Marching Powder

by Rusty Young

  ‘Where do you live?’ she asked me. The question took me aback. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t have the energy to explain the whole situation to her.

  ‘A place called San Pedro. Have you heard of it?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said excitedly. ‘I walked past there today. It’s a really nice suburb. I’d love to see your house. Is it near San Pedro Plaza? That plaza is really pretty.’

  Over the past twelve hours I had begun to believe I was a free man, and now the injustice of having to return to a prison cell irked me all the more.

  ‘Yeah, right on the plaza,’ I responded, trying not to show how sad I felt. ‘You should come around and visit some time. I’ll give you my mobile number if you like.’ However, Yasheeda wasn’t going to give up. I could tell that she was drunk and high as she leaned in close and whispered in my ear, ‘So … who do you live with? Do you live on your own?’

  ‘Yes. Sort of,’ I smiled nervously, trying to avoid the question. I could tell that it was about to get difficult.

  ‘What does “sort of” mean? Do you live with this Bolivian guy here or another friend, or do you live on your own?’ Then her expression changed and she suddenly became suspicious. ‘You don’t have a wife, do you?’

  ‘No. I’m not married,’ I took a deep breath and decided to tell her the truth. ‘Actually, I live in San Pedro prison.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand. You work there and that’s where you sleep?’ She had stopped being suspicious and now looked confused.

  ‘No. I’m a prisoner there.’

  ‘Very funny. No, seriously, where do you live?’

  ‘I’m a prisoner in San Pedro. I live and sleep in the prison. Seriously,’ I told her, trying my hardest to make it not sound like a joke, but she didn’t believe me. She got really angry and shook her head at me, as if the whole time I had been deceiving her.

  ‘You don’t have to lie to me. I know you’ve got a girlfriend. I knew there was something strange about you. Getting me drunk and feeding me up on coke. I’ve met guys like you. Your girlfriend probably thinks you’re an angel, right?’ she said, leaping up from the table and taking a step away from me in disgust. Her friend also stood up, pleased that they were finally leaving.

  ‘No. No. No. You’ve got it all wrong. Please listen. You have to listen to me. Please! I swear to you on my life that I’m a prisoner in San Pedro jail. This guy here is my escort for the night. I’m out on leave, but I have to go back now. You have to trust me,’ I pleaded, taking a step forward and trying to put my arms around her, but she pushed me off.

  ‘Get away from me!’ she yelled, and the people sitting at the next table looked up. ‘Leave me alone, will you?’ She looked like she was about to cry but I kept trying to convince her in a soothing tone.

  ‘I know it sounds unbelievable. I don’t blame you. But it’s true, I promise you. Yasheeda. Honestly. I paid to go out for the night. If you don’t believe me, ask him!’ I said, pointing at Jaime.

  ‘Don’t lie to me! I’m not a little girl.’

  ‘I’m not lying, I promise you it’s the truth. Ask him.’ Yasheeda looked at Jaime who couldn’t understand what was going on but knew there was some kind of argument. But then she shook her head again and took another step backwards. ‘Why would I ask him? He’ll only lie as well. He’s your friend.’

  ‘He is a policeman. He can show you his identity card, if you want.’

  ‘Well, what did you do, then, if you are in prison? Kill someone?’

  ‘No. Drugs.’

  This seemed to make sense to her and I could see that she was no longer so sure that I was lying.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to believe. This coke is so strong. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I don’t even know you. I have to go now. I think it’s best if I just go.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you come with me?’ I said.

  It was a big risk. The major would already need extra payment because we were late and it would be hard to convince him to let her in. However, it might just work and even if it didn’t, at least she would see that I wasn’t lying. Maybe she would come and see me on visitors’ day.

  ‘Come with you? What, to the prison, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. My curfew was half an hour ago. I have to go back now.’

  ‘You want me to come and see if you actually go into the prison? What’s the point of that?’ She was softening and I had my arms around her once more. ‘No. I want you to come into the prison with me. To stay the night.’ I kissed her. I felt her body relax. She was thinking about it. She said something to her friend, Sharon, in Hebrew and they had a short argument. Sharon was even more annoyed than before, but finally they agreed to something.

  ‘OK, then. Let’s go,’ she announced and the two girls walked quickly towards the entrance to get their jackets, with Jaime and me trailing behind. I hailed a taxi and opened the back door for the girls. Jaime put his arm around Sharon to help her into the taxi but she broke away and got into a different taxi and drove off without saying goodbye to anyone. Yasheeda shrugged and we got into the back seat together, with Jaime sitting in the front. We kissed most of the way back to the plaza. The driver and Jaime kept their eyes straight ahead and said nothing until we pulled up outside San Pedro prison.

  ‘Muy bien, señor.’

  ‘Well, here we are. This is the prison,’ I whispered to Yasheeda.

  It was past four in the morning, so the plaza was completely empty and the metal gates of the jail were shut tight. Everything was completely quiet until we started banging and yelling to wake up the night watchman.

  ‘Open up, please. Open the door! Are you there?’ Eventually he stirred and went to fetch the major, who was the only one with keys. The major arrived and looked through the gap between the gates. He was clearly not pleased about being woken up.

  ‘Buenos días, mi mayor. ¿Cómo está?’ I whispered politely, trying to sound sober. There was a long pause, during which I assumed he was looking for the right key. But the gate didn’t open.

  ‘Are you there, major?’

  ‘Sí,’ he sounded tired and angry.

  ‘I’m sorry, my major. Can I come in, please?’ But he was obviously in no hurry to open the gates. He didn’t answer.

  ‘Major?’ There was a long pause before he said anything. ‘What time is it, inglés?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have a watch,’ I said, slipping off my earlier purchase and hiding it in my pocket. Jaime did the same.

  ‘Late.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Can I come in, please?’ It seemed ridiculous that I was pleading to be let back into prison, but that was what I was doing. In fact, I was even going to have to pay to be locked up again. ‘Can we talk?’ I asked, showing him my remaining money through the gap. I kept it scrunched up so he couldn’t see the exact amount. I knew it wouldn’t be enough, but I could promise to give him more later.

  Finally, the heavy gates creaked open and I went through. Yasheeda waited outside and Jaime followed behind me, clearly drunk. The major must have been able to smell the alcohol on us, but he said nothing as he locked the gates behind us.

  ‘My major, a favour, please,’ I slipped the remaining notes into his top pocket so he wouldn’t be able to count it until I was out of sight. ‘My girlfriend has arrived from Israel. I haven’t seen her for a year and I want to spend more time with her.’

  ‘And?’ Although there wasn’t much light, I could see the major raise his eyebrows. ‘Don’t worry, my major. I will fix things with you later. We are friends. You have a wife. You understand,’ I placed my hand on his shoulder and squeezed firmly. ‘Please, I need your colaboración.’

  The major said nothing for some time while he considered my offer. I had learned with the higher-ranking police that the length of the silence was usually proportional to the amount of bribe they required. This was a particularly long pause and I calculated it was going to cost me at least fifty bolivianos. But i
t would be worthwhile, if it worked.

  ‘OK. Más tarde, then,’ he finally agreed, unlocking the gates again.

  ‘It’s OK. You can come inside now,’ I called to Yasheeda, who was standing just outside on the footpath, wrapped tightly against the cold in her thick jacket. By then, the cocaine and cocktails had started to wear off and she was faced with the prospect of voluntarily entering a third-world prison at four in the morning, accompanied by a drug trafficker whom she had only just met while he was on prison leave in a nightclub. Not surprisingly, she was a little hesitant.

  ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘I promise I will look after you if you come in. No one will touch you. But you don’t have to come in, if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure. You can get a taxi back to the hostel and we can talk tomorrow, if you want.’

  Yasheeda looked at me and then at the major. The major nodded to her. She hesitated for another moment, then made her mind up.

  ‘It’s already tomorrow,’ she declared, passing through the gates. ‘So, let’s talk.’

  It had been an exhilarating day and when we reached my door, I was very happy and completely exhausted. I wanted to go to bed, but Yasheeda got really excited as soon as I turned on the light in my room. She couldn’t believe what she saw. ‘This is actually your prison cell? But you’ve got absolutely everything here. Is this some kind of joke? It’s not really a prison, is it?’ she exclaimed, rushing back and forth from the kitchen into my bedroom, touching everything in sight and making a lot of noise. ‘You’ve even got a fridge! And a television!’

  ‘Cable.’

  ‘This is a joke! There’s no way this is a prison. It’s impossible. It’s more like a hotel. You know, it’s actually better than the place where we’re staying.’

  I made her a cup of tea and we smoked a joint to relax.

  ‘Just let me know if you’re tired,’ I said, hoping she would want to go to bed straight away.

  ‘I am a bit, but have you got any of that coke left? That stuff really makes you want more, doesn’t it?’

  ‘OK, but let me make another joint first.’

  We smoked that and I asked her again if she was tired, but it didn’t work. She wanted to keep talking.

  ‘You promised we could stay up and talk. Come on! Just for a little bit.’

  That night we didn’t do anything other than talk. I made four more lines, lit a candle, turned the light off and we stayed there, sitting next to each other at my little table, chatting about absolutely everything. Yasheeda and I had so much in common it was ridiculous. We had exactly the same taste in music and movies. We even liked the same food.

  ‘When’s your birthday?’ she suddenly asked.

  ‘Twentieth of November.’

  ‘I knew it!’

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘That you were a Scorpio.’

  ‘How is that?’

  ‘Just the way you are. You are such a Scorpio. It’s so obvious.’

  ‘Do you think? I don’t really believe in astrology.’

  ‘Well, you should. Not the horoscopes about romance and money they print every week in magazines – that’s all rubbish. I mean the proper books on astrology. You can learn a lot about people.’

  We talked and argued like that for hours until I heard the bell for morning lista. But I didn’t go. I couldn’t; there was no way I could face daylight in my state. I would have to fix the major up later.

  We finished the rest of the coke and kept talking until the candle finally burned out. It must have been bright outside, but the one window in my cell had wooden shutters so everything went pitch-black.

  ‘I think that’s a sign,’ she laughed.

  ‘What a crazy night. What time is it?’ I lit a match and read the time from the clock on the wall. ‘Ten o’clock. Are you tired?’

  ‘Yes and no. It’s funny, I know I should be, but I don’t feel tired at all,’ she leaned against me.

  ‘Why? Are you tired?’

  ‘I think so.’ I took her hand and led her over to my single bed and we got under the covers. My heart was beating heavily and my mind was still humming from the coke, but I fell into a kind of half-sleep, listening to her breathing beside me.

  I woke up to find a beautiful woman sleeping in my bed. It was early afternoon but the room was totally dark, so I lit the candle on my bedside table and began to study her face as she slept. I couldn’t make out all of her features properly, but I could tell that she was beautiful. She had the softest olive skin, dark hair and lovely long eyelashes. I propped myself up on one elbow to look at her from a different angle, but when she felt me moving, she began to stir. I heard her murmur something and then she hugged up to me closer, kissing me on the chest, even though she wasn’t awake yet. I found, as I got to know her better, that Yasheeda was a naturally affectionate person; she was always touching me and even when she was asleep, she always held me tightly, as if by instinct, so that I couldn’t leave her. I also discovered that she was a very determined person – when she had made a decision, she launched herself into it and never looked back. She was probably also a little crazy, though. There aren’t many girls in the world who would have done what she had just done. I managed to get out of bed without waking her and made scrambled eggs and tea for breakfast. Just as I was ready to bring it over, she opened her eyes.

  ‘Mmmm. Smells nice. I’m starving. What time is it?’ I turned on the light and pointed to the clock. She swore in Hebrew.

  ‘I have to go. Right now,’ she said, grabbing the plate I was offering her and swallowing everything down in big mouthfuls. ‘Sharon will be so worried about me. She’s going to kill me.’

  ‘Give her a call, then.’

  ‘Can you phone from inside the prison?’

  ‘Right here from this bed, if you want.’ I took my mobile phone from the charger, switched it on and handed it to her. ‘I can bring you a telephone directory from the office downstairs if you don’t know the number.’

  ‘The office?’

  ‘Yeah, the section has an office where the delegate and secretary work. They have a phone and a computer down there for the business of the section.’

  ‘Wow. This place is completely loco!’

  ‘You’re the one who’s crazy,’ I said playfully, taking the empty plate from her and kissing her.

  ‘Why am I crazy?’

  ‘Wanting to stay here with me in prison.’

  ‘Well, you’re crazy too, then. And it’s your fault I’m in prison,’ she kissed me on the lips, pulled me back into the bed and climbed on top of me.

  ‘I think so. Crazy can be a good thing, you know. You have to be a bit crazy to survive in here.’

  Yasheeda called El Lobo hostel where she was staying and told her friend Sharon that she was OK and would be back tomorrow. After that we only left the room twice: to go to the toilet and to fix things up with the major.

  17

  A VOLUNTARY INMATE

  The next morning, Yasheeda called Sharon at the hostel again, saying that she was going to stay with me another night. This time, Sharon was even more worried. She thought that maybe I had kidnapped Yasheeda and was holding her hostage. I didn’t understand the whole conversation, because most of it was in Hebrew, but Yasheeda switched into English a few times for my benefit.

  ‘Look, I’m fine. Honestly. It’s perfectly safe. There are women and children here … I can leave whenever I want … No, but I don’t want to leave right now … I know, I know … but we can do the Salar of Uyuni tour in a few days … Seriously, I’m fine …’

  I could hear Sharon yelling on the other end of the telephone. I couldn’t really blame her; she was only acting as a good friend should and it must have been hard to believe that Yasheeda was perfectly happy and safe in prison with me.

  ‘Why don’t you go outside today and show her that you’re fine,’ I said. ‘You can come back later. Or invite her to come in and see for herself.’

  She did both. She went ba
ck to El Lobo and returned in the afternoon with Sharon and a bag of supplies, including fresh clothes. When the pair arrived at the gate, they sent a taxista to call me. Officially, we were only allowed visits from family and friends on Thursdays and Sundays between 9 am and 5 pm. Unofficially, you could receive visitors whenever you wanted, provided you paid. Even on non-visiting days, there was always a constant flow of people through the main gate: lawyers coming to see their clients, wives and girlfriends bringing food, and the San Pedro children travelling to and from school. All visitors had to leave their carnet – the national ID card – at the gate, and the head taxista made a note of their names and who they were visiting and they had to pay before leaving. The cost was only seven bolivianos, but with visitors for over a thousand inmates, the money from the gate added up to big business for the police.

  At that stage, foreigner visitors without this national ID were rarely allowed to enter the prison. I explained to the lieutenant that my wife needed to come back in and her friend also wanted to visit me. They had come all the way from Israel. I was expecting him to argue, but luckily the Israeli girls’ dark features meant they didn’t stand out too much from the other wives and girlfriends. The lieutenant agreed to let them in, provided we went straight to my room and stayed there. We came to an arrangement that Yasheeda would pay twenty-five bolivianos to spend another night and her friend would pay the standard seven bolivianos to enter.

  Sharon was still very suspicious of me, even though I tried my hardest to be polite and charming. I can usually make people laugh with some of my stories, but she didn’t want to listen to me at all. I bought her a soft drink and tried to start up a conversation about where she had been travelling, but nothing seemed to work. I have never had so much trouble getting along with anyone in my whole life. Her face had that same sour expression as on the other night at Forum, so I made myself busy in the kitchen while the girls talked in Hebrew. They started having another argument. I wondered how the two of them had ever become friends. Yasheeda was so open and warm in everything she did, but her friend was the complete opposite – angry and cold, and she hardly ever said a word.