The Karma Credit Plan

"Hey!" he said.

"Hey."

To this day, I believe that Victor saved my life. I learned later that he was no saint, but right then he was definitely my savior.

The locals scurried around, eager to please him. As his new best friend, I found my toilet cleaning duties were immediately transferred to some other unlucky dude. Victor decided that we'd get the bunk bed in the smaller room, which was a bit separated from the main room. This was where the cell's nobility had resided and to my surprise, the former alpha males left their territory with strained smiles on their faces. I soon had access to the best food available (which was still pretty bad, but at least edible) and was generally treated with respect.

Victor soon ended the local tradition of extorting money from weaker prisoners, but didn't do away with the pecking order. I felt like a pig when I watched my successor at the bottom of the totem pole suffering, but to be honest, I had no compulsion to clean the toilet anymore and there just wasn't enough edible food for everyone. We remained a totally unequal society. I was just at the other end of the food chain, having taken the place of the guys I hated for doing that, before. Morally, I was on shaky ground, but my life was at least bearable this way.

Victor spoke the local language and ruled the cell undisputed. For some reason, he and I never talked about why we were in there. We talked a lot about the corrupt local government and justice system, and that was enough to imply that everyone in there had to be innocent. No one believed that, but we left it at that.

"What are you going to do?" he asked out of the blue. We had been busy with our usual occupation: staring at the opposite wall.

"What?" I still believe that the prison routine numbed most of my brain cells. I doubt that I would have been able to read a simple newspaper, even if one had been available. Hence, my answers were not exactly eloquent. Victor patiently explained.

"Simon, when you get out. What are you going to do first?"

"Get out? Vic, I'm in here for... hey, I don't even know how long. Shit..."

"What?"

"I have no idea how long I'm stuck in this shithole. Damn, that sucks."

"Yeah, it changes you, right?"

"Yeah. Vic, to be honest, I don't think that I'll ever get out of here," I answered in a dejected tone.

"Stop, Simon. Okay?" He turned around, looking appalled. "Of course, we're going to get out. Our embassy..."

"Vic, there is no embassy in this banana republic. We don't even have diplomatic relations with..."

"Simon," he interrupted me, looking me in the eyes. "Simon, I've always been lucky. I've always rolled sixes."

"Yeah, I know. For every guy rolling sixes there has to be a guy rolling ones. That would be me. Let's be honest, nobody gives a shit about me. If someone cared or wanted to get me out, it would have happened by now."

"Come on, these things take time down here. I bet someone is working on your release right now."

"Somehow, I really doubt that," I answered with a sad smile.

A local came slinking into our semi-separate private room and Victor just casually waved him away. He didn't just have the physique to do that, he also had the natural authority. Our private zone had no door and no separate toilet, but the wall separating it from the main room was a definite privilege.

"Okay, Simon. Just imagine you'd get out."

"Ah, Vic, don't tempt me. I don't even want to think about it, it might drive me crazy. I might start thinking about Christine, about what she might be doing right now. How lonely she must be, worried, desperate."

"Christine? Your wife?"

"Yeah."

"Pretty?"

"Vic, be realistic, look at me. I'm completely average."

"I have no idea about that, I'm not gay. Even if that's true, why shouldn't your wife be totally hot?"

"You know, there is this theory about the hotness of a normal couple being about equal."

"Haha, Simon, I don't give a damn about things like that. If I see a hot woman and I want her, I try to have her. I don't give a shit about rules. I want it, I take it."

I looked at him in wonder for a while and nodded. He was right. That was how he was. That was exactly how I wasn't. I had always been the shy unassuming artistic type. He had this can-do attitude, just taking what he wanted from life.

"So, you're married to an insanely hot woman, Vic?"

"I sure am," he smugly replied. "I'd show you a photo if I had one, but let me tell you, you'd be amazed."

"Wow." I totally believed him. He was exactly the kind of guy who got the really hot women. He was big, bold and confident.

"Simon, let's make a deal, okay?" He suddenly sounded very serious. "We will get out of here sooner or later."

I looked at him, skeptically. "You will, Vic, I'm sure. You will roll a six and just walk out."

"Nonsense. We will both get out. Get that into your over-skeptical head, man."

"Okay, let's for a moment assume we both get out."

"Right, that's the spirit. The first one to get out visits the other's wife, tells her what's going on and looks out for her. Okay? I'm a bit worried about my girl being all alone in the world, without me being there to protect her."

"Yeah, sure, why not." Easiest thing I ever had to promise. It would never happen anyway.

He looked unusually solemn as he held out his hand. I shook it.

Something was happening.

Everybody felt it. An outsider would have been totally oblivious, but after a few weeks, we could feel the prison as if it were an animal and we were trapped inside. We felt its pulse, heard its voice, smelled its odors.

The animal was tense. It was as if the whole prison braced for something.

Everything was way too silent. I peeked around the corner. No one in the main cell was uttering a single word. No one fought for the places at the small window in the cell door. Everyone cowered in the darkest corners. Cautiously, I returned to our smaller room. Even Vic's unquenchable optimism seemed affected and we exchanged nervous glances.

I pointed towards the main room and had just opened my mouth to say something when a loud boom interrupted me. Silence. Another boom. Impossible to tell which direction or how far away. Holy shit, something serious was going on and it hit me that this could very well my last day on Earth. Before Vic had saved me, this prospect would hardly have bothered me, but now that my life had become bearable, I felt like I had something to lose. I realized that if Vic was killed, my surviving might lead to nothing but a prolonged and painful death. The other inmates would release their aggressions on me the moment he was gone.

Gunfire. I was no expert, but even I knew that those were automatic weapons. I could hear men shouting and screaming.

Suddenly, something big crashed into the main cell from the outside. I was just about to peek around the corner when Vic pulled me backwards. He put a finger on his mouth to silence me. Guys in the main cell were suddenly shrieking and a loud boom shattered our abode, followed by another and another. Deathly silence followed.

Vic motioned me to follow him towards the main cell. I had no idea how he knew when it would be safe to check; maybe he just followed his intuition.

The main cell was pure horror. It seemed like an off-road vehicle had crashed through a wall into the cell. It was riddled with bullet holes and the bloodied remains of the windows told me everything I needed to know. I had no way of telling if the men inside had been guards or attackers and had no intention of finding out.

I was shocked. No one in the main cell escaped injury. A few were moaning in pain, but most were dead. Blood was everywhere. It looked like one of the more violent Tarantino scenes.

"Hand grenades," Vic whispered, and I nodded as if I had known that all along.

Vic stared at the hole in the wall that had been struck by the car.

"Shall we?" he asked, grinning. He gestured broadly with his hand as if he were inviting me in to a grand dining room or something. I just stood there and stared at him stupidly.

"I don't know, Vic. This isn't even an outer wall; it just leads to the courtyard. They will just shoot us on sight."

"Chicken. No risk no gain. Let's leave this shithole. Time to roll sixes, Simon." His eyes were shining. This was his moment. I, meanwhile, was deathly frightened, certain I was about to roll a one.

"Okay," I reluctantly said, just as we heard someone fumble with the cell door's lock.

"Shit, they're coming. Run, Simon. I'll keep this door closed. One of us has to do it and you can't survive in here without me."

"Vic..." I truly didn't know what to say. Vic, the daredevil, was offering to sacrifice himself for my escape? Before I could even say anything, he was blocking the heavy steel door's latch.

"Just go, you idiot. Eat a nice steak for me. Go fuck your girl. Tell my wife that I love her. Go!"

The last I saw of him was his usual grin. I turned around and jumped through the gap. I felt sad. I had just left behind only true friend I'd ever had in life. It wouldn't matter in the long run, though, as we would probably both die there.

The light outside was blinding after months in the dark stifling cell. The wind and fresh air were almost dizzying. I had to move, though, if I wanted to enjoy such sensations for more than a few seconds. I ran towards the next building, trying to ignore the corpses that were strewn all over the courtyard. I couldn't climb the fence, so looking for an exit through the guard house seemed to be the only option.

Luckily, the guard house in question was deserted. One of the walls was completely gone, but there were no corpses inside. Without knowing what exactly I was looking for, I checked the back room.

All the questions I didn't even have were answered at once.

I saw what this fight was about. I understood why I had been arrested. I even suspected why they had built the prison in this backwater: close to the border.

On a table were loads of plastic wrapped packages containing a white powder, and I had a distinct feeling that it wasn't baking powder. There was some sort of microscope, a small leather pouch, a black cloth and a shockingly large pile of what looked like diamonds on top of it. This was no jailbreak; this was a drug war.

At the back wall was a rack and something completely alien looked at me. It was a thing from a different world and it clearly didn't belong in there. My backpack. I quickly grabbed it and turned around to get out of there. On a whim, I folded up the cloth with the diamonds inside, packed them into the leather pouch and took it, as well.

The shooting had started again and I sincerely hoped that it wasn't Vic who was being shot at. I guessed it wasn't him; this sounded more like a fierce, ongoing firefight.

I left the small building and turned towards the main gate. To my amazement, it had been completely blown away. An off-road vehicle was peacefully burning in front of it. There was not a soul to be seen. I passed through the gate, ran over the mud road and into the jungle.

I mindlessly ran deeper into the forest for a while before I stopped, caught my breath and checked my backpack. Amazingly, everything was still there. My passport, my MRE packs, a few soft drinks, my hidden money stash, hell, even my cell phone and my money were still there. This had never been about theft. My arrest had been about eliminating competition in the drug business. My money was peanuts for them, anyway. Out of mere paranoia, I wanted to switch off my cell phone, but the battery was dead anyway.

Before I had been thrown into that hell hole, I had come to dislike the jungle. Now it had turned into my friend. It would hide me if I stayed away from the roads. I thought I could make it to the border without a problem. Once I had crossed it, I would be safe. I had more than enough money to make my way back home. I hid the diamonds in my backpack as well as I could and got on my way, thinking about my friend Vic behind me and hoping he was okay. I felt incredibly guilty, but there was nothing I could do for him now.

There it was. It looked almost exactly the same. It was totally familiar, yet weirdly alien: my house. Her car was in the driveway, so I knew that my wife would be inside. I felt some excitement, but I was also anxious. I had no idea what kind of reunion I was about to experience.

Why had I never heard from her? Had she even bothered to try to save me? Had she even been thinking about me? All those thoughts that I had pushed out of my head for 15 months to cling to some kind of sanity were now rushing in with a vengeance.

I just stood in front of my own house, unable to move, to make up my mind, to do anything. I had imagined this scene so many times, and it was always something like me riding in on a white horse amid a victory parade with fireworks, my beloved wife waiting for me, overjoyed to have me back. Looking around, it seemed that the reality was bit more mundane.

I tried to stall, not knowing what else to do, and looked around. This should feel like home. I knew this street, the ugly garbage cans, the pale green street light posts, the cracked pavement. All of this should have been as familiar as anything could be, yet for some reason seemed so unreal and strange. The air was too dry and lifeless, without any scent; the colors were too muted, the temperature was too chilly, everything was so absurdly clean, yet ugly.

The house in front of me had been my home for years, but I felt like a stranger. Fifteen months in a third world hellhole had changed me, that much was certain. I avoided the question of whether I really wanted to be there, as I had the feeling that I might not like the answer.

Just to get it over with and because it seemed the right thing to do, I rang the doorbell.

The door opened and there she was: Christine, my wife. She seemed to be absolutely unchanged. I never saw it before, but the term "typical satiated first world wife" sprang to my mind. I expected to see joy, happiness, relief. I saw none of those. What I saw instead was pure shock. This was not what I had looked forward to. Wordlessly, we just looked at each other for what felt like 10 years.

"Simon," she stated in a neutral tone, in case I had forgotten my own name, or maybe she had.

Not the most eloquent thing to say, but still loquacious compared to my reaction. I was busy coping with my disappointment. She definitely didn't seem happy to see her long lost husband. To make things worse, a man appeared behind her and he sure looked like he lived there.

No one asked me in, so I continued to stand there like some inconvenient surprise visitor, disturbing a happy couple in their home. This was certainly not the happy reunion I had imagined.

"Christine," I finally managed to answer, just as dumbly.

This seemed to break the stupor.

"I'm sorry, Simon, please come in," she formally said.

"Thank you." What a ridiculous conversation between a married couple at the entrance of their own house!

The whole reception would have been just as warm if I had been a Jehovah's Witness, except I'd have had more to say. I didn't know the details yet, but I already knew that Christine and I were history. I just couldn't decide what I felt about it.

I followed them into the living room. My living room, to be specific. It still looked like it had when I had left.

"Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, Christine, but isn't this technically my house as well?"

She was clearly surprised by my question.

"Wherever you've been, whatever you've done, you have changed, Simon." Her tone was weirdly emotionless, given the situation. She had taken the place on the sofa next to the other man. They were holding hands as if to give each other strength. That simple gesture annoyed me. Christine saw this, but defiantly tightened her grip. "You seem harder. You have lost a lot of weight."

That was it? Those were the first real sentences my concerned wife had to say upon the arrival of her long-lost husband? No curiosity about where I had been, how I was?

"You are right." I tried to keep my voice as emotionless as hers had been. "You seem to have gained a bit meanwhile. I'd say about a hundred and twenty kilos," I said while pointing at the flabby mass of flesh next to her.

"Simon, I fully understand that this must be surprising to you, but there's no need for insults."

"That's all you have to tell me?"

She sighed, but looked determined to get it over with.

"Simon, I'll try to make this simple. We are not married anymore. Try to imagine how I felt, for once. You vanished without a word. You never considered my feelings, my confusion, my loneliness." She was slowly gaining steam, now that she was talking about herself and her own suffering.

"Did you contact anyone about my disappearance?"

"What?" She seemed clearly surprised. Shit, I thought, this explained why nobody had tried to get me out of there. "Why should I? You simply announced that you'd spend a long vacation without me in some tropical hinterland to discover their cooking secrets. Did you ever think about contacting me? How do you imagine I felt when you just abandoned me without a thought?"

Who was this woman? Had she always been that self-centered? Was it even worthwhile to discuss things with her, to reveal the truth? I felt utter disappointment, but it was not about my cold reception, anymore. It was about discovering the truth about the person she was, or had turned out to be.

"After I hadn't heard from you in an eternity, I was starting to fall apart. You deeply hurt my sense of self-worth. How could you just abandon me that easily? Didn't you love me at all? The whole situation was tearing me apart; you can't imagine how much I suffered. I felt so lonely and powerless," she explained and seemed ready to dissolve into tears of self-pity. Really, I thought? Had she always been this way? Has she changed this quickly or had I always managed to ignore how ugly she was on the inside?

"Finally, my therapist advised me to move on with my life. Just on cue, Philipp came into my life as a god-send."

She turned to look him in the eyes affectionately and squeezed his hands again. The sight was sickening, as it was clearly done for my benefit.

"So now you come back, waltzing into my life again and expect nothing has changed? Well, I have news for you, Mister Disappearance. We are not married anymore. I divorced you for exactly the appropriate reason: abandonment. This house was mine before we married, anyway. The split was extremely uncomplicated."

"How long did you manage to hold out before dumping me?"

"Almost ten weeks. Those were the worst ten weeks of my whole life," she whined.

"I'm deeply appreciative that you held out for that long."

"Simon, there is no need to be sarcastic. It was you who abandoned me, not the other way around."

I waited for any sign of interest in what had happened to me, but none came.

"You never really respected me, did you?"

My soft tone and the sudden change of subject seemed to surprise her a bit.

"Simon, you are a handsome man. Physically, you are way out of my league." I started to object, but she cut me off. "Don't deny it. The problem is, women look for other things in men when it comes to long term relationships."

"You're talking about money?"

"Money, jobs, social status, influence. Call it whatever you want. You never amounted to anything. What was even worse was your total lack of ambition. You had nothing and seemed content with that. There was no hope you'd ever change."

"You know damn well that it's not easy to get ahead as a chef," I answered, but internally I admitted that she was right. I didn't need the things that now seemed so important to her.