Interview With the Mockingjay -- Chapter 26B

In which our heroine stages her escape, with the help of Shakespeare

In a lifeless and cold voice, Gray keeps reading. “Appointed Assistant Business Administrator two years ago. Enhanced efficiency of District’s finances, tax-collection, and personnel procedures, recognized by Capitol for doing so. A number of commendatory letters in your jacket.”

“Glad to know the Capitol recognizes good work,” Meredith says, restraining her increasing fury.

“Affianced to Dwayne Williams at age 10, surrendered your virginity to him at age 17 – a mutual event for the both of you,” Gray says.

Meredith grips the armrest of her chair tightly, digging her fingernails into them. “Seems to have gone reasonably well for both sides, and a few months later he dies. When you turn 18, you refuse your parents’ attempts to arrange a marriage, which I find interesting,” Gray says.

“Why is that?” Meredith asks, her voice harsh.

“I would have thought your family would seek an economic arrangement to consolidate their financial position amid the grinding poverty that defines Panem’s Districts,” Gray says.

“Maybe my family respected the fact that I was now an adult and was free to make my own choices,” Meredith retorts.

Gray leans his face to his right side and makes a look of seeming to ponder that. “Yes, I suppose that is borne out by the file,” he says at last. “But you haven’t made many…choices, I see.”

“What do you mean by that?” Meredith probes.

“I’ll put it into simple terms, Ms. Jackson,” he closes the dossier. “You’re not married, you don’t sleep around, but I’m sure your biological clock is ticking away. Why is this? Devotion to duty?”

“Maybe I just haven’t found a future husband yet,” Meredith says.

“Or perhaps your prospects are limited in this backwater District,” Gray answers. “This collection of farmers doesn’t produce too many young men who share your penchant for reading, digesting, and memorizing this building’s supply of old books and maps. They pick crops in your father’s farmlands and vineyards, they drink apple wine, they can barely spell their own name, and they die early.” He pauses. “Not to mention that they party a lot harder than you do. Not much interest in fidelity.”

Meredith struggles to remain in her seat.

“You’re looking for something – or someone – better than this fleabag district can offer you,” Gray says. “You’d like to know what’s beyond that fence. You’d like to dress like the people you see on TV in the Capitol. You’d like to hobnob with leaders who recognize your talents. And you’d like to meet and marry a man who is at least your intellectual equal.”

Gray rises from his seat, clutching his dossier, and saunters around his desk, still talking. “No, Miss Jackson, you do not belong here. You need to live a more…elevated life. But at the same time, you are causing problems for my operations…” He pauses. “Our operations here.”

Gray sits on his desk, directly opposite Meredith. She can feel the menace of his eyes flickering across her face, down her neck, over her breasts.

“I think it would cause you a great deal of trouble if you were to proceed with this baseless complaint,” Gray says. “In fact, I can guarantee that it would cause you a lot of trouble.”

He taps his dossier. “However, I do not want to see so much trouble befall such a capable, skilled, and intelligent administrator.” He places the dossier on the desk next to his left, and bores his eyes directly into Meredith’s.

“Or an exceptionally beautiful woman,” Gray says. He reaches out with his right hand and strokes Meredith’s left cheek.

Almost instinctively, Meredith whips out her right hand to slap Gray’s face, but Gray grabs her with his left hand. “Not so fast, Miss Jackson,” he says. He releases her arm, and she drops it. She sits in the chair, staring at him in rage, silent.

“You don’t want to call in my guards, and have you charged with homicidal assault on a Head Peacekeeper,” Gray says quietly. “The punishment for that is an almost immediate 40 lashes in the District Square. I’m sure you could withstand the physical abuse and scars, but the personal shaming and humiliation of having your blouse ripped off and being whipped in public in front of your family and friends would be even greater.”

“I think my family and friends would admire my resolve in the face of a Head Peacekeeper’s tyranny.”

Gray strokes her cheek and runs his index finger across her lips. “Shh, shh, Miss Jackson. It would obviously be for a raft of additional charges, as well as the homicidal assault, which took place when we discovered that you were embezzling from the district.”

He removes his index finger from her lips, and takes Meredith’s hands. “There is a way, of course, that we can avoid all this unpleasantness, and mutually benefit.”

“And how is that?”

Gray leans in on Meredith. “I am very interested in the skills that Mr. Spilman described. It is rare in my duties and career as a Peacekeeper that I have met a woman such as you, with such interesting abilities…and I don’t mean purely sexual.”

“I would have thought that you would have met plenty of women who would have great abilities,” Meredith retorts, “and would give themselves up to you willingly.” She pauses. “For mutual benefit.”

“Yes, I’ve had many memorable nights with many memorable women,” Gray says, with a slight leer. “There has always been something about the Peacekeeper uniform that attracts women.”

The leer drops away. “But none of them have offered you the impressive combination of skills and abilities that both my libido and career need.”

“What would those be?” Meredith asks.

Gray strides briskly back behind his desk and opens a folder, presenting it to Meredith. Inside is an organizational chart of the Peacekeepers, with official photographs of the various senior Peacekeepers in their dress uniforms, by position.

“We are rapidly approaching the 75^th Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell,” Gray says. “As you may know, President Snow often makes changes in political leadership after the Games, usually based on various performances in the Hunger Games.

“However, we are having some difficulties this year, because of the unrest resulting from the 74^th Hunger Games. I think you know what I mean. It’s why I was assigned here last year.”

Meredith hands back the folder. “Because of what happened with Katniss Everdeen.” She pauses. “And Rue.”

Gray takes the folder back and returns to his dossier on Meredith. “Yes, Miss Everdeen, the so-called ‘Mockingjay.’ Or perhaps I should call her the ‘self-proclaimed Mockingjay?’ Either way, she has caused our nation a great deal of irritation, embarrassment, and expense, because of her defiance.”

“I suppose it would have been better if she’d been killed,” Meredith snaps cynically. “On the other hand, a lot of people made money betting on her.”

***

“That hurts,” Katniss says.

“I was very angry, frightened, and upset, as you might imagine,” Meredith says, her face red.

“A lot of people did make a lot of money betting on you,” Archer says. “A lot of other people lost a bundle.”

“What a surprise,” Katniss says, looking down at the floor. The tension hangs in the air.

I rub at my forehead, and stroke Meredith’s cheek. “So what happened?” I ask her.

***

“Yes, many people lost money on her,” Gray retorts. “I was not one of them. I’m not interested in gambling. In fact, I’m deathly opposed to it. It’s a weakness and a waste. At any rate…this ‘Mockingjay’ has caused a great deal of trouble. Even in this District, as you well know.”

He reads from Meredith’s dossier. “I have your family tree here, which has a fair number of branches. And one of these names is little Rue, the District’s Tribute in last year’s Hunger Games. Her demise had the unintended effect of infuriating your fellow residents, which led to considerable disorder.”

“I remember it with great clarity,” Meredith says, still cold. She is giving distant, chilly, non-committal answers, while her brain whirls, trying to find a strategy.

“Everyone knows that order must be restored. And it was restored. And it will continue to be restored, not just in District 11, but through all of Panem.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with me,” Meredith growls through ground teeth.

Gray leans forward. His voice takes on a brisk, direct tone. “I will move to the point, then. After these Hunger Games, there will be major changes in the Peacekeepers, particularly after the Quarter Quell. District 11 has shown rebellion, and it will be suppressed by all means at my command.”

“What means?” Meredith hears herself ask.

“Any means possible and necessary,” Gray says. “I will spare you the details. Whatever the case, after we have maintained or restored order, I will receive a promotion to an extremely high position in the Peacekeeper force, in the Capitol.

“My proposition to you is simple. After the Quarter Quell, you will resign your position as Assistant Business Administrator of District 11 to join me as assistant comptroller in my new position. That will be your day job.”

“And my night job?” Meredith asks.

Gray rises from his desk again and sits again in front of Meredith. With his right hand, he strokes her hair, her chin, leads his index finger across her lips, and then caresses her cheek. “You are going to move in to my home, and become my mistress.”

Meredith’s eyes bulge out in rage, and her face flushes. “Why in the bowels of hell would I do such a thing?”

“Because…because...” His voice suddenly breaks. “Because you are actually the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Gray removes his hand from Meredith’s cheek, and leans forward to kiss her on the lips. Meredith quails back, terrified. His lips land on Meredith’s, and he pushes them open with his tongue. His breath is hard. He swirls his tongue around briefly, and then pulls out again.

“Why do you think I have ordered a complete dossier made about you?” Gray asks.

“I had no idea,” Meredith answers flatly, recoiling mentally and physically.

He takes her hands in his. “I have seen women across Panem, wherever I have been stationed. Bedded many, befriended some, loved a few. But none are like you. I am astounded that you stand alone in this District, without husband and children. You are like a brilliant rose, growing out of the mud.”

Meredith feels her stomach churning. “What would I gain from being your…mistress?”

“Well, that would not last long,” Gray says, with a slight chuckle. “After an appropriate interval, we would get married.”

“And then?” Meredith asks.

“I would raise you to the highest levels of Panem. You would be mistress to a nation, living in the Capitol, amid wealth and power.”

“You make it sound like I would be queen,” Meredith says, almost casually. Queen, she thinks. There is something in that suggestion that is familiar. He’s doing Henry V trying to win over France’s Katherine. But he doesn’t know it. But Katherine gave in.

I will not, Meredith thinks. There must be a solution.

Gray continues. “You would certainly find it a more royal lifestyle than in this collection of huts and farms. Wearing the most expensive clothing the Capitol can make, in the largest mansions and palaces we can build. Does that impress you?”

“Not specially,” Meredith responds.

Gray laughs. He lets her hands go, and strides over to a filing cabinet. He rips it open and pulls out a stack of magazines from the Capitol out of it, and hurls them on the desk in front of Meredith. They are all fashion and real estate magazines, highly prized in the Capitol, highly illegal in the districts.

“We found these in your office,” Gray says. “How would you be getting these?”

Meredith reddens again, as she picks through the magazines.

“Oh, don’t answer,” Gray says, waving airily. “As Assistant Business Manager for the District, you have your own little connections and methods. Beneath that ‘working-class leader’ lurks the heart of an elitist snob who would does not want to have anything to do with the ‘little people’ of your miserable District.”

Meredith flips open one of the magazines, stares down at an article on a Capitol mansion and its owners, the well-dressed couple beaming happily from their rooftop swimming pool at the camera. Then she looks up at Gray.

“You have some nerve suggesting that!” she yells, her eyes brimming with tears. “So what if I look at this stuff…I have right to look at this…I have a right to…” her voice trails off.

“You have no rights, except what I give you,” Gray says. “You only have desires. I am offering to grant you your desires. In return, you must grant mine.”

“And should I refuse?” Meredith asks. Gray advances toward her again, a hulking menace.

“Then I shall have no choice but to charge you with embezzlement, conspiracy, and treason. And any family members and friends who may have aided and abetted it. The punishment for which…” Gray trails off.

Meredith puts her hands in her mouth, and grips her tongue. She cannot speak.

***

“The punishment was being made an Avox,” I say, wrapping my arms around Meredith to protect her from the hideous ghost that has invaded her home. The love of my life is having a tearful catharsis. “I understand.”

“But he was right,” Meredith says. “I did want to get away from District 11. Not because I hated anybody there…but because I just wanted something better in my life. I didn’t want to live my life beaten down like everyone else in the districts, and he made it sound like I was a traitor for wanting that.”

“I think everybody in this country wants a better life,” I say. “In one way or another. Why else do you think we fought a revolution?”

“I fought it because I had no choice,” Katniss says. “I was just trying to save my sister and my family. Instead…”

“Well,” I say, “Shakespeare had something about that, too.” I cradle Meredith’s chin in my hand.

“Of that I shall have also cause to speak,

And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more.

But let this same be presently performed,

Even while men’s minds are wild, lest more mischance

On plots and errors happen,” I say.

Meredith smiles at me wanly. “Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2,” she says.

“And that means?” Archer asks.

“Horatio is telling Fortinbras at the end of the play that even though people are in a frenzy of grief to avoid further disasters,” Meredith says, “mistakes can happen.”

“So, tell me the rest,” I say to Meredith.

She answers, “Let me speak to the yet-unknowing world

How these things came about. So shall you hear

Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,

Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters,

Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause,

And, in this upshot, purposes mistook

Fallen on the inventors’ heads. All this I can deliver.”

“That I think I can figure out,” Archer says.

***

“I see I don’t have to belabor the point,” Gray says.

Meredith tears her hands away from her mouth, and burbles, “Why are you doing this?” Do you think that…”

“That if I simply told you I loved you that you would fall for me?” Gray sneers. “Tell me, how would I win you over? What would you have done if I had simply invited you to my home for dinner, promising you some of the luxuries that this district never sees, like tea and chocolate, steak and wine? Would you have come?”

Meredith does not answer. He is doing Henry V and Katherine, she thinks.

“Of course not. Despite my rank and power, I’m ‘beneath you.’” He flips through his dossier again. “I have here a list of the books you have read. Some come from this District’s very Town Hall. I confess, the names of these authors are unfamiliar to me. Who is Maya Angelou? Zora Neale Hurston? Alice Walker? Who are they?”

“Famous novelists from several hundred years ago,” Meredith answers.

“Several hundred years ago. Somewhat before my time. What did they write about?”

“What it was like to be…to be black in the nation that existed before Panem.”

He knows nothing about people, Meredith thinks. More importantly, he has no value system beyond personal aggrandizement – no right and wrong, just expediency. It’s all various shades of gray to him.

“As that nation failed, I also fail to see its relevance,” Gray says. He looks up at Meredith. “My colleagues at the Capitol were good enough to break these authors’ names down by field of expertise. I see that many of them wrote fiction.” He looks back down at the list. “Many of them are…philosophers. Who is this fellow Kant? Your copy of his book was heavily penciled.”

“He argued that one should tell the truth at all times. However, later philosophers argued that doing so at all times might endanger innocent people on the run from tyranny, whose lives depended on others’ lying for them. Hence, my pencil-marks.”

“Tell the truth at all times,” Gray says, offering a sarcastic chuckle. “Now that would not enable me to gain confessions from traitors.” He shakes his head.

He doesn’t know the value of truth and honesty – only about playing games. But he can’t see what the consequences are, Meredith thinks. Suddenly her mind is a ball, bouncing in the roulette wheel of her brain around the wheel, like in the district’s occasional Casino Nights, searching for the idea.

Gray rattles off more names. “Descartes, Spinoza, Thomas Aquinas, Bertrand Russell. All that deep philosophy, and their societies crashed anyway. Modern philosophers, they told me. Believing that extraordinary abilities could be found in ordinary men and women.” He shakes his head again.

“Such nonsense. Only a permanent and well-trained elite, committed to a lean, Spartan regimen, using the nation’s true power – that of the police arm – can properly lead a nation.”

He has nothing but contempt for humanity, Meredith thinks. Nobody is smarter than him. As long as he can dominate, he can win. It’s all just a game.

Gray puts down the papers. “But the writer you have read the most is this fellow William Shakespeare, some kind of playwright. What does he say?”

“Many things,” Meredith says. “He writes about everything, including the overwhelming power of the state and how it can destroy itself.”

“And only someone who is familiar with this writer meets your high standards,” Gray says.

Meredith is about to answer, when Gray waves her off. “Don’t argue the point, Meredith, my dear. I outrank you, but I am beneath you, because I read official reports by day and adventure stories by night.”

Gray rises again from his desk and walks behind Meredith’s chair. He places his hands on the chair’s back and leans into Meredith from behind, his chin nuzzling against her hair. She can feel the scrape of his five-o’clock shadow on her skin and his breath against her. He puts his right hand on her shoulder.

“What would your Mr. Shakespeare say in this situation, then? How would he convince you to move in with me and accept my offer?”

The ball drops into the hole in Meredith’s mental roulette wheel. Yes, Gloucester and Queen Elizabeth, she thinks. And Gloucester and Lady Anne. It’s Richard III. He’s an intellectually and morally barren man of ambition, who seeks power. Play the scene as Lady Anne, and be Queen Elizabeth. He won’t know the difference. And that is how I will survive.

Meredith represses her urge to vomit, gulping hard.

Meredith smiles and leans toward him, putting her left hand on top of his, stroking it. “I think he…or you…would say this:

“Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it were made

For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

If they revengeful heart cannot forgive,

Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword,

Which if thou please to hide in this true breast

And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke

And humbly beg the death upon my knee.”

“Which means?” Gray asks.

“I would translate that as…Don’t curl your lips in scorn. They were made for kissing, not contempt. If your vengeful heart can’t forgive me – take my sword and bury it in my heart so that my soul, which adores you, can be free. I open myself to being stabbed. I beg for death on my knees.”

“That I think I understand,” Gray says. “Then that is what I say to you. How do you answer?”

“I will simply answer: ‘That shall you know hereafter.’”

“So, I live in hope?” Gray asks. “Remember the alternatives.”

“All men I hope live so,” Meredith responds, maintaining the smile. She caresses his cheek, and strokes his hair. I have to use my greatest acting abilities now, Meredith thinks.

“In truth, I have always had my own strong feelings for you,” she says. That is the truth, she thinks…he doesn’t have to know that the feelings are dislike turned to hatred. “And I admire strong and powerful men. Especially when they are honest and direct with me.”

“You can be assured that I will always be so,” Gray says. “And you will enjoy it as long as I live.”

As long as heaven and nature lengthen it, is the line Gloucester uses, Meredith thinks. And Elizabeth’s answer is how I feel: as long as hell and Richard like of it.

“As you will be my queen, I will be your lowly subject,” Gray says.

Meredith strikes down the urge to laugh. Cassius Gray isn’t a great leader…indeed, he is a slight, unmeritable man, meet to be sent on errands. Where is that from? Right, Marc Antony describing Lepidus in Julius Caesar. But that’s something to think about tomorrow. For now since I cannot prove a lover to entertain Mr. Gray, I am determined to prove a villain to him. But how? First, I need time.

“When must I move in?” Meredith asks.

“Tomorrow morning will do very well. You obviously have a lot of packing and explaining to do to your family this evening. A team of movers will be at your home bright and early tomorrow morning. And I have to prepare my home, too…this was hoped for, but not expected…so quickly.”

“All right,” Meredith says.

“Then we are agreed?” Gray asks, beaming.

“Yes, we are,” Meredith says. She takes his hands. “I will be your lover, bookkeeper, and confidante,” she says. “I pledge that to you.”

Gray abandons her hands, and wraps them around Meredith’s head. Finally, he plunges in for a long and passionate kiss. Meredith yields to him, neither hindering nor helping. She feels his hot, thrusting tongue in her mouth, and resists the urge to bite on it.

“This is a great moment,” Gray says. “For the both of us. I have seen you walking through Town Hall, with that smile on your face, and said to myself, ‘I must have you.’ I truly regret that I had to use so much force to do so.”

“Can I have your assurance that you will address the illegalities in the budget?”

“Yes, of course…no harm will come to you in any way on these issues. Or anyone dear to you. We will find…a suitable scapegoat.”

“So…we have many goodly days to see,” Meredith says. “Until tomorrow, then.”

“Until tomorrow, my dear Meredith.”

He returns to his desk, and punches a button. The office doors fly open. Slowly and carefully, adjusting her dress, Meredith strides out of the office, throwing the over-the-shoulder smile I have seen so often at Gray.

Gray smiles back. He shuts the door. As soon as it is closed, Meredith starts running down the hall, through the building, up a flight of stairs, past other startled workers, and into her own small office. It looks like a smaller and more jammed version of her later District 12 office, with no computer or electronic aids beyond a phone on the desk.

There she collapses into her chair, crumples onto her desk, and starts sobbing, tears streaming onto the paperwork that covers the desk. When she is done crying, she flings herself back in her chair, and rubs her eyes. “I have to get out of here tonight,” she says.