by Ele Fountain
After a few minutes, we hear another loud bang as the doors of the adjacent box are opened.
Bini throws the blanket straight over to the man who had lent us his. We still have to share, though.
A small man in the opposite corner gets slowly to his feet. He moves, it seems, as quickly as he can toward the basket, which isn’t very fast. He limps around our cell, waiting in front of each prisoner as they take two rolls. His clothes hang as if empty, and his wrists and arms are as narrow as Lemlem’s, just like the arms of every prisoner reaching up to take the bread. As Nebay takes his, I see that, despite his size, he is just as starved as the rest of them.
“Bini,” I say in my lowest whisper, “will we look like this in a couple of weeks?”
“No,” says Bini.
“Why not?” I whisper.
“There’s plenty more of you left,” he says.
I take my two pieces of bread. They are rock hard, which is good because it makes me eat them more slowly.
“Save some, if you can,” says the old man.
Bini snaps off a chunk from one of the rolls and stuffs it carefully into his pocket, but I eat both of mine. The first one I barely chew before swallowing. The second I try to make last a little longer; my stomach can’t believe it isn’t the start of a bigger meal. My hunger feels worse, not better, but I start to warm up. I see most of the other men put a little piece of bread in a pocket or inside their shirt.
Then, as if someone has sent a silent message, they all begin rearranging blankets and making themselves as comfortable as possible on the metal floor. Seconds later, the light goes out and we are plunged into absolute darkness.
At first I panic and feel my heart begin to race. I cannot tell if someone is coming toward me in the darkness, or whether the rustling noises are those of the men still trying to get comfortable.
I feel a cold hand on my shoulder.
“I’m still here,” whispers Bini. “Let’s wrap this blanket properly.”
We move away from the wall and try to cover as much of ourselves as possible with the thin material.
“Remember when we used to get power cuts every evening at home? We could find the stack of candles without being able to see,” says Bini. “That’s the good thing about when it’s really, really dark. You can pretend you’re anywhere at all, so I’m going to pretend I’m at home in my house during a power cut. At least until morning.”
“You think you can sleep?” I ask.
“We have to. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. We need to stay strong.”
“Your friend talks sense,” Yonas rasps. “Try to rest. It will be freezing in here by the middle of the night,” he adds. “Don’t fall asleep against the wall or you might not wake up. Once the sun comes up, though, it will be a different story. The walls get so hot you could cook an egg on them, if you had one.”
I stare into the darkness, listening to the men breathing and snoring. Every ten minutes or so someone starts coughing. I guess living in a box isn’t very good for you.
Bini is completely silent. I desperately want to talk to him, but I know he’s right—I should try to sleep.
I lie still, wondering if Mom can sleep tonight, and what she has told Lemlem. I wish I could talk to her, too. I think of the cozy room we slept in together, with its smells of cooking and soap. My bed with its comfortable dip, the same shape as my body. I never imagined that the first night I would spend away from home would be in prison.
Hell 2
I must have dozed off eventually, because I wake as small circles of sunlight shine through the wall where it meets the ceiling, scattering discs of gold across the floor. It takes a minute to remember where I am. Then, with a wave of nausea, the previous day floods through my mind. I stare up at the circles again. Something so beautiful seems lost here. Then, slowly, I realize that the sunlight holes are bullet holes. Someone must have fired at the box to make air holes so we don’t all suffocate.
My shoulder is numb from the hard floor, and my nose and feet and fingers are numb from cold. I push myself up to sitting.
The two younger men are already awake, hunched against the wall. They nod at me.
Bini stirs, and a ripple of sniffing and coughing spreads through the box as men slowly emerge from their blanket cocoons like dirty moths. They look over toward me and Bini. Almost as if they are checking to be sure we weren’t just part of their dream—or nightmare.
The last to wake is Yonas. He coughs violently for about five minutes.
Bini fetches him a cup of water.
“Did you sleep?” Yonas asks both of us eventually, but he’s looking at Bini.
Bini nods.
The men seem able to talk to one another without us hearing what they say. All the same, Nebay shuffles over to Yonas so they can talk even more quietly. They mumble for a few minutes, which is all Yonas can manage without coughing. Even though I can’t make out any words, I’m sure they’re discussing me and Bini.
I try to talk like them—low and directly into Bini’s ear. “Do you think they’ll come and let us out this morning? I’m not sure these guys like us very much.”
“I think we’re probably stuck here,” whispers Bini. “Why would they spend a whole day driving us somewhere if they weren’t planning on leaving us there for a while?”
I try to let his words sink in, but I don’t believe them. “Do you think they’ve made a mistake? Maybe they confused us with some other prisoners and took them to military school instead of us.”
“I don’t know,” says Bini. “Maybe they have made a massive mistake. Or maybe this is what happens when you try to leave the country.”
“But we hadn’t even gone anywhere.” I realize that my voice has been getting steadily louder, and everyone’s eyes are fixed on us.
“How long do you think they’ll keep us here?” I whisper again.
“Looking at these guys, I don’t think anyone gets to leave anytime soon.”
A feeling washes over me. A feeling I don’t recognize, caused by the thought that I have no control over what is happening to me. It makes my whole body seem heavy, as if I suddenly don’t even have the energy to get up. My thoughts flick back to home, the smell of cooking, Lemlem giggling. I never sat still there, doing nothing. There was always school, homework, hanging out with Bini. An endless sequence of activity.
I feel a rush of panic as I think about the day stretching ahead of us. I cannot leave this room. There is barely space to walk from one side to the other. Bini is looking around restlessly. I don’t know how much time has passed since we woke up. Maybe one hour, maybe two. I try to focus on something else.
“Where do you think we are?” I ask. “Which part of the country?”
“In the north somewhere,” says Bini. “I guess we always wanted to see places outside the city. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, though.”
He sounds just as he would if we were talking in my house—relaxed, making jokes. It confuses me. I want to ask him if he is scared like I am. If he wonders whether something worse is just around the corner.
All that comes out, though, is: “Do you think we’re going to be okay?”
“I think we’re going to be okay.”
I feel a little bit calmer just hearing those words.
The other prisoners murmur rhythmically. A short conversation and then silence. Then more talking.
No one speaks to me and Bini, but I feel them watching us.
The box heats up as the sun rises. After several more hours, all Bini and I can do is lie dozing or staring at the ceiling, like everyone else.
There is a sudden bang on the door, which makes me jump.
“Time to let the animals out,” says Nebay.
“Keep your head down and do exactly what they say,” whispers Yonas. “You don’t want to be sent to the punishment cell.”
I cannot imagine anything worse than the cell we are in. But it seems someone has imagined it, and built it.
I will do exactly as I’m told.
The massive metal doors swing open with a deep creaking sound. I blink, shielding my eyes as bright morning light washes in.
Three guards in blue camouflage uniforms mark the doorway.
“Out!” shouts the nearest guard.
Bini and I are the first to step outside.
As the others clamber painfully to their feet, I see they all have limps or strangely twisted limbs. Limbs that look as if they have been broken and not healed properly. I feel sick as I picture my leg or arm being broken and then left to heal without any medicine or doctors to take away the pain. The sick feeling quickly begins to turn into panic as I realize that the guards surrounding us may be the same men who did these things to the others. I try to breathe more slowly.
Outside I see the camp properly for the first time. In addition to the four metal boxes, there are two small whitewashed buildings with tin roofs. Encircling the whole camp is a thick ring of thornbush. The sort used to contain cattle.
One guard pushes me in the back with the butt of his rifle and points ahead. He pushes me again, harder.
“Walk,” Bini whispers, and starts to walk slowly in the direction the guard pointed.
“No talking!” shouts the guard. Even though I am right next to him.
We creep our way slowly around the perimeter. Beyond is flat rocky desert.
“Eyes down!” the guard shouts, and pushes me so hard that I fall to my knees on the stony ground.
I stumble quickly back onto my feet and we keep walking, the sun hot on our backs.
Barely ten minutes after stepping outside, the guard shouts, “Back to your cell!”
We shuffle away from the perimeter toward the second metal box in a row of four. Keeping my head down, I glance at the other boxes from the corner of my eye. They are so solid and so silent it’s hard to believe people are inside them. I want to see who lives in the other cells. Maybe there are some other schoolkids like us.
The entrance to our cell gapes like the mouth of some silent monster. I step into the gloom and walk mechanically over to our blanket.
The other prisoners cough and wheeze, shuffling around to get comfortable on the hard floor. The short walk seems to have exhausted them all.
The box feels even more unbearable now that I have seen the sky and breathed fresh air again. I am waiting for something else bad to happen but don’t want to start thinking about what it might be. I am also starting to feel angry. Angry that we have been put in here with no explanation and that someone else has decided all this without even talking to us. I move around, trying to find a way to stretch my legs without touching anyone else.
I watch the sunlight discs move slowly across the ceiling.
Bini kicks my foot.
“Do you have any bread?” he asks.
I realize how empty my stomach feels. “No, I finished mine last night.”
He puts his hand in his pocket and takes out two small chunks of bread, giving one to me. I put it in my mouth. This time I don’t swallow it straightaway but give my stomach time to think it’s getting more than one tiny piece.
I don’t know how many hours have gone by, but I am starting to think I might pass out from the heat and lack of air, when there is another bang on the side of the box.
The bolt lifts and the doors swing open once more. A guard leaves a large pan of brown liquid and a stack of bowls on the floor. The smell of food and the rush of oxygen wake everyone.
As the doors slam shut, the small man who passed around the rolls gets to his feet and begins dipping bowls in the liquid and handing them out. It smells sour. There are lentils floating on top; otherwise it looks like muddy water. I have learned my lesson and sip at it slowly, even though I am desperate to pour it into my mouth in one gulp. It tastes like muddy water, too. There is almost no flavor, except a strange, sour, earthy taste. Bini and I watch the other men slowly sip the soup, making every mouthful last as long as possible.
The soup wakes up everybody. There is more conversation, but still no one talks to me and Bini.
Our bodies are exhausted from the journey and hunger. At some point that afternoon I fall asleep, waking only to eat my stale bread.
Hell 3
The next morning, I stir as the rising sun glows through the bullet holes. I feel better, my body more rested.
Bini is already awake.
“That’s the longest sleep I’ve ever had,” he says.
“I guess it isn’t every day you get sent to prison,” I answer.
He smiles. “We made it through our first day of hell, and we are okay.”
The others are stirring, rubbing their frozen hands and feet to get some blood to circulate.
Yonas coughs and looks over at us. There is something different about him today, a new kind of energy. “So are you ready to talk to us now?” Bini and I look at Yonas without answering. “What did you two do to end up here?”
“Leave them,” says Nebay, his morning voice even deeper. “I don’t think they have an ounce of courage between them.”
Yonas is quiet for a while, then says, “You don’t want to talk, of course. Soon you will realize that things in here are different from on the outside. Anything you were afraid of has already happened.” He stops as more coughing takes over, making his body shake. Once it passes, he looks up again. “Do you know what this is?” He gestures to the four walls.
We shake our heads.
“What you are inside is, in fact, a shipping container. Some people may think of that as irony. Or perhaps bad luck,” says Yonas. “These containers weren’t built for humans—they were designed for anything that can be stacked up and sent somewhere on a ship. But then someone had a great idea. If they’re so good at storing things, perhaps we can use them for prisoners. And instead of shipping them across the sea, let’s ship them to the desert, where they can’t do any harm. You can talk. Or you can keep quiet. But I believe it will be in both your interests to trust us. You don’t have anyone else, for a start, and the days don’t get any shorter.”
Bini pushes himself up onto his elbows. “How do we know that you’re not working for the military, too, and that you’ll get special treatment the more we confess to you?”
“Bini, stop,” I whisper. He is staring at Yonas through the gloom. “Maybe we can say what happened without telling them anything the soldiers don’t already know.”
After a few moments, Bini breaks the awkward silence. “There was a giffa in our part of the city. Soldiers were taking kids from the next street along. So our mothers arranged for us to leave. We had packed some things and were ready to go when the soldiers came to our houses. They found our bags. It was during the school week, and there were spare clothes and supplies in them, so I guess it must have seemed pretty obvious we were going somewhere to avoid the giffa.”
It feels as if Bini has told them just enough, without saying that we were planning on leaving the country.
The old man clears his throat and begins to speak in a lower voice. “Before this,” he says, pointing to the four walls, “I was a journalist. Do you know what that is?”
“Of course,” says Bini. “You worked for Haddas?”
Yonas laughs, a short laugh that almost sounds like a cough. “When I was a journalist, you didn’t have to write for Haddas—there were lots of newspapers; you could write what you wanted. That’s what I did.”
“It doesn’t sound all that dangerous,” says Bini. “Or, I mean, it doesn’t sound like you were very dangerous.”
“Well, things changed. Suddenly the government didn’t want people writing about protests or about food shortages—about anything that made them look bad. So, as far as they were concerned, I was about as dangerous as you can get.” Yonas laughs again, and this time it turns into a coughing fit that doesn’t stop for a few minutes. “So they took me away from my three children and my wife and put me in jail. Not here, somewhere different to start with. That was fifteen years ago
. I haven’t seen or heard from my family in fifteen years. They haven’t seen or heard from me. They probably think I’m dead.”
As he says those last words, I feel the hairs on my arms stand up. “My father is in prison,” I say before I can stop myself. “I only found out a couple of days ago. I thought he was dead.”
Bini pinches my arm. “What?” he says. “Your father’s alive?”
“Mom hasn’t heard from him in six years. But he didn’t die in the hospital, like she told me. She says he asked for higher wages for teachers and a man took him away and no one ever saw him again.”
There are nods from the men around the room.
“You only just found out about what happened to him?” Nebay asks.
“Yes, four days ago.” The words seem ridiculous. Four days ago may as well have been a different lifetime.
“Were you happy when you found out he was alive?”
His question throws me. “Of course I was happy,” I say. Then, after a moment, I add, “I was angry with my mother for not telling me the truth.”
Nebay is silent. I have shared more with people I’ve known for two days than I have with my best friend. They might bang on the side of the container and get the guard to come and take me away because my father is a “traitor.” For some reason, though, I don’t think they will do that. Maybe it’s because they seem to understand what is happening to us.
I turn to Bini. Before I can speak he says, “Don’t worry.”
“About what?”
“That you didn’t tell me about your dad.”
“I would have told you. It’s just—there wasn’t enough—”
“I know.” He cuts me off. “It’s okay.”
A short while later, Nebay’s rough voice grates through the silence. “I ran away from the army,” he says. “My two years of military service turned into four, then five. I met people who hadn’t been allowed to go back home or anywhere for twenty years. So I ran away and they caught me.”