Most Revolutionary - Chapter Nine
Sabia Wins
Previously: FBI Director Maximilian Castelan accuses Secret Service Director William Kingsley about his role in the kidnapping of President Kristen Silver. Sabia, friends, and allies blow out of school to read the revolutionary demands of the American Liberation Alliance, then engage Billy The Moto Kid in a snowball fight that goes viral.
MOST REVOLUTIONARY - A SERIALIZED NOVEL
Avery Yonkin flies in fast on his electric snowmobile after school, parks by Sabia’s farmhouse porch, near an FBI guard. He is somewhat relieved that the guard is a woman.
“Quite a ride you got there,” says the guard.
“Thanks.”
“How far does it take you?”
“Hours. Fifty miles easy. Is it okay if I knock on Sabia's door?”
“Go ahead. She could probably use the company.”
Avery knocks.
Sabia opens the door, does not invite him in. She watches the guard who inspects the snowmobile.
“Sabia, I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry about your abuelo. I'm glad I got to work with him. He was teaching me so many things. I admired him. He was so good to be around. And I know my brother Billy is sorry too, even if he tried to get you with snowballs today and didn’t tell you already.”
Sabia stares at Avery. “How old are you?”
“I turned 16.”
“Age of consent. Do you know that in Iowa, the age of consent is as low as 13 if the other person is within 48 months? And that you can't get an abortion after 6 weeks pregnant?”
“Umm, well, I did not know a lot about your abuelo. I wanted to learn more and-”
“Avery, you need to be careful around people like me. You know I'm dangerous, right?” Sabia looks at the FBI guard who pretends to not pay attention. “People guard me and my place night and day.”
“Umm – okay. The bombing-”
“That was a good battle we had in the snow today. Thanks for fighting beside me.”
“I would do it again. There's no one to stand up for me against my brother Billy. Not usually. He's my brother but he can't get away with bossing me around all the time.”
“How about none of the time.”
“I know it.”
Sabia makes a power fist with her left hand. “Every seen one of these?” She points her fist at the FBI guard. She shows Avery the power fist tattoo on her palm.
“That's cool.”
“Come on in, Avery. I’ll show you my other tattoos.”
Sabia makes Avery take off his shoes inside the front door, then she leads him upstairs to her bedroom. It overlooks greenhouses, orchards. She powers on a TV.
“Big speech by the President today,” Sabia tells Avery. “Alecta. She's the boss now. I can't wait.” Sabia climbs on the bed, lies down facing the TV. She pats the Mexican blanket beside her. “Come on. Let's watch.”
Avery climbs onto the bed and lies beside Sabia, not touching her.
Sabia moves against Avery. She kisses him.
“I told you. You need to be careful around people like me.”
“You don’t scare me, Sabia.”
“Maybe I should. I've lived more. I had to. And maybe want to. Plus, I'm older.” Sabia works her hand down Avery's back. She grabs his butt, pinches him. “Do you want to?”
“Umm – yes.”
“Do you know what you're saying 'yes' to?”
“Whatever you want, Sabia.”
“Bad answer! I'll take it.”
Airy, sunlit, bright. Farmhouse windows, white lace curtains.
Sabia’s shoulders are bare above her blouse and colorful patchwork skirt. She straddles Avery, who remains clothed with his pants pushed down just far enough.
Sabia pins Avery’s right hand above his head with her left hand, as she steadily, almost carefully, fucks him on the woven color of the Mexican blanket.
They are a study in contrasts. Avery is blond and pale with close-cropped hair like his big brother. Blue eyes. Sabia is dark with long black hair. Black eyes. Avery is slight, significantly taller than Sabia. He has a long neck with abbreviated, modest facial features. Sabia is relatively stocky, with a short neck and striking nose among her indigenous features.
Sabia fucks Avery and watches him watching her. Sabia also watches President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez who begins to speak on TV. On Avery, Sabia is constantly almost patiently moving.
Serious atmosphere. Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez is a force at the lectern in the packed press room:
“Section 1881A of the Social Security Act refers to any individuals subject to an 'environmental exposure.'” Alecta pounds her fist on the lectern. “This Act enables the Department of Health and Human Services to stipulate that exposed individuals get a single-payer, free health care system. Because of this Act, Libby, Montana has for years already had full Medicare For All for the entire community, because it was exposed to airborne asbestos due to area mining.”
Alecta meets the eyes of people in each area of the room – left, right, near, far.
“We will not allow a corrupt Supreme Court to stop us. The Court has no right to place themselves and their actions above the law. All of America has been exposed to COVID, chemicals, toxins, the flu, and so on, and is generally in poor health, so by law, Section 1881A of the Social Security Act, I hereby authorize free health care for all, for all of America. I am issuing an immediate Executive Order to authorize expanded Medicare For All nationwide – granting the entire country free health care and total medical debt relief. This Order greatly benefits the people and the businesses and the communities, even the world. And this Order meets one major ransom demand to secure the release of President Silver and Ellen Lin.”
In the bunker, President Silver, Ellen Lin, and Roca Perez stand in front of the TV watching O’Roura-Chavez declare the government’s authority to provide free universal health care.
“Wow, Sabia,” says Roca.
“She can’t do that. No. The donors won’t allow it. They’ll take it back. They’ll sue,” says Silver. “The Court will block it.”
“Too late, Silver-Town. The good guys won. Finally.”
“No way this survives a Court challenge,” says Lin. “President Silver’s right. ”
“What would Sabia say? 'Fuck the Court – corrupt as can be.' You better hope the new order survives the shit Court. Otherwise you two – you die down here.”
Silver and Lin look at Roca.
“Sabia is single-minded that way.”
“That would be wildly unfair,” says Lin.
“Would it,” says Roca.
“What did we ever do to her?” says Silver.
“Look what Sabia just did for the people. Compare it to your accomplishments.”
Silver and Lin stare at the TV. The Acting President concludes her speech to loud and lasting applause.
“Lead, follow, or get out of the way,” says Roca. “I feel kind of out of the way, myself.”
The program shifts to the dominant TV news, big-funder backed. Multiple outraged analysts proclaim their opposition to the health care directive.
“The Acting President is making a power grab that is unlawful, unethical, and that would bankrupt the country,” says one analyst, in a typical refrain.
“That’s right. See. That’s right,” says President Silver.
Another analyst adds, “The American people don't want socialist power grabs like this. They want freedom, responsibility, and fairness. They want less government, not more of it.”
“I know that guy,” says Lin. “He's a right-wing stooge. Big pharma pays most of his salary.”
Having received an advanced copy of the speech, a reporter interviews live a single mother and her elderly mother who has difficulty hearing, seeing, and can’t afford needed hip surgery. The single mother is teary with gratitude and relief, as the weak elderly mother holds her granddaughter on her lap with obvious affection.
“I never thought this day would come. My mom can’t afford to see, hear, and move well. But with the right care, she could be strong again for her granddaughter like she was for me.”
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up, if I were you,” Lin says to the TV.
“Fuck,” says Silver.
“My money’s on Sabia,” says Roca. “Not to mention my life. And yours.”
Roca powers up the treadmill, gets on, and gets moving.
Thrilled. Sabia stops fucking Avery, stays on top of him. She stares wide-eyed as the Acting President guarantees free health care to the country.
Sabia arches her back and neck, looking up through the ceiling. “We did it, Mamá!”
Avery watches Sabia. He is both awe-struck and bewildered.
Sabia looks down at Avery. She speaks gently. “We did it, Avery. We did it.”
Sabia kisses Avery on his forehead, then his lips. She moves slowly on him again. She glances at Alecta on TV. She makes love to both Avery and Alecta.
Avery never takes his eyes off Sabia.
Jenna Ryzcek flexes in a yoga pose in front of her TV as she watches the Acting President declare free universal health care.
“You fucker, Sabia. You complete fucker. You did it. My God.”
Jenna goes to a closet, grabs an oversize duffel bag. She begins packing, puts in her tarot cards, Navajo pillow, and other prize possessions. She watches the TV as Alecta concludes.
“Come get me, Girl. Come on, Sabia.”
Alecta finishes her speech. Sabia fucks Avery emphatically. Great applause, cheers on TV. Alecta bathes in the praise. Sabia fucks Avery hard. She comes. Her eyes flash wide.
Avery is stunned. Sabia begins to circle on Avery again with her hips slowly. Sabia pulls off her top, shows Avery her breasts.
“You look at every inch of me.”
Avery looks at her breasts. He sees a power fist tattoo. More than one. Sabia watches him.
“You like that?” says Sabia.
Avery is wordless. He does not even nod.
Sabia says, “Good.”
Sabia lowers herself, lies on Avery, recovers. Then she rolls off. They lie side-by-side. She intertwines her fingers with his. Sabia stares at the ceiling. Avery gazes at Sabia nonstop. Then Sabia covers up with her top.
“Sabia-”
“Avery.” Sabia faces him. “Don’t ever come here again. Unless you’re told to.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ll invite you.” Sabia touches Avery’s face. “Otherwise, you stay away. No exceptions. This is my house, my home.”
Sabia looks out the windows at the bright day.
“My land.”
Sabia holds on to Avery with one hand and clenches a power fist with the other.
Secret Service Deputy Director Grace Lamont pauses at Director Kingsley’s office door, then enters. Her skin is pale, her hair blond like that of Kingsley and President Silver, and Jenna Ryzcek whom she doesn't yet know.
Director Kingsley mutes the TV. Fox News seems to be doing everything it can to avoid showing images of Acting President O’Roura-Chavez onscreen while the moderators denounce her presidential order for free health care. Kingsley watches the background TV video of Billy the Moto Kid’s interview with Sabia on the pile of snow outside their high school, followed by the subsequent viral snow fight.
“Boss.”
“Deputy Director Grace Lamont, my dear lead investigator, what do you think of our renegade new President?”
“She seems to know what she wants.”
“And what do we want, Grace?”
“Answers.”
“Exactly. So then, how would you get the President away from Ground Force One on that terrible night of the bombing?”
“No one knows, Boss. I would say, snowplow.”
“Or?”
“Snowmobile or snow tractor. Rescue plows destroyed the evidence.”
“Any other way?”
“I mean ... in a blizzard, not really.”
“Or did we miss the most obvious. The simplest of escape modes.”
“You don't mean they walked into the storm.”
“Car. An all-wheel-drive SUV. The road was already plowed from the interstate. A follow-car could simply pick up Silver and Lin, turn around, and go back to the interstate. And disappear in the traffic jumble. Silver and Lin drugged, hidden as cargo.”
“Just like that. Through sudden snowdrifts twelve feet high.”
“Think about it. They were tracking the bus. They could follow it directly. Even in the storm. They were ready. Maybe they had their own plow.”
“You would need a small army to kill all the Secret Service agents to get to the President.”
“Small armies can be hired. Large ones too. Or maybe a handful of operatives used gas to knockout everyone. Before they could revive, the President was absconded, and Navy missiles obliterated the evidence.”
“Why take Lin?”
“Does it matter?”
“Boss, it's too complicated. Sorry. State Police blocked off the road after Ground Force One was shunted onto it.”
“The police are corrupt.”
“Too much happened too quickly in the blizzard for that kind of planning to work.”
“Maybe the interstate pile-up was a planned crash and not the work of the storm.”
“Not even you believe that, Boss. Though I can see why we might want to.”
A TV news moderator cuts into their brainstorming: “The blast repercussions continue to take their toll. Earlier today, FBI Director Castelan, Navy Chief Bentcan, and NSA Director Alspi were fired by Acting President Alecta O'Roura-Chavez. And the head of the Secret Service, Director Kingsley, was placed on leave.”
Kingsley stands and paces. “She told me this morning. By phone. Did the courtesy, at least.”
“Here she comes,” says Lamont. “Alecta O’Roura-Chavez. Putting in her own people. Am I next? No one will be left to figure out what happened. Is that what she wants?”
“She can't fire everybody,” says Kingsley.
“Maybe,” says Lamont. “She has motive, big time, to gut all the intelligence agencies. I mean why would she want to solve the mystery, find Kristen Silver, only to give up the Presidency and hand it back to a boss she resents. Everyone knows those two scarcely get along. A dysfunctional marriage of convenience.”
“Alecta will do everything she can to get the President back. I firmly believe that. She does not operate in a vacuum. Too many people are watching.”
“She creates chaos by firing the top watchers.”
“Let's not guess, Grace. Alecta is more cautious than first meets the eye, I've noticed, even considering her Presidential order today. She will not want to break any laws or interfere with any investigation. Anything she does, big or small-”
“Like offer free health care to an entire country?”
“-she couches heavily in the law. She's no lawyer, but she clearly has a few on her side. I think she's actually a stickler for the law. The highest laws, I suppose.”
“So it may appear, Boss, but when, in politics, is anything ever as it is meant to appear?”
“I think we're beyond politics now,” says Kingsley.
“Into open hostilities.”
Kingsley sweeps his arm at the TV and then around at his office. “I'm suspended, probably permanently, though they call it leave. Not fired – yet – out of sympathy for agency losses, I assume. I’m supposed to not sit at my desk, and do nothing.”
“The FBI will investigate you.”
“Of course.”
“And me. Already are.”
“I didn't do it, did you, Grace?”
“No.”
“I'll take your word.”
Deputy Direct Lamont nods grimly. “We know each other, Bill. They need to investigate everyone.”
“Starting with themselves. How does that work?”
“Starting with us.”
Kingsley unmutes the TV. He and Lamont watch a TV moderator summarize the ransom demands that President O’Roura-Chavez has begun to meet. The moderator is scathing about the Acting President's seeming willingness to do so. News then cuts again to Billy’s original video of the bombing aftermath. Kingsley mutes the TV again but continues to watch the screen. Billy’s drone video shows Director Kingsley looking into the snowy bomb crater. Kingsley watches himself.
Lamont nods at the screen. “That's you,” she says. “You're staring into a time gone by.”
“I surely am,” says Kingsley.
“Will it stick?” says Lamont. “Health care. Will the Court strike it down?”
Kingsley watches himself on TV talk to rescuers. He watches himself point at the upturned plow in the Perez orchard.
“People are so small,” says Kingsley.
A list of the ransom demands appears on the screen.
“I hope they fucking get what they ask for,” says Kingsley. “I never liked Daylight Savings Time anyway.”
Lamont is surprised. Kingsley rubs his chin, not as stubble-free as it might be. Lamont stares through a window, into the city.
Kingsley keeps his eye on the TV. “American goddamn Liberation Alliance. What the fuck is it? This so-called ALA wants universal child care. Grace, make sense to you?”
“I wouldn’t mind myself.”
“That’s the thing. It doesn’t make sense. Kidnappers don’t request childcare. If they do, they’re not kidnappers. They’re-”
“Revolutionaries.”
“No, no. Clever terrorists. Very clever.”
“What if it is what it is? A coup from below. Popular demands for the People, in exchange for Silver, the President.”
“Fucking Castelan thinks there’s only one group. He thinks Free Sovereign Texas tried a right-wing coup to install the House Speaker as President. But botched it. He thinks the ALA is some weird reverse-psychology spin-off: the right trying to frame the left, after the botch job.”
“If not for the Vice President’s food poisoning, Free Sovereign Texas would have succeeded. Could've worked.”
“Almost did,” says Kingsley. “Except then it totally backfired.”
“Castelan's reverse psychology theory makes no sense. It's way too complicated.”
“He's probably trying to snow us, for reasons that I hesitate to speculate about. Meanwhile the simplest explanation is that the American Liberation Alliance intervened in the right-wing coup. Created a left-wing coup of their own. Which might mean the ALA knew more than the FBI about Free Sovereign Texas.”
“Or that the FBI was in on the initial coup attempt,” says Lamont.
“Castelan,” says Kingsley.
“Castelan,” says Lamont. “Not that the FBI doesn't have massive blind spots, and simply missed everything.”
“Why does every theory seem too complex to work?” says Kingsley.
“Because we haven't hit on the correct proof yet,” says Lamont. “We have no evidence for any of this.”
Kinglsey points at Lamont. “You know Castelan. He can make Mussolini look like a park ranger. Maybe the American Liberation Alliance did know that the FBI knew about the FST.”
“And then the ALA beat Castelan at his own game,” says Lamont.
“No, it would spin out of control. Plus, all those people are dead. Demands for childcare don’t go with a planned massacre that might have been learned of by the ALA and then stopped. Nothing makes any sense. What the fuck happened, Grace? What is this ALA thing anyway, a popular revolution? I don't believe it.”
“No witnesses except Sabia. Too remote. We shouldn't believe anything of anyone, or from anyone. We need to figure it out ourselves.”
“No leads, no leads, no leads,” says Kingsley. “Everyone on scene killed or taken hostage except Sabia. What if she cut a deal with the terrorists?”
“No evidence of that,” says Lamont. “And not a single terrorist is caught to confess a thing. Just because Sabia has a big mouth – you’re not going to arrest Sabia.”
“Somebody's holding Silver. Somewhere. Somehow. Castelan needs to pull his guards. I want to embolden Sabia.”
“That won't take much.”
“I want to surveil her covertly.”
“Sure. Well, Castelan is fired. And you're suspended. So maybe I can get it done.”
“Right.”
“Sabia would catch on, I bet. And we won’t like it when she does.”
“I can take shit from Sabia,” says Kingsley. “I've been down that road.”
“Except I'm left holding the bag,” says Lamont.
“Not if I can help it,” says Kingsley.
Director Kingsley phones his aide Li Phuong in the next room.
“Li, get me a flight to Des Moines. Tonight. Two seats. Thank you. Oh, and, Director Castelan, I need him on the phone, please, immediately. Like me, he's not evicted till day's end. The Acting President has been most gracious.”
“That's one way of putting it. I can think of several other ways. Less generous.”
“Thanks, Li.”
“You got it, Sir.”
Kingsley ends the call, looks at Lamont. “Just because I’m suspended as of this evening, doesn’t mean I’m dead as of tomorrow. Are you free?”
“No.”
“But you’ll go.”
Sabia sits at the farmhouse kitchen table in front of her laptop where she watches a momentous social media montage of Acting President Alecta O'Roura-Chavez:
“Our executive orders and emergency declarations have so far wiped out nearly all student debt, and created multi-week paid holidays for workers.”
“Yes!” says Sabia, pumps her left fist.
“Our new national health care plan pays all current medical debt, and provides fully paid health care.”
“Yes!”
“We have doubled the minimum wage of federal contract workers.”
“Yes!”
“My administration has doubled the income level at which poverty is officially defined, thereby extending massive amounts of food, housing, and financial benefits to low income families.”
“Yes!”
“We declassified marijuana as a heavy drug, which it’s not, and decriminalized it entirely by removing it from the Controlled Substances Act. Those non-violent prison sentences will be thrown out, the prisoners released, their records cleared. No more arrests.”
“Yes!”
“We mandated that each Post Office double as a free public bank.”
“Yes!”
“We created a National Bank, for which I request that Congress credit $10 trillion dollars to pay for items in the ransom list. A good faith gesture until the government meets enough ransom demands to secure the release of President Silver and Ellen Lin.”
“Yes!”
“This is only the beginning. We are committed to doing things, constantly and consistently, to help make people's lives better. And to make the planet and our communities more livable.”
“Yes!”
Sabia then watches a corporate media montage that shows a barrage of scenes in which President O’Roura-Chavez is demonized as badly as any terrorist, by endless establishment figures.
“Fuck you all!”
Sabia pulls up a social media montage in which O’Roura-Chavez is hailed as a hero by countless individuals and groups who have taken to the streets and used the web to support her decision to meet the ransom demands insofar as possible.
“Yes!”
Suddenly, onscreen flashes an attribution:
THIS MONTAGE BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE ALA
“Who on Earth is the ALA?” says Sabia.
She pushes back from the table.
“That's me. Except I didn't make this clip.”
She looks outside.
“Goddess!” she shouts. “Witches arise! Unite! The spontaneous uprising and arising of the People. We who oppose white male Empire! We, the People! We ALL are the ALA! The revolution has begun.”
Sabia looks hungrily back to the montage as it continues.
Alecta O'Roura-Chavez appears in control, authoritative, popular when not demonized, belittled, and smeared. Very strong.
“Who is the real criminal?” asks the Acting President. “The kidnappers who ransom a President for a list of good things that improve everyone’s quality of life, or the officials who refuse to provide People with the good things that would save a President and benefit the country. Free President Silver! Meet the demands! Free the President! Meet the demands!”
Sabia surfs the web. Corporate media demonizes O’Roura-Chavez, branding her an enemy of the state. A news moderator reports that Alecta O’Roura-Chavez is being called:
“'Public Enemy #1!'”
“'The Terrorist President!'”
“'Evil O’Roura!'”
Nevertheless, the moderator notes, “Smiley face 'EVIL O’ROURA!' ball caps are popular among the Acting President's fans and supporters. It's all monetized. 'I AM EVIL O’ROURA!' tee shirts, coffee mugs and 'MEET THE DEMANDS!' paraphernalia, tattoos, videos, songs, foods, memes….”
“Yes!” Sabia pumps her power fist.
And so it is that an incipient revolution begins to explode culturally. A kind of carnival atmosphere takes hold. Chants are heard for and against Alecta O'Roura-Chavez and the ALA at ball games, in gyms and stadiums, at concerts and conferences, in streets and parks and fields. Smears and cheers.
“Evil O’Roura!”
“Meet the demands!”
“Evil O’Roura!”
“Meet the demands!”
“ALA! ALA! ALA!”
Sabia stands abruptly, walks onto the porch.
The female FBI guard wanders over from the crater to the Perez drive, talking on phone, trying to keep warm. “Gotta go,” she says to her phone. The guard ends the call, approaches Sabia. “What's going on, Sabia?”
Sabia stands on the edge of the porch, in her socks, without a coat. She stares far across the snowy field opposite the road. “Revolution,” says Sabia. “It’s in the Iowa air, amazingly enough. Can you feel it?”
“You mean what the Acting President is doing – health care and all that.”
“I mean what the People are doing.”
“What's that?”
Sabia stares at the guard. “I suppose the FBI will be the last to get it. You realize that President Silver can never be released.”
“You think the kidnappers won't give her up. Ever?”
“What kind of Revolution restores the King or the Queen? If they did, then the Establishment would immediately gut the Revolution. The Court, the Congress, the President would strangle everything. Like they always do. They're so deep in the pockets of Big Money- Hell, they are Big Money. Most of them. That's how it goes.”
“I don't know, Sabia. You can't fight City Hall. Right?”
“Looks like you can replace it. With something better. Now's the time. Things are in order. Long delayed but due. Replace the corporate media. The powers that be. Replace the police. The military. The big owners, the big takers. Get rid of them. Fight them, or not – the point is, get rid of them. They have no justified authority over the people. A lot of corrupt laws. Tons of cops like yourself - doing what? Guns galore. There's no there there. The US is Oz. It's all intimidation and bluster with big opaque curtains hung everywhere to hide all the fraud. Does society have problems that need solved and funded? Yes. But not by guns, and not by the big owners.”
“By who then?”
“People. You know, people people. Popular forces and organizations. Popular progressive forces not given power by big money but by the people themselves.”
“You can't fight the big owners, Sabia. I mean, you can. You'll lose.” The guard pats her gun. “You know who I work for. Uncle Sam. We have a monopoly on power. Nukes, everything.”
“A monopoly on guns and violence is not a monopoly on power. I think we're winning now.”
“Who's we?”
Sabia clenches her teeth against a cold wind that slaps her hair across her face.
“As long as Silver remains hostage – we win. The People win.”
The realization seems to dawn on Sabia slowly, though it's the natural extension of the act, that she would need to hold President Silver and Ellen Lin forever.
“Holy shit,” says Sabia.
She begins to see herself differently, for a moment. She feels for Silver and Lin differently too, if only for a moment.
“It may be a bad thing,” says Sabia to the guard. “But necessary. Think of the kidnappers. They must feel like they're a kind of necessary evil. Devils fighting Devils, hellfire versus hellfire. So that a non-hellacious future can become our present. It's ironic.”
“Evil is Evil, Sabia.”
“It certainly is. And the kidnappers want to save the world. They want a life worth living and a world worthy of life. I mean tell me: Who else will save the world? Fucking Silver?”
“Not feeling you,” says the guard. “This is all going to end badly. Very badly.”
“And how has it gone up till now? The world.” Sabia nods at the guard. “That's right. Very badly. It's been a fucking festival of Evil. That ends now.” Sabia feels good thinking about the possibilities. Real hope is a drug. Or maybe it's the ideals. The principles.
“You sure you're okay, Sabia?”
Sabia’s gaze extends again to the horizon. “Take care,” she says.
She goes back into the farmhouse. Closes the door. Locks it.
Time slows to a near stop.
Sabia talks to the empty kitchen, quietly: “We won.”
She looks around. She can hardly believe it.
She goes down into the basement toward her underground home.
She won.
Sabia did.
And the peoples and the country and the planet. They won. They're winning.
For the time being.
Sabia is amazed. The feeling. She does not want it ever to end.
And then she thinks of her abuelo Roca held prisoner in the coal mine by her very hands. Talk about wildly unfair. It's not fair to him. It's not fair to her. It's what must be.
“You sure you're okay, Sabia?” The words of the FBI guard. Is the guard inside the house?
The FBI.
Her abuelo.
The world.
Is she okay? Not by anyone's standards but her own maybe. No, of course she's not okay. Since the death of her Mamá, when has she ever been okay? When can she ever be okay again?
Does it matter? How? Life is so much bigger than her own self.
This revolution, this untamed thing, it may be all for the good, though it can be awfully hard to bear.
Sabia feels a cold wind strike her from behind in the great room. Did she leave a door open?
She realizes: there's no door to the outside anymore that could be ever left open.
Sabia thinks that someone is going to need to die for the revolution, and she thinks she knows who it will be.
What Sabia cannot know is that she will soon be racing to the hospital, cursing herself and everyone else, though not for the sake of her own well-being.
