An Evil Cradling by Brian Keenan

Author:Brian Keenan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 1993-04-14T19:00:00+00:00

THE HAMMAM MAIL

WHEN LUNCH WAS brought I asked where John was. ‘I do not know,’ came the reply. ‘If you have hurt him . . .’ The door banged shut before I could finish my intended threat. I passed the day thinking of our time together. Occasionally I stood, hauling myself up to look over into the cells opposite. Nothing, no movement, no noise. I called out his name softly, then louder, fearless of the consequences. Still no answer. That night I prayed for my companion’s safety and comfort as I knew he would be doing for me. We were apart but somehow we were in communication. A compassion greater than our need for each other created an invisible presence, shared experiences and memories filling the cell. I slept alone yet somehow not alone. One question preoccupied me: what would I do if I learnt John had been executed? I remembered the words of the guard as he walked me into this prison many months ago. ‘Your friends have gone to their home.’ I know he was referring to Peter Padfield and Leigh Douglas and I was beginning to suspect that their ‘home’ was a final and not a family one. My prayers were no longer requests. I demanded his life and safety.

Morning came. This time I walked awkwardly to the toilet, the calves and muscles in my thighs screaming from the punishment I had subjected them to the previous night. I entered the tiny shower exhausted from the short walk. My ankles felt as though they had been smashed with a hammer. I waited for the pain to ease, looking up at the bulb that lighted the toilet. Suddenly it hit me. Without thinking what I was about to do I committed myself to it.

I turned on the cold tap of the shower and cupped my hands under the spray filling them with water, then threw the cold water against the hot bulb. Explosion and darkness. Hot pricks burnt my shoulders and feet as the glass fell around me. I stood motionless, waiting and afraid to move. Would I be trailed out of this place and beaten again?

The door opened slightly, a hand reached in with a small piece of candle burning on a saucer. I set it on the shelf above the grimy wash hand basin. As the door closed a voice spoke ‘Douche, quickly.’ So far I was safe. I looked about me. My eyes fixed on a piece of shattered glass. I picked it up and placed it inside my cup. Quickly I finished washing and folding the glass inside my towel, knocked on the door, informing the guards I was ready to return. I was led back to my cell.

Crouching in the corner I felt excited by my scheme. A long day and night passed, my mind turning over what I was going to do and what the consequences might be. Early in the morning before the guards arrived with breakfast I took the glass fragment in one hand and with the other spread my toes open.

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