makes me so mad, that they died and I couldn’t do anything about it!”

“Is that why you’re scared of losing your mom?”

“Yes. I couldn’t do anything then, and won’t be able to do anything now..”

“That’s not true. You couldn’t save your dad or brother, but you did save your mother. She once told me, that she felt so sad and depressed, she thought of doing away with herself, but that she couldn’t, because she would see your happy little face in front of her, and knew she couldn’t leave you alone. So maybe you didn’t physically restrain her, but you sure did keep her here with you.”

I was shocked. My mom, wanting to commit suicide? Sure, I had seen that she was sad, but I didn’t know it was this bad!

I looked at David, and he looked back. Suddenly, his lips were touching mine and we were kissing. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Why was I kissing David? I pulled back and stuttered, “Wha…what?”

“I’m kissing you,” David said, “Do you mind?”

“No..” I said, just before he began kissing me again. We kissed for a long time, and he held me afterwards until I felt asleep.

I woke up the next morning, and found David sprawled on his bed. Sometime during the night he had gotten up from my bed and had gone to lay in his own. I lay there for a while, just looking at him, and thinking of yesterday.

“Hey there,” he said, when he finally opened his eyes, and smiled.

“Hey there yourself,” I smiled back.

“How are you feeling? Not as sad as yesterday?”

I shook my head, “I’m feeling kind of goofy, actually. David, did you mean it, last night?”

“The kiss, you mean? Yes, Jess, I did. I think I’m falling in love with you,” he proclaimed, then patted the covers, “Come over here, will you?”

I obliged and snuggled close to him.

“Jess, I think you’re really special and beautiful and the right girl for me..” he trailed off, kind of flustered.

I smiled, and took over by kissing him again.

We came downstairs, holding hands. My mom smiled when she saw us like that, and then said, “I thought there was something going on between you two! Congratulations.” She didn’t say anything more about it, just smiled when she saw us together.

Although it was hard to believe for David and me, real life went on. We were so immersed in our love for each other; we had little use for things that did not concern us. Sure, we noticed that the election campaign had begun, but it failed to hold our interest for long. Then, one day, we were forced to snap out of it. George was running for president, with his priest as vice-president, and he came to visit our town, to win votes. My mother forced us to go, as we hadn’t been out of the house for days. It was chilly, and I stood shivering, waiting for George to arrive. He was almost half an hour late when his car pulled up, a limo, I should add.

A microphone was thrust into his face as soon as he was on stage, and he was set to hold his speech.

“Ladies and gentleman!

I have lived in this country all my life, and never saw anything wrong in the way Father Rab treated us. For thirty-six years, this man was allowed to do as he wanted, kill whom he wanted, rape whom he wanted. Most of you are grieving still for family members lost in the war, the war that he had started. Or mourning kinsmen taken to his palace, and never seen again. This, I want to change. Mourn you will, and grieve you will, because although time does heal all pain, it takes a long time. But I want to make it impossible for such a dictator ever to have power again!

Do you know why I killed him? Not because I knew with certainty he was evil. No, because I obeyed my God. One day, I received a vision while I was sleeping, wherein God spoke to me. He told me to go to the palace and kill Father Rab. I didn’t know what to make of this vision, so I went to see my priest. He told me to wait, to see if God sent me other signs. This He did, he sent me the same dream three nights in a row. Then I knew, with absolute clarity, that it was my destiny to remove Father Rab. I knew I was safe with God when no one questioned me, upon entering the palace. It was as if no one even saw me. I was hidden under God’s wing.

This God has been with me all my life, has saved me and shown his presence to me. He has given me infinite joy and everything I needed. I want you to experience the same joy and happiness as I have, so that is why I am running for president. Vote for me, and you’ll never lose another dear to you to war. Vote for me, and I will give you a future without violence. The other candidates will say the same, but remember this, who saved you from Father Rab?”

After this rhetorical question, he disappeared into his limo and sped away. I hadn’t heard the priest speak, not even to mention his name. He remained this mystery figure behind George, although I hadn’t a doubt that the priest had written George’s speech. George seemed too ordinary to have been able to write such a speech. Unconsciously, I wondered how many people would vote for this man. He had saved us from Father Rab, that was true, but all the talk about his god was laying it on a bit thick. It was hard to believe that many people would vote for him, after all the years we had spent trying to avoid missionaries.

As if by mutual agreement, David and I didn’t talk about this on the way home, but instead waited for my mom to come home from the store. I was just fixing some hot chocolate when she burst through the door, waving a piece of paper in her hand. She gave it to me while she caught her breath, so I gave it a glance, then looked closer. George’s speech was written almost word for word on the paper!

“This is his speech!” I exclaimed.

David grabbed it out of my hands and quickly scanned it, “You’re right. This is the speech he delivered not fifteen minutes ago.”

My mom had gotten her breath back, “Can you believe he actually has the nerve to tell us we have to believe in his god?”

I almost had to smile. I didn’t like missionaries, but my mom downright hated them. I’m actually not quite sure why, it’s just something I know. I remember one time, when I was little, I came home with a story I had heard from a missionary. When I told it to her, she recognized it for what it was and almost slapped me. “Don’t you ever talk to those people again, Jessica Cornelia Parker! I am not about to let them fill your head with rubbish that they’re fool enough to believe.” She really scared me that day, but I can’t honestly say there was something evil about missionaries. Sure, they were pushy, but they didn’t harm anyone.

I cleared my throat, “Um, mom, technically he didn’t say that. He’s promising us a better life, and..” I trailed off after I saw the look on her face.

David quickly fell in to avoid a fight, “Grace, where did you get this?”

“A man was handing them out in the parking lot of the supermarket. He gave me one before I knew what it was. I was going to throw it away, but I thought you might like to read it. So you’re saying this is his election speech?”

David and I both nodded.

“I hope no one votes for him.” She said, then banged the doors of the cabinets so hard we felt it was wise to leave the kitchen.

As the weeks went by and polls were taken, it seemed as if her wish was to come true. Some thirty percent of the citizens that were of voting age, wanted George as president. Sixty percent went for Calvin Pound, another candidate and the other ten percent were planning on choosing Joseph Ledda. While Pound was charismatic, thus explaining the sixty percent, Ledda didn’t have a chance. It seemed as if Pound would win this contest straight-out. Whenever George’s name was mentioned on the streets, people would say something in the lines of “I’m grateful he saved us from Father Rab, but I’m not so sure he’d make a good president.”

When I stood up the next morning, I found my mother setting the table for breakfast and humming under her breath. I went back to David and looked at him for a moment. He was just waking up and looked sleepily at me, then pulled me closer to him.

“I love you,” he murmered.

“I love you too, David.” I kissed him, then told him breakfast was ready and got dressed. David didn’t bother; he came to the table in his pajamas. He yawned as he went to greet my mom, and I could hear them talking, although I didn’t pay much attention to the two of them.

“Hi Grace. Sleep well?” he said as he busied himself with setting out plates and knifes.

“No, I hardly slept a wink all night,” she admitted. “But I feel great. I mean, my body’s tired, but my mind is clear and I’ve got something to tell you both,” she announced all in one breath.

David walked over to me. “Know what she means?” he whispered.

Although I hadn’t conciously listened, I had heard the conversation. I shook my head, mystified.

My mother joined us, almost beaming, then told us her news, “I’ve decided to sign up for cemetary project the government is proposing,” she said. Neither David nor I had heard about it, so she explained, “Dr. Carstairs told me about it this morning. The government has decided to use the empty lots on the west edge of town to create a war cemetary. They need volunteers to clear the plot, and I’d like to do that.”

“Good for you, mom!” I said, geniuenly happy for her. I’d hated to see her so miserable when I was so happy with David and life in general. I figured that she back on the right track again, and I mentally made a note to thank dr. Carstairs for all he’d done for us the last couple months.

I had received a letter the day before telling me school would start in a couple of weeks, so my mom took me on an old fashioned school-is-starting-shopping-spree. We had so much fun, trying on shoes and clothes, finding something nice for David, who hadn’t want to come. He said he had enough clothes as it was, since we had bought him some when he first came to live with us. Of course, we didn’t agree – there’s no such thing as too much clothes! My mom and I were giggling like made when we finally stopped at a café and collapsed in a chair. When I got my breath back, I realized we had made a mistake. All around me were signs of the presidential campaign; I saw balloons and flyers everywhere I looked. Right in front of us was a podium; on it was a glass of water, which was a sure sign someone was going to speak there later. I hoped it wouldn’t be George, or that we wouldn’t be here at the time; there’s nothing like religious stuff to ruin my mom’s mood. I turned to my mom, she was frowning.

“What’s the matter,” I asked.

“I was thinking about David.”

“What about him?”

“Does he have an idea what he wants to do with his life? I mean, he joined the army because he didn’t know what to do after high school, so he hasn’t got any career training at all, I guess.”

“I don’t know,” I realized. “We haven’t talked about that yet,” I was cut short by someone testing the sound system; a squeek emitting from the loudspeakers made us jump and hold our ears.

“Shall we go?” my mom shouted over the noise.

I nodded and stood up. I was quiet the way home, thinking about my life in general and David in particular.

A meeting was held three days later at the town hall to discuss the plans for the lots on the west side of town. My mom attended, and came back with fire in her eyes, ready to tackle anything that came her way. She was on the phone and in the neighbourhood the next day, recruiting volunteers and getting donations. I hadn’t seen her like this in months, and some of her enthousiasme rubbed off on me. Before long, I was helping her go door-to-door. David wanted to help as well, but we figured it wouldn’t be a good idea, since he had been a soldier in the European army. So he kept everything running smoothly at home and mostly had dinner on the table when we came home at night, exhausted. This went on for a week or two, maybe a little less, until I had to go to school. It was weird being back at school; not only hadn’t I seen many of my friends for quite a while, but listening to my teachers took some getting used to. I kept wondering what they had done in the war, if they had been hoodwinked like the rest of us or had seen through Father Rab’s act.

In short, life went on. I had school, David had a job –he was a doorman at an hotel in town- and my mom also went back to work. For David and I, every day was wonderful and new, full of love and new things to explore. I had never felt so alive, so vital and so free. The first sixteen years of my existence seemed to fade away, like a bad dream when you’ve woken up and established it wasn’t real. I missed my dad and my little brother sometimes, but they were fading too. They would never be entirely gone –I knew that-, but the pain of their deaths was slowly going away. When I looked back, I felt that I had grown up tremendously. I had come a long way, from the little girl that didn’t have a clue, to, maybe not an adult, but at least a young woman. David had helped me. Until it happens to you, you can’t understand the power of love. You don’t see how it can alter someone in such a profound way that the changes are everlasting. Love could easily be the most important thing in your life. It made me understand my mother more. I could understand how hard it must have been after my father’s death. I thought of something happening to David and shuddered. He was part of me now, so closely intertwined with who I was, that I couldn’t bear to think of losing him.

I wasn’t the only one that was different. Although it took me a while to see it, my mother had also changed. She had become steadier, more dependable and less worried in the months that had passed. Now I was safe, she had finally picked up the pieces of her life and tried to fit them all back together. We saw a lot of Dr. Carstairs these days. My mom noticeably enjoyed his presence, and invited him over for dinner almost every week. Sometimes, he declined, but he mostly accepted and spent hours with us. Gradually, they started going out, and their friendship grew into a romance. David and I cheered them on. We liked Dr. Carstairs – Marc – and felt that my mom deserved happiness; after all she had been through. And so the months went on. My mom and Marc slipped into a comfortable relationship; David and I fell more in love with every day that passed. We were a happy family, and I wish we could have always stayed that way.

But that was not to be. One day, in early February, Marc came by the house. He wanted my mother to go with him to a meeting. First I didn’t pay attention, but I listened very hard when he specified the meeting. It would be religious. I looked out of the corner of my eye to my mother, waiting for her reaction. At first she didn’t say anything. Then she sighed and said, “Oh Marc, you know how I feel about such things…”

“Yes, Grace, I do. But please, just this once, for me. There’s something I want to show you.”

She sighed and finally said, “Let me think about it for a while.”

I figured that was that. I didn’t think my mom would do it, not even for Marc. So I was pretty surprised when she told him the next day that she’d go.

“Just one time, okay? I’m doing this for you. However, if they start trying to convert me, I’m going home.”

Marc laughed and assured her that wasn’t the motive of the gathering. “It’s just an introduction to the faith. No one will pressure you to do anything. If you feel too uncomfortable, we’ll leave.”

“Yeah, right,” was the skeptical response.

I guess I figured my mom would chicken out, that even love wouldn’t get her to think about religion. But she cared about Marc so much she went with him to the meeting. When she came home, all she would say was, “Hmm. It wasn’t as bad as I thought.” Brief as her statement was, it contained thoughtfulness and an open mind. Now, there isn’t anyone more thoughtful than my mom, but you couldn’t accuse her of open mindness where religion was concerned. Still, something drew her to the meetings. She began attending every week, and had a glow about her for days afterwards. Marc too, and they would spend their free time together, praying and reading their holy book. To be frank, I was shocked. Here was my mother, the one that forbidden the faith in this house, actually praying to a god. She was even asking me to come with them. She talked about the peace her god had given her and that she wanted me to know the same peace. I managed to avoid the subject until I could get to the library and do some research. I read about her religion and learned about it’s rites. I asked critical questions of her and Marc, and sometimes David would look on in bewilderment as we would discuss it during dinner. Voices raised, hands gesticulating wildly, we would get our emotions up until David would make a remark to break the tension. Then we’d all laugh and resume being a family.

Of course I shared what I learned with David. Gradually I interested him in the topic, although we stayed outsiders. I don’t know why I was so wary of being ‘sucked into the fold’, as we called it. I guess I was a little shocked at how religion had changed my mother. She went door-to-door, almost zealously, to tell people about her conversion, and urge others to do the same. And this was the same woman who had always warned me away from religion and missionaries.

Things picked up speed after that. Before I knew it, there was praying in schools and mandatory after school meetings. Our newly elected president, George, had managed to inject his faith into every aspect of our society. Instead of disapproving, my mother whole-heartedly encouraged this practice! When I reminded her that I wasn’t religious and had no desire to be, she pointedly told me that was my loss and that once I had converted, I’d be glad of this forced believing. I’m afraid I lost my temper and told her to her face I was sorry she’d found this god and that I had liked her a lot better when she was still an atheist like me. Things got heated up so I left the house and roamed for a while. When I came back, I avoided my mother and pretended our fight had never happened. To my relief, she did the same.

David, at the same time, was becoming more and more bewildered. He had came to our country as an enemy soldier and has witnessed our presidential election. His country had of course had a democracy for ages now. He openly criticized the president’s policy, saying that in a true democracy, no one could ever be forced to believe.

Things came to a head one day in early June, when the police came and arrested David. Officially, he was kept prisoner because he disturbed the peace, but I suspected it was because he had criticized the president. A few days later, he was released, shaken but unharmed. I had been scared stiff the whole time. I couldn’t help but think of Father Rab’s regime, when people had been arrested for the same thing. Even my mom and Marc were shaken. President George wouldn’t do such a thing, they kept saying. So it came as quite a shock to them when David came back and ????? my suspicions. He had been arrested for critizing president George’s policy on faith and severly warned not to do it again. The police interrogators had hinted at severe punishments if that should be the case.

I was scared, and angry, all at once.

“You see where your faith has landed us?” I screamed at them, “It’s taken us back to the time of Father Rab!” Then I broke down and cried. David held me as he waited for mom and Marc’s reaction. They looked at eachother, in shock and pain, and slowly started to cry as well. We all sat there, as our world fell down around our ears.

“But how, why?” whispered mom.

“All in the name of our God,” Marc heavily said.

“How can this be?”

David and I left them, in the living room, to console each other. We went to our room and soon feel asleep, exhausted and scared.

I woke up to a pounding in the middle of the night. “Open up, open up! It’s an emergency!”

I looked at David, and panicked. They must have come back for him! I was considering where to hide him, when I already heard my mom open the door. Luckily for us, it wasn’t the police, but the next-door neighbor, Mrs Odell.

“Grace! The police can be here any second! My son heard your argument earlier this morning and he went off to warn the authorities. I’m sorry Grace, I’m sorry..”

My wonderful mother didn’t panic, she didn’t freeze. She left Mrs Odell standing there at the door and went to wake us up. She repeated what Mrs Odell had told her and told us to dress warmly and meet her in the living room in two minutes. We got dressed really quickly and met her and Marc there.

“It’s come to this,” she said. “We have to leave.”

“Leave the house?” I asked, stupidly. I was still a little groggy.

“No. Leave the country. Get your coat, we’ve got to go. For David’s sake.”

“No.” David said, “You are not leaving because of me. I’ll go alone, I can find my way.”

“I’m going with you, David!” I immediately asserted. “You’re not leaving me behind.”

“And I’m going with my daughter, and Marc’s going with me. It looks like we’re in this together,” my mom said.

So we left. We ran when we could under the cover of darkness, slept when it was light out and reached the border in just twenty days. We waited until midnight and then attempted the crossing. After this, there was no way back. We would leave the country. I would never see my house or my friends again. I would never visit my dad’s grave or go see my little brother. This was final.

We ducked and ran and made it up to the border. We looked left and right, then passed one by one. Marc was to go last, just in case. We had all safely passed when he was discovered. A sentry came out of his watchhouse and shouted the alarm. Marc was shot while trying to pass. Luckily, it was dark so the bullet entered his leg. He managed to collapse over the border, where we came out of hiding to drag him to safety.

We bandaged him with strips torn from our cloths and carried him together to the first house we came to. The occupants called an ambulance as soon as we arrived and Marc was safe in a hospitable before we knew what was happening. We were taken to a shelter were we gradually recovered from our ordeal. It took a while for the nightmares to stop happening though.

Now we have our own house, far away from the border. We’ve even made friends, of sorts, and I think I can honestly say we’re happy here. Things have gone from bad to worse under president George, and today, the European Council is thinking of sending another army in to liberate our people. The irony of this is not lost on us.

Even though we’re happy here, a day doesn’t go by when we don’t think of the price freedom cost us.

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