Devjani Bodepudi writes a short story about an alternative justice system.
Many centuries ago, Helix was a walled city. The walls were pulled down as a symbolic gesture of peace. It is truly a very peaceful city, even today. People live in “harmony in Helix,” and the crime rate is almost down to 98% lower than the national average. There are a few people who still choose to digress from what is right, of course, but we find that the vast majority of our citizens understand and respect law and order.
Kenrick, read the passage from the leaflet he was given. The face of the Leader stared back at him in sombre and sincere silence.(The Leader was the officially the mayor but liked to call himself the Leader). He read on.
Helix has no prisons. It no longer has the need for them. It is important to appreciate what a difference this makes to society. Prisons, the Leader felt, “were always the most inhumane way to treat one’s fellow human being. People deserved so much more than being cooped up like animals. The way forward was education…People who had made mistakes would need to learn from them. They would need to feel the consequences of their actions in the most practical of ways so that they would be able to return to society rehabilitated and ready to contribute to a better way of living… ”
Kenrick nodded. It made sense so far. He lay on his hotel bed and contemplated the move he had chosen to make. He had lived ten years of his life in New York. He’d been mugged twice, his apartment had been burgled and he had had enough. He could teach anywhere and the bright lights of the Big Apple had begun to dim, he thought. He liked metaphor; he could use that in an English lesson, he noted mentally. If he got the job.
He had been attracted to Helix because it had the lowest crime rate compared to anywhere else in the country and it was trying to do something new. The city had been discovered close to the border of Mexico and was hidden from view. It had no population initially, with crumbling city walls and primitive huts with nothing to offer except views of the sky where there should have been thatch. A billionaire called Cromwell decided to take it on and turn it into a self-sustaining eco village, of sorts.
There was a feel good factor, even in the economy where, the money people spent on the goods people bought was invested in charities run by Cromwell. A couple of them were mentioned in the leaflet.
Adopt a Hobo: For every dollar spent on food or beverages, bought at any MoonstruckCafé your hobo will receive 1 cent, eventually giving your hobo the means to pay his own way out of homelessness.
Soul to Sole: For every pair of designer shoes you buy at ‘Heels’, ‘Heels’ will donate one used shoe to the Cromwell Foundation, where the countless shoeless of the world will finally have the means to walk with dignity.
There was television, but programmes were screened to promote happiness and family values and only Cromwell’s businesses were advertised. “…Commodities, luxury goods, technology would always be something people would aspire to but it was important to balance what people were exposed to. The more people see, the more people desire, and desire is the root of all evil, no?” Cromwell was quoted as saying.
Kenrick had a feeling he would not be watching much television, but that really was no great loss to him. The quality of television back in the ‘real world’ had hit an all-time low anyway! Helix also had no provision for the internet. Cromwell felt that it interfered with the real ‘fabric of life’. He wanted people “…to engage with the real world and to leave the virtual world behind at the doorstep of Helix’s borders. Knowledge could be gained through books and although Google truly was a great asset, Cromwell believed that people had not yet evolved far enough, morally to be able to make informed choices about what they really were searching for in life. It was his job, the state’s duty to provide guardianship for the citizen’s of Helix…”
Kenrick had also read that that the Library was amazing; rivalled only by the National Library in DC, thanks to the aforementioned billionaire, Cromwell. And the best thing was, membership was free and open to anyone 24/7.
The village had been running for about 30 years now and tourism was encouraged. A pristine beach and towering hills, lushly carpeted witha green velvet of plantlife, it provided impressive images for amateur photographers and all monetary exchanges went straight to the maintenance of public services, such as water, electricity and that all-important library.
Excited at the prospect of actually living and teaching here, Kenrick dialled room service for some extra towels. He would have a swim in the sea, before his interview that afternoon. He needed to work off some of that nervous energy.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of room service and an efficient looking man stood at the door. His eyes were alert and he stood up tall. His hair slicked back, he looked readyto serve.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked. Kenrick noticed, just then that the man only had one arm. His uniform sleeve on the left side hung limp against his body, and gave a fleeting allusion to the limb that once was.
“Um, some more towels, please” remembered Kenrick.
“Certainly, Sir. I’ll send someone up immediately. Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s it. Thank you.”
Kenrick changed into his bathers. He swapped his already stale t-shirt for a fresher linen shirt and filled a bag with contents from the mini bar.
When the towels arrived he took the short walk to the beach which was overlooked by the only 5 star hotel in the village.
The sun was still not at its highest point and yet it was already sultry. The air was tropical and palm trees loaned themselves, further, to the image of some sort of paradise. The sandy beach was not deserted but it may as well have been. It was ideal for Kenrick, who was conscious of his paunch and pasty, doughy colouring.
The sea was blue, green liquid glass. The sun was reflected in countless mirrors on the surface, occasionally scattered as it was caught in a splash of surf. He really could live here, thought Kenrick.
He laid out his towel, sat and applied the sun-tan lotion, factor 50 to his pliant flesh. He sat back and watched the waves gently tug at the shore, trying to edge a little closer, each time.
Eventually a young boy came by. He was carrying deckchair.
“For you, sir,” his accent had that slightly Latino twang that matched his brown skin and dark hair. His one eye was brown and the other was covered with an eye-patch.
“No, thank you,” replied Kenrick. He had stupidly left his wallet in the hotel room.
As if reading his thoughts, the boy pointed to the watch, which Kenrick wore on his wrist.
The watch was a gift. Although it was not expensive it held the memories of the giver in its face. She was dead now; the price they paid to live in New York.
“No, sorry. It’s very special to me,” Kenrick was trying to be as gentle as possible but the boy continued to point and plead, unaware that this was too high a price to pay for a temporary seating arrangement, no matter how comfortable it may promise to be. Eventually, a local coast guard spotted the minor fracas and walked over with large meaningful strides, muscles rippling and face set against injustice.
He said something in Spanish and the boy seemed to object. The coastguard gave the boy, one final glare and then slipped out a notebook from his skimpy trunks, as if by magic. The boy did not wait for the pen to be drawn.
“I am sorry about that,” said the coast guard to Kenrick. “He is well known in these parts for harassing tourists. He has no manners, but he is afraid of the law.”
“Well, that’s one thing,”Kenrick replied.
The coast guard held out a three-fingered hand for Kenrick to shake. He took it and noted the grip. The coastguard turned and walked back to his post, flexing muscles in his buttocks that Kenrick had never knew existed. Oh, how he hated the well-built?
Kenrick sat back down on his towel and picked up a book he had brought out with him. He leafed through the worn, yellowing pagesand then put it back down. He had read it countless times before. It was good in parts, but the ending was a let down. He carried it because he loved some of the lines it held and the characters depicted had almost become friends; familiar, flawed but well meaning.
He decided to read the leaflet instead, fresh facts about where he was in the present.
He wondered why crime was down to 98 percent lower than the national average and he wondered why the boy was afraid of the law if there were no prisons.
Kenrick lay down on his towel, his hat shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare and he drifted off into a dream filled sleep. He dreamed of the one-eyed boy, the 3 fingered coastguard and the one armed man. They would come for him next, he thought. Which part of him would they remove? Then he was running, but the coast-guard, with his body built for speed, was too fast. He caught Kenrick, knocking him to the ground and covering his mouth with this hand which only had three fingers. “Hush, this is for your own good,” he said.
Kenrick awoke, gasping for air. Quickly, he realised he was only dreaming but the dream brought to light the strange coincidence he had not noticed before.
He no longer was in the mood to bathe in the blue-green sea. He was feeling nauseous. Perhaps it was just too much sun and not enough fluids, but he needed to get back to the hotel room.
As he walked under the white marble portcullis of the hotel, into the lobby, he froze. Staff were limping on uneven legs, they sported eye patches, wore garments with only one sleeve, and some even had whole hands missing. There were probably only three people Kenrick could spot, who seemed intact.
It felt like something out of Stephen King novel. It could not be real and yet, there it was.
He somehow managed to make it to his room before locking the door and giving in to that familiar feeling of panic. He practised the breathing exercises his psychiatrist had taught him and he slowly began to relax. He would check out and go back to New York, he thought. This was a mistake.
But the beach, the weather, the free amenities, the safety were all factors to keep him here, rather than go back. He was obviously nervous, over-reacting. He had simply caught too much sun and needed a drink. He needed to head back out there and regroup, he said to himself.
Kenrick showered and changed into the clothes he had brought with him for the interview. He would get the job and move away from New York, the land of inopportunity and start a new life here. He felt clearer now than he had done before.
He decided to visit the bar, some Dutch courage, surely would not hurt. And so he made his way down and sat at the bar where an unusually tall man served him. The bartender, he noticed, did not possess any missing limbs, digits or organs. Kenrick was already feeling foolish.
Sipping contentedly on his beer, Kenrick decided to tell the bartender about his experience and his brush with paranoia. He thought it made a funny story. The bartender, whose name was Joe Kenrick learned, was amused. It was a funny story, but not for the reasons Kenrick thought, explained Joe.
“Now, let me tell you a story…” began the bartender. When he finished, he watched Kenrick for a reaction. He was not disappointed. Kenrick seemed drained of all colour.
“That explains why Helix doesn’t need a prison,” mumbled Kenrick to himself.
Joe looked Kenrick in the eye, as he took the empty glass, “Don’t even ask what the punishment is for sleeping with your best friend’s wife!”
The bartender threw his head back and laughed as he wiped down the dark wood mahogany bar. Kenrick walked out, a little unsteady.
