Kurt reached the bottom of the hill and looked up at the boarding house that sat astride a bluff above a curve in the Monongahela River. He knew the history of the house. It had been owned by the Bolena family, who had gone back to Bari, Italy, where the family had come from in the 1880’s. They had deserted it seven years earlier. Last year Kurt found a few pictures of family members in a small attic room. Faces of great-grandfathers taken in Italy, then grandfathers, fathers and their grandsons. The whole family was gone now, either dead or back in the old country. The house was now owned by the Administration, who docked Kurt’s pay each month to cover his rent and power charges.
Kurt entered the house walking over the creaking wooden outside porch and sliding his card into the security lock. He climbed the stairs and at the landing listened to hear for the only other person living in the house, Martin McDonald from Jamaica, a graduate student at the University. He’d told Kurt that he had finished his primary college degree and was now headed into the secondary level. McDonald told Kurt his objective was to get to Paris and earn a Masters Degree in Material Delivery Systems. In the past ten years, Paris had become the educational center of the world. “Special Graduates” sponsored by their countries went to the World Specialist Centers for Masters Degree. Paris had become in many respects, the world’s de facto capital. Kurt realized that McDonald must be both extremely bright and ambitious. He had found out that he was also a super patriot of Atlantica.
Kurt continued up the stairs, walked down the hall past Martin McDonald’s room, which was quiet and dark.
Kurt quickly entered his room and plopped down on his mattress. He was tired and immediately began to think about his neighbor as he lay there with his eyes closed. During the time Martin and Kurt had shared the weathered frame house they rarely saw each other. Whenever they did, it was usually Martin who did all the talking. He would ramble on incessantly to Kurt about how he wanted to work for “his new country,” as he put it, in trade and delivery methods. His goal was to specialize in material deliveries to poor countries in the world.
After a few conversations, he began to throw jibes at Kurt for being part of the old, “slave way,” a phrase he always managed to slip into the conversation.
Ironically, last night, Kurt had learned much more about Martin McDonald. McDonald had knocked on Kurt’s door, shortly after he had returned to his room. “Got a minute, Sloan?” he had asked. Kurt opened the door and waved him in. McDonald sat down on the low bench in front of the window. They just stared at each other for a minute. Then Kurt began to unload his personal items on to his dresser. Finally he turned and asked McDonald what he wanted. The flood gates opened as McDonald went on about the future of Atlantica. How it was so unique in the world and that no doubt remnants of the old culture, referring to Anglo’s, would do all they could to undermine the country. He went on a preaching tirade that loyalty to the country was above all, the most important value anyone should have. He railed about the past and the greatness of the future. He bragged about his upcoming appointment in Paris. McDonald then switched gears and began talking about how Kurt had an important job with the Administration and he should be proud that they had given him such a position. He mentioned specifically the Historical Commission and the research work he was doing with Director Alexander.
This shocked Kurt as to how much he knew about his responsibilities. But McDonald changed subjects again, when he asked him why he was still here in Pittsburgh. Kurt was stunned and couldn’t respond, especially knowing that in his possession he had important data and was planning on leaving the country.
Before he could answer, McDonald again changed subjects by telling Kurt that he had informed the authorities that their house could be torn down because there would only be one tenant when he left for Paris to pursue his Masters program. McDonald explained the housing law required rental houses over hundred years be
demolished unless they had a minimum of two residents.
Kurt sat there seething that this man would have taken such action without first advising him. He couldn’t figure out why. McDonald lightened up as if trying to help Kurt by adding that there were many great old houses across the valley in Squirrel Hill. He suggested that Kurt move to one of those tenement facilities. Kurt remained silent, but his anger was building inside. A man he hardly knew was telling him where to live? Kurt remembered thinking that this strange man was irrational. He knew McDonald was a fiery patriot of Atlantica’s cause, but he couldn’t figure out why in the hell he seemed to be so interested in him.
Kurt finally answered by saying that if in fact they decided to tear down the house, he would find a place. His patience had run out and he slowly asked McDonald why he hadn’t told him earlier? But before McDonald could answer, Kurt asked him point blank why he was so interested in him. He saw a half smile creep into his tanned face. McDonald mumbled something about how every citizen must always be alert at their work place and home for anything, or anyone not following the country’s guidelines. ‘We all must look out for the best interests of the community first, then the country,’ Kurt remembered him saying. Then he had added, “We must follow the “new rules,” as he put it.
Kurt had sized up this young, dark, narrow faced man. He barely knew him. For a few moments, nothing was said, as they both just sat looking at each other. Then McDonald again changed topics and attitude. His face grimaced, the sly smile returned to his face and he became openly hostile to Kurt. He repeated his earlier comment as to why an Anglo would still be here. “You don’t seem to have any friends still here, so why remain in this new country”, he asked. He then went one step further as if to goad Kurt by directly questioning Kurt’s loyalty to the new country, referring to Kurt as a WASP, which was an even more derogatory slam than the usual Anglo.
At that point, Kurt waved his hand at McDonald and shouted at him, saying that he needed to watch what he was saying and he should get out of his room. As McDonald got up, Kurt sarcastically reminded him of the new constitution, which forbid ethnic slurs like “WASP”.
This brought the half smile again to his face. In the back of Kurt’s mind was the incredulity that this man was almost reading his mind, especially since he had in his possession, the data that would allow him to leave. It was as if McDonald knew what Kurt was going to do. His most provocative and insightful comment was a short sentence. After Kurt had countered with his racial slur rebuttal, McDonald said, “Anyone in a sensitive job just can’t leave, you do know that, don’t you?”
Kurt hadn’t answered McDonald, he just stared at this man who stood looking at him with piercing eyes. Kurt finally said he was going to bed and McDonald had to leave. Without saying another word, McDonald went to the door. For a few seconds he just stared down at Kurt and then got in a parting shot. “No one”, he said, “had better be disloyal to Atlantica”. With that, he slammed shut the paneled wooden door. Kurt sat stunned on his bed, feeling the contempt and hatred still permeating from the absent young black man from the islands of the Caribbean.
As he lay there he thought about the past month. How he had found items disturbed in his room when he came back from work. Several times Martin was at his door, once as if he had just come out of his room. When he had asked Martin what he was doing at his door, Martin had made a snide comment that he was looking for his cat which they both knew was a lie because there was no cat in the house. From that day on Kurt kept his room secured. He could never figure out why Martin, this guy he hardly knew, would pay so much attention to him.
The whole business of Martin prying into Kurt’s business first started a few months earlier when they were talking in the kitchen. It was a general conversation and for some reason, they had talked about going out for a beer. In the months they had shared this Greenfield house, they had never socialized. A week later Martin came to his door and asked Kurt if he would like to go a 3-D bar in Shadyside, which used to be the chic area of old Pittsburgh. They spent over three hours discussing a variety of topics. What was memorable to Kurt was that it ended in a violent argument. Ever since that night, Kurt had gone over what was said and still couldn’t figure out what had sent McDonald into such a rage. He kept thinking about the seething hatred that came to the surface in Martin, after a rather calm start in the evening when he vividly described to Kurt his upbringing.
For the first part of the evening they exchanged stories about their respective upbringings. Martin said he was twenty-three and was raised in a poor household with no father around. His home was a three-room shack without plumbing on the opposite side of the island from the capital, Kingston. He talked calmly and wistfully about the poverty, but also the peacefulness of the small village by the sea. He talked fondly of his grandmother who had raised him and had forced him into a religious school system where he excelled. He had stopped quickly, as if programmed and asked Kurt about his upbringing in Pittsburgh. Kurt told Martin that his life was a traditional one for the time. Somewhere in the back and forth conversation he had explained his alienation with what had become of his homeland. Martin, at first, didn’t react to this longing for the “old America.”
He told Martin how he had been chronicling the history of America in a ledger since graduating from
university. At that point, Kurt had picked up his leather-covered ledger and placed it in front of him. He remembered clearly that moment because Martin sat up and stared at the large rough leather portfolio. Kurt went on to explain that it was his personal account of all that happened during the last days of the old country and the beginnings of Atlantica. Martin’s interest was obvious and he wanted to know more about what Kurt had written over the years. Kurt felt an odd sense about his extreme interest in his ledger, so he changed the subject back to Martin’s life. Kurt could still see Martin looking at the ledger for a few seconds before replying.
Martin then went on about his schooling and how he got accepted in the Atlantica University System,
Alleghenia Campus, three years ago. “It was the true beginning of my life,” he’d said forcefully. He emphasized that he was a dedicated believer in the country of Atlantica and the state of Alleghenia.
As the beer worked its ageless process of relaxation, this young man slowly became openly bitter, angry, and resentful of Kurt and what he represented. He went on about the old majorities, who he said several times had kept people, especially those of color, enslaved for hundreds of years. Kurt would look at him, take a sip, and let him go on. As it turned out he never did return to his early days. He spoke only about his future and what he was going to do with his life. Kurt remembered thinking what an admirable trait, but when he would bring up his own interest in history, Martin would become dismissive of anything to do with what had been in this land.
He abhorred anything historical about the United States. As the night wore on, Kurt was getting tired physically and of this abusive, cocky young man. At one point as their obvious differences of viewpoint came to a head, they began to shout at each other.
“Why are you hanging around my city, if you’re so goddamn nostalgic for the slave days, WASP?” he’d
shouted.
At that comment Kurt got up to leave, but then sat down, looked Martin right in the eyes and in a quiet, forceful tone, said, “You ungrateful bastard. You got a perfect community. You took over everything that was already in place; schools, transportation, water supply, food distribution centers, everything, and in eight years this place is barely functioning. Maybe it’s perfect for you and your fellow visionaries, or whatever you call yourselves, but it’s not for those who for four hundred years built a society unique in the history of Man,” Kurt bellowed in retort. “You’ve driven out the people that created all that you have today. I thought there would be some type of blending between us. Nothing old is valued,” he shouted. There was the first silence.
A minute passed, Kurt rose and said, “I must go. I’m glad we met tonight. You know, McDonald, over the past five years, I’ve really tried to contribute something to this new country. I’m an idealist at heart. I wanted this new country, this new world, for that matter, to succeed even while regretting the loss of my own country, but the hatred and suspicion of the past, my past, makes living here impossible. The peoples of the world have retreated to enclaves of their own kind because they feared domination by those different than themselves. I guess you could say they are trying to avoid what you folks have endured for centuries. Isn’t it an interesting phenomena we are living through?” he concluded wanting to continue.
Before he could continue, McDonald said tersely, “The oppressor fears oppression. What a laugh! What a joke on the history of this world. And you, the great white hope are scared and can’t handle what we have lived with for generations. Sorry, Anglo, it’s our turn, our rules. We lead, you follow. Get it!” he loudly screamed in Kurt’s face.
Kurt jumped up, looked down and retorted. “Do whatever you want. It’s your country now,” he thundered at Martin, who stared up at Kurt. A frozen grimace of hatred in his piercing black eyes glistened and reflected back at Kurt. Kurt couldn’t help seeing his half snarling smile that quivered vaguely at the corners of his mouth.
Martin kept that look at Kurt for what seemed like minutes. Finally he’d replied slowly saying that his government was now a country and a system for those who once were “outsiders”. “Now you are the outsider,”
he’d said emphatically. He’d looked up at Kurt with burning contempt, got up, and walked past him without saying another word. Until last night, they had hardly spoken since that explosive evening, but McDonald’s unusual attention to Kurt and his room made him wary of the young man.
As he lay there now with his eyes wide open, he could picture McDonald looking at him with that sneer on his face. Since their row, he’d thought of him quite a bit and what a perfect recruit he was for this new government.
Committed, and volatile, this was a man in the right place, at the right time. Kurt could still see his penetrating look of hatred, as if he embodied all of the oppression blacks had endured from whites over the past centuries.
Conjecture, maybe, but that grim, tight drawn face with a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, was still in his mind.
He rose on his elbows and looked out the squared window into the night. He hoped he would not have to deal with his neighbor tonight. Kurt shook the thoughts of Martin from his mind, got up and began to organize his belongings for his trip. He had a long night ahead of him and he had to get out of there, now.