“Why don’t they do anything with them?”
The two vestiges of the prior century, rusting and unattended, stood quietly at attention.
“What would you do?”
Russ didn’t have an answer, though he didn’t want to leave Kofi without one.
“I don’t know, but I damn well wouldn’t leave them there like that.”
The two men sat at the outskirts of a roving caravan of tents, currently situated in front of the Corona Avenue Tenement Building. Gatherings of those who had been displaced by the ever increasing cost of shelter in their city had become a common sight on almost every street corner. The tenement building was among the few remaining affordable apartment complexes within the city limits, which had now extended to incorporate neighbouring Nassau County to the east and Westchester County to the north. Queens, one of now 7 boroughs in the city, was famed for its diversity regarding the nationalities and ethnicities of its residents. People from all corners of the ever encumbered planet occupied the streets and avenues of the borough, previous segregation replaced by universal struggle. The remnants of familial ties through property ownership had all but been erased, most selling their property at hyper inflated values and escaping to the less developed portions of their country.
Kofi’s family followed this trend, becoming the diaspora of the diaspora. They had arrived from Ethiopia only 70 years prior, quick to establish a business within their community and shortly thereafter serving as a neighborhood institution. 70 years later, Kofi was the only one who remained. The rest, all 86 of them, escaped west. Kofi, stubborn by nature, refused to abandon land that he viewed as his birthright.
“I don’t care if I have to live in a box, I was born here and I’ll die here.”
Russ did not have any family, his mother died when he was 5 years old and his father was an unknown factor. He grew up in a similar Banksville (shanty towns named after the Governor of New York most directly tied to the reshaping of New York State, Adam Banks) all of his life. He knew which store owners were generous and which would alert the police of a vagrant’s presence. He memorized the patrol routes of the city’s police department, often guiding the exodus of fellow vagrants when their encampment earned the ire of local tenants. Russ was a beloved figure in his community at large, though he only ever lived in Queens. The two men were also the surrogate parents of the orphan girl who currently drew pictures in the gravel beside them, Nuwa.
She glided her finger through the sediment, mindlessly creating basic shapes and images. When she caught on to their conversation regarding the two towers in the distance, she shifted to sketching the structures instead. Two lines, two hamburger shaped platforms.
Russ continued to stare at the two structures, trying to recapture the glory of the bygone age that envisioned them. The world, freshly bloodied but finally healing, came together to celebrate a future to be envisioned, rather than a present to be accepted. Automobile makers showcased their latest innovations, countries’ representatives propagated their party lines and aimed to stand out amongst their fellow nations who were also occupying this brave new world. Advancements in food production promised a world without hunger, advancements in the world of human thought promised a world without strife. The most recent designs in aeronautic engineering, serving as a display of man’s ambition to reach other planets, filled the minds of child and adult alike with fantasies of weightless travel, their species no longer bound to the cradle. The spectre of a final conflict between the two remaining superpowers underscored the festivities, but did not dampen the optimism that flourished in the hearts of the peoples who came to witness the gathering of the world in Flushing, Queens.
“It was a better time. A time when people looked forward to something.”
“Ain’t done that for a long while now,” admitted Kofi.
Russ looked at Nuwa, she continued to capture the profile of the structures.
“What ‘ya doing there kid?”
She smiled the smile that was beloved by all in the camp, a smile that seemed ignorant of their current suffering. She stretched her hands out, aiming them towards her triumph.
“My, ain’t that something. Kofi, you see this?”
Kofi had been distracted by a passing Securitas patrol car, private security forces hired by locals to keep the camp in line.
“Huh? Oh, well, that sure is something.”
Russ whacked him across the shoulder, placed a finger against his pursed lips.
“Shhhh. You jackass, you’ll break her heart!”
“And you’ll turn her into a sailor with that mouth.”
Nuwa, watching the battle of these titans, went back to her work. She pondered the new word for a moment, then decided to practice it.
“Jackass.”
“See,” Kofi gloated, “now she’s really taking to you.”
The Banksvilles, though unorganized, often grew to the point where basic services needed to be performed. Nuwa’s mother was originally a licensed physician from China, fleeing with her daughter after her husband was accused of treason by the state. They arrived in America only 3 years prior, Nuwa’s mother died only 2 years afterwards. Nuwa was 7 years old, the responsibility of her upbringing had been taken up by all members of the camp. Russ and Kofi quickly grew fond of her. She enjoyed watching the two of them bicker, which in turn endeared her to them. She tempered their anger, they gave her any extra food they managed to scrounge up. Though the camp tried to provide her with the diet that a girl of her age required, she was visibly malnourished.
Later that day, Nuwa rushed over to Kofi, tugging at the loose strings of fabric that hung from his sleeve.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
Kofi and Russ had returned from a food run. The pair scrounged nearby dumpsters in search for the excess products that food establishments tossed out every night after closing. The night’s search was a failure, but Kofi happened upon a bag of candy that he put aside for her.
“Here you go, kid. I’m sorry there’s not more.”
She was content, quickly gobbling up every piece that sat within. Russ turned to him, his face betraying his fear.
“Kid, did anyone else in camp have something for you?”
She was too busy enjoying the candy to verbalize a response, instead providing only an enthusiastic thumbs down. She sat with the two for another hour, eventually falling asleep against Russ’ arm. Kofi offered to bring her back to the tent that the camp set aside specifically for her; she was the youngest among them. Russ nodded, grateful as his own health was failing and lifting Nuwa had become difficult. Russ took in the structures, barely contrasted against the starless sky behind them, one last time before retiring for the night.
Nuwa woke up in the middle of the night, gunfire a few blocks over pulled her out of her dream. She snuck out of the tent, tip-toeing so as not to awaken either Kofi or Russ. Neon signs poured harsh light and colors onto the encampment. “JOIN SECURITAS, STEADY PAY GUARANTEED.” Another sign was a political ad for a mayoral candidate, Adam Bank’s great nephew. It said: “PROSPERITY IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER!”
Nuwa walked around the corner, newcomers to the camp were settling in. They sported torn backpacks and little else. Some had managed to scavenge a tent, they failed to realize that half of the canvas was missing until they attempted to set it up. A woman was carrying a baby, Nuwa grew jealous assuming that her spot as the youngest in the camp was about to be usurped. She relaxed when she realized that she would remain the youngest. The mother still played with the child, she said “hush little baby, don’t you cry,” though Nuwa heard no weeping.
Russ was awoken by Kofi the next morning.
“I had an idea. You got me thinking last night, ‘bout the towers.”
Russ was enthused, Kofi tended to be reserved but his eyes were bright, deep in thought.
“What about? They locked that place up, patrol it every night.”
“Well, I couldn’t sleep last night. I walked over to see what it was like, they had no one there. A car passes every so often, but only every two hours or so.”
Russ was curious, but unsure of what Kofi was trying to convey.
“Okay, so you want to go see it?”
Before Russ could continue his line of questioning, Kofi’s face lit up with a smile.
Nuwa sat by herself at the fire in the center of camp, it was almost midnight. The camp was quiet, she had seen many of the residents come in and out throughout the day and was scared that they would have to flee again, as they had done the week before. She listened to hear the constant chatter that usually filled the air. Now, only the sound of distant sirens broke through the silence. She walked over to a few of the tents, peering into each only to find them disheveled and empty. She called out the names of her various caretakers, sometimes using phrases in their native languages that she had picked up through traveling with them. No response.
She ran into her tent and began to weep, she thought they had abandoned her. Through her tears, she saw Kofi crawl into the small tent. She swiped at him and accused him and the others of an act too vile to speak. He laughed, pulling her closer even as she continued her barrage.
“Shh, no such thing, kid, no such thing. Come on, we have a surprise for you.”
She was hesitant, the same despair that followed the passing of her mother had resurfaced. Finally, after recognizing the mischievous grin that often came to Kofi’s face when he planned to antagonize Russ, his favorite pastime, she agreed to follow him.
He led her by her hand, still soft despite the struggles she faced daily. They cut through the throngs of people that occupied the storied streets of the borough. Abandoned stores lined the avenues, many now serving as temporary homes for those who once operated them. Patrol cars slowly cruised by, the rookies within nervously glancing at the masses who flanked every side of the vehicle. Nuwa found her arm being tugged on by Kofi, she was enraptured by the seemingly endless chaos that unraveled around her.
Across the street, past the large, flat, concrete wall that was built to prevent climbing, sat the few occupied apartments that remained in the area. No windows faced the vagrant’s side of the street, instead a large mural covered the entirety of the wall. The mural depicted the buildings that remained from the 1964 World’s Fair in all of their glory. Retro-futuristic spaceships buzzed around the observation towers, crystal clear water danced around the metal sculpted globe, the planet’s collected peoples held hands and encircled it. At the forefront stood a mother with her daughter, both walking jovially towards the structure, hand in hand. The only text provided read: “The Future Will Be Better Tomorrow.”
Nuwa’s eyes diverted to a fight that broke out in a separate Banksville nearby. Two men were trading blows, it seemed that the fight was over food. Kofi lifted her up into his arms, imploring her to bury her head into his shoulder so the surprise would not be spoiled. She drifted off, awakening to a cool summer breeze that was sprinkled with fountain water embedded within. Flags of all the nations spanned the length of the center path that led towards the fountain, the globe atop it shown brilliantly under the sun. Her mother pointed out their own flag, a nation she herself had no memory of. The two walked through the main pavilion, accosted by those running the seemingly endless exhibits. She marveled at the future that she was promised, unquestioning in her faith towards it. Children of all races and nations gathered together to witness their triumph, their dominion over their shared world. Her mother smiled.
“Wake up kid, we’re here.”
The moon stood suspended over the towers, the metallic globe was covered in the various tags of local gangs. Remnants of short lived encampments were scattered in the area. She spied shadows projected against the path that led to the center pavilion. Kofi encouraged her forward, still sporting that familiar smile. She approached cautiously, the shadows grew larger.
The smell of freshly cooked food surrounded her, she was sure that she was yet to awake from what must be another fantasy. Russ was first to greet her, holding a plastic container that held shepherd’s pie, his favorite meal.
“Ireland.”
He leaned down to meet her eyes, ignoring the pain that ravaged his knees. She was still confused, further so upon realizing more figures were emerging from the shadows, containers in hand. Kofi came around to where Russ still knelt, holding his own concoction.
“Injera, Ethiopia.”
More and more members of her adopted family came out of the shadows bearing gifts to her, representatives of the nations they once knew, and the torch of the past they now carried. Her eyes wandered in an effort to meet them all, the conflicting scents overwhelmed her. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation, her smile betrayed her.
The peoples of the world gathered under the shadow of that long forgotten promise. A promise of peace, a promise of stability, a promise of comfort, a promise of security. Her family sat down and shared their bounty, exchanging stories of hardship and triumph that brought them together. Russ and Kofi sat at her side in the center of the circle, she took turns leaning against both of her fathers. Even as the lights approached the pavilion, Nuwa refused to abandon the future that stood before her.
