Callisto

by Torsten Krol

  EIGHTEEN

  Lieutenant Harding woke me up so I guessed it’s morning now. He says, “Today we’ve got outdoor activity scheduled, Deefus. How do you feel about getting out of this place for awhile?”

  “That’ll be good,” I said.

  “Don’t make predictions,” he says, but he’s smiling, so maybe it will be okay, you can’t tell with someone like this that thinks I’m his enemy.

  He handed me a fresh jumpsuit and I put it on, then he had me handcuffed and blackbagged and taken along the corridor by two soldiers holding onto my arms. I heard a door open and the heat outside hit me like I walked into an oven. I had not been given breakfast but it must be way past early morning for the day to be this hot already, so this is punishment after all, this outdoor activity with no food inside me. But I expected that so it’s not so bad. If I had believed Harding’s smile I would be feeling twice as bad.

  I could feel rough ground through the soles of my slippers which are real thin. The soldiers guided me to a spot and told me to get down on my knees, which I did and felt gravel digging into my knees through the jumpsuit. My hands are behind me and all I can see is blackness from the black bag, but I can feel the ground beneath me and the sun overhead. That is some powerful object they have got overhead in the tropics, not like the sun at home. This is like a sledgehammer that someone heated up in a forge before they hung it in the sky for those rays to come down hot and hard on my back and shoulders and head which has got no hat on it, just the black bag, but maybe this is giving me protection. Already my toes are cramping from being folded like they are in those thin slippers, and my knees are telling me to get up off that hard gravel.

  “This is rest period,” one of the soldiers says to me, “so you just rest there awhile. If you move, that means you’re not resting, and that’s against the rules, so don’t do that.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He give me a kick. “You don’t speak unless we ask a question, asshole.”

  “Okay.”

  He kicked me again and the other one says, “This guy’s a fuckwit.”

  “Ain’t he, though. Hey, fuckwit, where’s it say in the Koran about how it’s okay to blow up women and babies? Go ahead and answer.”

  “I never read it.”

  “No? Maybe you can’t read.”

  “I’ve read The Yearling sixteen times …”

  He kicked me again. “I didn’t ask you a question!”

  “Here’s a question,” says the other one. “How come an American turns into a Muslim? How come you did that, you and Dean Lowry?”

  “I didn’t, and Dean didn’t either, not really, he just acted like he was to make his aunt mad at him.”

  “That is one bucket-of-shit answer. You think you’d be here now if you weren’t a terrorist for Allah? What the fuck for if you’re not? And Lowry, how come he’s in the news for wanting to kill that senator if he’s not a Muslim?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Fuck, man, you’d be about the dumbest terrorist we got here.”

  “How many have you got?”

  The other one kicked me. “We didn’t ask you a question!”

  I put a lock on my lip and kept on kneeling there, wishing I’d had a good long drink of water from my basin before they brung me out here because that sun is strong, but they didn’t tell me I’d be kneeling under this kind of heat so I didn’t. They should have told me but they don’t care, I’m just this crazy Muslim bomber that’s threatening to blow up women and children.

  “Hey, Deefus, that chick on the news, she acts like you don’t impress her at all.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Deefus, you fuckin’ deaf?”

  “No, you didn’t ask me a question.”

  “I just asked if you’re fuckin’ deaf, dumbo. You didn’t hear me ask that?”

  “The time before …”

  “The fuckin’ time before I asked ... whatever I asked. Now I wanna know how come that chick on the TV news says you can’t even spell but you told us you can read, huh? How come?”

  The second one says, “Did you fuck her in school, Deefus? She looks like she’d take on a pile of shit like you. So did you?”

  I didn’t like it that they’re badmouthing Feenie that way. Feenie told the whole world she doesn’t think I’m a terrorist, so it isn’t right to be talking about her like this.

  The first one shouts in my ear, “Hey, Deefus! You go deaf on me again?”

  “No.”

  “So how about this chick? Was she a dirty-talker on the phone like your ‘fiancée,’ huh? She make you come on the phone, huh? How come your ‘fiancée’ talks dirty to other men, Deefus? She don’t get enough real dick from you, huh? Huh? Answer me, you fuckin’ freak!”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Well, that was not the right answer. They kicked me down from my knees onto my side and kept on kicking, but it seemed to me like they’re not putting much effort into it. Maybe I’m getting used to punishment so it doesn’t seem so bad, or maybe it’s just so hot out here they haven’t got the strength. After a dozen or so kicks each they quit.

  “Gimme a smoke,” says one.

  “Filter tip or plain?” says the other, and they both yukked and yukked, then the first one says, “Just regular, bro.”

  I heard them both light up and blow smoke. Me, I’m happy lying on the ground sideways and getting the pressure off my knees and toes. These bozos have done me a favor but they’re too dumb to know it.

  “Jeez, I hate this fuckin’ place.”

  “Yeah, rotate me, baby.”

  “We should just kill ’em all and go home.”

  “Put me down for that.”

  They smoked awhile, then one says, “Okay, Deefus, on your feet.”

  I stood up and the other one says, “Rest period’s over, now you got to get some exercise. What kind we want you to do is the song and dance kind. You know how to sing and dance, Deefus?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you better fuckin’ learn real fast, my friend. We don’t care what kinda song and dance, but you gotta do it, do it now, my man.”

  “Do it,” says the other one, “or we’ll make you kneel on hot asphalt all fuckin’ day while we stand over in the shade and have us a nice cold beer.”

  “Start now,” says the first one.

  I did not want to kneel on hot asphalt all day, so I started shuffling around and singing, kind of. What I sang was, “I’m a little teapot short and stout, Here is my handle, Here is my spout …” I couldn’t do the handle and spout part with my arms because I’m handcuffed, so I just sung those same words over and over and shuffled around. They laughed their heads off and told me I’m a fucking great dancer and singer too and keep it up or else, so I did, singing it over and over till I tripped over my own feet and fell down. That got them laughing again and they lit more smokes, letting me lie there like before, which was better than the singing and dancing.

  Then one of them says, “Shit, here comes the dork.”

  I heard footsteps coming closer, then Lieutenant Harding’s voice says, “That man is supposed to be on his knees, not resting on his side.”

  “He just now fell over, sir.”

  “Deefus, stand up, you’ve got a phone call.”

  I’m thinking to myself, Sure I have, maybe more dirty talk on tape from Lorraine.

  “Get up and take this call!”

  I got up and he tells them to uncuff me, which they did, then this little phone with the lid open gets put in my hand. So this is real, I’m thinking. Who the hell is calling me here? I put it up to my head inside the bag.

  “Hello?”

  “Odell, this is Agent Kraus. How you doing there?”

  “Okay. It’s hot.”

  “No kidding. Well, the heat’s off you here. We’ve located Dean’s body.”

  “Where I said he was?”

  “No, in Hays City.”

  “How’d he ge
t there?”

  “Your house was being closely watched, Odell. That same afternoon you dug up Dean and relocated him you were under observation through binoculars by Donnie D and his drug-pushing buddy Marcus Andrew Markham – aka, Marky Mark. Ever heard of him?”

  “No.”

  “They were intrigued by what they saw, so that night when you were out with Donnie and Lorraine getting cash from the ATM in town, Markham dug Dean up and drove him away. They thought you murdered Dean and were going to turn you in for the reward while denying any involvement with Dean themselves. Donnie broke after we showed him that ATM photo. You’ll be brought back here for further questioning about the murder. You still maintain that you killed Dean and buried him?”

  “By accident.”

  “Forensics have confirmed he died from a blow to the head, but his skull is abnormally thin.”

  “Told you. Hey, did this Marky guy see who put the truck in the driveway? That would’ve been happening around the same time as he’s digging up Dean.”

  “No, he drove up to the house, went around back to get the body and drove out the same way. The truck was delivered later, maybe just minutes later. There’s something else. These calls you claimed to have received from so-called Agent Jim Ricker, do you stick by that story?”

  “He called me, like I said.”

  “We’ve re-examined our recordings and discovered several anomalies. You know what that means?”

  “It’s … a sea creature with lots of little wavy arms. But not a fish.”

  “Traces of interference we didn’t notice before, like someone had a new kind of scrambler. We’ll need to talk to you about that as well. How are they treating you there?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Good. Well, I just wanted to let you know your story is now more or less accepted and you’ll be booked for homicide, not terrorism. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Put the officer back on.”

  “Agent Kraus? Did Lorraine get her dope-trafficking charges dropped for going along with that phony breakout? I think it’s good if she did. I don’t bear her any grudge. And is it true about her doing certain things with Chief Webb when she’s, uh, too young? She told me that’s why she’s busting me out, to get back at him about that, but maybe it was a lie to make everything seem more real. It’s none of my business, I’d just like to know.”

  “Those allegations are part of an ongoing investigation, so I can’t discuss them. Put the officer back on.”

  “I don’t bear a grudge against Donnie D neither. He was just concerned about Dean, I guess.”

  “Odell, put the officer on right now.”

  “Okay, bye.” I held out the phone. “For you, Lieutenant.”

  He took it off me and listened, then he says, “Right away.”

  I heard the phone snap shut. Harding says, “Take him inside.”

  Which they did, and when I’m in my cell and the black bag was took off they told me I can have a shower, which I did and it felt great. Then they give me back my clothes that I come in and my sneakers, even give me back the money I had. Then they brung in breakfast, eggs, bacon, raisin toast and waffles, plus coffee. It’s like I’ve gone from being a piece of shit to a VIP all of a sudden, which I know I have got Agent Kraus to thank for this.

  Midmorning along comes Chaplain Turner with my Bible. He looked real surprised to see me wearing regular clothing and not the orange jumpsuit. He says, “The Lieutenant told me you wouldn’t be needing this, but he didn’t say why. Has something changed here?”

  “I’m going home.”

  “Really, and why is that?”

  “They swapped the charge from terrorism to homicide.”

  “Oh.”

  “But I expect that’ll get changed again to manslaughter because it was accidental. I just need to explain to them about that.”

  “I see. So you won’t be needing this?” He held up the Bible. It looked new.

  “Not now. They won’t think I’m a Muslim now that I’m not a terrorist anymore.”

  “Is that the only reason you wanted it, to look less like a Muslim?”

  “Uhuh.”

  He looked disappointed. “You told me you were a lapsed Christian.”

  “What kind is that? I think I’m supposed to be a Pisscapalian. That’s what my mom was when she’s little, but my dad talked her out of it.”

  “It’s never too late,” he says, and put the Bible through the bars, which I took it out of politeness and took a peek inside to see if it’s the kind with pictures. I recall seeing one of those with pictures of Jesus with long gold hair and eyes blue as the sky. He looked like a Viking in a bathrobe. But this one has not got the pictures.

  “Thank you,” I told him. He’s looking at my face all swole up like it is, and I know he wants to ask about that, but he doesn’t. I said, “Did you talk to Preacher Bob about me?”

  “Preacher Bob? No, I thought you were joking.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now, I’m going home. That means I can still go to the big show he’s got planned in Topeka for July Fourth.”

  “I’ve heard about that. It should be quite spectacular. Well, take care, and study that book, it’ll make a huge difference in your life.”

  He’s probably right about that. Dean’s Koran made a big difference in my life and I didn’t even read a single word from it, just picked it up a couple times, so these religion books are dynamite. Chaplain Turner shook my hand very friendly and I said, “Can you ask the Lieutenant or someone on the way out if I can get let out of this cell now that I’m not a terrorist? They didn’t say yet how long till I’m outta here.”

  “I’ll ask,” he says, and away he goes.

  Ten minutes later Harding comes to visit. He says, “You won’t be permitted out of that cell until it’s time to leave. There’s a flight stateside this evening. Until then you have to remain where you are. This is a military facility, strictly off limits if you aren’t one of us.”

  “Just a couple weeks ago I was thinking about joining up.”

  “Is that right. I’d forget that idea if I were you, Deefus, you’re not suitable.”

  “Uh, why not?”

  He studied me awhile then says, “You’re too peculiar. We get peculiar types once in a while and we iron out their wrinkles, but with you...I don’t know, there’s just something not right. Forget the military, get a job with some city council emptying trash cans, that’s my recommendation to you.”

  “Thank you, I’ll think about that.”

  “And stay away from Muslims. That’s what got you into trouble.”

  “I will, definitely.”

  “Would you like the TV again? That’ll help pass the time till your release.”

  “Okay.”

  He went away. He was a lot nicer to me now after Agent Kraus’s phone call. That was like a phone call from those people that tell you you just won the lottery or whatever. It changed everything, and I intended saying a big Thank you to Kraus next time I get to see him. You might say I have won the lottery, getting out of here and not having people think I’m a terrorist now, just a criminal.

  The TV got brung back by Fogler, who has got this red welt across his throat from the baton. He unlocked the door and shoved it at me. I took it and he says, “You ain’t left yet, not till tonight.”

  “I know.”

  “So there’s still time,” he says.

  “To do what?”

  “Be afraid,” he says.

  He means afraid of him, it’s there in his face. I didn’t like to hear that kind of talk from someone obnoxious as Fogler so I told him, “Okay then,” and give him a slit-eyed mean look to follow up. He give something similar back to me and went away.

  I switched on the TV but it’s all soaps and stuff this time of day, so I switched it off again and thought maybe the time has come to dip into the Bible like everyone says you ought to for the good of your soul. I opened it up just anywhere an
d started to read. Only I didn’t get far. This has got to be a book for geniuses, because I can’t seem to follow more than a few words at a time without getting lost and thinking, What does that mean? I tried for ten minutes to make sense of this one little section and had to give it up. That made me feel like I must be an idiot like some people have said now and then about me, which made me sad, but this is not my fault, just the way I am, which I did not choose to be this way.

  I thought about emptying trash cans and felt sad again. Maybe I should go back to the grain silo when all this other stuff is fixed up and they let me go. Or maybe they won’t, and my next job will be in prison sewing mailbags or making license plates, that’s what I heard they do in there. That made me even sadder thinking about it. I could always get a job as a dishwasher, anyone with two arms can. There would be something I can do, but not in Callisto. I don’t ever want to go back there. That has been a bad luck place for me. Most of all I didn’t want to bump into Lorraine again after what I learned about her and Cole, and her and Chief Webb if that part is true, but mainly her and Cole. I have gone and closed my heart against Lorraine after that, not that she would give a damn what I’m feeling anyway. That woman was a fake friend for sure.

  Lunch was chicken in a basket, very tasty and plenty of it. I felt better about things after that, and started wondering if I’ll still be here for supper or maybe they’ll feed me on the plane. I wanted to be back in America. I didn’t like this place. They have hit me too much here for me ever to like it even if the food is good. After I’m done eating I had myself a good long nap to make up for yesterday when they’re too busy torturing me. That’s what that was, those things that happened. I always thought torture is some guy in a long black robe with a pointy hat shoving irons into a fire till they’re red hot and then poking them in your eyes, or getting pulled apart by horses or whatever. But that’s just the old-fashioned way, I guess. Nowadays they don’t want to go to all that trouble of heating up coals in a climate like this, that would be too sweaty and would leave marks. Punching the shit out of a guy with the gloves, that’s the way to go. Lots of pain and swelling but nothing that’ll show after a few days, so that was smart.