They walked by a desk piled high with books of takeaway vouchers. One voucher per week per citizen. The population was weak and couldn’t be trusted to avoid gluttony, and a dining table was now just that whether it was five days or five hundred years old.
They took the stairs to the top floor, the Ministry of Retirement. The handrail had been removed and anyone unable to reach the top was given a one-way ticket to the chain-gangs and a slightly earlier retirement.
Awaiting them, seated on a chair, was a disappointed young man with a stethoscope draped around his neck. Next to him a young girl looked out of the window whilst holding the top of a stretcher with one hand, it was placed vertical against the wall. They were both dressed casually with no one allowed to hide their true intentions behind a suit, only a smile.
‘Come on in,’ shouted the voice before Nabulus had the chance to knock.
They entered a round hall with a marble floor and four side doors, each one numbered one to four. The lonely official seated behind a central desk looked down her nose at Jeremiah and Eliza. She appeared to be deliberating before announcing with a flourish of her hand, ‘Room Four.’
‘Oh, don’t bother knocking,’ she said. ‘They’re expecting you.’
Nabulus ushered them into the chairs underneath a ceiling spotlight. The rest of the room was gloomy and dust spiralled in the air. A Judge sat up front behind a high panel and with two armed militia at her side. Nabulus remained standing in the courtroom, both defence and prosecution.
‘Let’s make this simple, shall we,’ said the Judge, a teenage girl just out of school.
She opened the briefcase at her feet and placed Eliza’s zebra skin purse on the table in front of her before removing the drugs and syringe inside.
‘I couldn’t resist checking the pockets,’ said a smiling Nabulus to Eliza.
‘There’s always suicide,’ said the Judge. ‘You’d get a twenty-one-gun salute and the village would win a new plough if your husband joined in.’
She sounded optimistic, bright and cheery, but Eliza wondered if she’d be just as chirpy discussing her own death?
‘Eliza, what’s this about?’ asked Jeremiah turning towards her.
‘Oh, didn’t she tell you about the illegal medication?’ asked the Judge. ‘Steroids to be precise, but please, Eliza, enlighten us all.’
‘For my knees. I didn’t mean to take medicine away from someone else,’ she cried.
‘Of course not,’ said Nabulus, ‘and if we all felt the same, like we once did, then half the world would be dying young whilst the other half lived to a hundred.’
He slammed his fist on the table and Jeremiah and Eliza both jumped.
‘When will you people understand, there aren’t enough resources for everyone to have everything. There never were.’
Eliza was in tears, Jeremiah shaking.
‘There’s still the easy way out,’ said Nabulus.
‘We’re Christian,’ said Jeremiah. ‘We believe only God has the right to take our lives.’
‘Haven’t you heard the vicar’s sermons these days? It’s okay to make that decision, to be community spirited and make room for others.’
‘That’s just our vicar.’
‘On the contrary, my dear Jeremiah, it’s all of them. Guidelines from the new Archbishop.’
‘I thought they wrote their own sermons,’ said Jeremiah.
‘Of course they do, with a little help. We don’t want citizens getting confused, do we?’
‘Alright, Nabulus, if we could carry on with the proceedings. I’m sure you’ll do just fine in the Party hierarchy,’ said the Judge.
‘Jeremiah and Eliza,’ she said. ‘It is with great sadness that I see you seated before me today, having both done so much to benefit this great country of ours. In fact, you remind me of my own grandparents.’
‘Thank you, your Honour,’ Jeremiah responded.
Eliza was nervous, frightened to speak.
‘Get that woman a glass of cider,’ ordered the Judge to the militia man, an officer with a skull sewn next to the scarecrow on his armband.
The more skulls the higher the rank, up to a maximum of five and the title commander.
Eliza looked at the drink suspiciously.
‘Don’t worry, we don’t poison people,’ said Nabulus, smiling.
‘Can you please explain this?’ asked the Judge, pointing at a vial.
Eliza finally found her voice.
‘It’s not my husband’s fault,’ she said. ‘He didn’t know.’
‘But I did,’ said Jeremiah lying and unwilling to leave Eliza to face punishment alone.
‘You still can’t retire together,’ said the Judge, ‘even on a chain-gang.’
She was looking at their records and the remaining points, too few for Scotland now this offence had come to light.
‘Your Honour,’ said Nabulus. ‘One cannot rightfully argue against the chain-gang as a fitting punishment.’
‘However?’
‘Their son is the village policeman.’
‘And?’
‘It would benefit me if he were under my thumb.’
There was a text message sent to her phone and the Judge stopped to read it, giggling.
‘Recess for fifteen minutes. See what you can do for your clients in that time, Nabulus,’ said the Judge.
All rose as the Judge left through the back door and Nabulus was left to discuss matters with Jeremiah and Eliza.
‘It’s such a shame, you could have gone to Scotland,’ he said.
‘Is there nothing we can do?’ pleaded Jeremiah, holding the hand of his tearful wife.
‘Perhaps I could help sway her Honour, for the drug dealer’s name,’ said Nabulus.
Jeremiah sighed, and Eliza shouted, ‘I won’t do it,’ before breaking down in tears for a second time.
‘Please, Eliza,’ sighed Jeremiah.
She whispered June’s name in Nabulus’s ear, may God forgive her.
‘Your Honour,’ said Nabulus, as the Judge returned. ‘I have been told by Eliza that the subversive responsible for this sorry mess is the local dairy maid, June.’
‘Then well done, Nabulus. Get these two out of my sight.’
‘And their retirement, Ma’am?’
‘Collect two tickets for Scotland on your way out for the next ship that leaves from their village! And they’d better be on it. I shall leave the small print to you, my dear Nabulus.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am.’
Jeremiah and Eliza held each other.
‘I think that went rather well,’ said Nabulus, stopping
