issue54rentsdue

                                                   ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM

***BIO*** Dear old HB lies at the mercy of the Canadian Government who claim to want skilled workers, and then leave these immigrants to exhaust their savings whilst they mull over application forms for several months. HB is not bitter.

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Rent’s Due

by Heitham Black

I’m sure you’re aware of the phrase: ‘Never a borrower nor a lender be.’ If not, then it time for you to understand.

Annie awoke at about 3 in the morning as usual; she was shiveringly cold and tried to pull the tattered blanket closer to warm her body. She knew that this would be no help, quickly deciding to get up and put as many items of clothing as she could on her scrawny frame. After attempting to switch the light on she remembered that the electricity meter had stopped the previous afternoon. It was another miserable weekend.
Annie moved into her kitchen, hoping for food, but knowing she only owned rice cakes. The thought of the crunchy tastelessness - she surmised that she should save the food for Monday morning.

Hours passed slowly and she quickly felt tired again:
at 5.59 in the morning according to her digital watch, her front door was kicked down by 4 very large, suited men. She was too tired to care a great deal and stood watching as they stomped around her studio, trying to find something of worth in there. It was an intimidating experience but numbness masked her worries; there was nothing to take anyway. The four men raged around the flat whilst Annie began to dream of some sleep.

She was awoken by the bellowed threats of a man who towered over her; it seemed that each of his shoulders were as wide as Annie’s body: “Where’s my fucking money?” Annie did not know what to say; she had ignored the letters, barely believing there to be any credibility behind the claims. It seemed that her father, who had recently died, had owed rather a lot of money to some very unpleasant people.

*

Both John and Victoria, Annie’s parents, had managed to accrete several hundred thousand pounds of debt - certainly far more than their meagre £70,000 per year income could afford. That’s just the way things went.
Since Annie had left home, after her father had rather publicly disowned her with a vicious slap that knocked her unconscious, she had earned very little money.
This is an extremely efficient despairing cycle and led her towards the first tentative steps of alcohol dependency. Still, not at a stage where she didn’t feel in control. She drank her way through college, kidding herself that she would be fine when she graduated. She drank more when she landed a job at a
school: drinking to remember the good times, and to forget her growing debts. Trying to keep up with friends. Drinking when the letters requesting payment arrived. Inherited debts.

*

“Right!” Bellowed the man again. He looked at the other 3 thugs and indicated that they should hold her up against the wall; the tallest of the group stood behind the leader and watched whilst the other 2 held her up by her biceps. The leader went nose to nose with Annie, he whispered urgently: “We’ll be back Annie; I’ll get the payment from you, somehow or other.” He stabbed her thigh with what seemed to be an implanting device, blood oozed into her denim jeans.
“That’ll stop you from running too far.” And then they left. She dropped to the floor because of her lightheadedness, not because of the threats. She was late to work again that day.

At 1800 when the school day was finally over, she heard a knock on the door, still hanging from its bottom hinge: “Miss Ross, Miss Ross, are you ok?” It was the headteacher with her deputy. “We came to see if you were ok. Can we come in?” She awoke, suddenly aware that the sounds were not voices in her dream.
The cold secretary attempted humour: “And to think that we were on our way to dismiss you from your post...” Her eyes remained unblinking as she
continued: “...You’re still out though. All those lates...” She tutted dismissively. Annie was so cold as the headteacher continued: “You should get that door fixed you know.” Suddenly, both women turned on their heels and left the room.

The next noises that awoke Annie from her slumber in the corner of her studio were the sounds of another apartment in her block having its door forcibly broken, then she heard screaming and the sound of several violent blows. Her imagination brought back scenes from that morning, such a long time ago!

The next time she awoke was when a foilhead came into her flat seeking warmth. He poked her body in the corner before kicking her viciously awake: “Where’s your fucking money bitch!”
“I don’t have any money.” She intoned with monotony.
The man leant down to the ground wheezing breathlessly; he grabbed her and shook her violently, staring. “Why the fuck not?”
She looked at him with as much concentration as she could muster: “Take the food out of the cupboard and please leave.”
He did not detect the despair in her voice as he was drowning in his own misery, instead he pushed her away and rose up quickly, pausing to cough, he then shuffled towards her cupboard. A brief rummage around confirmed what she knew already: “This isn’t food!” He threw the remaining crackers at her prone figure and shuffled out of her flat to find something of value to trade.

She did not notice the rats gratefully taking pieces of cracker.

*

When money had been made god, few realised the dangers of such dogmatism. But dogma always leads to incestuous violence and destruction. Some did well out of religion, others suffered crimes of bigotry. It was the same with money: for those who did well because of the machine of god there were many who perished. A ‘comme ci, comme ca’ situation. Society had been scythed as violently as at any time in history. The rich prospered as the poor dropped out of view. Far enough to seem more than a world away.

*

Annie had done little when the leader of the gang found her a few days later; this time he was unaccompanied. She had been travelling to an interview for a refuse collector’s job, and had not noticed the heavy get on to the bus. As she stepped down she became aware of his presence and found herself propelled along by the left elbow, he hissed in her
ear: “i thought you never had any money.”
Shocked, she replied: “I don’t.”
“How the hell can you pay for the bus then? Any money comes to us.”
Annie did not respond but stood uncomfortably until the man led her off down a side street; she did not know where she was.

He stopped at some doors and hammered heavily and repeatedly until one of the others opened them. He pushed her ahead of him, into a ground floor room. She struggled to adjust to the darkness and was slightly relieved when a candle was lit; she could see a figure, just out of the light, ahead of her. His voice was harsher: “So you weren’t going to give me my money then?”

She was silent for a long time; everyone in that room was silent, allowing the atmosphere to fester.

Eventually, she spoke, knowing that they would wait until she did: “I wanted you to get your money, but I have to live...”
Angrily, he interrupted: “Enough. When it comes to my money, you don’t have to eat, or live...” He nodded to one of the heavies and she was stabbed in the back.

*

She awoke much later, feeling more numb than usual.
Her back was throbbing with pain and possible infection; she was too tired to twist and observe the extent of her injury but did notice that her skin was more yellow than usual. Shifting on her shoulders, forcing a hand behind her back, she established that the wound was still bleeding and then fainted abruptly.

2.

Annie Ross was glad to escape the man; it seemed that he was ashamed to commit violence in a nicer area of town. Perhaps she could escape fate after all? Inside she remembered the warnings that people had given her in the bar. Many knew someone who had been indebted to lenders when they were born, but ended up disappearing in rather mysterious circumstances.

She wondered whether any of the stories were true, if her visit had been like the stories then surely she’d be dead now. As she reached the workspace she stared ahead at the thousands of workers sat at their desks, so these were the refuse destroyers. Staring at small screens attached to their goggles they worked at small keyboards erasing waste on the internet: closing bank accounts, deleting pornography, erasing outdated websites, reclaiming internet e-mail accounts, all endless tasks.

It was a surprise to come face to face with her tormentor at interview; he smiled but refrained from passing comment on her inherited debt. Naturally she got the job and was taken down to the main centre to start immediately; as he left her to work the man
said: “All your money comes to me until the debt’s paid. If you want it gone there are other things you can do to earn better money.”

For 16 hours she worked with only a 3 minute toilet break every 4 hours. Perversely the job did offer some warmth and she hoped that she would keep some of her pay. However, at the end of the day, the gang master refused to take her paycard: “All money to me.”
Stammering, she whispered: “How can I pay you quicker?”
The truculent bully merely grunted: “Stay ‘til I’ve finished here.”
Reluctantly she waited.

After 20 minutes he motioned that she should follow, and led her to the back of the main centre. A white door, barely noticeable in the wall, was open and the man nodded that she should go through. There seemed to be a monitoring room with an operating theatre attached; the man dragged 2 chairs across and stared at the empty theatre before speaking: “I’ll have your kidney - that’ll make £100, 000 and I can still sell a pint of blood for £5,000 minimum. After that it’s down to you - obviously you can flog some eggs or rent out your womb.” He stopped and stared at the theatre again as if he were discussing the weather, then continued:
“Seeing as you owe £300, 000 it’s down to you.”

Annie was speechless, for once her mind was whirring with concentration, despite this her only answer was a
feeble: “What?”

The man turned his chair towards her and fixed her
gaze: “£300, 000 - not a lot! £100, 000 for a kidney, £10, 000 for 2 pints of blood, £50, 000 for an egg, £100, 000 for your pregnancy. You’re nearly done then.” She agreed to a kidney at first, although he wouldn’t let her keep her pay: “You know you can qualify for a loan though, now you’re earning.”

It is difficult to survive an operation to remove a kidney, especially when one has no food, no front door, no life.

As Annie’s body was removed from the shop floor the leader commented to his underling that he was glad that they had switched to dark glasses; the underling replied that she had only paid one third of her loan.
“Don’t worry.” Replied his impassive employer: “I’ve found a second cousin.”

Then another customer came to the door.

3.

As she ran from the bus she became aware that the heavy was following her; the thumping feet, regular as clockwork. She moved as quickly as digits and turned a corner, bumping into a huge tall man. “Watch out!” the man angrily exclaimed.
“Sorry.” Whispered Annie, turning to see the heavy almost upon them. She looked into the tall man’s empty eyes, imploring him to help with a terrified look. He grabbed her and held her close to his muscled torso.
As the debt collector approached the man said: “Leave her.” Unsurprisingly the heavy was unwilling to acquiesce with the other’s wishes: “She owes me money!”
The man looked down at her, as if to ask whether this were true; she realised that this man was not to be a saviour. A crushing feeling. Both men kicked her to death as the few passers-by pretended that nothing was happening.

Work, no work - the digits always increase.

Dec. 2005