Chapter 17 The Son of a Bitch
The Son of a Bitch
At seven o’clock that night, Anna knocked on the metal shutter. She’d traded her black raincoat for a pale trench, swept her auburn hair into a bun pinned with a pencil, and had a faded tote slung over one shoulder.
“Did you forget about our appointment?” she asked, when Mitch raised the shutter.
“No – why would you think that?” he asked, letting her in.
“Well, you’re looking a little gloomy.” Anna twirled in a circle. “Better, no?”
Mitch didn’t answer.
“Beige hides the dust better, don’t you think?” she prompted.
All he really saw was her glowing skin, that radiant smile. Those wide, bright eyes awoke in him a desire to live, to be free. That was when it hit him; how completely she’d already taken hold of him. If Salinas pumped poison through his veins, Anna was the antidote.
As planned, they went for a stroll along the riverbank. The air was soft, the sky calm and brushed in deep purple. Mitch might’ve felt at peace if only he could think of a single thing to say. But their walk unfolded in a kind of reverent silence.
“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted at last. “You must think I’m so boring. I’m just… I’m not great with—”
“Women?”
“People I don’t know well.”
There was a kind of humility in his words that Anna rarely saw in men.
“Me neither. But it’ll be hard to get to know each other if neither of us talks. Okay, I’ll start. What made you want to own a bookshop?”
“My parents. My mother was a bookbinder, and my dad never went anywhere without a book. He passed his love of reading on to to me. Taught me to travel through imaginary worlds, make friends with the characters so I was never lonely. He used to quote phrases straight out of books. I thought he was doing it for show, but now I catch myself doing it too, without evening noticing. No other profession could have made me this happy. I became a bookseller so I could share that feeling. Encountering new ideas, traveling through time, discovering lost civilizations, different ways of thinking…” He paused, admiring Anna’s beautiful coat.
‘It’s like keeping the magic of childhood alive.
To read is to open myself up to the world. ”
“For someone who thinks he’s boring,” Anna said after a moment, “you’ve just managed to perfectly articulate how I feel when I cook. I’ve never been able to.”
They sat down on a bench by the water, and Anna set her tote bag at her feet.
Out came glasses, silverware, a placemat she spread between them, a Tupperware container, a foil-wrapped bundle, and a Thermos.
She opened the Tupperware first, revealing a colourful stew of reds, greens, ochres and yellows. Mitch had never seen a dish like it.
“I’ve been working on this recipe for ages,” she said. “It’s a hybrid of dhal and vegetarian curry. In all modesty, I think I’ve got it pretty close to perfect. The ground almonds are the key,” she added earnestly, like she’d unlocked some great secret.
She held out a forkful to Mitch’s lips. When he closed his eyes in obvious pleasure, she launched into a passionate explanation: how she’d balanced the textures and flavours, how she’d sliced up the vegetables and the order she’d cooked them in, the delicate layering of spices, and, of course, the precise timing for the ground almonds.
Mitch found himself transported to the heart of Udaipur, the city that had inspired her.
He walked with her through the maze of streets, pausing at a stall in a bustling open-air market as she picked through ingredients, and, when her basket was full, wandered down to the banks of Lake Pichola, a place he’d only visited in books when he was fifteen and obsessed with all things India.
Later, Anna poured cups of fragrant tea from the Thermos and unwrapped the aluminium bundle to reveal two slices of chocolate cake.
As the sun began to set, she climbed up the bank to catch the last glimmers of light on the water.
Mitch followed her, but the slope was steep, and he stopped halfway up.
“Go on, I’ll catch up,” he said, rubbing his leg.
“Does it hurt?”
“Only when the air’s very humid. It’s nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, Mitch. You’re terrible at it, and little white lies are the trickiest ones to tell.”
“Oh yeah? Speaking from experience?” Mitch asked, catching up with her.
“I think I’ve talked enough for one day, and don’t think you’re going to get out of answering my question that easily.”
“Fine, if you insist… honestly, it doesn’t bother me much anymore, I’ve got used to dragging it around like a ball and chain.
But it makes other people uncomfortable.
I was afraid it might bother you too. When I’m out in public, or on the train, people give me the strangest looks.
And if I want to go and read in a park, I have to stay well away from the playground. ”
“Why on earth—”
“People are afraid of anything that’s different. Or maybe ignorance chips away at our humanity. I make parents nervous sometimes. They suspect something shady. Whisper to each other. They’ve even called the police.”
“The police? But you’ve got every right to sit anywhere you like!”
“Yes, in principle. But that’s not really how it works in my life.
The first time they picked me up, they ran my name, saw my record and kept me overnight.
I had to tell the lieutenant a hundred times that I was only reading in the sun, that I hadn’t even noticed the bench was near a playground.
That was a little white lie, as you call them.
I used to love reading near children. Their shouts, their laughter… It can bring you back to life.”
“The first time?” Anna repeated incredulously. “It happened more than once?”
“Just one other time. They were much nicer then, though, and let me go after an hour, after I’d promised to steer clear of the swings. Ironically, it’s because of the justice system that I walk like this.”
Mitch’s colour seemed to be returning, and it looked like he was in less pain. Anna gave up on climbing the hill and led him gently back to the bench.
“Accident?” she asked.
“I was beaten up once before the trial. Double fracture. But the real damage was done while I was in prison.”
“How?”
“I don’t really like to talk about what happened in there. I’d rather forget about it.”
Anna stared at her hands, folded in her lap. Her sudden air of sadness made Mitch think she was hurt that he didn’t trust her enough to confide in her.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell you a secret. But promise you won’t judge me.”
She nodded.
“When the rain made gullies in a trail near the prison, they called it the Death Path, they’d send us out to fill them in.
It led to a cemetery about five kilometres from the prison, just past a wooded stretch.
Families like to go for walks along that path on Sundays.
They never go very far – not far enough to see the prison walls, but far enough to complain about the trail.
“Whenever we didn’t finish filling in the ruts on time, the guards would fly into a rage, because it meant they’d be late getting home. So they’d take four of us at a time on a little stroll while the rest waited in the bus.”
“Where to? What do you mean, ‘stroll’?”
“I’m getting to it. They’d tell us all we had to do was walk down the path.
But a guard would grab one of us by the collar and slam us against the bus hood while the others kept walking, with a guard, into the woods.
When they were far enough away, the guard would shout, ‘This son of a bitch kicked me!’ Excuse my language.
Anyway, the son of a bitch would be marched over to join the others, they’d use a bullwhip to keep him moving.
They always aimed for the lower back, takes the wind out of you.
I saw one guy die from it. His kidneys burst.
“Then they’d make us all strip. Everything.
Clothes, shoes, underwear. Threw it all in the woods.
Then the treasure hunt would begin. We had to run, of course.
We were supposed to find our clothes as fast as we could, while dodging the whip.
Our bare feet got sliced up. And even if we did find everything, we weren’t allowed to get dressed.
Instead we’d walk naked almost all the way back to the prison, and they’d park the bus so the headlights were aimed right at us, so all the guards and the other prisoners could see us, and they laughed and laughed at us. Our humiliation.”
“And that’s how your leg was injured?”
“Not exactly. It happened the night they chose me to be the son of a bitch. I was just so sick of the meaningless violence. I’d had enough, and I snapped.
Kicked the bastard as hard as I could in the shin.
He just stared at me for a second, in shock maybe, and then it turned into a full-on fight.
The other guards heard him scream and rushed in.
They made sure I paid. They knew my leg had been broken before, the Sergeant took particular pleasure in that.
But at least the three other inmates were spared that night.
My little rebellion earned me ten days in the infirmary and six months on crutches.
The prison doctor wasn’t a bad guy, but he wasn’t a surgeon either.
Did the best he could. The good thing about being in a cell was that I had plenty of time to do my rehabilitation exercises. ”
“I’m so sorry, Mitch,” Anna whispered, her eyes full of tears.
“No reason for you to be.”
“Kicking that guard was suicide, though. You should have taken a breath, before working yourself up into a state like that.”
“I was already in that state. I stayed in that state the whole time I was locked up. I’m still in it. There’s only one thing I’ve thought about since I left: getting even with the man who put me there in the first place.”
“More than the guards who tortured you?”
“They exist in a world of violence. Most of the prisoners weren’t there for political reasons.
I just landed in the wrong prison. But Salinas?
He’s as privileged as they get. He’s educated, powerful, and cruel.
He knew exactly what he was doing when he had me convicted.
Didn’t even read the books I was charged with selling.
I lost five years of my life over two goddamn books.
I’ve tried to reason with myself. But the anger is overwhelming. ”
Anna pulled the pencil from her hair and tapped it against the bench, a nervous habit. Her voice stayed cool, but Mitch’s story had roused a deep anger within her, too.
“So how exactly do you plan on getting your revenge, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The question surprised him. But he’d come this far, and he figured at this point there was no turning back.
“I’m telling you all this so you won’t think I’m just acting on impulse, or that I’ve gone mad. When I saw Salinas walk out of that courthouse, without a care in the world, all I wanted was to make him pay. At least I think that’s what I felt.”
“With this sort of thing,” Anna said, brushing a stray lock off her face, “you’d be better be sure.”
“Intentions are one thing, but acting on them is another. It’s like believing you’re the sort of person who’d jump into a river to save someone who’s drowning. But you can only be sure if you’re actually faced with the situation.”
“Have you jumped into a river to save someone?”
“No, and I’ve never killed anyone, either. So I guess that makes me pretty ordinary.”
“No, Mitch,” she said. “There’s nothing ordinary about you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“See? Even your questions are extraordinarily stupid.”
“Well, I almost went through with it this morning.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. Is that disappointing?”
Anna got up and paced a few steps, lost in thought. Then, her face brightened.
“Well, you may not be ill, but you’re contagious all the same. Alright, deal.”
“Deal?”
“This morning, you offered to help me. I accept, on condition: that you let me help you, too.”
“Help me with what?”
“To eliminate your prosecutor. And let’s be clear that this is just a mutual aid agreement, nothing more.”
“Nothing more,” Mitch echoed.
Anna kissed him on the cheek, like they were old friends. Then they gathered up the remains of the picnic, stowed them in Anna’s bag and went their separate ways, each hoping that the other didn’t mean a word of what they’d just agreed.