Objetivos Nacionales para el Buen Vivir

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Rafe nodded once and sat beside him, but said nothing more as they waited for Michael who arrived moments later.

‘Ah, boys, nice morning,’ he said, though he rubbed his hands together to stave off the underlying chill. ‘Perfect for our scouting mission, Jacob. Are you ready?’

Jacob got to his feet. ‘Ready when you are.’

‘Excellent.’ He turned to Rafe who’d also stood. ‘Rafe, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind overseeing the harvesting of the vegetables while we’re gone. Some of the men have not done it before and we can’t afford to lose any just now. Ideally we’ll want to take as much with us as we can when we move.’

As quickly as the disappointment flashed across Rafe’s face it was gone again, hidden beneath a veneer of authority and purpose. ‘Of course, Michael. You want someone you can trust. I understand.’

Michael hesitated before giving a slight nod of the head. ‘Indeed. Thank you, Rafe.’ He turned back to Jacob. ‘Shall we?’

Jacob gestured for Michael to lead the way as they left the courtyard and Rafe behind. They walked in silence, but once clear of the warehouse Michael seemed to relax his guard. ‘He’s an odd one, that one.’

He’d been so lost in thought that for a moment Jacob wasn’t sure who Michael was referring to.

‘Rafe,’ he confirmed. ‘He has a troubled past.’

Jacob remained quiet, fearful of saying something he shouldn’t, or finding out more than he wanted to know.

‘He means well. I believe he understands our values and of course he’s been with us some time now. Yet something still simmers underneath with him.’

Though careful to appear interested, inside Jacob wondered whether his astute mentor could read him as well as all that. Could Michael see what simmered inside of him right now?

‘He’s one to watch,’ he went on. ‘Of all our members, he is the one who concerns me most. I fear there’s an unpredictability about him. You and I have known each other a long time and I get the sense that Rafe thinks this makes us closer than I am to the other members, including him.’ He paused, in thought. ‘I suppose he’s right. But that’s not the point. All brothers are treated equally. If there is to be any point of tension – let’s for argument’s sake say jealousy – then he will have to be dismissed from the group.’

‘You think it’s that bad?’ Jacob asked, though it was relief not concern that was his first response. Not relief Rafe might leave the group, but that his own suspicions about his fellow brother weren’t merely a figment of his own recent

paranoia.

‘I speak only in confidence, Jacob. Between you and I.’

He nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘He’s done nothing I can pinpoint, which makes things trickier. He’s not disagreed with me or rejected his duties. Yet I sense his unease, an unease that I’d hoped would have gone now after almost two years of meditation and Tribe life, but I don’t think it fully has, or at least of late it seems to be re-emerging. You’ve sensed it as well, haven’t you? To be alert is all I’m suggesting.’

Jacob looked to the floor as he walked, feeling the weight of his own conscience bearing down on him as if he too were hiding something from this man who trusted him so implicitly.

‘In the meantime I’ll continue to allocate responsibility to him. This seems to counter any grievances he’s withholding. It gives him the purpose he craves.’

‘Yes, brother. We know well enough how duty and occupation relieve tension.’ A part of the doctrine he himself should be concentrating on now more than ever.

And in an effort to dissipate his own troubled mind, for the rest of their journey he turned his attention and the conversation away from the mental and emotional, and toward the practical implications of the upcoming move.

*

Several hours later they were treading the same path back, content in the knowledge they’d found the right property, one which would enable them to continue their refuge, at least for the foreseeable future. There was work to do, but overall Michael was pleased. The foundations of the building were firm and the close proximity of a fast-flowing river would enable better crop and vegetable production than they’d been able to establish in their current location.

Just as Jacob predicted, Michael was buoyant with ideas for how they could convert this rundown, abandoned old building into fully functioning living quarters befitting a small army. Half an hour into the walk back and his mentor hadn’t stopped making plans. He was relieved too that even his own mood had lifted from the one he’d staggered from bed with that morning. As the day wore on, the thought of leaving the warehouse behind and moving on to a new environment filled him with renewed hope and vigor for this lifestyle he’d come to feel so liberated within. The strain of recent weeks would soon be put behind him for good.

‘In all honesty, Jacob, I think this move may be just what we need. It’s a new opportunity.’

He smiled; his mentor had read his thoughts. ‘I agree. It’s the right thing to do.

For all of us. Perhaps it’s what Rafe needs too.’

‘We’ll need to coordinate the move. That’s something we could ask Rafe to consider, make him feel more—’

Jacob looked up to see what had interrupted him. His immediate thought was to look for drones, but they surely wouldn’t come out this far, and he could see no sign of any. ‘What is—’

Michael lifted his finger to indicate he was listening for something.

He heard nothing but watched as Michael crept up to the window of a partially derelict two-story office block and peered in through a broken pane, turned back and motioned for him to follow. Stepping around a shower of broken glass scattered across the stone floor, Jacob crept in through the half-open doorway behind him, and as he did he heard the sound of stuttered heavy breathing coming from one of the rooms. He pushed back his hood when Michael indicated he wanted to whisper something to him.

‘In there,’ he said and pointed toward a wooden door, its blue paint peeling and brass handle broken. ‘He has a piece of glass, Jacob.’ Michael nodded once, brown eyes fixed on his, urging him to understand his meaning. ‘He needs your help.’

‘Me?’ His heart rate leapt. ‘I won’t know what to do—’

‘You will.’ Michael’s glare bore into his and he nodded again. ‘Keep your hood off your face. Let him see your eyes. Talk to him. You can help him.’

He felt weak and uneasy but knew not to argue the point. There was no time for that. Perhaps the man had already done what he intended. What then? Would he walk in through the door and find him already dying?

Color flashed through his mind as he stepped closer to the door.

Red on white.

A blood-filled room.

His hand trembled as he reached for the handle and pushed the door open just enough to pass through. He had been here before, but another door, another time.

Sudden movement from the corner of the room made the breath catch in his throat. But relief came with it when he saw it was just the man jumping to his feet.

No red, no blood. Not yet.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ the man shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

He was a thin man, just a little shorter and younger than Jacob. A tattered navy sweater hung limp from his bones and he seemed to be quivering out of control beneath it. A large shard of glass was gripped in his right hand and he was panting in loud heaving gasps. Sweat glistened on his forehead and ran in a line past his ears

to his neck.

Jacob held up his hands, hoping the man was too far gone to notice how much they shook. ‘It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘What the fuck do you want?’ He waved the glass, though not Jacob felt, or perhaps just hoped, with any intentions of harming him.

‘Nothing.’ He took a step forward. ‘I was passing, heard someone in here and thought I’d see who it was. These buildings are usually empty.’

‘Stay away,’ the man yelled again, swaying from one foot to the other on old sneakers. ‘There’s nothing here. It’s all been taken.’

‘I don’t want anything. I’m not stealing. Look...’ He gestured to the floor in front of him. ‘I’ll sit here.’

‘No! Just go.’

As he was about to lower himself to the floor sunlight flashed off the glass, catching his eye and drawing his attention to the line of blood beginning to elongate and drip from the man’s fingers. The gentle tap it made as it met the stone floor might just as well have been a thunder crack. It echoed through his skull. The room spun and he stumbled forward, grabbing for something to hold on to, but finding nothing within reach.

‘Stop! No closer.’ The man’s voice was higher, frantic.

‘S-sorry,’ Jacob stuttered, leaning forward, placing his hands on his knees to try and steady himself. ‘It’s the b—’

‘What?’

‘B-blood.’ He put a hand to his mouth, tried to breathe through the urge to throw up his sparse breakfast, while with the other he pointed to the man’s fist. The man looked down, saw how the glass had bitten into him, and loosened his grip. He grimaced as the pain suddenly hit home.

Jacob knelt down on the hard floor, thankful it was so cold. He spread his fingers and pressed his palms into the stone, waiting for the nausea to pass. When he looked up again, the man’s breathing was less urgent but he hadn’t let go of the glass.

‘Please leave,’ the man uttered, quieter than before.

But it was all he could do to stop himself from losing consciousness let alone get to his feet and walk. While he breathed slow and deep through the fog, he thought how awful it would be if Michael had to come in here and rescue him before saving this poor desperate man from going over the edge. But by some twisted luck, his inability to act or speak seemed to be diffusing the situation. He peered up through stinging eyes when he heard movement across the room; watched as the man

dropped down onto a plastic chair, the glass shard slipping from between his fingers. It rang out as it clattered to the floor, the sound bouncing off the bare walls unable to find a way out.

Relief flooded through Jacob’s body, not least because it meant there would be no more blood.

As his muscles relaxed and head cleared, he felt better able now to look at this man who cradled his head between his fingers, and as he did he recognized him.

Not who he was or his name, but the masked power that had taken control of him, robbing him in an instant of all rationality, all sense of what life had been before and his place within it. It was a sensation Jacob had once thought unique only to him, until the Tribe had grown and with it his understanding. A communal, unspoken understanding. A questioning eye, a recognizable silence. Now here it was again...

This was a man so frightened and alone with what he saw in himself that he’d come to a place where the odds of being found were surely nil, and with the sole premeditated intention of ending the despair that just being alive meant for him.

When he was once where this man was now, it had been Michael who’d come to his aid. Michael who with perseverance had brought him back to life. Michael who had selflessly nurtured in him new reasons to stay alive. How had he begun?

‘I’m Jacob,’ he said, starting with the basis of all human connections. ‘You look like I did five years ago.’ The man didn’t move, his chin resting upon his chest as though his head were filled with concrete. ‘In fact, you are at least conscious. I wasn’t.’

The words were not easy to speak but here between the two of them as strangers it felt acceptable to say them, albeit his voice sounded detached from his body, unreal. The man raised his head. His eyes were barren and bloodshot. Not the drug-induced emptiness he’d once been used to seeing in the eyes of those around him, but something worse. A sober desolation.

‘Heroin,’ Jacob clarified. ‘Or any variation of it. I took something or another for more than thirteen years, not really caring whether it killed me or not.’ He dropped his gaze to the floor in front of him. ‘I didn’t fear what it would do to me. I didn’t fear death. I wouldn’t have even known or cared it was happening.’

The man slid from the chair to the floor, propping his back against the wall, his spine perhaps too weak to hold him upright much longer. ‘There’s nothing left for me,’ he said, his voice quiet and ragged. ‘I’ve lost everything.’

‘No,’ Jacob snapped, surprising even himself. ‘It’s been taken from you.’

The man shook his head. A tear ran down his unshaven cheek. ‘You have no

idea.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters to me.’

Dull green eyes dragged his way, lashes slick with tears. ‘You don’t know me.’

‘I know enough.’ He got to his feet and brushed himself down. ‘But if you’ll let me, I can help give you back some of the things they’ve taken away.’

The man tried to dismiss him with a laugh but it only went as far as a splutter.

Jacob stopped in front of him and held out his hand. ‘Let me help you,’ he repeated.

Again the man could only shake his head while tears dripped from his creased, worn face. But Jacob wouldn’t relent, couldn’t leave him here now, like this. This man’s life had been ripped apart and decimated until it amounted to nothing more than a gruesome early death within the cold and hollow brick walls of an empty building in an abandoned part of one of the world’s wealthiest cities. It didn’t matter what had happened, only that yet again it had. And wasn’t this what they did, the Tribe? Picked up the pieces Prosperity discarded?

‘Please. Let me try,’ Jacob said, his arm still outstretched. ‘What’s your name?’

The man’s heavy gaze landed back on Jacob, one that didn’t really believe help was possible, but nor did it believe that anything worse could happen than already had. From between cracked dry lips, a tired voice said, ‘Scott.’

He had barely begun to raise his trembling hand when Jacob gripped it firmly in his own and pulled him to his feet.

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