called in situations like this. I’ll call the consulate, she thought. They’ll help me. This will all work out somehow.
Guards came to break up the fight, barking commands, slapping truncheons against the iron bars. The woman on the bench stirred again, spoke a few words seemingly in her sleep, and turned over to face the wall.
I have to drink something, Michelle thought. Her mouth felt as if the surfaces had been coated with glue. She stood up, tried to stretch out the cramps in her legs and back, and approached the water bottle.
Don’t think about it, she told herself as she tilted the bottle and filled the communal cup. I’ll just have to get a gamma globulin shot after I get out of here. Better that than passing out from dehydration.
After that she thought she might as well pee. Don’t even look, she thought. Just go and get it over with. She squatted over thetoilet, the backs of her thighs skimming the seat, willing her bladder to let go while she held the pose.
In the cell across the way, the young man had come back to press his face against the bars, watching her.
“Fuck off!” she spit, surprising herself.
The young man laughed and kept watching.
Whatever, she thought. What difference did it make at this point?
When she finished, she went back to her place against the wall, as far from the toilet as possible. She lay on the concrete floor on her side, head resting on her arm, and closed her eyes.
She didn’t sleep—that was impossible. But she dozed, on and off. The murmurs of the woman on the bench, the laughs and cursing of the men in the cell across the way, all combined into a dream-narrative soundtrack that could not be precisely translated to waking life.
By midmorning even that poor half sleep was out of the question. The temperature in the cell rose steadily, the stink from the vomit and the toilet given fresh potency by the heat.
They took the other woman out of the cell around lunch, whatever time that was. Lunch was beans and tortillas and a Coke.
“When can I use the telephone?” Michelle asked. “ Teléfono . I want to talk to the American consulate.”
“Ahora no. Espérate.”
“I have been in this cell for an entire day—”
She stopped herself.
Don’t scream. Don’t yell. Don’t cry.
She took a few deep breaths, like she’d do in yoga class. “When do I get to make a phone call?”
“Sorry, señora. Soon.”
A few more hours went by. They brought a couple of women into the cell, a beach vendor who’d gotten busted for selling trinkets without a license and a college student from Canada.
“Oh, my God,” the college student kept saying. “Oh, my God.It was just a fender bender. I mean, that was all it was. And they put me in jail ?”
Obviously yes, Michelle thought, but she didn’t say that, just shook her head and made sympathetic noises. “Things are a little different here.”
“Oh, my God, I can’t believe this.” The student started sobbing. “What … what happens next?”
A very good question as well.
Around sunset a guard called Michelle’s name.
Finally, she thought, following him down the corridor. And then, Great . It had to be nearly 8:00 P.M . Would anyone even be at the consulate? What was she supposed to do, leave a voicemail?
The guard led her out of the cells, past the iron bars that separated them from the administration area, to the small green-and-beige lobby that was the gateway to the outside world.
Gary sat on a wooden bench against the wall, texting on his BlackBerry. Seeing her, he rose.
“Michelle, hey.” He crossed the room and rested his hands on her shoulders. “How’re you doing?”
She flinched. She didn’t know Gary, but she didn’t think she wanted his hands on her. “I’m okay. Why—”
“First things first. Let’s get you out of here.”
He cupped her elbow, fingers pressing against the back of her arm, guiding her toward the door.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain in the
Guards came to break up the fight, barking commands, slapping truncheons against the iron bars. The woman on the bench stirred again, spoke a few words seemingly in her sleep, and turned over to face the wall.
I have to drink something, Michelle thought. Her mouth felt as if the surfaces had been coated with glue. She stood up, tried to stretch out the cramps in her legs and back, and approached the water bottle.
Don’t think about it, she told herself as she tilted the bottle and filled the communal cup. I’ll just have to get a gamma globulin shot after I get out of here. Better that than passing out from dehydration.
After that she thought she might as well pee. Don’t even look, she thought. Just go and get it over with. She squatted over thetoilet, the backs of her thighs skimming the seat, willing her bladder to let go while she held the pose.
In the cell across the way, the young man had come back to press his face against the bars, watching her.
“Fuck off!” she spit, surprising herself.
The young man laughed and kept watching.
Whatever, she thought. What difference did it make at this point?
When she finished, she went back to her place against the wall, as far from the toilet as possible. She lay on the concrete floor on her side, head resting on her arm, and closed her eyes.
She didn’t sleep—that was impossible. But she dozed, on and off. The murmurs of the woman on the bench, the laughs and cursing of the men in the cell across the way, all combined into a dream-narrative soundtrack that could not be precisely translated to waking life.
By midmorning even that poor half sleep was out of the question. The temperature in the cell rose steadily, the stink from the vomit and the toilet given fresh potency by the heat.
They took the other woman out of the cell around lunch, whatever time that was. Lunch was beans and tortillas and a Coke.
“When can I use the telephone?” Michelle asked. “ Teléfono . I want to talk to the American consulate.”
“Ahora no. Espérate.”
“I have been in this cell for an entire day—”
She stopped herself.
Don’t scream. Don’t yell. Don’t cry.
She took a few deep breaths, like she’d do in yoga class. “When do I get to make a phone call?”
“Sorry, señora. Soon.”
A few more hours went by. They brought a couple of women into the cell, a beach vendor who’d gotten busted for selling trinkets without a license and a college student from Canada.
“Oh, my God,” the college student kept saying. “Oh, my God.It was just a fender bender. I mean, that was all it was. And they put me in jail ?”
Obviously yes, Michelle thought, but she didn’t say that, just shook her head and made sympathetic noises. “Things are a little different here.”
“Oh, my God, I can’t believe this.” The student started sobbing. “What … what happens next?”
A very good question as well.
Around sunset a guard called Michelle’s name.
Finally, she thought, following him down the corridor. And then, Great . It had to be nearly 8:00 P.M . Would anyone even be at the consulate? What was she supposed to do, leave a voicemail?
The guard led her out of the cells, past the iron bars that separated them from the administration area, to the small green-and-beige lobby that was the gateway to the outside world.
Gary sat on a wooden bench against the wall, texting on his BlackBerry. Seeing her, he rose.
“Michelle, hey.” He crossed the room and rested his hands on her shoulders. “How’re you doing?”
She flinched. She didn’t know Gary, but she didn’t think she wanted his hands on her. “I’m okay. Why—”
“First things first. Let’s get you out of here.”
He cupped her elbow, fingers pressing against the back of her arm, guiding her toward the door.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain in the
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