What’s this supposed to be for? asked the policeman who was searching him. No? All right, we’ll see about that later.
After they had taken down our names they turned us over to a man with keys in his hand. Zailachi and I followed him down a narrow corridor until he stopped in front of a door. As he was opening it, one of the men who had brought us in the jeep came up. He pushed us through a doorway into a room where a light bulb hung down from the ceiling. Three other prisoners sat in the room, but one of them was asleep. The policeman unfastened the handcuffs, stepped outside, and slammed the door.
Everything they do here is part of the punishment, I thought. My left wrist hurt a little, and I rubbed it. I looked at the door that was reinforced with metal plates, and reflected that this door was stronger than any of the doors that had shut me in before. The doors are getting tighter. Here I am, finally, in a real prison. Zailachi sat down on the floor with his arms on his knees. Sit down, he said.
I sat beside him facing the two young men who were awake. The floor was cold as ice. Great spots of dampness covered the walls and ceiling. In one corner of the room was a latrine hole with a water tap directly above it. Whatever they give you here they give in a way that makes it all a part of the punishment, I thought. I glanced at the hole in the corner. The stench that came up from it made me feel sick to my stomach. Zailachi brought out a pack of cigarettes and passed it around. The one who was sleeping sat bent over with his head resting on his folded arms.
Zailachi pointed in his direction. What’s the matter with him? he asked the others.
He’s drunk.
He’s better off like that, in this cold, said Zailachi.
The two young men were shivering.
How long have you been in here? Zailachi asked them.
The same one who had spoken before answered now. They arrested us this afternoon. We were playing cards in the Café Debbou.
The other one smoked silently, looked at the floor. He raised his head only to take a long pull on his cigarette from time to time. Then later, his head down, he would exhale, and the smoke would look like someone’s breath on a cold morning.
12
By the time morning came, we were all shivering with the cold. Each time one of us got up to use the latrine the others crouched further forward, staring at the floor. And the smell grew worse. The young man who had been asleep during the night drank a great deal of water, the same as Zailachi and I. It was the great thirst of the morning after drinking. Zailachi stood up and began to do exercises. He was in a good mood.
Get up and do this if you want to get warm, he told me.
No, I said.
Each time he made a vigorous gesture the others glanced up. I watched him during the entire time he did his gymnastics.
Get up! he said. What’s the matter with you? There’s nothing better if you want to stop feeling the cold.
The cuts on my knee and my elbow hurt. They’ll begin to bleed again if I start doing that.
He did not say any more. He was beginning to pant, and his motions were growing slower. He walked over to the latrine hole and spat into it. He turned on the water tap and washed his hands and face, wetting his hair and smoothing it back. He squatted, urinated, washed his sex, and then washed the hand that had washed the sex. He drank a little more water and came back to sit in his place on the floor with his hands on his knees. Drops of water ran from his chin and from the tips of his fingers. He bent his head forward. Little by little he began to breathe normally. Then he raised his head towards me. We looked at each other smiling for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. This made me laugh too.
The sons of whores! he said. They caught us the way a cat catches a mouse.
Where do you think they’ve taken the girls? I said.
The Zoco Chico police station. Where else would they take them?
Do you think it will be a morals charge? I asked him.
I don’t believe so. We weren’t making any trouble. They found us drinking with two whores, that’s all.
How many days do you think they’ll keep us here?
Not later than Monday or Tuesday, he said. Today’s Saturday. After a pause he went on: You’re lucky. BouChta too. He’s just a tailor.
I’m lucky? I cried, astonished.
Yes. You’ve never been convicted of anything. You’ve never been in jail. But I have, and they may accuse me of a new robbery or something.
I wonder why they didn’t put BouChta in here with us, I said.
They just didn’t happen to. I don’t think there’s any reason. They’ll let him out too on Monday or Tuesday.
You think they’re going to let BouChta and me off that easily?
You’ll see, he said.
And Naima and Faouziya? I said after a moment.
They’ll be out drinking and whoring again on Monday or Tuesday. The worst that can happen to them is that they might make them go into a whorehouse to work, where they can give them a medical examination every week. Anyway, I think BouChta and Faouziya will be getting married as soon as they get out of here.
You mean he’s in love with her?
I don’t know. But he wants to live with her.
And you?
What do you mean, and me?
I mean you and Naima, I said.
He put his forefinger to his temple and drew circles with it. Are you out of your mind? She’s like every other whore I ever knew. I didn’t come into this world to marry a whore.
I heard the sound of footsteps close by, outside the door. We all turned in that direction. The little square window in the middle of the door opened. Then the door swung inward rapidly, making a great noise.
They do it that way to scare us, I thought. Even the way they open the door is part of the punishment.
Two old men came in, one of them carrying a large tea-kettle and a basket full of metal mugs to drink out of, and the other a white canvas sack. They said good morning. Behind them in the corridor stood two guards. They gave each of us a loaf of bread and a mug of tea.
You’ve got fifteen minutes before they take out the mugs, said one of the guards.
The two old men went out and the guards shut the door. The little window remained open. Both the tea and the bread were hot. We ate and drank without speaking.
Leave half your bread for the afternoon, Zailachi advised me. They won’t bring anything around again until this time tomorrow.
I nodded my head. After we had finished, Zailachi pulled out a cigarette and passed it to the others. He and I shared a second cigarette between us. I noticed that the two youths who had been arrested in the Café Debbou left none of their bread for later. The third one, like Zailachi and me, saved the greater part of his. Always when I have drunk and smoked a great deal, the following day thirst takes the place of appetite.
We continued to smoke in silence, sipping what was left of the tea. My body had begun to glow with warmth. The little window stayed open. It may be because of the window that we remain so quiet. What would life be like, I wondered, if all of it had to be spent sitting like this here in this room? We would all have to exist only in our memories, acting out the parts we play here until we were so bored by both them and the memories that we came to rest in a silence like this one. We would disappear one by one, until all of us were gone, and the unluckiest of us would be the one who disappeared last. I prefer to be with people, even though they may be my enemies. I would rather be shut up in a place like this with others than be free and solitary. It would be better to be the first rather than the last to disappear.
The door opened, and the old man who had brought the tea came in. A guard stood behind him watching us. We finished off the last drops quickly, and dropped the mugs into the old man’s basket, on top of those that were already there, and we thanked him.