‘You think you’re lucky?’ The man sounds Hispanic. As if he’s inches from my face. Hot air blows against my skin. I’m drenched with sweat. The room spins as I open my eyes revealing a figure standing underneath a single light bulb. Everything appears wavy and blurred. ‘How long have I been here?’ I wonder, staring at the silhouette. A plume of smoke billows out of his nostrils. The light overhead emphasises his bony facial features.
‘I suppose you think you’re here because you are wanted, because you feel needed. Am I right?’ He takes another puff of his cigarette. I watch as he paces back and forth underneath the light.
‘You think you’re here because you’re valuable, you’re necessary, that you’ll serve some purpose other than eating, sleeping and shitting. Correct?’ His bloodshot eyes lock onto mine. Blood sluices to my legs. ‘That’s the problem with you convicts. Always thinking there’s some part of you that did good in life. Put behind bars thinking that it wasn’t your fault. Its society that’s been doing you over because of all of the regurgitated crap they feed you in school, the media, television, the works. Stop me if I’m wrong.’
I couldn’t reply if I wanted to.
‘All of this bullshit that goes into your heads. You think you’re the first guy who ever got put in the hole just ‘cos of some lousy crime your mother probably wouldn’t have wanted you to do. Another product of society, another name on the list. A poor old bastard who can’t get a job if his life depended on it so has to spend the rest of his days serving hot dogs to some off-duty cop who doesn’t give a shit one way or the other. Please, do interrupt if I’m telling it wrong.’
The hut is silent, apart from a gentle breeze whipping in through the open door. The man takes out a revolver, its casing glints in the light.
‘See, the problem with people like you is, you don’t have any respect. You think that the way you act is okay. That people like us, hard working, honest people who sweat night and day to feed their families and put food on their table, should give up their time, their money, their prized possessions for sorry fat asses like you? Is that what you think? If it is, you’re going to have a hard time explaining it to me.’ he laughs to himself, waving his revolver around as if it were a pen.
‘There’s something I don’t like about people like you. Can’t say it’s the accent because you haven’t said a thing since you got here. How could you? You’re filled to gills with morphine and acids.’ he laughs as he paces back and forth in front of me. I watch as he scratches his cheek bone with the barrel of the gun. ‘There’s just one problem I can say that I can live with and it’s hard for me to even make peace with that. And do you know what that is?’ I want to shake my head but can’t. I blink repeatedly hoping it might serve as an answer. ‘Is that you’re not one of them bloody blacks. God, if you had a different shade I swear you would be lying on that sand right now bleeding your brains out from one of my bullets.’
Cold sweat runs into my eyes. Heart pounds in my ribcage. There’s nothing more that I want to do than flee from this place, escape by any means necessary and run as fast as my legs can carry me. I watch him carefully. Watch as he paces the small hut back and forth, stroking his pistol, waving it as he speaks. He uses his gun as a comb, fixing his wild unkempt hair in a broken piece of reflective glass in the corner. I catch sight of two other guards. Both stand to attention holding their rifles by their sides. Their expressions remain deadpan, staring straight ahead. A convection unit hums next to the makeshift bed. Hot air blows against my skin further stifling the air inside.
‘You’d better thank your stars that you’re alive. I’ve had worse men than you come here thinking they could show up and tell me why they think they should be let go. You. I can’t let you do that. You look as if you could be of some use when you get fixed up.’ I still have no idea what he means. ‘How does he know me?’ I think, watching as he paces from one end of the hut to the other. Sensation begins to return. The bed frame constructed of twigs and sticks digs into my underside, poking into my ribs and lower back. It feels as if I’m lying on a bed of nails.
‘How many men do you think passes through these lands? Well? Twenty? Thirty?’ He comes closer. Leaning forwards he stops just before my eyes. ‘Two-hundred and twenty six of you convicts have ended up here. Thrown onto my beach hut floor and expect to get off free because you want to escape. You don’t want to end up in prison for the rest of your life when you get better. You’d rather take the easy route. Try another way of slipping out the back door. You people make me sick.’
‘I was in prison?’ I think, wondering what happened before hospital.
‘I can understand. I mean, I’ve been there myself. Had my run-ins with the law and what-not. Hasn’t been an easy ride let me tell you that. You’re fortunate you came to
a guy like me. Someone who can mould you, shape you, set you on the right road again. Our road. The true path.’
His tone becomes serious as he pulls up a chair to face me.
‘You know what you want? What you want is to join us. Be part of our group. We could use someone like you in our little ring we have going here. Hell, there’s probably hundreds, thousands more or us floating around the country. I’ve lost count there’s so many. Bet you don’t even know why you’re here, do you?’
My eyes dart about the tent. I try to look at anything else but the man’s sweat covered face in front of me.
‘You’re here because you’re useful to us. That’s right, I said it. Useful. Takes a lot for someone like me to say something like that. You better believe it.’ He takes another protracted drag of his cigarette and flings the butt onto the sand. Smoke escapes his nostrils as he stares into my eyes.
‘I’m not going to put any undue pressure on you because you’re new here. We wouldn’t want to make it tough for the new guy now, would we?’ He turns to look at his security guards who start to laugh in unison. He leans forwards coming within inches of my face. His glare is menacing, animalistic. ‘But I warn you. If you choose to walk out that door, I swear the last thing you’ll remember is hitting that sand face first with a bullet in your back. You want that?’
I wish I could shake my head. Salty rivulets run down my forehead stinging my eyes.
‘So it’s settled. You’re staying in the tent next door tonight and we can have you on the road by tomorrow. Sounds good?’ He fixates his eyes on mine. His greasy brown skin glistens underneath the bulb overhead. ‘Then it’s settled. It’s good to find someone who’ll agree with me once in a while.’ He circles the tent swinging his pistol around like a toy. I still can’t move. The side-effects from the drugs subside. Nausea has faded, head keeps spinning. Sensation has returned to my extremities. Whatever it was I had, I hope it’s wearing off.
‘And another thing.’ He looks at me again, his wiry frame remains still underneath the light. ‘If you tell anyone about our little rendezvous, you can stop worrying about going back to prison. I’ll put you in a place so far from here no-one will be able to find you again. Do I make myself clear?’ His eyes lock onto mine. ‘That’s settled then. I love a good negotiation. Drink?’ he asks, returning to face the mahogany table in the corner of the tent. Reaching over to a table across the tent he uncorks a bottle of bourbon pouring the contents into a metallic canister.
I watch as he fills his container with alcohol. Gradually his figure becomes more blurred, swaying underneath the pallid radiance of the light bulb. The sound of liquor filling his cup is the last thing I hear. The room spins as I drift back into sleep. What I thought I knew about my world is only just beginning to emerge.
‘We can’t keep him in there. It’s not as if he’s a dog.’
‘I know, but what else are we going to do with him? We can’t sweep him under the carpet.’
‘He’s been like this for days.’
‘I know, he’s out cold.’
‘Look at him, the man can barely move.’
‘Boss said keep him so that’s what we’re doing. What do you think happened to him?’
‘God knows. Could have been anything. Looks as if he’s been dragged through a thorn bush backwards if you ask me.’
Their voices sound distant, as if coming from down a well.
‘We’ve got to keep him safe. Cover him up in something will you?’
I can feel a raincoat spread across my shoulders. Its edges creep around my neck.
‘Look, he’s waking up. His eyes were moving.’
Their figures appear from the murk. Faint outlines of their faces emerge behind closed eyelids. I can hear the lapping of waves against the side of the raft as I sway from side to side with the motions of the sea. A motor engine starts up, breaking the otherwise peaceful surrounds of the waves.
‘What do you reckon happened to him?’
‘By the looks of it, he’s been through hell.’
‘Don’t think he’d be much company at a dinner party.’ The men laugh cackling into the night.
‘Better keep an eye on him just in case. Don’t want him tipping over the edge now do we?’
I can feel one of the men grappling with my shoulders nudging me from side to side. The weight of my body collapses onto the bottom of the raft. My limbs are powerless to stop it.
‘Keep him upright would you? God your worse than a child. If I had to take care of a dummy, you know what I’d do?’
‘What?’
‘I’d keep him bloody well safe, that’s what. Now make sure he doesn’t tip over the side. We don’t want him ending up in the sea.’
Bracing sea air stings my skin. Lips are numb trembling in the cold. Core temperature has dropped. I can’t shiver enough to generate heat. Muscles locked to position.
‘Wrap him up in something will you? He’s bloody dying. If he dies, you owe me the commission lost on him. Got that?’
‘He’s your responsibility as well.’
‘I’m guiding the boat. You look after the cargo. It’s a straight forward set up.’
The man’s arms latch around my torso as he starts rubbing his hands up and down my shoulders. A rush of blood races through my veins revivifying me once more.
‘The last thing we need is for him to end up dead on arrival got that? I can’t be held responsible for that bloke ending up on the bottom of our raft.’
‘Look, if he dies it’s not my responsibility. It’s freezing out here.’
‘Well keep him warm then. I can see your still wearing that hefty jacket you got for Christmas?’
The man unzips his jacket. Moments later it’s covering me.
‘There, was that so hard? Give some of that whiskey. He’ll love that.’
The boat rocks with the rising waves hurling and swaying the vessel.
‘Got the whiskey. What should I do, pour it over him?’
‘Give him some. Keeps them warm on night’s like this.’
I can feel the hot sensation of the whiskey trickle onto my lips, scaling the back of my throat.
‘We’re almost there. Keep an eye on him. I don’t want him dying on us.’
‘Relax, he won’t die on us. Listen, if he’s dead before we get to shore I owe you a bottle.’
‘Just make sure he stays in one piece. Not dragging another body around after last time.’
Their outlines appear and fade in the night as the vessel rocks with the motions of the waves. It’s a struggle to keep my eyelids open feeling as if a leaden weight has been placed on them. A misty drizzle starts to fall. The floor of the raft is already drenched. A biting wind cuts through the waterproof jacket covering my torso. Each muscle starts to convulse in an effort to generate heat.
‘He’s shaking. What do I do?’ one of the men asks.
‘Cover him up. Put something over him. Here.’
I can hear rustling next to my ear. Another layer of protective clothing is placed over my chest. Hot pin pricks shower the back of my skull as heat flashes traverses each vertebrae running the length of my spine.
‘His lips are turning blue. He’s dying on us. Think of something.’
Their voices become more muffled as a loud ringing takes over.
‘Give him something else to drink. Help him. Check the bag. There’s bound to be something in there that can save him.’
Their voices grow more and more muffled behind each pulsation of blood. My world begins to revolve as I drift into unconsciousness. Gradually the raft fades into blackness disappearing behind a veil of fatigue and barbiturates. Illuminate sparks of intense light shower my vision before receding into an incomprehensible murk of sleep. The last voice I hear is of my mother’s.