The Not so Secret Agent Ch. 04

Chapter 4: Meeting the Tourists

Arthur smiled in spite of himself. Even though he was expected to do the chores; there was a sense of accomplishment in fixing up his host's place. His new home was still... rustic but after a couple weeks of work the yard was mostly cleared of junk, the lawn was mowed, and the house would be ready for painting by the weekend.

Arthur decided he had done enough chores for the day. He put his ladder and tools safely on the ground and entered through the back porch of the worn out dingy white house. He washed up in his host's tiny bathroom, and then walked down the hallway to his own bedroom. Almost square, fourteen feet across, with dark wood paneling, one north-facing window with actual shutters on the outside and curling green linoleum on the floor; his room was barely furnished. A very small bed was along the east wall. It was once a child's but now it was Arthur's to use; not too uncomfortable, though his feet did hang off the end at night. A sturdy wooden chair and a small desk covered in crayon and pencil marks faced the window, otherwise his room was unfurnished

He opened the largest desk drawer and removed a notebook and pen. Arthur turned it to a blank page. Slumping in the chair, he set his elbows on the armrests and his forehead in his left palm. He could feel the hated collar under his chin and see his naked lap below. The vulnerable state they kept him in was supposed to be a constant reminder of his low social status and the disgrace of his crimes. He was dishonored... so they often said.

It was a struggle to not despair but he pushed it away. Arthur Liggett wouldn't let himself cry. He was too stubborn, too proud; but sometimes though, just to maintain his sanity he needed to tell someone what he was going through.

Arthur stared apprehensively at the blank page for a while and then wrote his sister's name at the top.

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Tee,

I've spent three weeks in this damned weird place but it sure feels longer. I'm not allowed to wear any clothes except the work-boots and gloves I was issued, and those may only be used at work. This cold metal collar that's been clamped on my neck is something that I don't think I'll ever get used to. Back in college I helped wildlife biologists put tracking collars on bears in the national forest. Sometimes I imagine those bears rolling on the ground laughing their asses off. But I realize that I'm not just an animal to be tracked, I'm also cheap labor. Criminals here are used in the jobs that are too difficult, too dirty, or too dangerous for free citizens. The boots and gloves are issued for the protection of government property. That's right, I'm property now.

I'll tell you a little about what's been going on in my life these past three weeks. The morning after my trial I woke up in a tiny spare bedroom at my spokesman's home. Straight out of a dream right into the nightmare; I jumped up in a panic, stumbled into a wall and screamed out in pain before I realized where I was. Spokesman Ralkliv came running into the room and flipped on the light. He's a decent sort, I guess, for a Danubian; he wasn't even angry with me for waking his family up, just asked me if I was alright. I was anything but alright; it was about four AM, I didn't go back to sleep.

The morning after a switching is brutal. Every movement hurts; it stings and aches. I hobbled into the bathroom and turned my back to the mirror. It was shocking actually... I've never seen such a large bruised area; my skin had turned purple with many raised crimson lines crisscrossing over the top. It was mostly on my butt and the backs of my thighs though there was what looked like eight or nine lines across my upper back. The punished skin was still badly swollen but no longer hot to the touch.

After breakfast, Spokesman Ralkliv made me go outside like that; down the busy sidewalk, on a bus packed with commuters, all over the damned city. It hurt like hell but I tried to act like it didn't bother me. Naked, collared, and beaten; I was horribly embarrassed though most people didn't seem to pay much attention really.

Ralkliv kept me busy that first day. I had to go through a lot of paper signing, and more fingerprinting, medical testing and interviews with various people: a psychiatrist, a detective, even a stupid TV reporter. All that walking around did me some good though, worked out a lot of the soreness. Toward the end of the day Ralkliv took me across town and introduced me to my new boss.

Since I didn't know the language my spokesman decided to set me up with a job doing some manual labor that didn't require a lot of communication. I work for a stonemason who has a contract to build a brick walkway from the Plaza to the War Memorial. I had some experience with this kind of work back in the US so I don't require much instruction, which is good because the boss doesn't speak any English.

I had to stay in my spokesman's house for most of the first week, maybe so he could keep a close watch on me (to make sure I didn't kill myself or try to escape), or perhaps he was having a hard time finding anyone willing to house me.

After five days my spokesman told me to move to my employer Mr. Jakt's house, so I picked up my notebook and pen (my only possessions) and walked to my new home. By Danubian standards his place was a mess: the lawn was high with un-mowed grass and weeds, boards were missing from the picket fence, and paint was peeling off the house. Something pleased me about seeing this disorder though, perhaps because the rest of my life is now so structured.

Mr. Jakt is an older man who had apparently lived alone for years. His wife's long dead and he has no living children. He must be well past retirement age but just doesn't want to quit working, probably doesn't want to feel old and useless. Although I don't understand much that he says, the old man likes to tell me stories. He usually spends some time after supper gesturing wildly, laughing, and describing things I could only guess at; though it is reassuring to hear some laughter for a change in this overly serious country.

Spokesman Ralkliv got me enrolled in an emersion style Danubian language class three days after trial. The class had been going on for over a week already so I had to catch up quickly. There are eleven young foreign students in the class, as well as a couple older businessmen. I was the only English speaker and the only one wearing a collar though. From the way they looked at me I suppose I must be a big novelty.

My first week in class I learned the essential phrases for a Danubian criminal: "Yes officer", "No officer", "I don't understand officer", and those peculiar phrases that spokespersons and criminals exchange about a path. I also know the alphabet, numbers 0-99, and of course my name: # 88588. For work, I learned the Danubian words for the tools and supplies used.

By the second week I was finally able to sit down in a chair without much discomfort, which was good- I was real damned tired of standing in class by that point! I'm learning quickly though, after only eleven lessons I can now have some pretty compelling conversations with other students about the time of day, trolley schedules, and bus stops.

The number one lesson outside of class however, is to fear the police. They're hostile toward criminals in general, but they hate me. They blame me for the shooting. It doesn't matter to them that I didn't take part in that gunfight. I suppose since my 'partner' is dead they have to hold me responsible for their friend's injuries.

Just about every day after work a group of them come to humiliate me. They have all the paths covered and I know that any way I walk the result will be the same. When I get within ten feet the cop calls out my number. When I turn toward them they always do seem to have that same cruel smile.

It begins with that horrible kneeling position. They take sadistic pleasure in leaving me exposed to passing foot traffic. They make me kneel right out on the sidewalk, with my forehead on the ground and my knees apart while they stand around and talk about whatever interests them. Countless people walk past and though my muscles ache I try to remain still because I know they'll beat me if I move out of position. They usually finish up by having me thank them for 'discipline' or some shit like that; and before letting me go these cops always tell me how they're looking forward to seeing me the next day.

The Friday of my third week started relatively well; at my language class in the morning I could tell that I was pulling ahead of the crowd, probably none of the others were motivated like I was. Then later at work my boss let me off an hour and a half early since we ran out of stain for the mortar. That meant that I could be out of the city center before the cops came looking for me. It felt so good to escape them. I cautiously walked the back streets and alleyways that kept me away from their usual patrols. Eventually, I stopped on a narrow street with a few shops on the left and a diner on the right.

Behind me I heard a girl speaking in English. "You ask him."

Another girl says: "But he's naked!"

"I don't care... we're fucking lost, we have to ask somebody."

"I can't," the second girl whispers loudly. "I can't pronounce that!"

"Look," said the first. "Here... just read it."

I turn around to see two college age girls; both wore backpacks and were dressed in shorts and tee shirts. They looked tired; I thought they had probably been wandering lost all day with their crappy tourist maps to guide them. I could tell by their expressions they were not used to seeing criminals yet. Then the taller girl, whose face had turned bright red, tried to translate from her English to Danubian dictionary. Deciding on a Danubian phrase she looked at me anxiously and said: 'Uh... Valugsk Yorun...unk Astik...' (Something that loosely translated to: "my fish is gone, where is the bed?)."

I felt a bit ornery right about then so I shrugged my shoulders and replied in English: "I'm real sorry about the loss of your fish but I honestly don't know where your bed is."

The girls were so stunned to hear me speak English in an American accent that they just stood there for a couple seconds with their mouths open.

"But... You're an American, what the Fuck!" The blond cackled, as her friend held her hand over her mouth in quiet shock.

"Guilty as charged." I nodded. "Seriously guilty."

"What are you doing here, like that?" She was trying to stop laughing.

"I got arrested." Gesturing to my unclothed state: "This is what they do to people who break their laws. You two look lost, maybe I can help you find your fish."

"Fish?"

"You said: 'Valugsk yorun...unk Astik...' which in Danubian means: 'Fish lost, where is bed?"

The taller girl starts laughing again. "Oh shit! What have I been telling people, I should throw this fucking dictionary in the trash!"

"Well, it's actually our hotel that we have been searching for what seems like forever. It's called the Vladiserikt or something." The dark haired friend talked to me while averting her eyes.

I glanced at the map. I recognized the place; it was across the City Plaza and to the north east of the University. Not wanting the rare opportunity to talk to other Americans to pass; I told the girls that I had been alone in this foreign country for three weeks, and it would be nice to talk to some normal people again. I offered to treat them to lunch at the nearby diner and escort them to their hotel afterwards. They agreed, so we made our way over to the patio. I had the waiter ready a table overlooking the street and copy down my number to arrange payment.

I put out my hand to greet them. "My name's Arthur. The baked fish is good, by the way."

"I'm Samantha." The slim blond studied the incomprehensible menu. "I'm a vegetarian so... uh... I'll just get a salad."

I glanced at her dark haired friend, who still seemed very nervous. "I'm Laura... uh the baked fish sounds good but we can pay."

"My treat, I insist." I gave the waiter the order, and then turned to my dinner guests. "So, you haven't been here very long?"

"We just got here with my family, yesterday." Samantha's kept staring at my neck. "We're on a tour through Europe, and we thought we could ditch the folks for a day and see the city by ourselves. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's real damn weird to see people walking around naked in the middle of a city, isn't it? It was a big shock for me too at first," I shrugged. "After a while you get used to it. Danubians are so strange like that; being seen naked doesn't bother them a bit." I pointed to my collar. "I don't suppose you know what this is all about?" They shook their heads.

"Well... um... before the food arrives let's just get it out of the way. The short version is that I took a high-paying job from a shady character. Three weeks ago I was arrested, convicted and sentenced. In this country you won't find any jails but you're going to see criminals walking around out in the open, working, going to school or whatever." I tapped the collar. "Criminals wear these tracking collars though, so they can't leave the city, and just like any other criminal I'm not allowed to wear any clothes at all."

"You're a criminal?" Laura's eyes got real big. "We're not going to get in trouble talking to you are we, you're not escaped or anything?"

Not getting through to them the first time I try again. "I am a convicted criminal, but I'm allowed to go anywhere within the city during my free time. I can talk to people, make small purchases, or do whatever else I want within reason."

"Uh..." Samantha stammered. "You... you're not a... a murderer?"

I smiled sheepishly. "No... they caught me stealing computer files. I was convicted of... uh... spying." It sounded so stupid to say that out loud.

Samantha's eyes lit up with interest: "You're a spy? No way!"

"No kidding... but it's really not what you think... I just did something I shouldn't have." I tried to smile. "These days I'm more of a bricklayer."

Laura fidgeted nervously. "This place... is so... fucking... weird! I can't believe it... I would Die if they made me walk around naked."

"God, me too!" Samantha exclaimed. "And that collar, how do you stand it?"

"Uh... well..." I stammered.

Samantha took an urgent breath. "Wait!" She whispered entirely too loud to her friend: "My dad said that they beat prisoners here." Samantha blushed. She must have seen that I didn't particularly want to talk about that.

I'm still pretty embarrassed about the whole situation but I reluctantly decided to just tell the truth and move on. "Yeah." I said. "Danubians are big believers in corporal punishment. Criminals are beaten by the police. You're strapped down to a platform and whipped fifty times with a switch. Let me tell you, it's one hell of a deterrent."

"Shit!" Samantha exclaimed.

"My thoughts exactly!" I grinned at their shocked expressions. "It's no big surprise that the crime rate's so low here; I bet you could leave that purse of yours on the side of the street all day and no one would steal it. They don't lie here either; it's some kind of religious thing that's been taken to the extreme. Lying to a public official would get you a uniform like mine, and an invitation to stay here for a year. Another thing, they don't have much of a drug problem either, I hear that the sentences are pretty harsh for even simple possession."

Samantha's face lost all color. "Oh shit, did you have any of those Skittles left Laura?"

Laura looked up thinking. "Fuck...I think so...but they're safe back in the hotel room in my bag. We can get rid..."

Samantha interrupted: "But you had some last night, in your jeans!"

"No, that was Friday night." Laura insisted. "Remember, you had a bag stuffed down in your smokes last night and you saw that cop and you almost threw it away by..."

I said quietly: "Skittles?" Then it dawned on me what they meant. Not Skittles the candy, Skittles meaning ecstasy! For a few seconds I just sat there in disbelief as Samantha and Laura had a loud argument about their highly illegal drugs right the middle of the damned city!

"Stop talking!" I interrupted, and then I lowered my voice to an urgent whisper: "Don't tell me about your 'Skittles', I'm a fucking criminal! If the police find out I know about another crime..." I shook my head. "I'm in enough trouble already."

I leaned back and took a deep breath to try to calm down. Of all the people in this city I had to meet these two drug users. They didn't seem presently high but if they got picked up by the police, or their drugs were found at the hotel I knew that my name could come up. It wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to find a criminal named 'Arthur' in Rika Chorna. I decided my best option was to remain calm, finish lunch, and then escort the girls quickly to their hotel.

"Sorry for yelling but you've got to understand that you can't even talk about stuff like that here. If someone overheard." I glanced around at the people seated at the other tables. "You could be in some serious shit."

Samantha was startled by my outburst. "Okay, I think this country scares me now."

"As it should; so," I asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject. "Where are you two from anyway?"

"San Diego," Samantha shrugged, "well a suburb really, me and Laura went to the same high school together. And when Dad said he was making me go Europe with him and mom I made sure Laura came too. I mean I'm 18 and I don't want to hang out with sucky old people all the time. So I just said to dad: 'if you're making me go on this stupid trip then I'm bringing a friend.' He argued a while but he finally gave in just like I knew he would." With an exasperated sigh she exclaimed. "My life really sucks."

It was shocking to hear the plight of these San Diego teens, being forced to go on European vacations against their will. Where's Amnesty International when you need them?

During lunch, I mostly sat and listened. Apparently all I had to do was get them started. They complained about their parents, inadequate allowances, their clothes, how little luggage they could bring, and how stupid this trip was, as well as a lot of other things that they hated about various subjects.

After hearing their long list of grievances against the world, I was impressed. Most people, I thought, wouldn't have had the confidence to air their complaints to a stranger who obviously had so little.

We finished lunch and I lead them off toward their hotel. As much as I now wanted to abandon these two brats, I couldn't do that. Besides, I thought if the police caught them with their drugs, there was a small chance that they would appreciate my assistance enough to keep my name out of it. So I decided to use the same back streets as long as I could to avoid the police.

Once these girls started talking they just didn't stop. I lead them down an old cobblestone street that divided two residential neighborhoods and then through a city park. We walked between the ancient oaks in the quiet city park and then across an arched stone bridge before returning to the cobblestone road. Meanwhile the girls seemed to have snide remarks about the hair or clothing of every local they saw. Men, women, and children; no one was safe. It was good that the Danubians on the street couldn't understand English.

I was eventually forced to take a right turn onto the crowded street that lead to their hotel. There were a variety of venders and open-air shops catering to tourists along this stretch. When we passed a shop selling handmade shoes Samantha had to have a look. Shoes were a common topic of conversation. After walking all day Samantha thought her shoes were chaffing her ankle a bit and apparently Laura's were not as fashionable as she wanted either. Neither of them seemed bothered by taking a person who wasn't allowed to wear shoes at all, to a shoe store. So while I found some shaded concrete to stand on, they took their good sweet time trying on shoes. It must have been half an hour later when they finished shopping and we could once again continue walking toward their hotel.