The Not So Secret Agent Ch 13

Chapter 13: Two Futures

It was only a two-hour drive from the work camp to Rika Chorna but the trip seemed longer because of the company. Arthur's two days in the hospital had been followed by three days in the camp's infirmary. When the medics decided the swelling in his leg had gone down enough they sent him back to the city.

Arthur sensed that the two guards didn't like him much. Perhaps, it was their terse manners or the way they handcuffed him and threw him in the back of the van. He didn't have to speculate for long; as soon as the doors shut the driver and his partner laid out their particular grievances against him.

Item 1: It was obviously his fault that a trio of their guard friends had to work night shifts because-

Item 2: Criminal # 88588 had the nerve to go and get attacked by the wild boar, which forced the-

Item 3: Heroic, good-natured, hard-working guards to risk their own lives in an effort to save a dishonored criminal. Which lead to-

Item 4: The wasting of perfectly good ammunition.

Their logic was impeccable but their courtesy could've used some work. After much name calling, and lecturing they arrived at the Public Works headquarters in Rika Chorna. Arthur picked up his paperwork and went directly across the street to check in with his spokesman.

Arthur scuttled along on old wooden crutches trying to grip the slick handles while keeping his paperwork in good condition. It was one of the harsh realities that every Danubian criminal struggles with: The enigma of not having pockets, what to do with your stuff?

Ralkliv's secretary made Arthur wait just a minute before sending him back. He hobbled down the hallway, slipping some, as the crutches' worn down rubber pads didn't grip the floor so well. In Ralkliv's doorway, his left crutch slid out a bit too much.

Instead of allowing his sore left leg to contact the floor he let go of the crutches, and caught himself with both arms. Since he was down there already he figured he would transition into an awkward kneeling position and greet his spokesman in the formal manner. Ralkliv sighed and said his line, though not with a very welcoming tone.

Ralkliv, in fact looked upset. "Criminal # 88588 have a seat."

Arthur gathered the paperwork off the floor and handed it to his spokesman; he sat as Ralkliv spent a silent minute reading.

"Arthur, I see you have been in trouble again." Ralkliv emphasized 'again'. You were in two fist-fights during your second week in camp?" Ralkliv emphasized 'two'.

"Well sir, the second fight closely followed the first so it was more like one fight with a... brief intermission."

Ralkliv made a falling whistle noise; a sound that Danubians made to show disapproval. "You think that sounds better, I do not. This report also states that you admitted to instigating the fights."

"Uh... Yes sir, but it was more of a misunderstanding really. One of the criminals on my work crew took something I said the wrong way, but I do regret that mistakes were made."

"I never get a simple answer out of you, do I?" Ralkliv inclined his head to the side and rubbed his temple with the fingertips of his left hand. "What exactly did you say?"

"It was a joke, actually. An American joke I had translated into Danubian... and uh..." Arthur paused to swallow. "Perhaps I translated badly and he thought I was talking specifically about his mother and sister; I always have trouble with pronouns and..."

A completely humorless Ralkliv interrupted. "Tell me this joke."

Arthur told the joke.

"Prostitution, exploitation, sodomy, incest..." Ralkliv closed his eyes and shook his head. "This is what you find amusing?"

"Well," Arthur shifted in his seat. "Not when you put it like that."

"With this sort of filth in your mind it is no surprise you get in so much trouble. No other client of mine causes me half as much trouble. Do you know that I have superiors that I have to explain your behavior to?"

"One month after your trial you violate the terms of your sentence." Ralkliv started counting on his fingers for emphasis. "A week after you got back to the city you caused a disturbance in the middle of the night. Then there was that shameful disruption during the Day of the Dead. And last year there was the incident with the horse and the tourists. Now you get into not one but two fistfights and then you almost get yourself killed."

Spokesman Ralkliv had run out of fingers on his right hand. He made yet another sound of disapproval before swiveling to retrieve a folder from his shelf. Ralkliv opened it to place the paperwork inside. "Arthur, this is your file. Do you notice how thick it is? I have a client serving his eighteenth year and his file is thinner than this!"

"Sir, I regret that mistakes were..."

"Stop saying that!" Ralkliv closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Criminal # 88588 you will meet me here first thing in the morning. You are dismissed!"

"Yes sir." As Ralkliv searched for his aspirin bottle Arthur hopped on one foot, picked his crutches up off the floor, and made his way out hoping his spokesman would be in a better mood in the morning.

---------

"Mr. Jakt," Arthur handed a cardboard box to the old man. "I got you something for your birthday. I know you didn't have to take me into your household, and you certainly didn't have to treat me so well. I suppose I just wanted to thank you for that."

"Bah... I wanted somebody to mow my lawn and patch the roof and you were some good cheap labor for the business." Jakt shook the box.

"So you invited an enemy of the state into your household for maintenance? You took a big risk; I mean a spy like me could have made off with your entire fishing lure collection while you slept."

Jakt ripped open the end of the box. A bait cast reel and graphite rod was inside.

"I had my sister send it over... never been used. A friend of mine gave it to me and I never got a chance to use it." Arthur didn't mention that he had won it gambling on baseball.

"Looks expensive."

Arthur pointed out: "It's got titanium doodads and everything. My friend only bought the best when it came to fishing; lived in a shack though."

While Jakt examined his new reel and rod, Samantha arrived with the cake. A cake she had baked herself. "So how did it go today?"

Arthur stood on his right leg and grabbed some plates from Jakt's cabinets. "Spokesman Ralkliv still wasn't in a very good mood this morning so I didn't bring up the subject."

Samantha finished setting up the table, and stuffed a napkin under one side of the platter so the cake didn't look so lop-sided. "Where's he got you working now?"

Arthur wondered if the cake had been dropped on the floor and stuck back together. "Uh... he had me assisting one of his clerks with paperwork, but I'm not really very good at it so I keep getting loaned out."

"Are you going to ask him tomorrow?"

"Definitely... I would have brought up the subject today but he kept going on and on about how my behavior was causing him all kinds of problems and warning me that if I kept getting in trouble, he would be forced to take action."

Samantha looked up apprehensively. "What does 'take action' mean?"

Arthur looked away and took an uneasy breath. "Well... he's going to roll up a newspaper and whack me on the nose." Arthur motioned sharply with one hand. "Bad Criminal! Bad Criminal!"

Samantha gave Arthur a sour look and placed a hand on her hip; she was sometimes a pretty tough audience.

Samantha stepped into the living room. "Mr. Jakt, your cake's ready."

Arthur thought it was an unusual cake: both chewy and gritty; bitter and sour. How Samantha could forget to put sugar in a cake was baffling. Jakt had the stomach of a goat and ate his slice quickly. Arthur forced himself to swallow the first mouthful. Samantha watched Arthur for his reaction.

"Mmm... So, what type of cake is this?"

"Um... it's a coffee cake; do you like it?"

Coffee grounds, that accounts for the grit. Arthur tried to wash it off his tongue with a big swallow of milk. "It's really good!" Samantha smiled proudly. How Danubians got through the day without lying was something Arthur would never understand.

---------

The next morning Arthur acted as apologetic as possible as he got up off Ralkliv's floor. "Sir, there is something I need to discuss with you."

Ralkliv looked like he was afraid to find out. "Yes Criminal # 88588 what is it?"

"Spokesman, Samantha and I have been seeing one another for almost two years. We talked it over and we want to get married. We were hoping to have a wedding sometime next year after she completes her sentence."

Ralkliv had a relieved expression; he leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together in one of his 'deep in thought' gestures.

"Arthur, I have no objection to a marriage but you must realize an engagement between a foreign criminal serving a long sentence and a soon to be released foreign criminal raises unique challenges. Samantha has about eleven months left of her sentence and you have almost twenty-eight years. This situation is difficult... Is it true that Samantha is willing to stay here throughout the entire term of your sentence?"

"Yes sir."

Ralkliv twisted his fancy ink pen in the fingers of his right hand and thought a bit. "After Samantha is released in June she will have the legal status of any other traveler. However, the Danubian people have great respect for the institution of marriage and there are laws that might apply in your case. I believe that I can get permission for Samantha to remain in Danubia... perhaps at some point Samantha might even be eligible for citizenship."

"That's good to hear sir but is there anything I can do?" Arthur decided to head off Ralkliv's response. "I mean besides staying out of trouble?"

Ralkliv gave Arthur one of his dramatic looks, placing a forefinger on his desk for emphasis. "You just concentrate on that, I will handle everything else."

---------

Arthur said goodbye to Jakt and Samantha and then boarded the Public Works bus feeling only a little pain in his left calf as he climbed the steps. It was noon on August 2nd; a hot, dry and windy day.

Arthur picked a window seat in the back. Samantha was still standing outside in the courtyard. He forced himself to smile and wave back. Arthur never told Samantha how apprehensive he was about returning to the camp. He wondered if the guards had something planned for him.

The bus went east on a two lane paved highway and then pulled off on a rough gravel road. The road quickly deteriorated from gravel to parallel muddy grooves with a ridge in the middle. The bus stopped at an intersection with another farm road, a place wide enough to turn around. A gray Public Works truck was parked beside the road.

The criminals unloaded and faced the two guards; both were aggravated to be kept waiting so long. Arthur recognized the man from the hard-labor camp at Novo Sumi Ris.

"Form three lines of ten." He kept his shotgun raised and ready as his partner retrieved chains from the truck bed.

Arthur heard the rattle of chains and memories of that camp flashed sharp in his mind. Those three months were unforgettable. The judge would've been pleased; she taught him a harsh lesson.

Arthur revisited that horrible place often at night, his nightmares came in fragmented scenes: chained and abandoned, left crying in despair shivering wretched in the cold rain, or cowering alone in terror in the shadows of merciless guards, their switches and batons raised and ready to strike, or screaming but unable to make a sound while under the control of the Major and her brutal methods... and there was always the sound of chains.

The panic told him to run- anywhere so they wouldn't lock that chain onto his collar. Arthur took deep breaths to slow his racing heartbeat and tried to focus on some movement over a farmer's wheat field: a bird of prey flew low and fast heading southward. Arthur lined up a couple seconds slower than everyone else. The guard noticed.

"Are you trying to disrespect me criminal?" Arthur was sure he was recognized.

"No officer." Arthur just finished in time for a slap across the face.

He drew his forearm back again and Arthur flinched. His female partner thought it was pretty funny. She stepped up close to Arthur's face.

"You better learn place, Criminal #88588. Get on your knees so we can get you dogs chained up."

The curl of a thin smile formed as she locked his collar's loop onto the end of the ten-meter chain. She gripped it in both hands and pulled the chain, dragging the criminal forward by the neck like an animal; she mocked his panicked expression, laughing with her partner, obviously enjoying her work.

The crew marched for about two hours on the narrow uneven farm road and arrived at the work camp in the late afternoon. Arthur noted that the camp was bigger than before with tents spread out into an adjacent field. Arthur's old work crew was surprised to have the gunshot American back so soon; he joined in immediately, working in the late August heat.

---------

In their typical love for efficiency, Public Works concentrated all the judicial punishments down to just four days per month. With the huge size of the camp that still amounted to around a hundred criminals at a time; inconvenience to court officials, guards, and work foremen was kept to a minimum though.

While taking that uncomfortable walk to the guard's camp, Arthur complained bitterly to whatever gods were listening. "This is so unfair! I get attacked by a boar, shot in the fucking leg and then I have just enough time to make a full fucking recovery before the next switching. Damn it, why didn't those bastards shoot me in July?"

Two clusters of criminals stood in the courtyard already; arms folded in the predawn chill. The men all looked the same. Earlier that week the guards decided to head off an infestation of lice in the simplest way. Forty or so naked hairless men stood in formation with their metal collars reflecting morning sunlight, looking like aliens waiting to board the mother ship. Dozens more apprehensive criminals came streaming in from all over the camp. Arthur joined the rest of the men waiting in silence.

The guards' tents were arranged into a hollow square fifty meters across, with a courtyard in the middle. There were a few trucks parked inside, and two chain-link detention cages to the right of the entrance, but the criminals' dread focused the long row of platforms down the middle.

Sunlight lit up the hedgerow east of camp and a group of guards came out to start their morning shift. One of the officers, an administrative type who always seemed to have a clipboard in his hand took charge; as he called out each number, a fearful man or woman stepped forward. He read forty-eight names off his list and directed the first group to the line of platforms; the second group was cataloged and told to wait nearby. The judge, five spokespersons and several police arrived just as he finished. Condemned to their fate, forty men and eight women stood in a long line across the courtyard.

Arthur was not pleased to be in the second group, better to get it over with quickly. His group had to watch from just a few meters away, presumably to further humiliate the criminal being punished and to torment the criminals anticipating their own beatings.

Arthur faced a young female criminal. She looked so young, probably seventeen or eighteen though if her hair wasn't braided she could've passed for fifteen. She stood on the other side of the table, looking so fragile and innocent, sandy-blond hair held in tight braids, lithe form with small breasts, smooth skin pale with fear, the curve of her hips not yet full, she stood nervously, shifting her weight with legs slightly parted. The girl's hair was shaved off as well, except for the traditional braids on her head that no guard would dare touch.

The young woman took in a sharp breath as a guard approached her with his switch in hand. She trembled; Arthur could see it from four meters away, the guard had certainly noticed.

Her skin turned even paler when he ordered her into position. She leaned forward across the table; when she looked up her eyes were already full of tears. Arthur didn't want to stare at someone in such a vulnerable state but he knew better than disobey direct orders right in front of a guard. The girl looked at Arthur briefly; he knew her desperation well, a subtle nod of encouragement was all he could offer though.

She was tougher than he thought she would be; staying silent and mostly still through the first 20 hard strokes of the switch. She kept her eyes shut tight; face rigid in an expression of agony, tears streamed down the bridge of her nose onto the flat metal surface. It was only when the guard struck several times along the tender flesh of her upper thighs that she cried out in a thin sharp voice. Her sobs blended with sounds of misery throughout the courtyard as the switching continued; some groaned, or screamed, or made hysterical sounds like demented laughter following the sound of switches whistling through the air and whipping down hard on already punished skin.

The guard concentrated his last few blows across the sensitive lower curves of the young woman's bottom, overlapping previous welts. She was crying hard, arms pulling in vain against leather restraints; she screamed horribly as he struck the last blow.

Once the restraints were removed her hands went immediately to her face as she cried hysterical with pain, writhing from side to side on the tabletop. The guard proudly yanked the violently sobbing young lady to her feet and marched her a short distance to display her severely beaten bottom and thighs to the judge. When he released his grip the weakened girl collapsed on the dusty ground; it seemed to amuse the guard to watch her struggle. It took her over a minute to crawl forward, kiss his shoes and hold back her sobs enough to thank him for the cruel beating.

There was a brief break, apparently for the judge's benefit, and then the second group of criminals were called up. Some of the same officers stayed and some new ones arrived; Arthur stared at the dirt and waited for Officer Stashak.

"Criminal # 88588, you will kneel before me!" Arthur was startled to look up and see the female Public Works officer who lectured him endlessly after the fight. He thought perhaps a two-hour drive was too inconvenient even for Stashak; a fortunate turn of events since the woman looked scrawny in comparison and she certainly wasn't driven by the kind of personal hatred that Stashak held toward him.

As Arthur stretched across the table and the officer began tightening the straps, he wondered if this was her first time. She was slower than everybody else getting his ankles bound and then she hurried to the front and started tightening the restraints on his wrists.

Arthur could feel blood gathering in his right hand. He considered not saying anything, but figured he really didn't have anything to lose at this point. "Officer, it's too tight, you're cutting off my circulation."

She gave the: "You will speak only when spoken to" line but she did loosen it a notch. Arthur glanced down the line- all the other guards and police were waiting for her to finish her clumsy attempts at wrapping the final strap around his waist. It seemed to embarrass her; as soon as she finished tightening the strap she yanked out her switch; whipping it through the air perhaps to regain some confidence.

The guards up and down the line glanced at one another and then all struck in unison. Arthur gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain calm. It was painful, just not as severe as he was used to. This switching, he hoped, might be tolerable. Methodical strikes of the switch every half minute or so followed; it was at least proceeding quickly.