Article Forty-Three

by James Morena

Mayumi woke to the five-a.m. alarm. At the time all domestics were required to wake. She swept her graying hair from her baggy eyes, twisted side to side, releasing tension from her tight lower back. Mayumi took a deep breath, removed her breathing mask, checked the remaining credits on her must-wear government-issued oxygen mask: only a few hours left. Mayumi wondered how many air credits the courthouse would give her before the verdict reading, since she couldn’t earn any more from Mrs. Bennett, the mother of the child she had nannied for. Mayumi sat for a moment thinking about what her court-appointed attorney had told her: stay emotionally stable and breathe normally or the judge will sanction your potential air credits.

Mayumi replaced her mask. She couldn’t remember the last time the mega-urban-air was clean or who the president was when all the environmental regulations were scrapped, but she will never forget finding Little Gracie, Mrs. Bennett’s daughter, crying and sprawled on the tiled kitchen floor with her mask shattered that seeped fresh oxygen into the smoggy world.

“Ay nenè,” Mayumi had whispered into her mask, strolling to the gasping child.

Mayumi had kneeled, slid the child onto her lap, then looked around. Secondary masks had been outlawed because of black market trade, so the only choices were for Mayumi to watch Little Gracie’s lungs clog with toxic pollutants or to offer the wheezing child her spare, her emergency, oxygen valve.

Mayumi had removed Little Gracie’s connector and tube from the child’s portable oxygen tank. She attempted to attach it to her spare valve, but the child-sized connector didn’t fit an adult tank. Mayumi had turned and pushed and jerked, trying to fill Little Gracie’s tiny lungs with clean, filtered air. Mayumi had done so without once setting off the automated tax alarm for breathing heavily because she couldn’t afford another percentage increase to her daily mask tax.

When Mayumi entered the courtroom later that morning, the bailiff checked her air credits: thirty minutes worth. The bailiff left then returned with a temporary tank that only contained enough oxygen for two hours. Mayumi asked, “Is that enough?” The bailiff looked at Mayumi, took shallow breaths, said nothing as he returned to his post.

“Is this enough air?” Mayumi asked her lawyer.

“I don’t know,” the lawyer said, “but it’s not a good sign.”

When Mayumi had determined that she had no other choice but to scoop up Little Gracie, race down fifteen flights of apartment stairs, and beg the Clean Air Zone workers to save the suffocating child, she did so. Mayumi had given the child her own mask. Mayumi had huffed and choked and stumbled—smashing holes into the building's walls with her trailing oxygen tank—all the way to the waiting tents of BreathShare, where non-government aid workers were reluctant to help but did so anyway. Mayumi had fallen over out of their way. Her throat had burned, her vision had faded in and out, but she was still able to take in Little Gracie coming to, Little Gracie swallowing deep breaths, and Little Gracie’s bright blue eyes widening as she recognized no one.

After some time and after the NGO workers had helped Mayumi with her own clean-air mask, Mrs. Bennett arrived and retrieved her crying baby. That’s when government officials, out of nowhere, had pounced on Mayumi. They had thrown her to the chilly concrete floor. They had placed their thick knees onto her slender back, legs, and right hand.

“You have violated Article Forty-three of the Clean Air Act,” one of the government officials had stated.

“I didn’t do –,” Mayumi had whispered, trying not to earn another air tax.

“You allowed another citizen to use your personal oxygen mask,” the government official had added.

“Little Gracie was choking,” Mayumi whispered, “I needed to save the baby.”

The government officials had ziptied Mayumi’s wrists and ankles. Mayumi had taken normal breaths. Mayumi had remained emotionally stable. Mrs. Bennett and Little Gracie had stood to the side, watching and inhaling at normal rates. Mayumi had watched as the baby’s blue eyes flickered from officials to aides to Mayumi and to her mother. Mayumi had wanted to say, It’s time for Little Gracie’s nap, and Little Gracie likes it when you read the story about the fighting bugs, but she hadn’t. Instead, she had tried to preserve her remaining oxygen credits. 

Everyone stood when the judge strided in, wafted by the bailiff, sat in her leather chair. Mayumi remained standing after everyone else had taken their seats. She searched the room for Mrs. Bennett and, especially, Little Gracie. Mayumi had known the baby since the second day of her life. Mayumi had been the one who taught Mrs. Bennett how to situate the infant-sized clean air mask, how to clean the rubber seals, and how to swaddle Infant Gracie in a way that her oxygen tube remained unabated. Mayumi loved Little Gracie.

The judge banged her gavel. Mayumi’s lawyer stood. Mayumi continued to search the room.

“The verdict,” Mayumi’s lawyer whispered.

“Is this a unanimous decision?” the judge asked the foreperson.

“It is your honor,” the foreperson stated.

Mayumi’s lawyer nudged her. Mayumi turned to face the front. She glanced at the jury, the bailiff, and the judge. She watched as the judge lifted a sheet of paper then began to read.

“Mayumi you have been charged with violating Article Forty-three of the Clean Air Act,” the judge stated, looking at the accused. “Do you have anything to say before I read the verdict?”

Mayumi looked at the judge then whispered, “I was trying to save Little Gracie.”

Everyone breathed normally.

As the judge announced the verdict, Mayumi thought that she heard a whimper in the far corner of the room. She scanned the last seats of the last row, focused on something she thought looked familiar, then inhaled a shallow breath of government-issued oxygen.

BIO: James Morena holds an MFA in Creative Writing. His stories or essays have or will appear in the North American Review, StoryQuarterly, New Delta Review, Another Chicago Magazine, storySouth, Litro Magazine, Pithead Chapel, and others. His ten-minute plays have been produced by Green Shirt Studio. He has been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net and was a finalist for The Iowa Review’s The Jeff Sharlet Memorial Award for Veterans.