The Game

The Game – Chapter 03

August 31, 2009 at 2:41 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments
Tags: chapter, creativity, family, father, housing, mother, novel, recycling trigger, social stratification, toddler

A toddling Mika Komatsu stared at the bundle in her mother’s arms. Sei Komatsu had spent months readying her firstborn for the fall from attention. Now it was time.

‘Say hello to your sister, Mika. Her name is Higuchi, remember?’

‘Hagish.’

‘No, darling: Higuchi. Hi-gu-chi.’

‘Hag-shi.’

Sei smiled. ‘That’s good enough for now. Now say hello.’

Mika solemnly addressed the baby. ‘Hello, Hag-shi, hello. He-llo. Hell-o, Hag-shi.’ She gingerly stroked the cheek of the infant, who turned sucking towards the contact. Mika snatched her arm back and hugged herself.

‘Don’t be frightened,’ said Sei. ‘Higuchi is hungry. Will you help me feed her?’

Mika’s thumb slid into her mouth.

‘Alright, I’ll feed her. You can watch, or maybe you’d like to play with your colours.’

‘Yes Mama, Mika play colours.’

Sei produced a feeding bottle. ‘Off you go then.’

Mika trotted into the lounge, past a high-backed chair. It swung to reveal her father, blocking her path with his leg. Mika gasped and slid to a halt at his grey flannel trousers.

‘Observe, Mika,’ Otomo Komatsu commanded. ‘Your carefree progress through life has been arrested by chance. What do you do?’

A picture of concentration, Mika wrestled with the words. ‘Umm… hello Papa!’

‘What?’

Her smile vanished. She dropped her gaze and mumbled, ‘Hello… Papa?’

‘”Hello Papa”. That’s the best you can do? “Hello Papa?”‘

‘Yes Papa. Sorry Papa.’ She strove for the right answer. ‘Mika loves Papa?’

Otomo gave a loud sniff and dropped his leg. His thickly veined hands rubbed his face and tore at his cropped hair. Mika was still waiting for instructions when he looked up, as if startled by her presence. His scowl sent her scuttling to her room.

She arranged her paints with proprietary care, keeping the warmer colours close. Taking a calligraphy brush she savoured the easel’s pristine beckoning, then began with ferocity. Her first work was standard toddler fare with distortions. The crossed windows of the house drooped mournfully while Otomo loomed over the tree towards his family. Mika added beams to the sun and daubed an oversized ‘U’ on the giant’s crimson face for protection.

She tore the paper from her block and tossed it behind her, beginning again before it landed. In the next picture Sei cowered against the hall mirror. Otomo consumed the remaining space, his reflected circus leer bracketing her. ‘Kami’ the stray cat lived again in the third picture. Kindergarten featured in the fourth and from there, the scenes brightened. Each lofted Mika further away like successive gusts of wind. Painting after painting slid to the floor, drying quickly in an accidental circle.

Beyond it, Otomo rocked his chair in chopped movements; staring at the ceiling and muttering about the deceit of women, the futility of fatherhood and the meaning of signs.

**********

Fourteen years later [YES, I KNOW THIS NEEDS TO BE FIXED! P.], Otomo sat in the same room, in the same chair. It was in tatters, the fabric brittle and the stuffing depleted. Each week Sei had watched the maid sweep up a pile of flakes — fragments of chair and dandruff — wondering which source would be first to expire.

Otomo was talking on his PC. A metal arm held the screen in front of him as he duelled with ETAT consultant Ron Potemkin. The topic was The New Deal. Otomo clutched the thick prospectus, to which he repeatedly referred.

‘So, according to Formula 3 on Page 132, my family qualifies for Rich status.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And in Clause 47.9, you state that every citizen may apply for classification deferment, pending an effort to improve himself.’

‘That’s right, Sir.’

‘Then why have you not made arrangements for those who wish to be classified below their net worth?’

The face registered shock. ‘I… I don’t understand, Sir. Why would anyone do that?’

‘My point exactly. Your entire system revolves around greed. As if my worth could be calculated from what I own! I inherited my fortune; does that make me worthy? Yes, according to you. I cannot understand you people; one man seeks an alternative to avarice and the whole system seizes. It’s disgusting!’

Initially fearing a prospectus anomaly, the consultant settled down to weather his client’s ravings. He was surprised when Otomo cut short his diatribe and returned to his original question. This time Potemkin took no chances.

‘I’ll get my team leader, Sir.’

‘Do that. Let’s see how far the rot goes.’

At the break in background noise, Mika looked up from her homework. On impulse she crossed to the door and hunched listening, black hair falling to her ankles. A new voice filled the lounge.

‘Goran Peters, Mr Komatsu; Customer Service Team Leader. How can I help you?’

Otomo meticulously described his previous conversation while Peters made noises of understanding. Mika imagined him jotting down points with a gold pen. When Otomo finished, Peters explained that The New Deal did allow him to be classified below the stratum to which he was entitled. With the consent of his partner, such classification would also apply to his dependants. To effect the change, Otomo need only surrender his assets for auditing. A formula would then divest him of sufficient wealth to drop him to his stratum of choice. Mika was impressed by Peters’ command of minutiae and wondered if her father would be satisfied.

He wasn’t.

‘So, you’re saying I can do what I want?’

‘Yes Sir; that’s correct.’

‘And my decision is binding upon my children.’

‘Provided your partner agrees, yes Sir.’

‘Then why isn’t this in the prospectus?’

An edge crept into Peters’ voice. ‘Because, Sir, most people want the best for themselves. ETAT has gone to pains to address the welfare of everyone.’

‘Well, Gonad, or whatever your name is, my family does not subscribe to the mainstream.’

‘I see that, Sir…’

‘I’ve tried to raise them as decent, sincere citizens and your money-grubbing society has thwarted me at every turn.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Don’t condescend!’ Spittle flecked Otomo’s screen. ‘Finally you’ve admitted there’s room in your precious system for an ascetic. Further it seems you have the wherewithal to keep a man in his place once he’s found it. I like that. Your New Deal will give my family something I never could: a frugal life, rich with revelation.’

‘Yes Sir.’

The chair creaked. ‘I want priority scheduling for my family to be classified as Poor.’

‘I can’t do that without your partner’s…’

‘Yes, yes, that won’t be a problem. Assume for a moment that I have her Highness’ approval. How soon can we descend?’

‘Tomorrow, Sir.’

‘Tomorrow? Are you certain?’

‘It would be our pleasure, Sir, to expedite the realisation of your wishes.’

‘Well. That’s more like it. I’ll tell my wife and call back to confirm.’

‘Yes Sir.’

Mika stole back to her desk as Otomo terminated the call. In his haste to get up, he leaned too heavily on the arm of the chair and its sun-weakened frame collapsed. He thrashed amid a cloud of fibres before setting off angrily in search of Sei.

Mika suppressed her laughter. Her father’s bitterness at not having sired a son had produced a range of eccentric behaviours, key among which was a refusal to replace anything retaining a shred of utility. The chair’s demise was a welcome respite to her bleak home life. Cocooned in study, she was oblivious to ETAT and the implications of The New Deal — recently proposed to every adult on the planet. Her slender fingers took up their pencil and she returned to her homework, chuckling occasionally until her concentration resumed.

Otomo swept through the apartment without locating his wife, then spotted her mobile still in the rack. He strode to the kitchen terminal and punched in his second daughter’s number. Her phone was off. Otomo keyed the emergency override and a flushed face appeared. Higuchi was in her car, which seemed to be in an empty lot.

‘Higuchi!’ said Otomo. ‘Where is your mother?’

‘Pa!’ Higuchi fought to regain her breath. ‘You scared the crap out of me. What’s wrong? Has something happened to Mama?’

‘Don’t curse and don’t question me! You should keep your mobile on always. Where are you?’

‘Mama’s gone shopping; she’ll be back for dinner.’

‘To make it or to eat it?’

‘I don’t bloody know.’

‘How dare you swear to me? When will you learn to honour your elders?’

‘Knock it off, Pa. You know I don’t buy that crap.’

Otomo’s eyes rolled and his mouth opened to deliver the one message Higuchi would respect. Almost fainting with the effort, he suffered her insolence one more time, rang off abruptly and clutched the sink.

Higuchi sighed with relief. From the rear seat, Ihara Teika inquired, ‘Is he gone?’

‘Yeah, but that was close. God, he’s got a nerve. He’s so full of shit.’

‘Sounds like it. Is he violent?’

‘He’s given Mama the odd tap. He sure knocked Mika around when she was younger. Tried it with me too, but I’d learned from the others. When I was five, he kicked me. I kicked him right back in the shin with all my might. He went down like a bag of shit, and hasn’t touched me since. I can tell he really wants to sometimes, though.’

‘If he ever harms you, I’ll kill him.’

‘Yeah, yeah; you and whose army?’

‘He’d better not try it, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘I feel safer already,’ said Higuchi climbing over. ‘Now, where were we?’

**********

The Komatsus moved on Mika’s seventeenth birthday. So agonising was the wrench that neither Sei nor Higuchi remembered the occasion. Sei had realised with shame that she feared Otomo more than the disadvantage to which she was committing her daughters. But it had been close. She had resolved to carve a new home from whatever she was given, and prayed daily to her ancestors for her husband’s death.

Beset with applications for classification deferment, ETAT had been unable to process Otomo’s request as swiftly as promised. While he railed against the system, his family farewelled the rich lifestyle they had enjoyed.

Higuchi suffered most. At fourteen she was rebellious, hedonistic and immune to the spiritual transformation Otomo hoped to engineer. She spent hours in her car, alone and with her first lover. Of all her possessions, the vehicle would be hardest to surrender, though she’d only been driving a few months.

Her pleas merely strengthened Otomo’s belief that her values were in dire need of realignment. He countered her every approach with a sermon, enjoying his revenge. Desperately Higuchi scrutinised The New Deal prospectus for a loophole, only to discover the stinging irony of ETAT’s policy on self-determination. The age would drop to fourteen, but only for wards of the state. Higuchi realised her parents were not only redundant; their very existence had voided her right to early independence. For once she pitied her sister. Mika had been guaranteed a Rich Class ranking. Now on the threshold of her own life, her birthright was being usurped by a vindictive Zen vigilante.

Mika thought only of leaving. Unlike her sister, she cared nothing for material advantage. On learning that being Poor would still permit her to live alone on attaining her majority, she was happy. Food, clothing, employment and housing were nothing compared to the joy of writing free from distraction and abuse. About her mother, Mika felt ambivalent. It was hard to respect one so chronically disempowered. If Mika took only one thing from Sei, it would be the resolve never to submit to the tyranny of a partner.

**********

In planning The New Deal, the founding ETAT Members realised that accommodation would be one of the chief public concerns over formal social stratification. With home size and quality solely dependent on classification, they had to get it right.

The key problem was the heterogeneity of existing accommodation stock. Though there would be only five social strata, there were innumerable types of dwelling. Permutations of site, size, age and design defied categorisation. The variety was a recipe for dispute and a stumbling block for The New Deal; citizens would never embrace a system with such scope for anomaly.

ETAT formulated a two-phase solution. A task force broke the value of existing dwellings into constituents and devised a formula to weigh them — thus enabling the value of homes to be ‘proven’ mathematically. The elegant model satisfied the learned and dazzled the ignorant. Housing allocation decisions could now be defended consistently and authoritatively.

The second solution was long term. ETAT resolved to build homes in sympathy with the proposed social strata. This was sound vertical integration. Since ETAT planned to control the allocation of housing, who better to build and lease it? Replacing obsolete dwellings with environmentally benign units also had significant public relations benefits and was a time-honoured way to stimulate the economy.

In processing Otomo Komatsu’s declassification request, team leader Goran Peters had a wide choice of dwellings. Otomo’s application was succinct: ‘a Poor Class home conducive to gaining a true understanding of humility’. Recalling Otomo’s abusive behaviour, Peters colluded with his subordinate to find a home that would deliver humility in spades. They agreed on a cramped, sunless flat in a block of two thousand. As Peters took a virtual tour through the mouldy rooms, Ron Potemkin called his counterpart in Employment.

‘Hi, Rita?… Ron here, buddy… Yeah, good thanks… Hey, do us a favour? I need the latest on application CA-004054. Komatsu… Got it?… Yeah, that’s right…. What’d they say?… Uh-huh. And when will he find out?… You’re not wrong; I wouldn’t bloody do it… That’s great; I owe you one… Thanks Rita… OK, cheers!’ Potemkin grinned at his superior. ‘Komatsu got the job he wanted. Parks and Gardens were a little surprised at his qualifications.’

‘I bet they were,’ Peters murmured, panning around the grimy bathroom.

Potemkin summoned an icon to the screen. ‘When you’re ready.’

‘Go ahead.’

The icon spread into a detailed relief map of the metropolis. Two diamonds twinkled in opposite corners. Potemkin highlighted one with his cursor. ‘This is where friend Otomo wants to play with the flowers. And this,’ he clicked the other point, ‘is where we feel he should live.’ A green line snaked between the two points, indicating the optimum public transport solution. Potemkin read the summary. ‘His commute will be a soul-cleansing… 142 kilometres, fifty-four minutes, two changes. How does that grab you?’

‘Do it.’

‘Oh, hang on,’ said Potemkin, ‘the girls’ schools; I didn’t factor them in. Damn, they’re also way across town. Should we do that to them?’

Peters pursed his lips. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘It’s a bit rough.’

‘True, but the older one’s almost eighteen. When she moves out, which will probably be on the dawn of her birthday, she can take her sister with her.’

‘And the mother?’

‘If she were going, she’d have gone. More fool her if she chooses to hang around with a prick. I say run with it.’

‘You know best,’ said Potemkin.

‘You disagree?’

‘No, no… hell, fuck ‘em, eh?’

‘An understandable, though inappropriate response, Ronald.’

Potemkin smiled and began the allocation. ‘I sure do enjoy being on your team, Mr Peters.’

‘It’s good to have you aboard, son.’ He patted Potemkin’s shoulder and moved to another consultant signalling for his attention.

**********

The Komatsu family hurtled silently through the underground to their new life. Mika took out her pad and composed a haiku as her sole birthday present.

Tomorrow I leave

This darkened place of hatred.

My pencil is sharp.

‘That should really read: “today I leave”,’ she thought, ‘but then I’ll have only four syllables. I’ll pretend I wrote it yesterday.’ She backdated the page and pocketed it. Haiku was her favourite form of expression. Though still searching for her perfect wave, she had improved steadily.

Mika next practised her dreaming. She had read that to realise a dream it was necessary to imagine it in detail — rehearsing the moment at which it came true. It had taken her time to master this, so chronically sapped of confidence had she become. Her favourite scene took place in a department store. She sat in a comfortable chair before a large desk, awaiting her next customer. From a queue that snaked into the street, another fan sat down proffering the volume of poetry.

‘Hello, Ms Komatsu, I…’

‘Please, call me Mika.’

‘Oh, you’re very kind. How do you do, Mika?’

‘Very well, and you?’

‘Fine Ms… I mean Mika. It’s such an honour to meet you. I adore your poetry and I saw you speak at the Southern Sector conference last year.’

‘Really? I’m flattered. Now, what’s your name?’

‘Um, actually, I already have my own copy… I bought this one for a friend.’

‘Birthday?’

‘No, to inspire him. You see he wants to be a writer. He’s very unhappy where he is and his writing is really very good, yet he doesn’t have the confidence to make the transition. I was hoping you could write something inspirational, to… help get him started.’

‘I understand. You’re very thoughtful. What’s his name?’

‘Andrew.’

Mika signed her message of support with a flourish. ‘Will that do?’

Mouthing the words carefully, the fan’s face lit. ‘Oh, Mika, it’s perfect! Thank you!’

‘My pleasure. Next!’

Mika hugged herself and smiled, renewed by the affirmation. Hers had always been a frail dream. Every second Net denizen fancied herself a writer and the system was awash with drivel. Now she was Poor — two enormous steps down the social ladder. Yet despite this and her father’s strident opposition, Mika believed she would realise her vision. In a year she’d be free to find her own little space, where she could gather her energy and work without distraction. But not even her dream could protect her from the shock of the family’s new home.

It was an absolute hovel.

Though the block’s dilapidated exterior had signalled a warning, the flat still managed to exceed the women’s worst fears. Otomo happily watched their faces fall, knowing he’d been right to deny them a virtual tour. The floor plan was a ‘T’, with the entrance in the middle of the cross bar. To the left was the second bedroom. In the centre was the dining/lounge area. On the right were the kitchen and bathroom. The stem of the ‘T’ was the master bedroom, which boasted only one small window. Low ceilings and dark walls completed a claustrophobe’s nightmare.

Sei’s tears cratered the dust. Higuchi sought the additional rooms which had to be there. Mika examined the smashed sockets, wondering if it were possible to run a home without a computer.

‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ Otomo chortled. ‘No more distractions; just clean, simple family life.’

Mika’s voice quavered. ‘How will I study, Papa?’

‘Yeah, what about our homework?’ Higuchi added.

‘Your first lesson in humility. You will use the facilities in the public library.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding! Those dinosaur shit boxes are riddled with viruses!’

‘You will adapt.’

‘Adapt? Adapt?’ Higuchi advanced. ‘Are you out of your mind? You’ve taken us back to the Stone Age! This is a bloody cave! Jesus, Pa, you’ve always been a flipper, but this takes the…’

Smack!

Higuchi’s head shot back and she slid to the floor.

‘Things have changed,’ said Otomo. ‘You are all unforgivably spoilt. It is my duty to correct the corruption wreaked by our former prosperity. You can work with me or,’ he glanced pointedly at Higuchi, ‘against me. Our belongings will arrive shortly. I must report to my new employer. You will have this house set up correctly before my return. Understand?’

Mika nodded. Sei stared blankly and said in a hollow monotone, ‘Yes, Otomo.’

‘Good. See you tonight.’ He stepped into the corridor and closed the door with a snap as the women lapsed into shock.

Read Chapter 04.

Brought to you by The Feisty Empire.

Pic by The Artist.