Inside the Tiger

by Hayley Lawrence

  What am I doing here?

  ‘You ready?’ Eli shoves his hands into his pockets.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Give me a minute.’

  I lean against a palm tree outside the entrance. My stomach is cramping like it’s been twisted in a vice. Two guards in navy uniforms stride towards us, machine guns hard against their shoulders as they patrol the perimeter of the prison. I shrink towards Eli, suppressing the urge to be sick, but the guards pay us no attention. They continue marching, until they round the corner.

  We watch them disappear.

  ‘We can go back,’ Eli says, sounding worried.

  I look down the busy street we’ve just travelled in the taxi – the world without shackles and food rations. It would be so easy to go back to the sanctuary of our five-star hotel with its crisp white sheets, but Eli was right about the regret. I came to Thailand to see Micah and that’s what I’m going to do.

  I turn from the street. Square my shoulders against the thick white walls.

  ‘Let’s do this.’

  We make our way to the yellow bars of the entry gates and join the modest queue of visitors streaming in. We walk between prison officers wielding machine guns as we’re swept inside the jowls of Bang Kwang.

  At the front desk, the guards take from us everything we own. Cameras, money, passports, phones. None of it is allowed inside.

  ‘One lock, one key,’ they say, securing our possessions in a banged-up locker and handing us the accompanying key with a smile.

  Eli and I exchange glances. Are we ever going to see our stuff again? I don’t trust these guards. Not after what got ‘lost’ in the mail. But if we want in, we have no choice.

  The guards look at Eli’s bare legs beneath his board shorts and mutter something. Then hand him a set of baggy khaki pants. Gesture for him to put them on. Because I wore jeans, I seem to be exempt from prison greens.

  ‘Who you see?’ a guard asks, as Eli pulls the prison-order pants over his board shorts.

  ‘Micah,’ I say. ‘Micah Rawlinson.’

  ‘Ah, Rawlinson. You make him happy, yes? So pretty.’ He gestures at my face and smiles, his white teeth brilliant against his tanned face. It sounds sleazy, but I think he means it to be a compliment. ‘Come now. I take you.’

  In the quadrangle, heat rises off the asphalt and the smell of sewage and something faintly animal permeates the air. We’re boxed in by dark concrete walls that drench the prison in shadow. The only thing not in shadow is the watchtower, perched like an eagle’s nest above the filth, a white box with a guard at each corner manning a machine gun. Nobody would try to escape unless they were looking for a quick exit from life. Even then, there’d have to be better ways of doing it.

  Our guard makes a crack to another guard in passing and both men laugh jovially. I try to imagine him laying into Micah with the baton that swings from his belt as he walks. I want to ask him where solitary confinement is. Where the red ghost door is that the bodies come out of. What type of coffins they use. Whose job it is to strap boys like Micah down onto the gurney to be executed. I want to tell him none of this is right. That it’s not normal human behaviour. But maybe he’d tell me selling drugs isn’t normal human behaviour either.

  My heart is leaping up my throat with every step closer, until suddenly we’re at the end of the quadrangle. The guard extends one hand towards a set of glass booths with plastic seats inside.

  ‘You wait here,’ he says, turning on his heels.

  We both sit down. I can’t talk. All I can hear is my heart. I’m shivering all over like it’s snowing, only it’s thirty-something degrees and sweat is trickling down from my armpits. Eli’s knees jiggle next to me as we both stare across the glass corridor to the opposing set of booths.

  Behind us, a rhythmic clanging grows louder. A dragging of metal. Eli and I both turn towards it. I gasp inadvertently as a line of men, hands and feet shackled with thick chains, are led through the quadrangle.

  The men’s faces are all cast down, until one Thai prisoner turns and glances briefly at us. A hint of curiosity, or maybe it’s envy. The sunlight catches in his brown eyes as they meet mine and I expect to see longing, desperation, some sense of regret, but what I catch in them disturbs me more. Hopelessness. They are the eyes of defeat.

  Eli nudges me and I spin back towards the glass corridor that separates visitors from prisoners. Prisoners in street clothes trickle in on the opposite side, some with shaved heads. Picking up handsets, they talk to the people on our side of the glass divide. At the sight of them, and the knowledge that Micah will be here any moment, my nausea returns with a vengeance. But then I stop thinking about nausea, stop thinking altogether. Because suddenly, he’s here.

  He’s wearing the same blue singlet from his photo, and the same smile, one so bright it could outshine the lights of Bangkok. His hair is longer than in my photo, ragged across his forehead.

  I perch stiffly on the edge of my plastic seat, and my hands shake as I pick up the phone. Press it against my ear. Watch him do the same.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, his voice husky.

  ‘Surprise.’ My smile wobbles. I’m clutching the phone hard, but it’s slipping in my sweaty palm.

  He rubs his eyes with his free hand like I might be a mirage. ‘Thought the guards were messing with me when they called me up, hey. Shit, Bel, this is crazy.’

  I absorb every detail of him. His tanned hands as they grip the phone, the way he absentmindedly bites his nails, then fixes his dark eyes on me.

  Eli shifts beside me and I realise Micah hasn’t noticed him.

  ‘Oh, this is my friend Eli,’ I say.

  Eli rests a hand on my shoulder as he leans towards me.

  ‘Sup,’ he says into the phone.

  Micah grunts in acknowledgement, checks him over from head to chest, which is all he can see from there. Eli’s jaw juts out a fraction as he returns to his chair.

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me about your visit?’ Micah says.

  ‘It came together last minute. I wrote to tell you, but I probably got here before my letter did.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He looks Eli over again.

  ‘I read about the executions. I got worried.’

  Eli flicks me a look.

  A shadow crosses Micah’s face, and he glances at the other prisoners.

  ‘Did you know the guys they executed?’ I ask.

  ‘Not real well.’

  ‘The first thought I had was –’ I bite my lip when I realise what I’m about to say. ‘Shit, sorry.’

  ‘No reason to be sorry.’ He looks darkly at Eli. ‘You’ve got yourself a life. What’re you doing here, Bel? On holiday with your boyfriend?’

  ‘He’s not …’ I look at Eli, who’s frowning at me.

  Even though he can’t hear Micah, he knows I’m talking about him.

  ‘He’s a friend,’ I say.

  I see Eli smirk. He makes it look like I’m lying.

  ‘Where’re you staying?’ Micah says. ‘Some fancy resort? Swimming together and shit?’

  ‘Micah, stop. I’ve come to see you, okay? I thought you’d be happy.’

  I try to reconcile the sweet Micah of the letters with the edgy guy before me. How was it exactly I thought this visit would play out? Did I think my visit would be some charitable feat that would sustain him through the lonesome years? That the differences between us would dissolve because I gave a shit? The nausea rises from my stomach. I swallow it back down.

  Micah’s eyes are pinned to Eli as he straightens up in his chair. Then he looks at me and says, ‘Hell, everyone’s got their lives. You think there’s shit goes on in here I don’t tell you about?’

  ‘I know there is. You didn’t tell me you trafficked crack,’ I say flatly. I can’t look at him.

  He steals a glance at Eli, who looks the other way. Then he leans closer to the phone, clutching it with both hands, and says, ‘After what you told me about your mum? Fuck, Bel, how could I?’

 
I’m glad Eli doesn’t hear Micah mention my mother. That he doesn’t know I told him about her.

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out eventually?’

  He shakes his head, looks down at his hands. ‘I knew you would. And I wanted to be the one to tell you, but I couldn’t.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t.’

  ‘You’re not being fair,’ Micah says. ‘You said I didn’t have to tell you. You said that.’

  I rub my eyes. ‘Micah, I’m not sure I can do this anymore.’

  ‘Bel, please. Give me a chance.’

  I take a deep breath and let it out. My chest feels so heavy.

  When I open my eyes, Micah is leaning into the glass, scowling at me. ‘Bel, I didn’t have a choice. I told you. You gotta remember why I did it. Where I come from … you gotta believe me.’

  I want so badly to believe him. But Dad’s words are in my head, Oh sure, pull the tough childhood card. We’ve all drawn the short straw in life.

  I look Micah in the eye. Remembering his small town, his single mother, his father OD’ing, the debt … He’s facing execution because of all those things. And here I am, flying to Thailand to see him with just a few days’ notice, while his own family can’t afford to visit. Ever.

  Some straws are shorter than others.

  Micah narrows his eyes at Eli, who’s watching me. I think Eli’s waiting for my cue to leave. The sweat gathers in small pools in my palms.

  ‘You okay?’ Eli says.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ I snap. Then to Micah, ‘You know they still haven’t caught the guys who tipped you off?’

  Micah holds up his hands. ‘Bel, listen. I thought we had a fair deal. I had a debt. They needed runners. It was a one-off. I was wrong but. Didn’t count on them ratting me out to customs. They must have been really pissed at my old man, hey?’ He smiles bitterly. ‘So I went down and the others slipped through. It’s fucking shameful, what I did. Never touched drugs in my life, not after what they did to my old man. And now, here I am. On Death Row for drugs. But you think I wanted to tell you all that? Shit, no.’

  I sit there in silence. Our eyes are fused to one another’s. I want to cry, which is pathetic since I’ve never even cried about my own mother.

  ‘None of this is fair,’ I say.

  Micah laughs. A beautiful sound, even though it’s laced with sadness. ‘Don’t worry about fair. Those guys, they’ll get what’s coming to them, this life or the next. Trust me, you don’t get away from shit like that even if you run. Hey, can you put him on for a sec?’ He nods at Eli.

  I drop the phone in Eli’s lap.

  I can’t hear what Micah’s saying anymore. All I can see is his mouth moving. I try to lip read but can’t make anything out.

  ‘Will do,’ Eli says stiffly.

  Micah glances my way as he’s talking.

  ‘Yeah, man, you and me both,’ Eli says.

  I frown at Eli, grabbing the phone back.

  ‘Hey,’ Micah’s voice is suddenly soft. ‘Bel, let me tell you something, okay?’

  ‘What?’ There’s a tight feeling in my chest.

  He hangs his head now, scratching at something on the table, before looking up at me again. ‘I feel something for you, Bel.’ He taps his heart. ‘In here.’

  The tightness in my chest swells.

  ‘Me too.’ My voice cracks. I cup the receiver in the hope that Eli won’t hear, then whisper. ‘But I think I’m in too deep.’

  ‘No such thing as too deep.’

  Yes, there is. There definitely is. I know because I’m there.

  I start breathing fast. This is all wrong. Micah, whose eyes I’m looking into right now, is going to be killed. And I won’t even get to say goodbye. He has a mum and a brother back home who’ll never get to say goodbye, either.

  The man who killed my mother had a name. Darren Carnegie. We never speak it. We’ve always called him the crack addict. Like that’s all he was. But maybe he had a mother who came to visit him in prison. Or a brother, or a girlfriend. I always wanted him to be a monster. But then I look up at Micah. Not a monster, just a guy. One I feel far too much for.

  One I can never have.

  ‘Micah, I’ve got to go,’ I breathe.

  The receiver clunks hard on the table and the noise reverberates through my head. I push my chair back and Eli stands with me.

  I pretend I don’t see Micah’s hand pressed against the glass in farewell, or the way he turns away, limping to one side as he retreats down the corridor.

  My stomach surges again. ‘I’m going to throw up.’

  Eli grabs me by the arm. Hauls me to a squat toilet with brown smeary walls in the quadrangle. There in the stinking heat, I hurl the contents of my stomach into the filthy hole at my feet.

  The next two days, all I see of Bangkok is the inside of our hotel. While I’m holed up in bed, Eli leaves our room to get me food, but I don’t eat much of it. Everything tastes too strong and I have no appetite.

  Micah lurks behind every thought. His smile, his brown hands, his words. He’s on one side of a glass partition, and I’m on the other. We live in different worlds, and I’m no longer sure whose world is more real. My safe world here with Eli, who looks after me? Or the dangerous world that Micah inhabits, with his letters and his stories? I want the two worlds to collide into one where I can have them both.

  I think about going home and telling Tash what happened. The thought of her is enough to make me want to cry. I miss her utterly and completely. Feel horrible about the fact that she was right. That I didn’t listen.

  ‘You need to eat,’ Eli says.

  I pick at the noodles in front of me.

  ‘You’ll get sick. Here.’ He sits on my bed, picks up my fork. ‘Don’t make me feed you.’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘Vroooooooom,’ he jokes, trying to aeroplane the fork full of noodles into my mouth.

  ‘All right, all right, I’ll eat it,’ I say, waving him off.

  He looks satisfied with himself.

  I can’t finish the noodles. My stomach must have shrunk a bit, but I eat enough of them to convince Eli that I’m not wasting away.

  Tash would be asleep by now because of the time difference. And because she’s so damn strict about bedtime. I smile at the memory of her bossiness. Tash always knows the right thing to do. I pick up my phone and write her an email.

  Subject: Hi from Bel!

  Dear Tash,

  As I write this email, you’ll be snoring your sweet little head off at home. I miss you horribly. Like you wouldn’t believe. I’m sorry for being selfish when I was getting ready to leave. I got caught up in my excitement about heading to Thailand, and I guess I overlooked the most important people in my life, like you and Eli.

  I’m also sorry for taking so long to send you this message. I desperately wanted you to be wrong about how this would play out.

  But guess what? You were right. I should have told Eli about Micah. I hurt him when I broke the news to him. I can still see the look of betrayal in his eyes. It was awful.

  You were also right about Micah. It was drugs, Tash.

  I didn’t think I could visit Micah after I found out. But Eli said I’d regret it if I didn’t. And he came with me. Eli has been amazing.

  After leaving the prison, I realised school’s not as bad as I thought. Nothing is as bad as I thought. I just want to be back there where adults tell you what to do and how to do it. Would you believe I even miss Watchkins?

  When I visited Micah, I realised something else. You were right again. I am in over my head, Tash. I feel like I’m drowning.

  If I’m honest, there’s part of me that wants Micah – we may as well come from different planets, but I feel this intense connection to him that I can’t explain. And I think he feels the same.

  I don’t know what to do.

  Anyway, sorry to burden you with all of this. I just wish you were here with us. Everything would be more bearable if you were here.


  Love Bel xxx

  I still have my phone in my hand, so I decide to give Dad a call. Just to hear a familiar voice. I know he’ll still be up.

  He answers on the second ring.

  ‘Sweetheart, hi!’ he says. He sounds genuinely happy to hear from me. ‘How’s it all going over there?’

  ‘Good. It’s going really well,’ I say, getting out of bed.

  Eli’s on his phone too, but he looks up and raises one eyebrow. Okay, ‘really well’ might be an exaggeration. I head out to the balcony. It’s sticky and hot, and a gecko runs up the wall.

  ‘How are you liking Bangkok?’

  All I’ve seen of Bangkok is the reclining Buddha and Bang Kwang Prison. And the view from this balcony. Which, to be fair, is very pretty at night. All the neon colours of the rainbow.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ I say. There’s an awkward silence. ‘How’s the campaign strategy coming along?’

  ‘We’re getting some solid work done. Brainstorming. Trying to keep it simple, you know. To get our message across.’

  ‘Sounds productive.’

  ‘Hey, did you get my research paper? I emailed it to you.’

  ‘I did, thanks. Haven’t had a chance to read it yet, but I will,’ I say.

  ‘Good. And how’s your research coming along?’

  Guilt gnaws at me.

  ‘It’s heavy, Dad. Really heavy. We visited a prison actually.’

  ‘Did you? And what did you think?’

  I hesitate before answering. ‘I don’t think enough is being done to represent Australians overseas. I don’t think they get enough legal help when they get into trouble.’

  ‘That’s a good point,’ Dad says. He sounds a bit distracted. ‘Victims of crime overseas do it especially tough. I’m glad you’re paying attention to it, because as Edmund Burke once said, evil triumphs when good people do nothing.’

  He’s missed my point.

  I came so close to blurting everything out. He has no idea how close. Just one little hint of understanding and I would have told him everything.

  ‘Don’t ever underestimate the power of doing something to make a difference, Bel. Doesn’t matter how small. Everything else okay over there? How’s Eli? Behaving himself?’