SIX
MY DREAMS continued to taunt me with images of open fields and lush green grass. It was heavenly, but only added to the trauma each time I woke up. "Sleep well?" John asked as I came around.
"No, and my dreams seem so incredibly real."
"I've done ten years and every time I wake up, I forget where I am. You never get used to that."
The bell sounded, the others packed away their things and we were filed out into the yard. John handed some coupons to a trustee and we were allowed access to a food-shed.
Grubby-looking cooks were busy standing over charcoal stoves and fighting over space, while other inmates lingered around waiting for their breakfast. John put our order in; it eventually arrived and was just as bad as what I'd had before.
After breakfast it was time to wash. We stepped over to the troughs and stripped off under the sun.
"Remember, mate. Keep your movements to a
minimum. It will help keep your body cool." "The water's filthy," I complained.
As I washed, I felt a warm tingling sensation on my foot. I glanced down, followed a stream of water to its source - somebody was peeing on me! I gave him a dirty look, splashed copious amounts of water onto my feet then shook them dry. I backed away, dressed then caught up with John.
"Where do you get clean clothes?"
"The lady-boys control all that. The washing lines are round the back, but watch that nobody nicks anything. I stand around and wait."
John glanced up at the sun. "What I wouldn't do for a nice cold beer."
"We'll have one on the outside, one day."
Once the day grew tired, we were taken back inside. On the way back to our cell, John spoke Thai to a passing guard, a coupon changed hands and I was taken in another direction.
"What's going on?' I asked.
"You're calling home. You have a chance to get out, you bloody well take it."
I was marched down the corridor and shuffled into an abandoned office by a guard with a bald head. He handed me an old mobile that felt warm and sticky in my hand. It worked and after three double rings a soft voice answered, "Hello."
"Mum?"
My throat was dry - my voice was croaky. "Why didn't you call me on Wednesday?"
"How are you, Mum? How's the weather?"
"Never mind the bloody weather. What's going on? Why didn't you call?"
"I'm sorry."
"You sound funny. Is everything okay?"
"No Mum, it's not. I'm in trouble."
"What happened?"
"How's Dad? Is he there?"
"No. He's at work."
"I've been arrested."
"Arrested! Arrested for what?"
"It doesn't matter. I didn't do it. It's a scam."
"What were you arrested for?"
"I didn't do it, Mum."
"Michael!"
I paused then the words finally slipped out. "…For beating and raping an underage girl."
She didn't speak. I could still hear her breathing heavily down the phone.
"Mum?"
"Is this a joke? I don't get it - it's not funny."
"It's not a joke Mum.'
"You would never do such a thing. I raised you better than that."
"Of course I didn't and you know I never lie."
"Well then, what happened?"
Her voice was not her own - neither was mine. I could sense a high level of anxiety in her voice and knew it would only get worse if I didn't explain. So I told her of how I'd sketched working girls, how one had framed me, possibly drugged me, and the mess I was in. Then, when I told her of my decision not to plead guilty and not pay what amounted to a bribe, she predictably hit the roof. "You have to pay!"
"I have to do what I feel is right."
"This is not right, Michael."
"They can only hold me for twelve days. Then they have to charge me with a crime or let me go."
"What if they do charge you?"
"The evidence they have is fabricated."
"I'm calling your father. He'll come over and you do what he tells you, you hear?"
'Bald Guard' tapped on his watch.
"I have to go, Mum."
"Hang in there. Dad's coming."
'Bald Guard' snatched the phone from my hand and hung it up. As I was escorted back to my cell, I could still hear her worried voice in my head.
"Who'd you speak to?" John asked.
"My mum."
"How was she?"
"Shocked, upset I hadn't taken the deal."
"So your dad will come and pay you out."
"Probably, but I want to do the twelve days."
"He won't let you."
"I'll tell him it's the right thing to do."
"I'm sure he's not as stubborn as you. The police captain framed you and put you in here - let it go. You can't beat him. You put yourself through all this, for what?"
"I need to show him that he can't get away with it.
He can't continue this scam."
"Why you?"
"I don't know. It just feels right."
"I don't understand you. Is this a British thing, something about pride?"
"It's a bit of that and I don't want anybody back home even thinking I could do such a thing."
"Surely they wouldn't believe it."
"Who knows? I was sketching prostitutes. If I pleaded guilty, they may believe that I was."
"It's your journey mate."
John left me alone. I allowed my thoughts to run freely and my father popped into my head. Mum must have called him by now and asked him to come home. I dreaded to think how he'd react when he'd heard the news.