Four Chords of Defiance In The Post-Apocalypse

by Jordie Mac

"Grandfather, what's a Rick-oon-back-ur?"

Eleanor meant no harm with her question, but with it, she had untethered her father's heart from his chest and in his eyes watched it sink like an anchor.

"Where did you learn such this tarnished word?" Liam Boans's hands pistoned out and grabbed hold of Eleanor's delicate arms, leaving bruises that would surface in the morning, just like the poisonous fog that faded in every dawn.

"You're hurting me." She wriggled in his grasp, but the old man squeezed tighter and even shook her when her eyes veered from his.

"I asked you a question, Eleanor, now ANSWER me! Where did you hear this word?"

"It was, it was in a book." She said, with a shameful tremor in her voice. "I didn't know it was a tarnished word, I only thought-"

"What book? Where?" Liam leaned in closer, furrowing his brow and squinting his eyes in study of the child, and then just as suddenly, sighed, and released his rage. One hand fell from its clasp and hung like a noose, while the other held his forehead and kept it from falling into it.

"I'm sorry, dear girl. This is my failing. Our failing. I believe you needn't be taught better. I was wrong."

"I'm sorry." She hung her head and began inhaling through her nose in sniffled bursts that came before the cry, but she did not cry. 

"Tell me." Liam took the hand which had so recently hurt poor Eleanor and now laid it across her tiny shoulder like a friend as he stood up from his favorite old milk crate. "What book did you see the sordid word in? Where did you find the book."

"With Thompson and Minnie." She pointed towards the window, shattered and drafty. "Playing in the potato fields."

"The potato fields?" Anger rose in Liam's voice again, but he did not hurt her this time. Still, she could feel his hand begin to tremble. "Which potato fields? To the east, or the west?"

"To the east." She pointed again out the window, and then with the same finger stuck it under her bottom lip. "Right?"

"No!" He said forcefully. "It's not right! You must never play there! No matter who tells you to go! Now tell me, what book did you see the rick-" 

He stopped himself, and rolled his eyes, ashamed at his lack of control. "What book did you see the sordid word in?"

"I don't know, Grandfather, the book had no cover. It was missing many pages."

"Did you see it? Did you see a picture of the sordid thing?"

"No, sir. There were no pictures, only words, only paper that was large, and shinier than most."

"Oooh." He said with disgust. "This was no ordinary book. It was a magazine, honey. They carried many sordid words like a rat carries parasites. You must never go near another magazine, ever! Lucky for you, you stumbled across a tamer one." He smiled, shaking his head at the absurdity of it. "Imagine, you're actually lucky! There were far, far worse. Now they float around the countryside carried by the wind. They're like ghosts, Eleanor, like evil ghosts."

Eleanor's eyes went wide like saucers, and her arms wrapped around her ribs as she shook her head, trying to wash away the image of a ghost stuck on a gnarly tree branch, like the way a magazine might be, flapping in the night breeze. Liam patted her on the shoulder and stood up, finally satisfied that he'd made his point.

"I'm sorry I got so rattled. It wasn't right for me to scare you like that."

"You hurt my arms."

"It wasn't right for me to hurt you like that either. Because you didn't know what you even saw. Heck, you didn't even know how to say the darn word right. If I had stopped to listen to what you were saying, I wouldn't have reacted too violently."

Elenor, still appearing rather emotional, bowed her head as her eyebrows flexed and unflexed shyly. 

"You can play in the potato fields with your friends. I trust you to never read such things again. If you see another magazine, you'll take it, and without reading a word, you'll bring it to me, so that I may properly dispose of the thing."

"Yes, Grandfather."

"Good." 

-------------------

The next day, in the evening (as walking the streets during the day was prohibited, due to the poisonous fog that rolled through town) a trio of children just a bit older than Eleanor raced past her and Liam as they made their way to the bakery, and Liam could feel her fidget in her legs. 

"You want to go and follow them, Eleanor?" He asked. 

"May I?" She replied brightly. Liam chuckled lifted her off his shoulders, and patted her on the rear.

"Just as long as you remember what we discussed last night. Now go, my dear granddaughter, and don't forget your lantern."

"Yaaaa!" She shouted and ran after the other children making their way through the alley. What Liam did not know, was that Eleanor was more sly than he could ever have considered.

When Elenearor made it into the alley with the children, she didn't follow them through to the other side, but instead snuck back out the way she came, alone. She wandered through the crowd with her head down, and then across the street and through another alley until she was on the other side of town. The eastern potato field was just half a mile away, and she jogged all the way there, because sitting amongst this small farming area was a house, all on its own.

The man inside saw Eleanor coming and was taken aback. He put on some clothes, and tied his long brown hair in a ribbon behind his head, just as she reached his front door and knocked exuberantly. He opened the door and again was surprised by the way she reached forward and gave the man a hug around his ankles without even asking first.

"Hello!" She shouted, and then reached into her back pocket and pulled out a snackie-cake, still wrapped in its plastic, but smooshed and deformed from being pressed against her all day. "I brought you a present!"

"My, my." The man said appreciatively, taking the gift with both hands and pretending to smell it like warm bread. "This is quite a treat, you know, Eleanor."

"I asked for it last night from my grandfather, and he thought it was for me, but I wanted to bring it for you. Eat it! Eat it!"

"I couldn't possibly eat it alone." He unwrapped the thing and tore it in two, passing one-half of the flakey cream-filled processed pastry to his young friend. "Cheers."

"Thank you, Herman!" Eleanor raised her half into the air before practically smashing it into her mouth. Herman looked at her like the silly child she was and then took one bite of the thing before setting it down on the stand by the front door.

"I'll have the rest later, I promise. I'm afraid I just had dinner, and I'm not particularly hungry."

"Oh, okay." She said, not particularly believing Herman's excuse. She knew not all adults liked the same foods that children did, still, she had hoped he would appreciate her offering.

"So, Eleanor, I bet I know why you've back so soon." Herman pinched his chin and raised an eyebrow at the child, who in turn looked bashfully at the ground and twisted her foot on its toes.

"If that's okay." She said, to which Herman nodded.

"It's okay. But I need you to remember, this can't happen every day. I hate to say it, but once a week is already enough to get us in trouble."

"Okay." Eleanor continued staring at the ground.

"Don't worry. I'm not upset with you. I was the one playing my guitar too loud in the first place yesterday, so it's my fault you discovered me anyway. Come on, let's get it."

Under the steps leading to the attic was a door with eighteen metal locks, all chained together, so that one could not be opened without the next one before opened first. He began at the one on the bottom and spun the number dials until he reached its correct code, unsnapped it off and said aloud 'One' then placed it delicately on the floor. The next he did the same, and said aloud 'Two' then just as delicately placed it beside the lock he had done first. He continued until all locks were sitting in a straight line behind him, and then finally the lock at the very top, which he put in his pocket. Once it was off the door swung open its weak hinges and the two of them descended into the dark, using Eleanor's lantern to see. 

Inside were many, many tarnished things, in pristine condition. Acoustic guitars, accordions, ukeles, a banjo, a drum. None of them caught Eleanor's eye except one.

"This! This!" She walked up to a black and white colored electric guitar, its glossy wood shining even in the dark. "Then, what is it called again?"

"Rickenbacker."

"Rick-en-bahk-ur." She repeated slowly.

"But you heard that one yesterday. Don't you want to try something else, maybe?"

"No no! This one!" She tried pulling it off its stand but the unwieldy weight distribution on her small frame saw her nearly fall over and maybe break the thing. Herman lunged forward to catch her, and his precious baby.

"Careful!" He said and took the guitar from her hands. "Don't get too excited now."

They walked back upstairs and shut the door behind them, and Eleanor ran off to the kitchen, but Herman didn't follow, so she trailed back and watched him put the locks back on the door.

"But we just took those off." She said, and Herman shook his head.

"You can never be too careful." And took his time applying each lock back on the door before following her in and sitting in the kitchen, where he began to strum a few chords on the Rickenbacker as Eleanor looked on in awe. Herman couldn't help but grin, charmed by the girl's expression of pure beguilement. 

"These are called blues chords. They're the basis of rock n roll. My dad taught me all about rock and roll, just as his dad, and his dad him. I come from a long line of musicians, and rebels, I suppose."

"None of them ever got caught?"

"Nope. None of them ever got caught. Because they all kept it a secret. Just as I did. And, just as you will, too, Eleanor. Unlike the rest of my family, I wasn't blessed with good looks, a charming personality, or, the propensity to fit in. I'm not sure I'll have any offspring. Maybe one day, you can carry on this legacy, instead. Would you like that?"

Eleanor wanted to say yes, of course, it was the one she wanted most of all in all her short life, up til now. She didn't say that, because something was wriggling at her mind, a worm of guilt. She gulped and rubbed her face.

"I told my grandfather about the Rickenbacker."

"What?" Herman stopped playing and sat the guitar down fast as if it was hurting him to hold. "What are you talking about?"

"I, I didn't tell him you had it. I didn't tell him about you at all. I said I saw it in a magazine."

"Why would you do that? You should know better! You don't talk about tarnished things at all! Why would you-?" Herman stopped himself, already knowing the answer. "You wanted to know if maybe, he would be like me, didn't you?"

"I just, I just wanted to see." She sniffled and pushed back the oncoming flow of tears. "Maybe, he was like you are."

"I'm afraid no one is like I am, Eleanor. I'm sure your grandfather is a good man. Many are, but they are not like me. You need to keep this a secret, you can never let on to what you're a part of now. Do you understand?"

"Yes." 

"You know what they would do with my Rickenbacker if they found out I had it?" Herman pointed towards his head. "They wouldn't take it away. They'd give it to me, right here. As hard as they could. Until I was dead. They'd cave my head in with my guitar. Do you understand?"

"Okay." She said, and knowing she might cry soon, changed the subject right away. "But I want to try playing again."

"Well, alright, then." He patted his knee and Eleanor climbed up, then he held the guitar in front so she was able to strum the strings without the weight of the thing hurting her.

"Do you want to play a happy song, or a sad song, or-"

"I want to try the angry song again."

"Alright. Sounds good to me." He placed his fingers on the fret and made a chord. "Start strumming."

"Aaaah!" She yelled as they strummed the string, so hard she practically beat them. "Ya ya ya ya ya!"

"Now wait a second." Herman patted her hand. "Angry songs aren't just about screaming and yelling and playing so hard you might break a string. It's not the volume, it's the way you play it. You understand? It's the feeling underneath that matters."

"I, um. . ." She flexed her eyebrows and stared at the strings. "I don't know."

"Okay, let me show you." Herman went to play a song, but before he could, something outside froze his hand.

"Herman?" Eleanor turned back and looked up at him, his face losing all color as his jaw hung agape. She looked out the window and saw two men coming towards the house. They were police. 

"Run!" He said and ripped the dining cloth off the table, quickly wrapped the guitar in it, and handed it off to her.

"But I can barely-" She couldn't finish speaking before he put the guitar in her tiny hands and picked her up, running her to the back door.

"I said run! There's no time to get all the locks off the door! So stupid, so stupid!" 

A pounding at the front door, followed by the voice of one of the police. "Herman Shtyner! This is the third middle-day in a row you have not been present for! Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"You have to run home, now! Hide the guitar there! I'll get it in the morning when everyone is asleep!" 

He pushed her out and shut the door behind him. Her tears could not be prevented now, as she started running through the fields, holding the guitar at first, but it quickly became too heavy, and she was forced to hold it by the top where the tuning knobs were and drag it behind it like a disobedient dog. It slowed her running considerably, but she put all her strength in, pushing her little body beyond what she had previously thought it was capable of. Through the potato fields, she ran the guitar over countless of the vegetables, tearing up the soil and marking the spuds.

Her heart was racing as she made it into town and prayed no one questioned why she was carrying something so large and wrapped in a tablecloth, but it was no use. She had attracted attention from every pair of eyes that crossed her, and soon she was stopped by another pair of police, right in the middle of town.

"What have you got there, little Eleanor?" One said, bending down to grab it from her.

"No!" She pushed the hand away. "It's a present for my Grandfather! You can't have it!"

"I don't want to take it, little one, just to look at it!"

"You can't! You can't!"

"Eleanor!" A voice called out, one too familiar to be mistaken. Liam trotted up, his arms unfolded wide like a bird about to take flight, his face red with unfathomability. "What in the world have you got!?"

"It's nothing! Please, please just leave me alone!" Her little heart couldn't take it, and she dropped the thing on the ground to cover her face and catch her tears. When the guitar fell and hit the ground, it made a loud BANG, and the sound of its instrumentation rang out.

"Hold!" The policeman said and pushed Eleanor aside. He reached for the cloth, tore it off, and when he saw what it hid backed away as if he'd uncovered a corpse.

"A tarnished thing! A tarnished thing!" He screamed and blew his whistle. Five other officers joined the scene and put Liam in handcuffs right away.

"Wait!" Liam screamed in terror. "I don't know what in the world is going on!"

"Your granddaughter said she was delivering this, to YOU!" The policeman picked the Rickenbacker up and pointed it toward the sky. "You had this poor girl taking these tarnished things to you! Do not deny it!"

"I promise, it was not me! I don't know-"

"I said DO NOT DENY IT! Or things will be much worse for you!"

Liam saw in the policeman's face he meant his words, and Liam had no choice. He looked at Eleanor and feared what might happen if he did.

"It's true." He whispered in defeat. "I cannot deny-"

The Rickenbacker came flying down on top of his head like a sledgehammer. It sent his face down into the street, and there against it the police continued to whack, and pound his head in with the guitar until all of its white parts were pink and red with his blood and brains. Eleanor could not turn away. She watched until Liam's entire head had become flat, and the guitar became shattered into pieces. 

She returned home, watched by the police. They tucked her in, just as her grandfather would have. That morning, when all were asleep, including the guards watching poor Eleanor, Herman, none the wiser, arrived at the homestead.

"Eleanor" She whispered through the window, seeing she was still awake, tossing and turning on her pile of clothes. "Eleanor, where is the guitar?"

She said nothing, and somehow, Herman understood. He nodded solemnly and went to go home when Eleanor jumped from her pile of clothes and came to the window.

"Take me with you." She said. So he did. The two ventured back to his house beyond the potato patch. She asked to play another guitar, and so they did. He made the chords for a song of anger, and when Eleanor strummed along, she did so with every aching pain in her heart and every piercing rage in her head. When she asked Herman how she played a song of anger this time, he responded-

"Perfectly."