Prison Boy

by Sharon McKay

  “The words above the picture said ‘Terrorists held in custody.’ Below the picture it said, ‘Street Boys Become Boy Terrorists.’ I didn’t even know what a terrorist was. Peter said that the government wanted to clean up the streets. Now they had an excuse to round up the street children.

  “Peter still had contacts in the government. He convinced someone, somewhere, that executing a seven-year-old would make the government look bad. Worse, it would make the government’s allies pull their support. Britain, America, and most of Western Europe supported the King and his regime at the time.”

  Tamarah brought the soup. She placed the bowls on the paper placemats.

  “We lived in a hotel for weeks. Peter went away every morning and returned every night. I was desperately worried about Pax, but I fully expected Peter to walk through the door with him. I believed that adults could do anything.

  “One afternoon Peter came bursting into the hotel shouting, ‘We must go, now!’ Nadia told me to put on my shoes and new jacket. I didn’t know how to do lace-ups. I just stood on the spot and watched Nadia and Peter run in circles. I knew something that they did not. I was not going anywhere without Pax.

  “There were travel documents on the table. One had a great seal on the bottom, fancy letters at the top, and many signatures. And there was my name—Kai Bennett, son of Nadia Bennett, Ph.D., and Peter Bennett, Ph.D., of Oxford, England. I should have leapt around the room with joy—I should have been happy, at the very least. For the first time in my life I had parents. Instead I screamed, ‘PAX!’

  “That’s when Peter told me that Pax had died of a burst appendix. Nadia slipped the new jacket over my arms. She put shoes by my feet and magically my feet slipped into them.” Kai sipped water.

  “Would you like some dessert?” asked Tamarah. The two shook their heads and waited silently as she cleared the table.

  Kai stopped. He had lost the thread.

  “You were talking about leaving the hotel.”

  Kai nodded. “We drove through the city. I could see the area that was bombed. I think I may have cried out. Peter told the driver to go around it.”

  “Yes. Peter told the driver to go around it. The car lurched in stops and starts and changed lanes many times. We came to a large road. And there it was—the village, my home. The car stopped to let a truck squeeze in ahead. I put one hand on the button of my seatbelt and the other on the door handle. I leapt out of the car and ran out into traffic.

  “Nadia was screaming. I just kept running. Cars flew around me. There were honks and shouts. I knew the streets. I knew how to dodge traffic. I kept running. In that moment I really believed that Pax would be around the next corner. Everything would go back to what it was.

  “But there was nothing, just a large, open space. Bulldozers were parked ahead on a small hill. Everything was gone. The huts, the sheds, the laneways, the people . . . Where did the people go?

  “Peter and Nadia found me wandering about, dragging my feet, I guess. I suppose I was in shock. Nadia put her arms around me. ‘You are not alone. You will never be alone again. I promise you.’ She was whispering, but I wasn’t listening. I had had enough of promises.

  “We came to England. Weeks, months went by, and then I began to create another life. It was easier, you see, to start again. It was easier to just not remember.”

  “But living here must have been hard, all the same?” said Ezat with a pained smile.

  Kai smiled back. “Learning how to deal with abundance was a challenge.”

  “Yes, yes.” Ezat nodded. “I had a full life before entering prison—a home, family, a car. But after prison I do recall stepping into a shop and seeing all the fruits and vegetables, row after row of tinned goods, prepared foods—the meats behind glass—it made me dizzy.”

  Kai grimaced and nodded. He felt his shoulders relax.

  “And you adjusted,” said Ezat.

  Kai nodded. “I guess I had been in England a year when we passed a bakery and I saw a donut in a window. I said, ‘That’s like me—empty in the middle.’ Nadia stood there, right on the sidewalk, and put her head in her hands. I said, ‘Mum, I’m sorry. Don’t cry.’ That was the first time I called Nadia mum. It made her cry all over again.” This time Kai smiled. “She has been mum ever since.”

  There was a pause, but not an uncomfortable one, as Kai tried to regroup and remember where he had left off.

  “Soon after, I discovered football. Playing sports made it easy to fit in. And then I discovered physics. I loved mathematics, but physics explained the world. It was calming. I went to Eton. I was home on long leave when the acceptance letter came from Christ Church. I took the letter out into the woods behind our house. I held the paper up to the sky and cried, ‘Look, Pax. I have been accepted into Oxford.’ I was fourteen years old.”

  “And, if I may be so bold, how old are you now?”

  “Eighteen.” Kai grinned. “Except I don’t really know the date of my birth. We celebrate my birthday on the day that I landed in England.”

  Kai’s mobile rang. The sound startled them both. Kai looked at the screen.

  “It’s Althea. I was supposed to meet her for lunch.” Kai scowled.

  “Then an apology is in order.” Ezat signaled for the bill.

  Kai’s fingers flew over the letters and waited. Her reply was almost instant. “She’s going to meet us at the train station.”

  “Althea would be your girlfriend,” said Ezat. This time his smile was bigger, wider.

  “I guess, but we’ve been friends for four years. She’s going on to study astrophysics. She has a thing for the stars,” said Kai.

  It was 3:45 when Kai and Ezat walked slowly down the road towards the train station.

  “You seemed uncomfortable when I asked you about the photograph of Bell and the children in the orphanage,” said Ezat.

  “I was . . .” he said, feeling small, almost petty. He wasn’t ashamed of them, he just . . .

  “You feel responsible,” said Ezat. It was a statement, not a question.

  Kai shuddered. His body convulsed. “I should have died with him,” he whispered.

  “Then you have not listened closely. Pax ultimately died of a burst appendix. True, it may have been brought on by torture, but perhaps he would have died of it anyway. And then what would have happened to a boy such as yourself on the streets?”

  “Are you saying that all of this was some elaborate plan to fulfill my destiny?” Kai was shocked. Surely such an educated man could not have such beliefs?

  “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Ezat smiled. “Shakespeare’s Hamlet,” said Kai. Ezat nodded.

  They walked on, slowly and in silence. They could hear the train whistle, like the cry of a bird, distant and unearthly. They walked across the tiled floor and out onto the platform. Again they heard the whistle, nearer now. All faces pointed in the direction of the oncoming train.

  “Why do governments torture their enemies and their own citizens?” asked Kai. It was too big a question, too complicated to ask now, but he asked it anyway.

  “Torture has a long and involved history. I will say this: torture is used by governments and regimes when they become afraid of losing power, when they have lost their moral compass.” Ezat spoke quietly. The train lurched into the station and its doors opened.

  “Then torture is used by the weak,” said Kai.

  “Yes,” said Dr. Ezat Ampior as he extended his hand.

  Kai took it carefully. Would a simple handshake cause him pain?

  “I would like to help,” said Kai. “I mean, I would like to do something to stop it, if it can be stopped.”

  “There is an organization to which I belong. I will send you literature.”

  “Yes. I want to do something. I need to . . . help stop this.”

  “Tell me, why did you come after me?” asked Ezat.

  “I realized that Pax did not send the sculpture as a g
ift. He sent you. You are the gift.” Kai felt the tears in his eyes, in his throat.

  “Pax thought perhaps I might be of help to you,” said Ezat simply and plainly.

  Kai nodded.

  Ezat took a step up onto the train, then turned back. “I believe that Pax wanted you to know the whole story. He wanted you to know that in the end he found peace. It is my belief that he wanted you to find peace, too.” Ezat boarded the train and sat beside an open window.

  “Perhaps I could come to Cairo and visit you.” Kai spoke through the train’s window.

  “I would like that. Bring your parents. They are travelers after all.” Ezat smiled.

  “You should know that my mum might reorganize your cupboards and change your diet. She’s a health-freak,” Kai said.

  Ezat began to laugh. “I welcome change.”

  A flock of birds flew overhead. Kai looked up. The birds were tiny specks, flying high above the city of dreaming spires.

  “Kai!”

  Althea ran towards him down the platform. She wore a green beret, a kilt, and pink stockings. Long, curly red hair fell across her shoulders.

  “Dr.—I mean Ezat, this is Althea.” Kai smiled broadly. The train lurched forward and began its slow crawl out of the station.

  “Hello!” Althea held out her hand. Ezat reached through the window. Their fingertips touched.

  Ezat looked into her eyes and saw a shimmering, sparkling cobalt blue that radiated kindness.

  “Your eyes . . . such a blue!” Ezat stammered.

  “They are not blue!” Kai’s laughter rang out as the two ran alongside the slowly moving train.

  Ezat put his head out the window. He looked again. Brown eyes—deep, chocolate brown, warm and caring. “Forgive me . . . it must have been the light . . .”

  “Good-bye. We’ll see you soon,” yelled Kai.

  “Good-bye,” Althea chimed in.

  Ezat Ampior sat back in his seat. “Pax,” he whispered. “All is as you had hoped.”

  Author’s Note

  Thirty years after the United Nations Convention Against Torture called for measures to eliminate torture, the practice still occurs in one hundred and forty-one countries, according to a 2014 report by Amnesty International.

  Torture takes root in the shadows but flourishes in the dark. We must bring it out into the open and shine a great light on it. Don’t look away. We have the power to stop this. If you would like to join the fight, begin your journey at www.amnesty.org.

  Acknowledgments

  The best part of publishing is having a place to thank the people who supported me in many different ways. This book has had a journey all its own, and a long one at that. Patience was needed and freely given.

  Canada Council for the Arts and Access Copyright Foundation Research Grant, for their financial support and flexibility. My sincere thanks.

  Amnesty International, Alex Neve, Secretary General, Amnesty International, Canada, www.amnesty.ca.

  Ezat Mossallanejad, Canadian Centre for Victims of Torture, Toronto, and author of Religions and the Cruel Return of Gods (Zagros Editions, 2012). Ezat, the proud father of two and now a widower, was a victim of torture. He is a beautiful man who shared his story freely. While Dr. Ezat Ampior is a creation of the imagination, the torture sequences within these pages are very real and continue today.

  Gail Advent Latouche, past deputy director of Corrections Canada, Kandahar, Afghanistan.

  Paul D. Milne and Catherine (Cathy) A. Olsiak, who held the wolves at bay, giving me space and time to work.

  Editors: Barbara Berson and Catherine Marjoribanks.

  Annick Press: Katie Hearn, Patricia Ocampo, Kong Njo, Catherine Dorton, and the staff at Annick Press.

  Rob Paterson, a student of History and Human Health, graduate of Christ Church, Oxford.

  Barbara Kissick, reader.

  David Macleod.

  The poem in Chapter 11 is from Mevlâna Jalâluddîn Rumi. Translated by Coleman Barks. Published by The Threshold Society

  © 2015 Sharon E. McKay (text)

  Edited by Barbara Berson

  Designed by Kong Njo

  Image of wings on front cover: © iStock.com/Gladiathor

  Annick Press Ltd.

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  Cataloging in Publication

  McKay, Sharon E., author

  Prison boy / Sharon E. McKay.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-55451-731-2 (bound).–ISBN 978-1-55451-730-5 (pbk.).–

  ISBN 978-1-55451-733-6 (pdf).–ISBN 978-1-55451-732-9 (html)

  I. Title.

  PS8575.K2898P75 2015jC813’.54C2014-907155-8

  C2014-907156-6

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