Prison Boy

by Sharon McKay

  The driver gave the box to Pax. It was very heavy. Pax used both hands to carry it. The box banged against his knees. Pax tried not to grunt or puff. The handle on the box was made of metal and cut into his hands. Kai followed behind, holding the ball close to his chest.

  The car pulled away quickly and was soon lost in the traffic.

  “Where is he going?” asked Kai.

  “You heard him. Not far. He will be back,” said Pax.

  Nothing felt right.

  They walked around the building and up the stone steps. The tall, shiny building ahead reflected sparks of colored light. Along the road, and to the side, were great, long-necked trees with huge leaves fanning out at the top.

  “Here. This is where he said to wait.” Pax gasped as he put the box down on a step.

  Kai was careful to tuck the ball between the box and his leg so that it would not roll away. Kai held out his hand. “Pax, begging here is silly. The police will come.”

  Pax nodded. “Maybe the man will come soon to take the box away.” Pax looked down at it. They could not run away from the police. The box was too heavy to carry far.

  Chapter 20

  Pax and Kai stood on the steps in front of the box, held out cupped hands, and begged for coins. They looked up at people who passed by with round, pleading eyes and hoped their stares would pierce the heart of a rich person. Everyone turned away.

  There was a line of bicycle-boys on the steps a good distance away, each one standing behind or in front of a similar box. Pax did not know any of them by name but he could see one, maybe two familiar faces.

  Why were they here?

  Kai held the soccer ball between his ankles. “Pax, look.”

  A guard with keys clattering on his belt was coming towards them. He was a long way away but he was moving quickly.

  “What should we do?” Kai whispered into Pax’s ear.

  Pax looked around. There was a man wearing a red tie approaching them from the opposite direction. Was that him? Everyone in this place seemed to wear a tie and Western suit. He looked down the street. A crowd of people carrying signs and chanting something was moving their way.

  Pax stared down at the box in front of him. The box began to make a humming noise, as if it were coming to life, as if it had been turned on. He looked at it. He looked at the boys in the distance. His head swiveled back and forth, back and forth. In that instant, Pax understood.

  What should he do? Kai, he had to save Kai.

  Pax snatched the soccer ball from between Kai’s feet, kicked it, and yelled, “Kai, go after it!” The ball bounced down the steps, past people walking and food-sellers on the pavement. Kai let out a cheer and raced down the steps taking two, three at a time.

  Now Pax waved his arms and yelled to the boys, “Away. Away!” No one paid any attention. He raced to the boy nearest him and pulled his shirt. “Get away!” he screamed.

  “You’ll get us in trouble!” The boy shoved Pax.

  The ball rolled out onto the road and bounced off the wheel of a motorbike. Kai dodged through traffic and made it to the other side of the road.

  “Kai, stay there. Don’t move!” Pax stood on the pavement and screamed over the sound of the traffic. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The exhaust fumes choked him. The chanting of the mob grew louder. Pax’s eyes darted every which way and then he dashed out into the traffic. He made it to the middle of the road, caught between the cars passing in opposite directions.

  Kai waved at him from other side. He was yelling at Pax, but the noise all around them was too great. Kai was pointing to the box.

  Pax looked back. The guard with the clattering keys who had been approaching them was now bending over the box. So what did it matter if the guard took it? Pax was never going to work for Mister again.

  Pax ran out into traffic towards Kai and made it safely to the other side of the road.

  “You did it!” Kai patted Pax on the back.

  Pax was angry but could not talk.

  He bent forward, put his hands on his knees, and tried to breathe. Nothing happened. Pax looked at the box, just a small dot on the steps. The box was fine. Bell had always said he had too big an imagination for this world. He huffed, and drew in deep breaths.

  Chapter 21

  The ground beneath their feet quivered. It was a shudder, a rattle, and then an earthly vomit sent millions of pounds of concrete, earth, and dust up into the sky. Then came a great gasp of wind as bodies lifted off the ground and flew about like bits of paper. Glass rained down from the surrounding buildings in great sheets, shattering and splintering as it hit the ground. The air was thick and brown.

  The wind blew the boys in different directions. They were spun around in the air like balls and smacked down onto blistered cement. They lay there, feet from each other, in stunned silence. Pax looked up at the sky. The sun had been rubbed out by waves of ash.

  Pax came back to himself slowly, one sense arriving at a time. First, sight.

  “Kai, where are you?” Blinking madly, Pax crawled up on his hands and knees. He stood, wobbled, and fell back down. He stood again, and this time he held his arms out straight to balance himself. He turned around and around.

  “Kai, where are you?”

  Was he speaking? His mouth moved but he could not hear himself. Pax whirled and twirled and got lost in the motion. He was surrounded by bodies swallowed in dust.

  “Where are you?” Pax cried again and again. Dirt choked him. And then—there! Kai limped towards him. His eyes were round and wide. His hands waved, his fingers fluttered—he looked like a broken bird shot from the sky.

  Pax stumbled towards him with outstretched arms and rubber legs. “I am here. I am here. I am here.” He could feel his jaw go up and down and his mouth form words, but still he could not hear himself. He hit his ears with the palms of his hands. Nothing. Both ears were deaf.

  Pax wrapped his arms around Kai. Trembling, Kai buried his head in Pax’s chest and they sank to the ground.

  Cars, bikes, taxis were just twisted rubble. Some were lying on their sides. Some were upside down with their wheels spinning. People sat frozen in their cars, hands gripping the wheel. Most of the trees were torn from the ground, their roots exposed as if giants had yanked them out of the earth with mighty hands.

  A donkey lay on the road, its cheeks and nose fluttering. The animal’s belly was slashed. Its insides spilled out onto the road.

  The ground was splattered with brilliant red blotches. Small fires flared. People ran in all directions, clutching their heads as blood dripped through their fingers.

  Broken electrical wires crackled and sparked. Pax sniffed—gasoline.

  Pax pressed Kai into his chest as if to pin them together, as if to keep them both from flying away. There was nothing in his thoughts. Empty. As if his eyes and his brains had simply disconnected. They sat that way for a long time as bits of debris, paper, cloth, wafted back to the ground. Kai leaned in close. They did not cry.

  Pax sniffed. The stink of gasoline from the tanks of smashed vehicles seared the inside of his nose. The gasoline, running in rivulets, met the tiny fires and burst into flames. The flames enveloped entire cars and trucks. “Get up, get away!” Pax mouthed the words to Kai, but moving was difficult.

  Pax tried to stand. He held on to Kai with all his might. Everything—arms, legs, back—felt wobbly. His bones had turned to liquid. He needed something to pull himself up with, a railing, a post. There was nothing. Police cars and trucks flashed their red lights.

  His hearing was coming back in bits, but as echoes, not fully formed or identifiable sounds. He stood on jelly legs. Pax pressed Kai close to his chest. How to run when he could barely walk? And where to run? Everything was upside down.

  Kai turned his head. A long, sleek gun lay on the ground. All around them was dust, and yet the gun seemed to wink in a ray of filtered yellow light. Kai beat his fists against Pax’s chest and pointed.

  Pax couldn’t think straight,
and yet he could picture the three men standing in Ol’ May’s shack, one holding a gun. He saw Rambo with the American pistol. Now he would have a gun too.

  Holding Kai with one arm, Pax bent down and wrapped his rubbery fingers around the barrel of the gun. He could defend them both now. He lifted it and tucked it under his shirt and into his pants. There was hardly anything to tuck the gun into. His clothes were in tatters and hung off him in strips.

  Pax staggered down the road, Kai now on his back. Pax lurched one way and then the other. They were yellow with dust, their tongues hanging out of their mouths, throats parched, eyes round like the moon.

  Chapter 22

  They were arrested blocks away from the explosion site. There was shouting, threats maybe, but they sensed only vibrations from the sounds. Nothing made sense.

  The gun was taken away. They were blindfolded, and their hands were tied behind their backs. Both were tossed into the back of a truck. Pax hit his head. Kai moaned as if he had suffered the blow.

  They were taken to a police station. The blindfolds were taken off. Eyelids fluttering, balled-up hands rubbing sore eyes, they were photographed, fingerprinted, then shoved into a cell.

  Sounds were coming back. First the sound of a cell door slamming shut, metal on metal. The sound was sharp, like a gun going off. Then they could hear words.

  They sat in the cell. The floor was packed earth, the walls chalky to the touch.

  “Hush, hush.” Pax held Kai in his arms. He pushed his face into Kai’s hair. He tried not to cry.

  It was dark. No food, no water. They waited.

  Later the cell door opened. The guard filled the doorway. He grabbed Pax by the arm and tossed him out into the hallway. Kai screamed. Pax tried to say something to Kai, words of comfort. A rifle butt hit Pax in the back. He fell forward. Winded, he struggled to breathe.

  He was taken into a room. Table, two chairs, photographs.

  “We have pictures of you on the steps with one of the bombs just before the explosion.” A policeman spoke. He was large and fierce. He pounded the table and pointed to the photographs.

  “Water,” Pax croaked.

  A paper cup was put on the table. He reached out for it. The police officer gave it a swipe. The water splashed against the wall. The policeman asked more questions, and when Pax did not answer, he repeated them again.

  “Water,” Pax moaned.

  “You are charged with acting against national security and with spreading propaganda against the regime. That is just the beginning. Terrorism charges will also be issued against you. Unless you cooperate, you will hang,” said the policeman.

  Pax shook his head. What was a regime? What was propaganda?

  “Kai, the boy. He is innocent,” Pax whispered.

  “You are part of a street gang. You worked with those who are against the regime. Give us the names of the boys in your gang.”

  What gang? What was he talking about? He shook his head.

  The policeman yelled for a long time. He thumped down in the chair and then finally waved to the guard. “Take him away,” he said.

  Pax was returned to the cell.

  “Pax, Pax!” Kai lifted his arms. Pax held him tight. Relief spread through Pax. At least they still had each other. He and Kai huddled together.

  The cell door opened. A bowl of water was left on the floor. They lapped it up slowly. Some bread. A thin broth. Fear.

  Days passed. They were given new clothes, except they were not new. There was blood on the shorts and the T-shirts did not smell good.

  Again they were blindfolded and taken out of the cell and put in another truck. The drive was long. If Pax tilted his head, he could see a sliver of light above the blindfold. He saw a sleek, modern highway, billboards, road signs that had no meaning, a billboard of smiling people holding up glasses of orange liquid.

  The truck slowed down and the road became bumpy. The two bounced around like rubber balls. Pax held Kai close but this time he did not say, “Hush, hush.” He could not think of anything to say.

  “Pax,” whispered Kai.

  “No talking,” yelled the guard.

  “Remember, you are a prince. The Prince of Light,” Pax whispered back.

  “Are you deaf?” The guard stabbed Pax with the muzzle of his gun just as the truck stopped.

  The door of the truck opened. Two guards shouted, “Out, out, out!”

  The guard in the truck yanked off their blindfolds. The light made them dizzy. They jumped down onto gravel. Kai fell. Pax reached for him.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered as he grabbed Kai’s hand.

  Pax tried to look around, take in everything at once. The prison was made of brick. It was in a forest surrounded by tall trees, short shrubs, and wildflowers.

  One guard pulled them apart. Another tied Pax’s arms behind his back. Pax moaned. His shoulders were nearly wrenched from their sockets.

  Pax tried to whisper to Kai. He wanted to say, Forgive me. He wanted to say, Do not be brave. Tell them what they want to hear. He wanted to say, You are the Prince of Light.

  He opened his mouth. He could see tears and snot streaming down Kai’s face.

  “Move!” a guard screamed.

  They entered the building. A rifle butt was rammed into Pax’s stomach. He fell forward, folding in half, arms behind his back, his face slamming against his knees. Pax pressed his shoulder against the wall and inched his way back up. He stood and stumbled forward, his shoulders grazing the walls.

  The guards pushed them along hallways, down metal steps and then stone steps. As they descended, the walls changed. Up top they were cool to the touch and painted white. Down below, where the metal steps turned to stone, the walls were made of rough cement and the floors were packed earth. It was cold and damp. They came to the end of a hallway. The lights were dim.

  The split was sudden. One moment they were walking side by side, the next they were being pushed down different corridors.

  “Pax!” Kai cried. The sound of his name echoed off the walls.

  “Leave him alone. He knows nothing,” Pax cried.

  A door slammed. It was a mighty thud. Pax heard it in his heart, in his head, and in every fiber of his body. Kai was gone.

  “Kai,” Pax sobbed. He couldn’t wipe the tears from his eyes, the blood from his face, or the snot running from his nose.

  He was marched down a corridor. There was a railing to his left and cells to his right. The cells were holes chiseled into the walls, most no bigger than the length of a body. Some had cots, some dirty rugs on the floor, some were bare.

  “Stop,” bellowed the guard. Pax was shoved into a cell. “Murderer! Terrorist!” the guard growled.

  Pax fell onto a thin rug that covered a mud floor. The kick to his head was unexpected, fierce, and brutal. The pain was blinding and, after that, nothing.

  A day passed, perhaps two. He was given a tin cup. In the cup was a lump of green swimming in something brown.

  Pax sat on the floor of his cell. If he lay out straight, his feet would touch one wall and his head would touch the other. It was no wider than the spread of his arms.

  He was thirsty. His tongue was thick, his throat burned, and his insides were on fire. He didn’t care about food. Water, if only he could have water. The cement cell walls were wet; they leaked like sweat through skin. He crawled over to the wall and licked it. He rubbed his face in the damp and tried to wake himself up. The light was weak, thin rays that seemed to twist down hallways and find their way into corners.

  He hugged himself. He had never been alone before—ever. In the orphanage he had been surrounded by dozens of other children. When Ol’ May had thrown them out onto the street, there had been Kai, and other kids too. Even mean kids were company of a kind. Always there were people around. But this—to be alone like this? It was torture.

  Pax pulled his knees to his chest. “Kai,” he whispered. “Don’t give up. I will find you. Don’t give up.” It was hard to draw in air
. His lungs were like stones in his chest. Teacher had said, “Ask God.”

  “God, keep Kai safe.” It was like screaming under water.

  The cries from other cells woke him—the kinds of screams a human makes when the soul is slowly ripped, stitch by stitch, from the body. There were echoes but no response.

  Pax scratched the walls. “Kai, Kai, Kai, is that you? I am here,” he cried. His nails broke and the nubs of his fingers bled. “Please God, please God, please God, don’t let them hurt him.”

  Finally the tears stopped. There was no more water in his body for tears.

  Chapter 23

  Pax was tied to a bed, spread out on top of springs. His wrists were tied to the bedposts at the top. His legs were tied to the bedposts at the bottom.

  “You were caught with a gun. You were seen with the bomb. We have witnesses. You are the leader of a gang of boys. You work for terrorists. What are their names?” the policeman demanded. But was he a policeman? It was hard to tell. He wasn’t dressed like a policeman.

  He wore an open-necked shirt. It was yellow with a small thing stitched on one side, an animal maybe. His pants were the sort a well-dressed tourist wore, the kind of visitor who did not give money to beggars. His shoes were made of leather, each with a small toggle that bounced back and forth as he walked. His watch was large, gold, with many dials. His hair was short and shiny. His teeth were lined up in two perfect rows. He smelled of fresh air and something sweet.

  “Mister—his name was Mister. I told you this many times.” Pax spoke through clenched teeth. He had been telling them this for weeks now—maybe longer. Time had lost all meaning.

  “Do you take us for fools?” asked the policeman.

  Another man was in the room. He was huge, with arms like the limbs of trees, and he wore a soiled shirt, wet under the arms. Beneath a round cloth cap was a shaved skull. He had no neck. It was as if his head had been hammered directly onto his barrel-shaped torso. A long, untrimmed beard hung down his chest. He held a leather whip in one hand and stroked it with the other hand, like a pet.