Lord, Grant Me The Freedom…
Part 9
"The outward
freedom that we shall attain will only be in exact proportion to the inward
freedom to which we may have grown at a given moment. And if this is the
correct view of freedom, our chief energy must be concentrated on achieving
reform from within."
Mahatma Gandhi
July 3, 2000
36 weeks to
go.
Sitting on
the bed, the last rays of the sun lighting the room, Jarod looked around the
room. For some reason, this was his favourite time of day. It was always
peaceful, for some reason. Jarod liked to believe that the setting sun, often
turning the blank walls a pale pink, had something to do with it.
This had
always been his favourite time of day, especially when the weather was so
lovely. Even in the Centre, he had liked to remember the few sunsets he had
seen through the barred windows of his cell, before they moved him into his
larger room, with no windows at all. Upon his escape, he had tried to always
find time to enjoy the setting sun. He found it incomprehensible that people
could just walk past it without caring. It wasn't something that he could ever
ignore.
Suddenly the
wind changed direction and began blowing gently through the bars and into the
cell. Jarod closed his eyes and lifted his head slightly, appreciating the
warmth that came with it. The summer had been unusually cold that year, with
almost wintery weather replacing the usual warmth. Now, with the breeze, came
the faint sound of music.
Leaning over,
Jarod flicked on the small radio, a new possession he had placed next to the
bed, and switched it on. After a second or so, he found the station and
listened, numbly to the words.
"A winter's
day
In a deep and dark December
I am alone
Gazing from my window
To the streets below
On a freshly fallen shroud of snow
I am a
rock
I am an island..."
Miss Parker
looked down at the report. One small explosion. That had been all. But it was
more than enough. 'Sometimes you look so like your mother.' The final words.
The last ever sentence. But there were no tears and no pain. She recalled the
agony of her mother's death. The pain from that ran as deep as it ever had. But
this was different and she couldn't explain it. So she didn't try. It was
funny, but the one thing that hurt most was the fact that it hadn't been Jarod
who had told her first. She was getting used to him providing the information
that was always verified later. But now there was just a single piece of paper
- a report of the Centre Office in Washiington, with the death of all members of
staff.
Suddenly the
oppressive silence of her office was too much to bear. She began to feel as
though the walls were closing in and, in desparation, she reached over and
turned on a small radio she kept near her desk. The music of a song flowed into
the room, seeming to destroy the silence. Miss Parker paid little attention to
the first verse, but the second...
"I've
built walls
A fortress deep and mighty
That none may penetrate
I have no
need for friendship
Friendship causes pain
It's laughter and loving I disdain
I am a
rock
I am an island..."
Sydney
continued to sit in the chair in Jarod's old apartment. For once, he had turned
on the light and he looked around the room out of eyes that seemed to have age
during the past three months. He had fought the idea that he was worrying. What,
after all, was Jarod? Nothing more than a project, a lab rat as Miss Parker had
so often dubbed him. It was Nicholas who should have meant more to Sydney.
That was why
he had removed Jarod's photo from his desk and replaced it with one of his son.
His real son. Revealed to him by another son. But that wasn't right. There was
no connection, and there would never be a connection. Especially now, when the
frail strands that bound them together had obviously been completely destroyed.
Jarod had, no doubt, become so immersed in the outside world that he had
forgotten Sydney completely, remembering only once in three months, to send him
a message.
And it was so
final, so complete. It ended the circle that had begun more than forty years
earlier. And now Sydney was alone. His son was friendly enough but there was no
real connection and the older man knew it. Nicholas would be unlikely to spare
many thoughts for the man who had never even seen him grow up into adulthood.
Sydney had watched another grow, seen him develop, and then lost him forever in
a moment's oversight, when the boy, after becoming a man, had taken his chance
and fled. And suddenly Sydney didn't want to be alone. He stared blankly at the
radio on the desk for a few seconds without knowing what it was before the
information slammed into his brain and, for lack of anything else to do, he
switched it on.
"I
have my books
And my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armor
Hiding in
my room
Safe within my womb
I touch no-one and no-one touches me
I am a
rock
I am an island
And the rock feels no pain
And the island never cries."
*Lyrics from
Simon and Garfunkel’s “I Am A Rock”