The Last Prayer

Adin grunted. “A lot of good that will do us.”

“Adin,” Ester murmured. She looked into Samuel’s eyes, searching, pleading for some form of hope he knew he couldn’t provide.

He offered her instead a sorrowful shake of the head. “I can’t imagine what you are going through. First, with Lonni, now with Hanna. I’m truly sorry for—”

“Yes, yes! You’re sorry for us, for our loss, for our miserable lives. You stand there all high and mighty but you don’t give a damn, really. You just preach your sacred platitudes, your damned pieties, while we sweep and wait and grunt and toil and wait for some…” Adin’s voice broke off, rasping as if he’d swallowed a woolen scrub pad.

Samuel stifled a reply. Yes, the sweepers had worked and waited and worked some more. And the time was coming very soon when they would act. It was a cyclical occurrence, he’d discovered. Every twenty or thirty years. All it took was for massive discontent to meet widespread fanaticism. Both ingredients had increased in tandem in recent years among this particular caste, especially since Lonni’s unfortunate accident.

The sweepers’ lives were no worse, really, than all the other segments of society. But they were held in no high regard. Responsible for cleaning the underbelly of the silo, their class of workers would literally sweep the detritus, filth, and grime out from the crawlspaces that had accumulated between levels. It was dirty work and sometimes dangerous, as this couple well knew.

But change was always dangerous.

“…When will the waiting be over?” Adin demanded.

The man’s anguished voice interrupted Samuel’s musings, but he kept silent. He’d been waiting as well. The room was stuffy with tension, sweat, and fear.

“What? No words of comfort?” Adin mocked. “No talk of heaven?”

Ester tried to quiet her husband with a pat on the shoulder. He pushed her hand away and stood before the future priest, rage and grief and anguish flickering in turn across his face. “What about the changes you said would come, when we sweepers would no longer live as silo rats, scurrying underneath the feet of our neighbors.” Fists clenched and unclenched. “I sacrificed my own daughter, Samuel. Dear God, you owe me….”

“God will honor Lonni’s and Hanna’s sacrifice. Their future is with him—”

“What about our future, Samuel? What about our hopes and dreams?” Adin gnashed his teeth and hissed, “What about the uprising you promised?”

-4-

The Previous Year

It took them two days to walk down-silo for the funeral of Lonni Tate. The wizened priest could manage no more than twenty floors at a time so Samuel made arrangements for an overnight stay on nineteen before they continued on to one of the sweeper’s residences on thirty-eight.

There was no rush. The family would wait; their daughter was already gone. Lonni’s body had been ported to the dirt farms for decomposition as soon as the sheriff had finished his hurried investigation. Her nutrients would soon feed the plants that grew in the agricultural floors which in turn would feed the people of the community itself. Her death, unfortunate as it was, would serve some higher purpose in the end.

A much higher purpose, Samuel was confident.

When the accident was first reported, he suggested to the priest that he, being younger of course, accompany Alston almost a third of the way down the silo to comfort the family while the sheriff made formal inquiries. Elias readily agreed; he’d stay behind and prepare for the memorial service to come.

This was not unique. Over the years Samuel had found many sensible reasons to visit the sweepers—and other common workers—while carrying out his duties as the elder’s secretary. He’d one day be the upper-levels chief priest after all. Didn’t everyone plant seeds for a future harvest?

On that quick down-and-up the week before, Samuel took the opportunity to cultivate. Sheriff Alston had discovered that Lonni died sweeping with her father Adin Tate, a middling man in their caste. At ten, she was too young to shadow and the sheriff had wanted to make an arrest. “The sweepers are making noise,” Jedediah said. “A good cleaning will let off some steam. Haven’t had one in ten years.”

“Eleven,” Samuel responded automatically, always accurate. The longest the silo’s gone without one since the last uprising. And just a tad too soon to release the pressure. “Sheriff, might I suggest another course of action?”

And within the hour Alston closed the case, declaring the accident ‘unpreventable.’ He left soon afterward while Samuel had stayed an extra day to plant a very important seed….

When he and Elias finally arrived on thirty-eight for the funeral, Ester greeted them warmly on the small landing, a gathering of sweepers stacked up behind her. There was sadness in their eyes, but compassion and faith as well. Samuel could see that the pain of the previous week was slowly abating. Small strands of hope were being spun, suggesting they might one day become strong enough to mend the tear in their lives.

“Father, Brother Sam, thank you for coming,” she said. Adin stood behind her, brooding. “And thank you again for…helping clear my husband. He wasn’t…it wasn’t…his fault.” There were general murmurs of agreement and sympathy as the grieving mother choked back new found tears.

“Ester, that’s enough.” Adin turned and the crowd gave way, allowing the small group through, then following them to the floor’s humble chapel.

“Of course not,” Samuel said, walking beside her. “Adin was not to blame. I simply pointed out to the sheriff that some things were best left to rest.” Certain things, like a few of the sheriff’s past indiscretions. Samuel had mentioned these confidential matters to Jedediah who, rather quickly, saw the wisdom in letting them remain where they were.

Adin, too, had responded, albeit reluctantly, to Samuel’s rather persuasive liaise. All men have secrets better left unexposed. The art and craft was in the ability to leverage those momentary lapses into service for the greater good. Some called such measures surreptitious; Samuel preferred to call it diplomacy.

Elias, in his own way, was a diplomat and Samuel was impressed as the elder statesman took charge, confident and competent in his priestly role among the residents of the upper levels. Too bad his days were numbered. As the sweepers filed into the chapel, God’s man took his position at the front. Everyone remained standing, as was tradition, but the sheer numbers present to support the anguished family demanded it as well.

“We gather here, O Lord,” the priest began, “to honor the life of Lenora Tate and pray that thy glorious angels might usher her soul into thine heaven….”

Samuel smiled at the familiar liturgy and glanced sideways at the forgotten member of the family, young Hanna. Favored by God. Appropriate name for this surviving twin. Her eyes, he noticed, began to sparkle whenever the old man spoke of heaven.

He’d been sure to plant that seed on his fortuitous visit the week before. Hanna had been inconsolable and her parents distraught over the death of Lonni; but the assurance that she was alive and ‘just beyond the silo’s hill’—he’d couched his words so carefully—gave them all comfort.

When Ester and Adin played for him a degraded audio of their sweet Lenora’s performance at school and how Hanna lit up at the sound of her sister’s voice, Samuel knew the remaining daughter was aptly named.

Could I borrow the recording, he’d asked. There might be a way to restore the quality of the audio. The parents readily agreed, it being one of the few remaining links to their precious child.

The priest’s concluding words, with another expected reference to the life that awaits the faithful in heaven, brought Samuel into the present. After the funeral, as Elias mingled and ministered among his flock, he pulled Adin aside and they quietly returned to the family’s residence.

“Are you sure this will work?” Adin pressed when they were alone.

“The sweepers are discontent, you’ve said so yourself. They’ve been whispering for change, or am I mistaken?” Adin shook his head. “If you play your part, they’ll rise up within the year. Hanna’s innocent