Trash - Andy Mulligan [18]
We stopped in bright lights, and I was taken out of the car. I could hardly move by myself, and a policeman had to pull me – not because I was resisting, but because I was so frightened my legs wouldn’t work. He spoke quite softly and put his arm round me, half carrying me. We went down some steps and through metal doors. We came to a corridor, and there were cells on either side of it, all with numbers. A policeman opened one of the doors, and I was put inside. The door closed and I stood there, not knowing what to do, feeling so sick I thought I would fall over and die. Seconds later, the door opened again with lots of noise, and a policeman came in and told me to sit down.
I sat on the floor, and I was sick. I hadn’t eaten much, but up it came and went all over my knees, and I started crying again, and I had never before heard the sounds that I was making – I had never cried like I was crying then.
The policeman sat on the bench, and he didn’t close the door this time. I think he realized that I was too frightened to be left alone and that somebody should be with me. The policeman gave me a little towel, and I tried to clean myself, but my hands would not work.
Time passed.
There was nothing in the cell but the bench, which was concrete. The policeman said a few things to me, just casual questions about who I was. I found that I couldn’t speak, much as I tried to. After a while, a man in a light grey suit came in and looked at me. He asked me my name. I managed to say it, but my voice wasn’t my voice.
‘Six,’ he said. ‘We’ll use six.’
He went out, and two policemen came and lifted me to my feet. They had to almost carry me. I was taken back along the corridor, and this time up some steps instead of down. We climbed high and then passed some offices, with policemen working in them. Nobody looked up. We turned some corners, and I remember a sign board with pictures of a beach, and there was a list of names. I saw a clock, and it said two-twenty. Then we went into a room with a number six chalked on the door, and there was a metal table with the man in the suit sitting at it, having got there ahead of us. Behind him, standing, was the important police officer who had first come to Behala – the rough guy with the smashed nose. Behind him was a window, and next to him was a third man in shirt sleeves, bald and sweaty and angry and tired-looking.
I was put in a chair.
‘Raphael,’ said the tired man. ‘Raphael Fernández? You know where you are?’
I shook my head.
‘You’re in Ermita Police Station. You know why you’re here?’
I shook my head again, and tried to speak. Nothing came out.
‘We need the bag you found,’ said the policeman.
There was silence then, and my throat was so dry I had no idea what my voice would sound like if I managed to say something. But I tried and tried, and the words came from somewhere. ‘I didn’t find a bag, sir,’ I said. Still I didn’t recognize this voice that was coming out of me.
‘This isn’t going to end, Raphael, until you give us the bag.’
‘I didn’t find a bag, sir,’ I said. I had to make myself a child – just a terrified, foolish child. ‘I promise, sir. I swear.’
A cup of water was put next to me, and when I tried to pick it up, I spilled it. I started to cry again, and I wanted to go to the toilet. The tired man waited while someone mopped up the water.
‘All you have to do,’ he said, ‘is take us back to your house. Give us the bag – wherever you put it. We give you money, like we said we would. Everyone’s happy.’
I managed to look at him.
‘I swear to God, sir. I swear on my mother’s soul: I did not find a bag. I found money. I found eleven hundred pesos, and that’s all—’
‘You found money.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So you did lie? You did find something?’
‘Yes, sir, I did.’
‘Where did you find it? When?’
‘By belt number four. Thursday afternoon.’ I was lying. I didn’t want them to know where I’d been. The problem is,