Page 41 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“When the rain made gullies in a trail near the prison, they called it the Death Path, they’d send us out to fill them in. It led to a cemetery about five kilometres from the prison, just past a wooded stretch. Families like to go for walks along that path on Sundays. They never go very far – not far enough to see the prison walls, but far enough to complain about the trail.

“Whenever we didn’t finish filling in the ruts on time, the guards would fly into a rage, because it meant they’d be late getting home. So they’d take four of us at a time on a little stroll while the rest waited in the bus.”

“Where to? What do you mean, ‘stroll’?”

“I’m getting to it. They’d tell us all we had to do was walk down the path. But a guard would grab one of us by the collar and slam us against the bus hood while the others kept walking, with a guard, into the woods. When they were far enough away, the guard would shout, ‘This son of a bitch kicked me!’ Excuse my language. Anyway, the son of a bitch would be marched over to join the others, they’d use a bullwhip to keep him moving. They always aimed for the lower back, takes the wind out of you. I saw one guy die from it. His kidneys burst.

“Then they’d make us all strip. Everything. Clothes, shoes, underwear. Threw it all in the woods. Then the treasure hunt would begin. We had to run, of course. We were supposed to find our clothes as fast as we could, while dodging the whip. Our bare feet got sliced up. And even if we did find everything, we weren’t allowed to get dressed. Instead we’d walk naked almost all the way back to the prison, and they’d park the bus so the headlights were aimed right at us, so all the guards and the other prisoners could see us, and they laughed and laughed at us. Our humiliation.”

“And that’s how your leg was injured?”

“Not exactly. It happened the night they chose me to be the son of a bitch. I was just so sick of the meaningless violence. I’d had enough, and I snapped. Kicked the bastard as hard as I could in the shin. He just stared at me for a second, in shock maybe, and then it turned into a full-on fight. The other guards heard him scream and rushed in. They made sure I paid. They knew my leg had been broken before, the Sergeant took particular pleasure in that. But at least the three other inmates were spared that night. My little rebellion earned me ten days in the infirmary and six months on crutches. The prison doctor wasn’t a bad guy, but he wasn’t a surgeon either. Did the best he could. The good thing about being in a cell was that I had plenty of time to do my rehabilitation exercises.”

“I’m so sorry, Mitch,” Anna whispered, her eyes full of tears.

“No reason for you to be.”

“Kicking that guard was suicide, though. You should have taken a breath, before working yourself up into a state like that.”

“I was already in that state. I stayed in that state the whole time I was locked up. I’m still in it. There’s only one thing I’ve thought about since I left: getting even with the man who put me there in the first place.”

“More than the guards who tortured you?”

“They exist in a world of violence. Most of the prisoners weren’t there for political reasons. I just landed in the wrong prison. But Salinas? He’s as privileged as they get. He’s educated, powerful, and cruel. He knew exactly what he was doing when he had me convicted. Didn’t even read the books I was charged with selling. I lost five years of my life over two goddamn books. I’ve tried to reason with myself. But the anger is overwhelming.”

Anna pulled the pencil from her hair and tapped it against the bench, a nervous habit. Her voice stayed cool, but Mitch’s story had roused a deep anger within her, too.

“So how exactly do you plan on getting your revenge, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The question surprised him. But he’d come this far, and he figured at this point there was no turning back.

“I’m telling you all this so you won’t think I’m just acting on impulse, or that I’ve gone mad. When I saw Salinas walk out of that courthouse, without a care in the world, all I wanted was to make him pay. At least I think that’s what I felt.”

“With this sort of thing,” Anna said, brushing a stray lock off her face, “you’d be better be sure.”

“Intentions are one thing, but acting on them is another. It’s like believing you’re the sort of person who’d jump into a river to save someone who’s drowning. But you can only be sure if you’re actually faced with the situation.”

“Have you jumped into a river to save someone?”

“No, and I’ve never killed anyone, either. So I guess that makes me pretty ordinary.”

“No, Mitch,” she said. “There’s nothing ordinary about you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“See? Even your questions are extraordinarily stupid.”

“Well, I almost went through with it this morning.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. Is that disappointing?”

Anna got up and paced a few steps, lost in thought. Then, her face brightened.

“Well, you may not be ill, but you’re contagious all the same. Alright, deal.”

“Deal?”