The Not so Secret Agent Ch. 07

Chapter 7: Arthur vs. the Post

Arthur groaned as he woke. It took a moment to remember where he was. He got up on his knees and elbows and wiped the soil off his face. His left eye wouldn't open; a crust of dried blood and dirt kept it glued shut. His head throbbed when he sat upright. The light seemed too bright at first; the moon illuminated the camp from the west. Arthur could make out the shapes of several of the barracks and the large square mess hall.

The damp night air flowing down from the mountains felt chilly to a man unprotected by clothes or shelter. The collar and chain seemed especially cold.

Arthur pushed the chain aside and got up on his hands and knees searching for water. One of the guards had at least left him that. Arthur scooped a double handful of water out of the metal bucket and splashed it onto his face. A couple more times and he was able to open his left eye and wash the dried blood and dirt off the swollen spot above his left eyebrow. That particular injury was self-inflicted. He remembered stumbling face-first into the post; the guards thought it was pretty funny. He had fallen unconscious while it bled.

Arthur was so thirsty, he drank and drank; and then he rested, doubling over with his forehead on the ground. After a few minutes he felt better; he grabbed a section of chain so it didn't pull on his neck, and stood. He found the eyebolt that the chain was locked onto; it was about one inch thick iron that had been driven into the post. Arthur twisted on it hard with both hands, confirming that it was highly stable and strong. The post was sturdy too, about a foot thick and a few inches taller than him.

Next Arthur decided to see how far he could go from the post. He had to lean outward and pull hard to stretch the heavy chain tight at approximately four meters or thirteen feet. Arthur walked a complete circle. The circle's area, a quick calculation revealed, was about 50 square meters or 530 square feet.

Arthur stood with the chain held high in one fist. Looking upward at the moon, he laughed. "Pi are square? Hehehe... Pi are Not square!" He shouted at the sky. "Cake are square, Pi Are Roouunnd!" Arthur cackled and dogs in all directions started barking. Arthur missed his dog. Lucky was now his sister's dog, though his name wasn't really Lucky. It's hard to give away a dog named Squirts.

Arthur sat down and the barking eventually stopped. It was so quiet, so dark in Novo Sumi Ris at night. His back was too sore to lean against the post; Arthur shifted forward, holding his head in both hands. He watched the moon set behind the western mountain ridge; silhouetted trees looked like miniatures from such a distance. Arthur thought about the previous night; he reached a hand over his left shoulder. The skin was swollen and still hot, there were some scabs.

He felt ashamed of what he'd done. He wished he had just taken the blame instead of angering and insulting the Major. Now he had surely made life even harder on Samantha and Laura. What did his resistance gain him anyway? The Major got everything she wanted. Though her knowledge of espionage was seemingly restricted to plots from thirty-year-old movies; the Major's brutal methods were highly effective.

Arthur remembered signing a confession and then, while a guard held either arm, the Major had used a permanent marker to write a word across his chest. She had laughed mockingly and then issued an order. Two guards had dragged Criminal number 88588 off to the eastern side of the men's section to a sturdy wooden post two meters high. A third guard with a flashlight followed, dragging a heavy chain behind him.

Arthur felt a chill as the wind blew; he curled up on his right side, closed his eyes and tried to sleep, all the while wondering what became of the girls. He hoped Samantha and Laura fared better than him.

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He woke to the distant wail of a horn. A freight train never failed to roll into town at exactly four thirty AM. A door opened and shut, the gate slid back and several guards started their morning shifts. Pole lights flickered on. Criminal # 88588 didn't want to move but to stay on the ground would only invite more abuse.

A light fog settled in the valley, the mist was illuminated by a few lights starting to come on in the town. Arthur got up on one elbow and looked around. Lights were already on in the kitchen and mess hall; the women had to get up thirty minutes earlier than the men so they could prepare breakfast. Some of the guards were waking the men's crews, flipping on lights, banging on doors, and yelling in their typical harsh fashion.

Arthur saw a guard walking toward him; a stout built man, with a military-style short clipped hair, and a nose that hooked, giving him a stern severe expression. Arthur rolled over onto his knees and elbows, rested his forehead on the loose sandy soil and waited. Footsteps stopped in front of him.

"Stand up criminal." The man said.

Arthur tugged the chain to the side and stood. The man searched his key ring and stepped close to open the lock. The guard threw the lock and chain on the ground; then he roughly grabbed Criminal # 88588's chin and looked at the wound on Arthur's forehead under the brightening lights. He made a falling whistle sound that Arthur had heard other Danubians make to show disapproval.

"Come with me." The burly guard walked toward the back of the guard's quarters. Arthur followed. In a detached way he was curious about what would happen next... torture perhaps, or maybe they would just shoot him in the head and get it over with. Maybe they would wait for sunrise. He always liked sunrise; it would be good to see the light in the treetops, hear the birds, and feel the warmth on his skin one last time.

The guard unlocked the door of a small metal shed and ordered the criminal inside with him. The room smelled of rubbing alcohol. The guard pointed to a metal stool: "Sit."

The guard gathered up a sterile cloth, sloshed some alcohol on it and began cleaning the wound above Arthur's left eye. "Keep eyes closed."

A few drops of iodine were applied to the wound and then the man found an appropriately sized bandage to cover it up. "There... done." Then he had Arthur turn and lean forward a bit so he could see his back in the lamplight. He opened a cabinet and looked around a bit then shook an aerosol can. Some cool spray hit Arthur's back.

When the guard finished he looked at the criminal approvingly. "Feel better now?" He didn't wait for an answer. "See... I should have been doctor!" He laughed like it was the funniest joke ever and then shooed Arthur off. "You're cured now; go eat, go eat!"

This man, Arthur realized wasn't nearly as mean as he looked. Arthur turned back toward the guard. "Uh... Sir, am I going to be executed?"

"Bah!" The guard paused from putting up supplies. "Bullets are expensive, why waste one on you?" He frowned and then said: "Follow the rules and maybe things get better." He gestured toward the door: "Go on now, go eat."

Arthur stepped out of the building feeling mildly pleased that his execution wasn't imminent. He walked into the mess hall to join the rest of group 6. The other criminals averted their eyes and turned away. To other criminals, Arthur figured, the word written on his chest must be a warning.

Group six went up into the mountains, worked twelve hours, came back to the camp and ate supper. Then as the rest of group 6 returned to the barracks Arthur carried two buckets across the yard to the post: one full of fresh water for drinking and bathing, and another bucket with a lid that took the place of a toilet.

The guards expected him to lock the chain onto his own collar before they came by for the nightly inspection. He hoped that it would be one of the junior guards instead of the angry woman that confronted him before. The other guards might get a bit rough, but she was far worse. A high-ranking officer like her probably wasn't required to perform such menial duties, the warden certainly never did, but the Major obviously enjoyed the power.

Arthur gathered up the end of the chain, hooked the open padlock through the last link and over the collar's loop. He reluctantly locked it shut. The post was at the eastern boundary of the men's section, a hundred meters from the women's quarters. Trees and buildings mostly obstructed his view; Arthur moved as far south as the chain would allow and looked for Samantha and Laura. Perhaps, he hoped, they would come out by the fence and look for him too.

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A miserable week passed without any sight of the girls but Arthur was determined to find out something. One evening, at supper, he noticed a young criminal leave early; Arthur put away his tray and followed. He was able to corner the very young and very nervous Danubian criminal behind the barracks. A bad reputation, Arthur figured, had to be worth something.

The skinny young man looked like he was about to vomit when Arthur rounded the corner at the end of one of the long sheet-metal buildings. Arthur stepped close and shoved the guy back against the wall when he tried to slip past. Arthur tried to look his most menacing: "You're going to me something."

"I ... I can't... I'm not allowed..." He tried to escape and Arthur slammed him harder against the wall. The young man did vomit then.

Arthur glared at him like a mountain lion looks at a poodle that just vomited on him. "Have you seen the two American girls this week?"

Overall, Arthur thought his attempt at intimidation was pretty successful, disgusting but successful. He learned that the girls were still at the camp but they were placed on disciplinary status, working extra hours until after dark. Unfortunately, before Arthur could learn any more, a guard caught the young Danubian talking to the American spy. It cost them both a minor beating but it was worth it, for Arthur at least.

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One evening in late July a criminal from group 6 walked by the post and a folded paper triangle fell out of his hand. The criminal never acted as though anything happened and continued on his way. Arthur casually palmed the paper; and when he was sure no one spotted him he buried it under the sand; it would be safest to wait for night, and read it under the near full moon.

The message was written on the back of an invoice for canned goods. Arthur knew that Samantha had taken a big risk smuggling a note to him; how she convinced the criminal to deliver her message would be interesting to know. Though Arthur hoped the subject was some daring escape plan, all that she really had to say was that she and Laura had to work longer hours and they were not supposed to talk to each other. The Major had them on separate work crews now, but they were able to sneak around and meet each other every few days. Of course, there was the sort of content that he expected: she was thinking of him, she hoped he was doing all right and such. Samantha's wording was somewhat repetitive and there were a couple misspellings. Arthur sighed; he was a little disappointed at the quality of his first secret prison correspondence.

"I should write a fitting secret message," Arthur said. "Something worthy of all the risk and planning; it would have the right wording, sentence structure, and... and it could be in rhyme like the Iliad or... "

Startled by a dog barking, Arthur realized he was standing up and speaking out loud again. "I um... I... sleep, I should sleep now." Arthur refolded and buried the note beside the post. Tomorrow was either the thirtieth or thirty-first day of July. Did July have thirty-one days? He recalled that all months named after Roman Emperors like Julius, Augustus, and Octavian had the maximum of thirty-one days. So the first of August was either one or two days away. The knowledge that another judicial switching was quickly approaching didn't help him sleep very soundly that night.

When Arthur awoke the night was unusually dark; he looked up to see the stars but instead there was a large dim form hanging above him or perhaps below him, and the surface his body rested on wasn't a cot or flat ground but it had corners and cold metal protruding from it. Arthur held on tight as vertigo overwhelmed his senses. He had the feeling of being suspended high in the air on some beam or tree limb ready to fall if he let go. His feet, he realized, were not touching bark, or metal, they weren't even suspended in the air; Arthur felt sand between his toes.

He took a series of deep breaths and tried to calm down enough to examine his surroundings. Arthur reluctantly let go with his left arm and reached out but nothing was there, then searching above his head he felt the square end of the beam. After a few tense seconds he understood what had happened. Arthur released his death-grip on the post and looked down; he had wrapped the chain around the post five times. Wrapped up like a tetherball and standing upright against a post is no good way to wake up at night. With his pulse still pounding in his ears Arthur sank down and gripped his head in his hands. "I'm fucking sleepwalking again."

He stood up and circled counter-clockwise to unwrap the chain. "If I wasn't held captive here," he grumbled. "I'd demand that idiot therapist give me a refund!' Avoid stressful situations' she said. Ha! No stressful situations here, no way."

Again he realized he was speaking out loud, though no one was around to hear. The lights from an approaching freight train came into view to the west; as it traveled downhill from the pass its brakes squealed and the train slowed. It was the four-thirty train that supplied the refinery. With thick clouds overhead the night was almost completely dark, but it was too late to go back to sleep now. Arthur sat down and leaned against the post. He drew his legs in close and shivered as the wind picked up. "Surely that wasn't lightning." There was a rumble overhead and the first heavy drops of rain splattered in the dust.

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During work the next day Arthur found out that it was the 31st of July. There were several others in his group who shared his apprehension, although everyone did what they always did. They worked hard for twelve hours, marched back to camp, cleaned up, ate supper, and went back to their barracks.

After supper Arthur filled up his clean bucket with water and walked to the northwest corner of the perimeter fence. He picked up the loose end of the chain that he swore was heavy enough to use on a log-truck, and then gathered the equally oversized lock. "Damned lazy guards," Arthur grumbled, "making me lock myself up." The lock snapped shut and Arthur tried to find some comfortable way to rest without the weight of the chain pulling at his neck.

A guard always came by about an hour after supper to make sure Arthur was securely fastened. It was usually a junior guard that worked the night shift, and most of them, didn't show much interest in him. An insult or a slap was about as bad as he got from them, but at least once a week the head female guard, Major Drazetka, came by to personally inspect him.

As Arthur anticipated, she didn't miss the opportunity to harass him the day before his scheduled switching. Arthur pulled the heavy chain aside and forced himself to kneel down to the woman.

"Criminal # 88588, you don't look pleased to see me; that really does hurt my feelings. I always enjoy seeing you on your knees and chained up like a dog." She raised the tone of her voice. "And tomorrow morning I will enjoy seeing you strapped down and beaten. Do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to have you set up right in front of me, so we can see more of one another. It will be most amusing to watch the faces you make as the policewoman whips you."

The Major shrugged. "I was going to request the task of punishing you myself, but it seems the officer who switched you at your trial is making time in her busy schedule to come all the way out here to our camp. Isn't that considerate of her, Criminal # 88588?"

Arthur stayed in his kneeling position and had a fantasy of knocking the legs out from under this woman and tightening the chain around her throat. He thought he might really kill her... if given the chance.

"Don't you have anything to say? What's the matter, perhaps you miss your friends, the two American girls?"

She pulled her switch out and she slowly walked around her victim. "I have good news Criminal # 88588; you and the girls will see a great deal of each other tomorrow. In fact I think that I'm going to have them sit by me so they have a good close view of your punishment." She tapped his bottom with her switch. "I do hope that the officer who administers your switching gives you a nice hard beating. I think it would help correct the girls' attitudes to see their dishonored friend break down and cry right front of them."

The major circled back around while dragging the tip of her switch along Arthur's spine. "I seem to have forgotten, Criminal # 88588. Who is the officer that is in charge of punishing you?"

Arthur burned with hatred for this guard who so enjoyed his humiliation; finally he spit out the words. "Officer Stashak"

"Yes, I remember now. Officer Stashak. I just couldn't place the name. Did you know that I attended your trial?" She laughed: "You're so quiet today, but you were not so quiet at your trial were you? I enjoyed hearing you scream and watching you cry as the officer whipped you; I do hope you put on as good a show for us tomorrow."

"But it's getting late, and I suppose I should let you get some rest before the big day tomorrow. Criminal # 88588, did you chain yourself securely to the post as you were ordered?" She raised her voice when she got no response. "You will answer me!"

Arthur's voice obscured none of the hatred he felt for the Major. "Yes officer."

"We will see, Criminal # 88588."

She inspected the lock in her usual way. With Arthur remaining in the kneeling position with his forehead to the ground, Major Drazetka grasped a section of chain above the lock and pulled upward with steady force until her victim couldn't breathe. "Stay in position Criminal # 88588," she warned while tapping him with the switch in her right hand. After a while her arm grew tired and she dropped the heavy chain on his back and left him gasping for air while she walked back to her office.

Arthur slammed his fist into the dirt in frustration, heaved the chain to the side, and leapt up. He could see his tormenter walking down the sidewalk in the distance, but there was nothing he could do about the guard, or the next day's beating; just wait for it to happen. Feeling absolutely powerless and alone he finally sat down and leaned against the post. His fingers felt a sharp corner in the sand. It was the note that Samantha had sent him; he unfolded it and read through it again.

He whispered to himself: "Not completely alone." After he re-buried the letter Arthur lay down and exhaustion overwhelmed him. He slept soundly that night.

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There were few words spoken at breakfast. Instead of the lively conversations that usually filled the mess hall in the morning, there was only the noise of a couple hundred workers eating: spoons scraping against aluminum trays, and cups set down on the tabletops. Arthur stood alone and leaned against the cinderblock wall. He wasn't allowed to sit with the rest of group 6. Arthur didn't feel hungry at all. He drank a mouthful of water and walked outside to the yard where the work crews gathered every morning.

Two of the six crews were already marching north toward the park. Arthur and the rest of group 6 dropped to their knees and waited. A young guard collected one of the ten-meter chains off the gatehouse wall and began locking it onto the criminal's collars. As soon as Arthur and nine other criminals were secured the eager guard marched them forward a bit faster than normal.