The Pack

Alejandra Baccino

 

Nothing could have prepared me for this. While growing up, during one of the many cool summer nights when I would just lie and imagine what my life would be like, I never imagined that things would turn out this way. Not exactly. But I somehow knew it would be… extraordinary, for lack of a better word. And even at such a young age, it made sense that it would end up like this. You see, despite our power of reasoning, the subconscious is our most powerful tool. I am not going to pretend I understand how the mind and the world beyond the living are connected, let alone explain it, but I always sensed that some things are simply beyond our power of understanding, and the more open you are about it, the more likely you are to glimpse just a bit.

I did manage to have something of a normal life in my adult years, while I was trying to make do in this world like anybody else, with real problems, real issues and concerns. Little did I know that my past experiences would come back in a most strange manner, and would take away my daughter’s bright future, and her sanity.

I wish I had been less selfish; and I regret thinking my life would carry on normally. We can choose to ignore certain things, but eventually, they will find their way back, demanding to be heard and demanding much more, if you, like me, try to hide them.

Every day I visit her at the center. This “Well-being Center” as it is called, in a feeble attempt to avoid the stigma. Nonetheless, it is what it is, and I need to take my responsibility for what happened.

Slowly I drink the cup of tea the nurse offered me, while I wait for her. It is a nice and quiet place, and I must convince myself that this is what is best for her and the rest of us.

As I observe the ducks on the pond, following one another, I start to drift off into my memories, into the past.

 

It was a gray city, very gray. Beggars lay in every corner, side by side with trash cans and waste, and getting the same consideration from passersby. It is an austere, damp city. Finally, the dictatorship that ruled the country and the region had been overthrown, but our country was in pieces and its inhabitants were barely surviving. Due to the blockade and imposed restrictions, food was hard to get. We would only receive a few rations, which we would trade for medicine, warm clothes and guns. We had dreamt about the end of the regime for so long that we had not considered what the aftermath would bring.

It had all started over a decade ago as an extreme measure by our then government to stop a wave of violence brought about by the worst financial crisis our country had ever seen. From one day to the next, people’s life savings were gone, entire factories and businesses went bankrupt, and banks and financial institutions shut down and were protected by private paramilitary groups. People were scared and angry. They had trusted the elected government, which filled their own pockets while watching our country collapse, and then they took off after raiding our country´s treasury and securing safe passage for themselves and their families to another authoritarian country across the globe with no extradition treaties. The same old story.

After being left in such a state of despair, we were relieved when the Principal General of the Armed Forces set out a contingency plan for 6 months in order to contain the violence and establish the terms and conditions for various loans with international funds to help us out of the crisis. How naïve, you may think. But you must understand, people were desperate to believe, were desperate enough to let someone take charge and guide us through to a democracy.

Six months went by, and, of course, it wasn’t enough to fix the deep crisis in our country, so we let them stay longer despite some democratic groups warning against it. As history is bound to repeat itself, they never left. Not voluntarily at least.

Many years of torture against political dissidents and human rights activists followed, many years of bad national investments, poverty, and a complete disruption of social support systems, which meant that the only opportunities for an entire generation of kids were drugs, crime, and accusing the opposition of spying, treason, or attempting the murder of those in government. You know, the usual.

Then, a new wave of hope was ridden, although not by the hand of a person, but by organized groups. Even today, no one knows for certain what happened that night or the events that led to the death of the Principal General of the Armed Forces. I am sure someone will investigate it in the future, but at the time nobody wished to put the responsible person behind bars. As horrible as it sounds, this X assassin was a hero of sorts. Well, heroine, really, but just a few know that. In this case, the patriarchy worked to my advantage; since if someone starts digging into the past to find a culprit, they will be looking for a man.  If the system sucks, at least use it to your advantage. That’s how I came to be the chosen one, nobody would suspect a skinny young girl. I have to admit, though it shames me, it felt nice when the General realized that his life would soon be over.

I would not say I was proud of it, but it certainly taught me how to use the system, even if I didn’t understand that at the time.

I was fifteen years old when I was recruited. Like most teenagers, even in the worst conditions, I was trying to find my own identity. Regardless of the situation, I had grown up in a stable and loving home, though still aware of my surroundings. When I turned twelve, the regime passed a new decree expropriating my parent’s assets and bank accounts. My parents had been targeted for years, as they had helped hide activists and were suspected of operating an underground network assisting those who were fighting for freedom of speech and democracy. The regime did not want them dead, it wanted to humiliate them, and to use them as an example for those still rebelling. One day, they were brought in for questioning, and sent directly to prison, no charges, and no right to an attorney. Although I was a minor, I was left to fend for myself, as the system had collapsed and resources were nonexistent. Plus, I was a walking reminder of what would happen to those who dared to fight the regime. I became a pariah.

I do not wish upon anyone what I went through during the first few months of my forced freedom. I had only been allowed to keep a backpack of things, which I quickly filled with some clothes, medicine, a few tampons, documents, and a couple of photos. I was smart enough to get some food and a Swiss Army knife that belonged to my dad. It was so surreal that I felt dumb thinking I might need all this, but at the same time I was facing a new life I had never known before, and I was scared. The streets are no place for a girl, let alone in a situation of chaos, where everything has a price and where morals belong to a different era.

The first few nights were so cold I thought I wouldn’t survive. I had to stop myself from crying because the tears would nearly freeze, which felt like a stinging reminder of everything that was wrong with this situation. But the cold offered protection. I was able to disguise myself as a scroungy boy and to hide the backpack with my few belongings under an already filthy blanket. I did odd jobs and begged for food or money when I couldn’t get anything, but I was able to survive. After the first few weeks, I felt comfortable enough to think that I would make it after all, despite the pain, despite the anger, and despite the hunger. Little did I know, I would only feel that for a few more hours.

It was around 10 pm when I got settled in my usual spot, under a bench in a poorly lit square. The bench was rather good at shielding me from the wind and, though dark, was still close enough to pedestrians and a place with food, in case I needed help. I still believed in humankind, you see.

And then, I saw it. Suddenly, I felt the hairs on my neck prickle and I was much more aware of my surroundings. Where there had been bushes two minutes ago, there were shadows, slowly moving to my spot. It all went so fast I can barely remember. A few seconds later, someone was grabbing me from behind and putting a knife to my throat. I remember the sharpness of the blade, but I didn’t care. They started searching my stuff, my backpack, my pockets, and the little money I had hidden in my shoe. I fought, I screamed, I asked for help. No one came. I could see the passersby staring, and then turning their heads or leaving. And it hit me, I was alone in the world, no one was coming. I fought with everything I had, my nails, my teeth, my rage. I didn’t care whether I lived or not, because there was nothing left to live for. Although I caught them by surprise, they were three against one; it was over. Not only did I lose my belongings that night, but I also lost my innocence, my hope, and any faith in humanity. I started pick-pocketing and stealing. I wandered around the streets like those who have nothing and don’t owe anyone anything. Occasionally some looked at me with pity, but I would just sneer at them. I didn’t want to rely on anybody, let myself feel that someone may want to help me.

Without my essentials, life got tougher. I was still begging and stealing but the food was getting scarcer as the situation in the country deteriorated. There were talks of liberation, a new beginning, but I couldn’t care less. My new beginning had started already, and it was worse than I could have imagined.

A few weeks after the incident, I thought I recognized one of the robbers with other kids. I wasn’t sure at first, so I decided to follow them. They were older than me and very cocky. They walked like they owned the street and terrified those who stared at them too long. I did not care anymore; I wanted my things back. I wanted to recover the only reminder that I had had a happy life.

So I followed. I looked like a skinny weasel, sneaking behind them between the dumpsters and trying to go undetected. I didn’t dare to get too close to them, but I was desperate to know where they slept, and most importantly, where they kept my stuff.

I became cockier and careless. I didn´t know any better and didn’t bother to look after myself. I would steal in plain sight and from the most dangerous people in the neighborhood. After a while, following the three kids that had stolen from me became boring, but I was intrigued by them, who they were, and how they had come to know each other. They were, for street standards, affectionate among themselves and seemed to share a sense of community I longed for. I wanted to be a part of their group, but I did not want to risk infuriating them. Also, I started to notice a pattern. They would hang out at a specific spot for a few days, until they targeted someone and stole everything from them, very violently. It was like they would suddenly feel bloodthirsty; their expressions would change; their body language turned rigid, and their whole act of affection and jokes was replaced by pure sadism. It was not friendship that united them, but viciousness. Looking back, I realized that I should’ve noticed the signs, the changes in their behavior. But I wanted a pack, and I did not feel like the world had been fair to me, so why should I care?

I had been laying out a plan to get closer to them. I thought about being upfront, but they probably would have ignored me. I thought about stealing from them, although it would have been quite dumb since they still outnumbered me. The ‘opportunity’ arrived during a warm day towards the end of spring, one of those days that seem to come and go without anything special going on. We were all at one of the parks they had been hanging around for a few days. They were sitting on the grass, putting the tip of a lit cigarette on an anthill, while I kept my distance sitting against a tree, pretending to nap but watching them. After about an hour, when the sun had already set and people were rushing to get back home, I realized why they had chosen this particular spot.

Probably because I had followed them for so long, I knew what would happen the moment I saw someone else approach. See, this place was used for the local dealer who would switch spots every few days to avoid altercations with the authorities that could complicate business. It was common knowledge that the whole police department was aware of this and even received small kickbacks to look the other way. However, keeping up with appearances seemed like basic decency and a good marketing strategy. No one was bothered and they all got their cut.

This was bad.

Had I not known them better I would have thought that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. No. This meant confrontation. With a quick movement, the kids surrounded the dealer, who realized what was happening a second too late. Instantly, one of the kids immobilized him, grabbed his merchandise, and knocked him cold. A car came out of nowhere and they put him in it. Something was off; they were organized; this was planned; and I was completely out of place. As I started to walk away, everything went black.

 

It was either nighttime when I regained consciousness or I was underground. The pain in the back of my head made my vision blurry, and I nearly passed out again when I tried to get up. There was a glass of water and some stale bread in the corner of the room. I was so thirsty I just drank gulp after gulp. No need to poison me after being knocked out and carefully placed here.

It was a damp room of two square meters. There was nothing other than a filthy mattress and lots of writing on the walls. As my eyes adjusted to the room, I saw a door. Slowly, I approached it and tried to listen to the noises on the other side. As I couldn’t hear anything, I turned the doorknob slowly and found myself in an old kitchen of what looked like a factory.

I heard the footsteps a minute too late and suddenly there were voices and laughter. Surrounded, I just stood there, defiant.

­­­     “Well, well, well… look who’s finally up and running?” said one of the kids I’d been following around. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Quit it,” said the first kid. “My name is James. This is Isabella and Mica. I think you know us already.”

“Hi…” I replied. “I´m Ti…”

“No! Not your real name. We know who you are but no one else may know.”

“Tina,” I added quickly. It was the first thing that came to mind. “Where are we? Why are you holding me here?”

“Ha! Following us for weeks and now we’re holding her? Shameless!” – interjected the girl named Mica.

“We are not and do not wish to hold you here,” said James. “If you stay, you stay on your own free will. We just thought you needed friends and you seem like a good fit for the cause. Small and unnoticeable but daring. A little inexperienced, but we can teach you.”

“Teach me what? What cause? Who are you?” – The questions blurted out of my mouth in anger. What do you want to teach me? How to trick a low life to steal from him or how to hurt people just because? No thank you!” I added boldly.

“Well… we needed to know how you would react. What type of person you were,” said the girl named Isabella with a look of shame? I am sorry for that.”

After a few moments, Mica made some coffee and told us to go and sit down, so I could meet the others and they could explain it better. I was very curious about the whole thing, and I hadn’t had anything that tasted like coffee for such a long time, so I followed them.

We went up two flights of stairs into a living room. There were two men and a woman watching the news while a much older woman was scribbling something on a notepad. One by one, I was introduced to them as “Tina,” and they all welcome me and shared their also made-up names, Hugo, Paco, and Luis. Only Donald Duck was missing. We sat at a table and James started explaining.

“We are an organization, or we like to think we are. To our government, we are nobodies who, like you, have been forced into this by a consequence of corrupt, evil, and authoritarian leaders. We all have our personal histories of how we ended up here. Some out of principle,” he said, looking at the older lady, “some for revenge,” he gestured at the ones who were watching TV, “and some for fun, like me,” he added shrugging his shoulders.

“And what do you do here?” I asked, gesturing at the room.

“Well, this would be our headquarters, so to speak,” explained Isabella. “Basically, we want to overthrow the government,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Okay…” I replied, not knowing what should follow that statement. “And… how?” – They probably figured I thought they were crazy or ridiculous.

“Wait, listen,” Mica said. “We have been planning this for years. Well, not us. Other people before us, people who are no longer here to explain. We were recruited in different circumstances, and like you, came to know about this because we could add something, either contacts, knowledge or, in your case, invisibility.”

James, who had been quiet, added, “we have chosen not to live like this anymore, like scum. We have allowed a few to take what others worked for, what others created, and worst of all, what others believed. They have taken our loved ones for their cause, and now, we are going to strike them hard. It will all fall from there.”

I still did not know what to believe. They would be thrown in jail forever if the wrong person heard what he had just told me. They either felt safe, or it was some kind of trap. I remained quiet. Listening.

“You do alright in not trusting us,” Isabella exclaimed. “If you wish, you’ll stay here and see how you feel. The streets aren’t safe for a little girl, anyway.” She said this with a bit of malice, as I remembered the night they had stolen from me.

“My backpack!” I demanded. “You have my stuff.”

“Yes, you are correct. You stay here for one month, and no matter whether you decide to stay or leave, we’ll give it back. But not before,” Mica said.

“Okay. Deal.” Having a pack didn´t seem like a bad idea, nor did having coffee or a safe place to sleep, and after only one month, I would have my only possessions.

And so, the training and the indoctrination began. Of course, I was too young to understand it back then. All I could understand was their passion, their logic, and, most of all, their thirst for revenge. They seemed to have contacts where my parents were being held, who told them that my mother was still in prison and that my dad had pneumonia. I didn’t even question this information. I just trained harder and studied for longer hours.

I lost track of time, but a year probably went by where all I did was train and learn. I studied maps, blueprints, first aid, weaponry, antidotes, and information. And I constantly heard about how good things would be when this was over and I would finally reunite with my parents. I was not worried about what my task would be. I didn’t know what was so special about me. They seemed to know everything about how the government worked and who the most corrupt people were or who would quickly turn a blind eye. They knew it all.

Then they told me. They had said it many times – “invisibility.” That was why they needed me. I have one of those forgettable faces – that of a thin, normal, uninteresting, seventeen-year-old girl.

It was glorious. Everything had gone according to plan. The years of preparation, organizing, feeding false information, and putting money into the pockets of key officials had finally paid off. It felt like the graduation I would never have. We celebrated with home-made champagne, we danced, we hugged, and we toasted a new and brighter beginning.

But they came and went, and then others appeared. After the Principal General was out of the picture, small groups of officials disputed their power. Different parties were created, all wanting a piece of the pie. From our side, some went into exile, fearing the consequences, some decided to stay and fought for stability, and some just wanted to incite fear again and abuse their newly gained power. With the military gone, it was mayhem. The law was still there, but no one enforced it. And this time, they didn’t even need to pretend.

The organization quickly dissolved as I stayed there waiting. After insisting on seeing my parents, I was told they had died the year before, but I had not been informed because that would make me lose my motivation.

I had less than before. Hope for something that would never come was all I had. The people whom I thought were friends just went on with their own, sadistic ways shortly after the celebration. I was just the tool they needed to roam freely, bullying and abusing the power of not having anything to fear and nothing to lose.

What I had become, was nauseating. I hated how easily I had been manipulated and that I had let myself believe there were still good people out there. I had considered them all a family, or the closest thing to that since my parents had been taken away. I was angry and hurt. And I was on the run.

The few officials who were devoted to the Principal began an investigation. They figured that making an example of any person involved in the assassination would return them to power.

After a few months of being back on the streets, I decided I needed to end it. I didn’t hear from James, Mica or Isa again. They might have been dead for all I knew. I contacted one of the officials I had met while visiting government premises a few weeks before the crime took place. I knew he was loyal to the General and he would do everything in his power to make the perpetrators pay for their crime.

I slowly devised a plan where I was only an accessory who had joined the organization for survival but had never known what the ultimate goal was. I provided the location of the headquarters, the descriptions of the members, their false names, and everything I could think of that wouldn´t directly incriminate me. I had been taught how to deceive, after all. I got my immunity. I got my safe passage and I started a new life, in a different place. Away from everything – the misery, the anger and the guilt.

 

Years later, I became pregnant with my little girl. I met this wonderful man and got married at a small chapel. He was kind and funny. And he never asked too many questions. I was thrilled! This was my chance to really start over, to genuinely do something pure and good!

I had gone so many years without thinking back, without asking myself what had happened to them after I left, that it seemed it was someone else´s story.

Until the backpack arrived.

I opened the bag left at the doorstep and tears started rolling down my cheeks. I was shaking. It couldn’t be, could it? There was no sender, no postage stamp.

I searched the insides and found my belongings I had forgotten so long ago, and a note.

“We didn’t forget.”

I lived the next months in fear, thinking something terrible would happen; that I would turn around the corner and they would be there, older, but with the same sadistic look on their faces.

However, nothing happened. A few years went by and I let myself believe it had been a nasty joke. My kid was beautiful and smart. She was funny and witty, with such weird ideas, and seemed much wiser than her age. Even alone, she was constantly talking and playing like she was surrounded by a million friends!

On a warm Sunday at noon, I was setting the table in the yard to have lunch on one of the remaining warm days of the season when I suddenly screamed. “There´s a dead frog on the table!” My precious little girl turned around and started laughing. While trying to keep my composure, I asked her “Honey, do you know anything about this?” – She gave me a hurt look and, nearly crying, said, “It´s a gift! They said you would like it.” I couldn’t avoid the look of disgust. Calmly, I asked her once more, “Who said that, sweety?” I swear her eyes became darker as she replied, “My friends… Isa, Mica, and a boy named James.”

The pitcher fell out of my hands.

I knew they were back. Forget they would not.

I chose a happy life. I chose a future and oblivion. And I paid for it dearly.