FRATE PETI
1. Scola · 2. Esplode · 3. Aresta · 4. Prison · 5. Paranoia · 6. Rede X · 7. Spleno-Porco · 8. Paradox · 9. Furgon · 10. Claves · 11. Slogan
12. Conserta · 13. Jornales · 14. Bitnic · 15. Enrolada · 16. Reportor · 17. Tuneli · 18. Juas · 19. Vampires · 20. Tortura · 21. Judi · Epilogo

4. Prison

Mostra ance la testo orijinal

Los ia recadeni me e ia repone mea saco e ia lasa me ala. Pos un tempo longa, la camion ia comensa move, rolante a su, e pos acel on ia tira me a sur mea pedes denova. Me ia colasa instante. Mea gamas ia es tan nonsensante ce los ia pare como blocos de jelo, estra sola mea jenos, cual ia es inflada e sensosa pos tota la oras de ajena.

They re-shackled and re-hooded me and left me there. A long time later, the truck started to move, rolling downhill, and then I was hauled back to my feet. I immediately fell over. My legs were so asleep they felt like blocks of ice, all except my knees, which were swollen and tender from all the hours of kneeling.

Manos ia saisi mea spalas e pedes e me ia es levada como un saco de patatas. Me ia oia voses nonclar sirca me. Algun plorante. Algun blasfemante.

Hands grabbed my shoulders and feet and I was picked up like a sack of potatoes. There were indistinct voices around me. Someone crying. Someone cursing.

On ia porta me tra un distantia corta, ante depone me e recadeni me a un plu rel. Mea jenos no ia pote plu suporta me e me ia cade a ante, fininte sur la tera con la forma torseda de un bretsel, tirante contra la cadenas teninte mea polsos.

I was carried a short distance, then set down and re-shackled to another railing. My knees wouldn’t support me anymore and I pitched forward, ending up twisted on the ground like a pretzel, straining against the chains holding my wrists.

Alora nos ia move denova, e a esta ves, lo no ia pare como viaja en camion. La solo su me ia balansi blanda e ia vibra par motores pesosa de gasolio, e me ia comprende ce me es sur un barcon! Mea stomaco ia jela. On ia es prendente me de la tera american a alga otra loca, e ci de enferno ta sabe a do? Me ia es asustada a ante, ma esta pensa ia terori me, lasante me en un paralise silente de teme. Me ia comprende ce cisa me va revide nunca mea jenitores e me ia senti an la arde de un pico de vomita en mea garga. La saco supra mea testa ia enclui plu e me ia pote apena respira, un situa cual ia es malida par la posa strana en cual me ia es torseda.

Then we were moving again, and this time, it wasn’t like driving in a truck. The floor beneath me rocked gently and vibrated with heavy diesel engines and I realized I was on a ship! My stomach turned to ice. I was being taken off America’s shores to somewhere else, and who the hell knew where that was? I’d been scared before, but this thought terrified me, left me paralyzed and wordless with fear. I realized that I might never see my parents again and I actually tasted a little vomit burn up my throat. The bag over my head closed in on me and I could barely breathe, something that was compounded by the weird position I was twisted into.

Ma, grasiable, nos no ia resta longa sur la acua. Lo ia pare como un ora, ma me sabe aora ce lo ia es mera des-sinco minutos, e pos acel me ia sensa nosa ariva a doca, ia sensa pasos sur la solo sirca me, e ia sensa ce otra prisonidas es descadenida e portada o gidada a via. Cuando los ia veni per me, me ia atenta sta denova, ma no ia pote, e denova los ia porta me, nonpersonal, bruta.

But mercifully we weren’t on the water for very long. It felt like an hour, but I know now that it was a mere fifteen minutes, and then I felt us docking, felt footsteps on the decking around me and felt other prisoners being unshackled and carried or led away. When they came for me, I tried to stand again, but couldn’t, and they carried me again, impersonally, roughly.

Cuando los ia desapone denova la saco, me ia es en un selula.

When they took the hood off again, I was in a cell.

La selula ia es vea e gastada, e ia odori como aira de mar. Lo ia ave un fenetra, alta, e baras osidida ia garda lo. Lo ia es ancora oscur a estra. Un covreleto ia es sur la solo e un vason peti de metal, sin seja, fisada en la mur. La gardor ci ia desapone mea saco ia fa un surion a me e ia clui pos se la porte de aser solida.

The cell was old and crumbled, and smelled of sea air. There was one window high up, and rusted bars guarded it. It was still dark outside. There was a blanket on the floor and a little metal toilet without a seat, set into the wall. The guard who took off my hood grinned at me and closed the solid steel door behind him.

Me ia masaje delicata mea gamas, sisante cuando la sangue ia reveni a los e a mea manos. Ultima, me ia pote sta, e, pos esta, fa pasos. Me ia oia otra persones parlante, plorante, criante. Ance me ia fa alga crias: “Jolu! Darryl! Vanessa!” Otra voses en la bloco de selulas ia adota la cria, ance esclamante nomes, esclamante parolas osena. La voses la plu prosima ia sona como enebriadas loco a un canto. Cisa ance me ia sona tal.

I gently massaged my legs, hissing as the blood came back into them and into my hands. Eventually I was able to stand, and then to pace. I heard other people talking, crying, shouting. I did some shouting too: “Jolu! Darryl! Vanessa!” Other voices on the cell-block took up the cry, shouting out names, too, shouting out obscenities. The nearest voices sounded like drunks losing their minds on a street-corner. Maybe I sounded like that too.

Gardores ia cria comandas ce nos silenti, e esta ia fa sola ce cadun ruji plu forte. Final, tota nos ia es ululante, xiliante par pulmones plen, xiliante asta dole de garga. Perce no? Como nos ta perde?

Guards shouted at us to be quiet and that just made everyone yell louder. Eventually we were all howling, screaming our heads off, screaming our throats raw. Why not? What did we have to lose?

A la ves seguente cuando los ia veni per interoga me, me ia es mugrosa e fatigada, side e fame. Fem de Capeles Sever ia es entre la interogores nova, como ance tre omes grande ci ia transporta me como un talia de carne. Un ia es negra, la otra du ia es blanca, an si un ia es cisa latina. Tota los ia porta pistoles. Lo ia es como un ibride de un comersial per Benneton e un jua de Counter-Strike.

The next time they came to question me, I was filthy and tired, thirsty and hungry. Severe haircut lady was in the new questioning party, as were three big guys who moved me around like a cut of meat. One was black, the other two were white, though one might have been hispanic. They all carried guns. It was like a Benneton’s ad crossed with a game of Counter-Strike.

Los ia prende me de mea selula e ia cadeni mea polsos e talos en junta. Me ia atende mea ambiente en cuando nos ia vade. Me ia oia acua a estra e ia pensa ce cisa nos es sur Alcatraz – lo ia es un prison, en fato, an si lo es ja un atrae per turistes tra jeneras, la loca do on vade per vide do Al Capone e sua gangsteres contempora ia pasa sua tempo de puni. Ma me ia vade a Alcatraz en un visita scolal. Lo ia es vea e osidida, medieval. Esta loca ia pare como si lo ia orijina en la Gera Mundal Du, no en la eda colonial.

They’d taken me from my cell and chained my wrists and ankles together. I paid attention to my surroundings as we went. I heard water outside and thought that maybe we were on Alcatraz – it was a prison, after all, even if it had been a tourist attraction for generations, the place where you went to see where Al Capone and his gangster contemporaries did their time. But I’d been to Alcatraz on a school trip. It was old and rusted, medieval. This place felt like it dated back to World War Two, not colonial times.

On ia ave codigos de baras, primida par laser sur eticetas e fisada a cada de la portes de selula, e numeros, ma estra esta, on ia ave no modo de sabe cual person o cosa es pos los.

There were bar-codes laser-printed on stickers and placed on each of the cell-doors, and numbers, but other than that, there was no way to tell who or what might be behind them.

La sala de interoga ia es moderna, con lampas fluoresente, sejas ergonomial – no per me, an tal: me ia ave un seja pliable de jardin en plastica – e un table grande de comiteria en lenio. Un miror ia fore un mur, esata como en la televisadas de polisia, e me ia suposa sin duta ce esta-o-acel person regarda de pos lo. Fem de Capeles Sever e sua amis ia servi cafes a se de un vaso sur un table ladal (me ia vole aranca la garga de el en mea dentes e prende sua cafe a acel momento), e pos esta, los ia pone acua en un copa de polistiren a mea lado – sin relasa mea polsos de pos mea dorso, donce me no ia pote ateni lo. Ha ha, hi hi.

The interrogation room was modern, with fluorescent lights, ergonomic chairs – not for me, though, I got a folding plastic garden-chair – and a big wooden board-room table. A mirror lined one wall, just like in the cop shows, and I figured someone or other must be watching from behind it. Severe haircut lady and her friends helped themselves to coffees from an urn on a side-table (I could have torn her throat out with my teeth and taken her coffee just then), and then set a styrofoam cup of water down next to me – without unlocking my wrists from behind my back, so I couldn’t reach it. Hardy har har.

“Alo, Marcus.” – Fem de Capeles Sever ia dise. “Como tua disposa vade oji?”

“Hello, Marcus,” Severe Haircut woman said. “How’s your ‘tude doing today?”

Me ia dise no cosa.

I didn’t say anything.

“Esta no es la plu mal cual va aveni, sabe.” – el ia dise. “Esta es la plu bon cual va aveni de aora. An pos cuando tu dise a nos lo cual nos vole sabe, an si esta convinse nos ce tu ia es mera en mal loca a mal tempo, tu es aora un om marcada. Nos va oserva tu cuando tu vade a cualce loca o fa cualce cosa. Tu ia condui como si tu ave un secreta, e nos no gusta acel.”

“This isn’t as bad as it gets you know,” she said. “This is as good as it gets from now on. Even once you tell us what we want to know, even if that convinces us that you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, you’re a marked man now. We’ll be watching you everywhere you go and everything you do. You’ve acted like you’ve got something to hide, and we don’t like that.”

Lo es misera, ma mea serebro ia pote pensa sur no cosa otra ca acel espresa: “convinse nos ce tu ia es en mal loca a mal tempo”. Esta ia es la cosa la plu mal cual ia aveni a me en la vive. Nunca de sempre, me ia senti tan mal o tan asustada a ante. Acel parolas, “en mal loca a mal tempo”, acel ses parolas, los ia es como un corda de salva, pendente ante me ci luta per evita afonda.

It’s pathetic, but all my brain could think about was that phrase, “convince us that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” This was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I had never, ever felt this bad or this scared before. Those words, “wrong place at the wrong time,” those six words, they were like a lifeline dangling before me as I thrashed to stay on the surface.

“Alo, Marcus?” El ia clica sua ditos ante mea fas. “Asi, Marcus.” El ia ave un surie peti a sua fas e me ia odia ce me ia permete ce el vide mea teme. “Marcus, lo pote deveni multe plu mal ca esta. Esta no es la loca la plu mal do nos pote pone tu, an no prosima a lo.” El ia estende sua braso su la table e ia reveni con un portafolio, cual el ia abri con un clica. De lo, el ia retira mea telefon, mea xutador-clonador de radioeticetas, mea detetador Wi-Fi e mea memorias de pox. El ia pone los sur la table, la un pos la otra.

“Hello, Marcus?” she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Over here, Marcus.” There was a little smile on her face and I hated myself for letting her see my fear. “Marcus, it can be a lot worse than this. This isn’t the worst place we can put you, not by a damned sight.” She reached down below the table and came out with a briefcase, which she snapped open. From it, she withdrew my phone, my arphid sniper/cloner, my wifinder, and my memory keys. She set them down on the table one after the other.

“Asi es lo cual nos vole de tu. Ta ce tu desclavi oji la telefon per nos. Si tu fa esta, tu va reseta beneficas de patio e banio. Tu va duxi tu e nos va permete ce tu pasea sirca la patio de eserse. Doman, nos va trae tu asi denova e demanda ce tu desifri la datos en esta memorias de pox. Pos fa esta, tu va ave la direto de come en la comeria. A la dia seguente, nos va vole tua claves de eposta, e tal tu va oteni beneficas de biblioteca.”

“Here’s what we want from you. You unlock the phone for us today. If you do that, you’ll get outdoor and bathing privileges. You’ll get a shower and you’ll be allowed to walk around in the exercise yard. Tomorrow, we’ll bring you back and ask you to decrypt the data on these memory sticks. Do that, and you’ll get to eat in the mess hall. The day after, we’re going to want your email passwords, and that will get you library privileges.”

La parola “no” ia es a mea labios, como un ruta cual atenta emete se, ma lo ia refusa emerji. “Perce?” es lo cual ia emerji en loca.

The word “no” was on my lips, like a burp trying to come up, but it wouldn’t come. “Why?” is what came out instead.

“Nos vole es serta ce tu es lo cual tu pare es. Esta conserna tua securia, Marcus. Cisa tu es inosente. Lo es posible, an si me no pote imajina perce un om inosente ta condui como si el asconde tan multe secretas. Ma cisa tu es: tu ia ta pote es sur acel ponte cuando lo ia esplode. Tua jenitores ia ta pote. Tua amis. Esce tu no desira ce nos catura la persones ci ia ataca tua abita?”

“We want to be sure that you’re what you seem to be. This is about your security, Marcus. Say you’re innocent. You might be, though why an innocent man would act like he’s got so much to hide is beyond me. But say you are: you could have been on that bridge when it blew. Your parents could have been. Your friends. Don’t you want us to catch the people who attacked your home?”

Lo es strana, ma cuando el ia parla sur mea reseta de “beneficas”, lo ia asusta me a sede. Me ia senti como si me ia fa alga cosa per fini en esta loca, como si me es cisa partal culpable, como si me pote fa alga cosa per cambia lo.

It’s funny, but when she was talking about my getting “privileges” it scared me into submission. I felt like I’d done something to end up where I was, like maybe it was partially my fault, like I could do something to change it.

Ma direta cuando el ia comensa dise esta caca sur “securia”, mea coraje ia reveni. “Seniora,” – me ia dise – “tu parla sur atacas contra mea abita, ma cuanto me pote comprende lo, vos es la solas ci ia ataca resente me. Me ia crede ce me abita en un pais con un constitui. Me ia crede ce me abita en un pais do me ave diretos. Tu parla sur defende mea libria par trinxa la Declara de Diretos.”

But as soon as she switched to this BS about “safety” and “security,” my spine came back. “Lady,” I said, “you’re talking about attacking my home, but as far as I can tell, you’re the only one who’s attacked me lately. I thought I lived in a country with a constitution. I thought I lived in a country where I had rights. You’re talking about defending my freedom by tearing up the Bill of Rights.”

Un espresa de irita ia pasa rapida tra sua fas, ante desapare. “Tan melodramosa, Marcus. Nun ia ataca tu. Tu es detenida par la governa de tua pais en cuando nos xerca detalias sur la ataca teroriste la plu grave realida de sempre sur la tera de nosa nasion. Tu ave la potia de aida nos a combate esta gera contra la enemis de nosa nasion. Tu vole conserva la Declara de Diretos? Aida nos a preveni ce persones vil esplode tua site. Bon, tu ave esata tredes secondos per desclavi esta telefon, ante cuando me va reenvia tu a tua selula. Nos debe intervisa multe otra persones oji.”

A flicker of annoyance passed over her face, then went away. “So melodramatic, Marcus. No one’s attacked you. You’ve been detained by your country’s government while we seek details on the worst terrorist attack ever perpetrated on our nation’s soil. You have it within your power to help us fight this war on our nation’s enemies. You want to preserve the Bill of Rights? Help us stop bad people from blowing up your city. Now, you have exactly thirty seconds to unlock that phone before I send you back to your cell. We have lots of other people to interview today.”

El ia regarda sua orolojo. Me ia clace mea polsos, ia clace la cadenas cual ia preveni me de estende mea mano e desclavi la telefon. Si, me va fa lo. El ia informa me sur mea via a libria – a la mundo, a mea jenitores – e esta ia dona espera a me. Aora el ia menasa reenvia me, prende me de sur acel via, e mea espera ia cade e me ia pote pensa sola a modos de reveni a la via.

She looked at her watch. I rattled my wrists, rattled the chains that kept me from reaching around and unlocking the phone. Yes, I was going to do it. She’d told me what my path was to freedom – to the world, to my parents – and that had given me hope. Now she’d threatened to send me away, to take me off that path, and my hope had crashed and all I could think of was how to get back on it.

Donce me ia clace mea polsos, desirante ateni mea telefon e desclavi lo per el, e el ia fa no plu ca regarda me sin zelo, oservante sua orolojeta.

So I rattled my wrists, wanting to get to my phone and unlock it for her, and she just looked at me coldly, checking her watch.

“La clave.” – me ia dise, final comprendente lo cual el vole de me. El vole ce me dise lo a vose, asi, do el pote rejistra lo, do sua cameradas pote oia lo. El no vole mera ce me desclavi la telefon. El vole ce me sede a el. Ce me permete el a controla me. Ce me revela cada secreta, tota mea privatia. “La clave.” – me ia dise denova, e alora me ia dise a el la clave. Ta ce Dio aida me, ma me ia sede a sua vole.

“The password,” I said, finally understanding what she wanted of me. She wanted me to say it out loud, here, where she could record it, where her pals could hear it. She didn’t want me to just unlock the phone. She wanted me to submit to her. To put her in charge of me. To give up every secret, all my privacy. “The password,” I said again, and then I told her the password. God help me, I submitted to her will.

El ia fa un surie peti e formal, cual ia coresponde clar en esta rea de jelo a un dansa de vinse pos un gol, e la gardores ia gida me a via. En cuando la porte ia clui, me ia vide ce el apoia supra la telefon e entra la clave.

She smiled a little prim smile, which had to be her ice-queen equivalent of a touchdown dance, and the guards led me away. As the door closed, I saw her bend down over the phone and key the password in.

Me ta desira pote dise ce me ia previde esta posible a ante, e ia crea un clave falsa cual abri un divide completa nonperilinte en mea telefon, ma me no ia es an cuasi tan paranoica/astuta.

I wish I could say that I’d anticipated this possibility in advance and created a fake password that unlocked a completely innocuous partition on my phone, but I wasn’t nearly that paranoid/clever.

Cisa tu vole sabe aora cual secretas oscur me ia ave clavida en mea telefon e memorias de pox e eposta. Me es mera un enfante, an pos tota.

You might be wondering at this point what dark secrets I had locked away on my phone and memory sticks and email. I’m just a kid, after all.

La vera es ce me ia asconde tota cosas, e no cosas. Combinante mea telefon e mea memorias de pox, on ta pote oteni un idea sufisinte bon sur ci es mea amis, como me opina sur los, tota la atas bobo cual nos ia fa. On ta pote leje la transcrives de la disputas eletronical cual nos ia fa e la reconsilias eletronical a cual nos ia ariva.

The truth is that I had everything to hide, and nothing. Between my phone and my memory sticks, you could get a pretty good idea of who my friends were, what I thought of them, all the goofy things we’d done. You could read the transcripts of the electronic arguments we’d carried out and the electronic reconciliations we’d arrived at.

Comprende, me no dejeta cosas. Perce me ta dejeta? Portadatos es barata, e on sabe nunca esce on va vole revade a acel cosas. Spesial la cosas stupida. Tu conose acel senti cual veni a veses cuando on senta en la metro e on ave no person con ci on pote parla, e on recorda subita alga disputa amarga cual on ia fa, alga cosa xocante cual on ia dise? Ma jeneral, lo es nunca tan mal como on recorda. La capasia de revade e revide lo es un modo eselente de remente se ce on no es un person tan repulsante como on pensa. Darryl e me ia survive en acel manera plu disputas ca me pote conta.

You see, I don’t delete stuff. Why would I? Storage is cheap, and you never know when you’re going to want to go back to that stuff. Especially the stupid stuff. You know that feeling you get sometimes where you’re sitting on the subway and there’s no one to talk to and you suddenly remember some bitter fight you had, some terrible thing you said? Well, it’s usually never as bad as you remember. Being able to go back and see it again is a great way to remind yourself that you’re not as horrible a person as you think you are. Darryl and I have gotten over more fights that way than I can count.

E an esta no es tota. Me sabe ce mea telefon es privata. Me sabe ce mea memorias de pox es privata. Esta es par causa de criptografia – la sifri de mesajes. La matematica de sifras es bon e solida, e tu e me pote asede la mesma sifras usada par bancos e la Ajenteria Nasional de Securia. Sola un spesie de criptografia es vasta usada: sifras cual es publica, abrida e usable par cualcun. Tal on sabe ce los funsiona.

And even that’s not it. I know my phone is private. I know my memory sticks are private. That’s because of cryptography – message scrambling. The math behind crypto is good and solid, and you and me get access to the same crypto that banks and the National Security Agency use. There’s only one kind of crypto that anyone uses: crypto that’s public, open and can be deployed by anyone. That’s how you know it works.

Un cualia vera librinte esiste si on ave alga angulo de sua vive cual es sua propre, cual no otra person es permeteda a vide. Lo es alga simil a nudia o feci. Cadun es nuda de ves a ves. Cadun debe acrupi sur la vason. On ave no cosa vergoniosa, deviante o strana o en la un o en la otra. An tal, si me ta comanda ce de aora, sempre cuando on vole depone un escrete solida, on debe fa lo en un sala de vitro, perxida a media de Times Square, esente completa nuda?

There’s something really liberating about having some corner of your life that’s yours, that no one gets to see except you. It’s a little like nudity or taking a dump. Everyone gets naked every once in a while. Everyone has to squat on the toilet. There’s nothing shameful, deviant or weird about either of them. But what if I decreed that from now on, every time you went to evacuate some solid waste, you’d have to do it in a glass room perched in the middle of Times Square, and you’d be buck naked?

An si sua corpo ave no cualia mal o strana – e cuanto de nos pote dise esta? – on ta debe es multe strana per gusta acel idea. La plu de nos ta fuji xiliante. La plu de nos ta reteni lo asta esplode.

Even if you’ve got nothing wrong or weird with your body – and how many of us can say that? – you’d have to be pretty strange to like that idea. Most of us would run screaming. Most of us would hold it in until we exploded.

Lo no pertine a fa cosas vergoniosa. Lo pertine a fa cosas privata. Lo pertine a posese sua propre vive.

It’s not about doing something shameful. It’s about doing something private. It’s about your life belonging to you.

Los ia es prendente esta de me, par pesos. En mea repasea a mea selula, acel senti ce me merita lo ia reveni a me. Me ia rompe multe regulas tra mea vive intera e me ia evita la punis, plu o min. Cisa esta ia es la judi. Cisa esta ia es mea pasada cual reveni a me. Vera, on ia trova me do on ia trova me car me ia sorti furtiva de scola.

They were taking that from me, piece by piece. As I walked back to my cell, that feeling of deserving it came back to me. I’d broken a lot of rules all my life and I’d gotten away with it, by and large. Maybe this was justice. Maybe this was my past coming back to me. After all, I had been where I was because I’d snuck out of school.

Me ia es permeteda a duxi. Me ia es permeteda a pasea sirca la patio. On ia ave un peso de sielo a supra, e lo ia odori como la Rejion Baia, ma estra esta, me ia ave no idea do on teni me. No otra prisonidas ia es vidable en mea periodo de eserse, e me ia deveni multe noiada par pasea sirculo. Me ia supralabora mea oreas per cualce sona cual ta aida me a comprende la situa de esta loca, ma me ia oia sola veculos nonfrecuente, alga conversas distante, un avion aterante en alga loca prosima.

I got my shower. I got to walk around the yard. There was a patch of sky overhead, and it smelled like the Bay Area, but beyond that, I had no clue where I was being held. No other prisoners were visible during my exercise period, and I got pretty bored with walking in circles. I strained my ears for any sound that might help me understand what this place was, but all I heard was the occasional vehicle, some distant conversations, a plane landing somewhere nearby.

Los ia retrae me a mea selula e ia nuri me – un dui de un tarte de salami de la pizeria Colina Capra, cual me ia conose bon, sur Colina Potrero. La caxa con sua grafica familiar e numero de telefon de San Francisco ia es un remente ce a sola un dia a ante, me ia es un om libre en un pais libre, e ce aora me es un prisonida. Me ia es constante ajitada sur Darryl e ia senti ansia sur mea otra amis. Cisa los ia coopera plu e on ia libri los. Cisa los ia informa mea jenitores, ci telefoni aora panicada a tota.

They brought me back to my cell and fed me, a half a pepperoni pie from Goat Hill Pizza, which I knew well, up on Potrero Hill. The carton with its familiar graphic and 415 phone number was a reminder that only a day before, I’d been a free man in a free country and that now I was a prisoner. I worried constantly about Darryl and fretted about my other friends. Maybe they’d been more cooperative and had been released. Maybe they’d told my parents and they were frantically calling around.

Cisa no.

Maybe not.

La selula ia es stonante nonjenerosa, vacua como mea spirito. Me ia fantasia ce la mur fasante mea leteta es un scermo, ce me pote fa un craci a esta momento per abri la porte de selula. Me ia fantasia sur mea table de labora e la projetas ala – la botes vea cual me converti a un sistem bruta de sona ensircante, la camera de agilon cual me construi per fotografia airal, la computador portable cual me ia asembla.

The cell was fantastically spare, empty as my soul. I fantasized that the wall opposite my bunk was a screen, that I could be hacking right now, opening the cell-door. I fantasized about my workbench and the projects there – the old cans I was turning into a ghetto surround-sound rig, the aerial photography kite-cam I was building, my homebrew laptop.

Me ia desira sorti de ala. Me ia desira vade a casa e reave mea amis e mea scola e mea jenitores e mea vive. Me ia desira pote vade do me ia desira vade, no resta en un trapa de pasea e pasea e pasea.

I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to go home and have my friends and my school and my parents and my life back. I wanted to be able to go where I wanted to go, not be stuck pacing and pacing and pacing.

Seguente, los ia prende mea claves per mea memorias USB. Estas ia teni alga mesajes interesante cual me ia descarga de esta-o-acel foro enlinia, alga transcrives de conversas, casos de persones aidante me sur alga de la sabes cual me ia nesesa per fa la cosas cual me fa. Me ia ave ala no cosa cual on no ta pote trova par gugli, natural, ma me no ia pensa ce esta va contribui favorente.

They took my passwords for my USB keys next. Those held some interesting messages I’d downloaded from one online discussion group or another, some chat transcripts, things where people had helped me out with some of the knowledge I needed to do the things I did. There was nothing on there you couldn’t find with Google, of course, but I didn’t think that would count in my favor.

Me ia pote denova eserse me en acel posmedia, e a esta ves otras ia es a la patio cuando me ia ariva ala, cuatro otra omes e du femes, de tota edas e orijinas etnical. Me suposa ce multe persones ia fa cosas per gania sua “beneficas”.

I got exercise again that afternoon, and this time there were others in the yard when I got there, four other guys and two women, of all ages and racial backgrounds. I guess lots of people were doing things to earn their “privileges.”

Los ia dona a me un dui de ora, e me ia atenta conversa con la plu normal aspetante de la otra prisonidas, un om negra de sirca mea eda con un afro corta. Ma cuando me ia presenta me e ia estende mea mano, el ia dirije sua oios a la cameras menasante monturida en la angulos de la patio e ia continua pasea sin cualce cambia de sua espresa de fas.

They gave me half an hour, and I tried to make conversation with the most normal-seeming of the other prisoners, a black guy about my age with a short afro. But when I introduced myself and stuck my hand out, he cut his eyes toward the cameras mounted ominously in the corners of the yard and kept walking without ever changing his facial expression.

Ma alora, direta ante cuando los ia clama mea nom e ia retrae me a la construida, la porte ia abri e – Vanessa ia emerji! Me ia es nunca plu felis de vide un fas amin. El ia aspeta fatigada e malumorosa, ma no ferida, e cuando el ia vide me, el ia cria mea nom e ia core a me. Nos ia abrasa forte lunlotra e me ia nota ce me trema. Alora me ia nota ce el trema ance.

But then, just before they called my name and brought me back into the building, the door opened and out came – Vanessa! I’d never been more glad to see a friendly face. She looked tired and grumpy, but not hurt, and when she saw me, she shouted my name and ran to me. We hugged each other hard and I realized I was shaking. Then I realized she was shaking, too.

“Tu es oce?” – el ia dise, teninte me par brasos estendeda.

“Are you OK?” she said, holding me at arms’ length.

“Me es oce.” – me ia dise. “Los ia dise a me ce los va relasa me si me dise a los mea claves.”

“I’m OK,” I said. “They told me they’d let me go if I gave them my passwords.”

“Los fa multe demandas a me sur tu e Darryl.”

“They keep asking me questions about you and Darryl.”

Un vose ia ruidi tra la parlador, criante a nos ce nos debe sesa parla, ce nos debe pasea, ma nos ia iniora lo.

There was a voice blaring over the loudspeaker, shouting at us to stop talking, to walk, but we ignored it.

“Responde a los.” – me ia dise, instante. “A cualce cosa cual los demanda, responde. Si lo va libri tu.”

“Answer them,” I said, instantly. “Anything they ask, answer them. If it’ll get you out.”

“Como Darryl e Jolu vade?”

“How are Darryl and Jolu?”

“Me no ia vide los.”

“I haven’t seen them.”

La porte ia abri puminte e cuatro gardores grande ia xama a estra. Du ia prende me e du ia prende Vanessa. Los ia forsa me a sur la tera e ia turna mea testa a via de Vanessa, ma me ia oia la mesma trata donada a el. Un securipolso plastica ia ensirca mea polsos ante cuando me ia es arancada a sur mea pedes e retraeda a mea selula.

The door banged open and four big guards boiled out. Two took me and two took Vanessa. They forced me to the ground and turned my head away from Vanessa, though I heard her getting the same treatment. Plastic cuffs went around my wrists and then I was yanked to my feet and brought back to my cell.

No come de sera ia veni en acel note. No come de matina ia veni en la dia seguente. Nun ia veni per trae me a la sala de interoga per estrae plu de mea secretas. La securipolso plastica no ia es desaponeda, e mea spalas ia arde, ante dole, ante deveni nonsensosa, ante arde denova. Me ia perde tota sensa en mea manos.

No dinner came that night. No breakfast came the next morning. No one came and brought me to the interrogation room to extract more of my secrets. The plastic cuffs didn’t come off, and my shoulders burned, then ached, then went numb, then burned again. I lost all feeling in my hands.

Me ia nesesa pisi. Me no ia pote desfisa mea pantalon. Vera, vera, me ia nesesa pisi.

I had to pee. I couldn’t undo my pants. I really, really had to pee.

Me ia pisi sur me.

I pissed myself.

Los ia veni per me pos acel, cuando la pisa calda ia deveni fria e umida, tal ce mea jina ja mugrosa ia adere a mea gamas. Los ia veni per me e ia marxa me longo la coredor longa e plen de portes, do cada porte ave sua propre codigo de baras, e cada codigo de baras ave un prisonida como me. Los ia marxa me longo la coredor e ia trae me a la sala de interoga, e lo ia sembla un otra planeta cuando me ia entra ala, un mundo do la situa es normal, do tota cosas no apesta como urina. Me ia senti tan susia e vergoniosa, e tota acel sentis ce me merita mea destina ia reveni a me.

They came for me after that, once the hot piss had cooled and gone clammy, making my already filthy jeans stick to my legs. They came for me and walked me down the long hall lined with doors, each door with its own bar code, each bar code a prisoner like me. They walked me down the corridor and brought me to the interrogation room and it was like a different planet when I entered there, a world where things were normal, where everything didn’t reek of urine. I felt so dirty and ashamed, and all those feelings of deserving what I got came back to me.

Fem de Capeles Sever ia senta ja. El ia es perfeta: con capeles stilida e sola un pico de macia. Me ia ole sua xampu. El ia plieta sua nas a me. Me ia senti la vergonia leva en me.

Severe haircut lady was already sitting. She was perfect: coifed and with just a little makeup. I smelled her hair stuff. She wrinkled her nose at me. I felt the shame rise in me.

“Aora, tu ia condui como un xico multe turbosa, no? Tu es un cosa mugrosa, si?”

“Well, you’ve been a very naughty boy, haven’t you? Aren’t you a filthy thing?”

Vergonia. Me ia basi mea regarda a la table. Me no ia pote tolera leva lo. Me ia vole dise mea clave de eposta a el e parti.

Shame. I looked down at the table. I couldn’t bear to look up. I wanted to tell her my email password and get gone.

“Tu e tua ami ia parla sur cual a la patio?”

“What did you and your friend talk about in the yard?”

Me ia abaia un rie a la table. “Me ia dise ce el debe responde a vosa demandas. Ce el debe coopera.”

I barked a laugh at the table. “I told her to answer your questions. I told her to cooperate.”

“Donce tu dona la comandas, si?”

“So do you give the orders?”

Me ia sensa la sangue cantante en mea oreas. “Ma crede,” – me ia dise – “nos fa un jua en junta. Lo es nomida Joia Loco Harajuku. Me es la capitan de ecipo. Nos no es teroristes; nos es studiantes de liseo. Me no dona comandas a el. Me ia dise ce nos debe es onesta con vos afin nos pote clari cualce suspeta e sorti de asi.”

I felt the blood sing in my ears. “Oh come on,” I said. “We play a game together, it’s called Harajuku Fun Madness. I’m the team captain. We’re not terrorists, we’re high school students. I don’t give her orders. I told her that we needed to be honest with you so that we could clear up any suspicion and get out of here.”

El ia dise no cosa per un momento.

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Como Darryl vade?” – me ia dise.

“How is Darryl?” I said.

“Ci?”

“Who?”

“Darryl. Vos ia catura nos en junta. Mea ami. Algun ia coteli el en la metro de Strada Powell. Per esta razona nos ia es a la surfas. Per trova aida per el.”

“Darryl. You picked us up together. My friend. Someone had stabbed him in the Powell Street BART. That’s why we were up on the surface. To get him help.”

“Alora, me es serta ce el es en bon state.” – el ia dise.

“I’m sure he’s fine, then,” she said.

Mea stomaco ia noda e me ia vomiti cuasi. “Tu no sabe? Vos no ave el asi?”

My stomach knotted and I almost threw up. “You don’t know? You haven’t got him here?”

“Ci nos ave asi e ci nos no ave asi no es un cosa cual nos va discute con tu, a cualce tempo. Esta no es un cosa cual tu va sabe. Marcus, tu ia vide lo cual aveni cuando tu no coopera con nos. Tu ia vide lo cual aveni cuando tu desobedi nosa comandas. Tu ia coopera alga, e esta ia porta tu a cuasi un punto do cisa tu va deveni denova libre. Si tu desira reali acel posible, tu va limita tu a respondes a mea demandas.”

“Who we have here and who we don’t have here is not something we’re going to discuss with you, ever. That’s not something you’re going to know. Marcus, you’ve seen what happens when you don’t cooperate with us. You’ve seen what happens when you disobey our orders. You’ve been a little cooperative, and it’s gotten you almost to the point where you might go free again. If you want to make that possibility into a reality, you’ll stick to answering my questions.”

Me ia dise no cosa.

I didn’t say anything.

“Tu aprende. Esta es bon. Aora, tua claves de eposta, per favore.”

“You’re learning, that’s good. Now, your email passwords, please.”

Me ia es preparada per esta. Me ia dona a los tota: adirije de servador, nom de usor, clave. Esta no ia importa. Me ia reteni no eposta en mea servador. Me ia descarga tota de lo e ia reteni lo a casa en mea computador portable, cual descarga e dejeta mea mesajes de la servador a cada secondo sesdes. Los ta oteni no cosa par mea eposta – lo es dejetada de la servador e tenida en mea computador a casa.

I was ready for this. I gave them everything: server address, login, password. This didn’t matter. I didn’t keep any email on my server. I downloaded it all and kept it on my laptop at home, which downloaded and deleted my mail from the server every sixty seconds. They wouldn’t get anything out of my mail – it got cleared off the server and stored on my laptop at home.

Denova a la selula, ma los ia libri mea manos, e los ia dona a me un duxi e un pantalon orania de prison per porta. Lo ia es tro grande per me e ia pende basa sur mea ancas, como un xico de gang mexican en la Mision. Esta es la orijina de la stilo “pantalon laxe desendente”, tu sabe? De prison. Ma ta ce me clari: lo es min divertinte cuando lo no es un espresa de moda.

Back to the cell, but they cut loose my hands and they gave me a shower and a pair of orange prison pants to wear. They were too big for me and hung down low on my hips, like a Mexican gang-kid in the Mission. That’s where the baggy-pants-down-your-ass look comes from, you know that? From prison. I tell you what, it’s less fun when it’s not a fashion statement.

Los ia prende mea jina a via, e me ia pasa un plu dia en la selula. La mures ia es de semento rascada supra un grilia de aser. Me ia sabe, car la aser ia osidi en la aira salosa, e la grilia ia brilia roja-orania tra la pinta verde. Mea jenitores ia es ultra acel fenetra, a alga loca.

They took away my jeans, and I spent another day in the cell. The walls were scratched cement over a steel grid. You could tell, because the steel was rusting in the salt air, and the grid shone through the green paint in red-orange. My parents were out that window, somewhere.

Los ia veni per me denova a la dia seguente.

They came for me again the next day.

“Nos leje aora tua eposta tra un dia. Nos ia cambia la clave afin tua computador de casa no pote reseta lo.”

“We’ve been reading your mail for a day now. We changed the password so that your home computer couldn’t fetch it.”

Ma natural los ia fa. Me ia ta fa la mesma, pos pensa alora a la idea.

Well, of course they had. I would have done the same, now that I thought of it.

“Noa ave aora informas sufisinte sur tu per envia tu a via per un tempo multe longa, Marcus: tua posese de esta ojetos —” el ia jesti a tota mea aparatetas peti – “e la datos cual nos ia regania de tua telefon e memorias de pox, como ance la detalias suvertinte cual, sin duta, nos ta trova si nos ta invade tua casa per saisi tua computador. Estas sufisi per envia tu a via asta tua senese. Tu comprende esta?”

“We have enough on you now to put you away for a very long time, Marcus. Your possession of these articles –” she gestured at all my little gizmos – “and the data we recovered from your phone and memory sticks, as well as the subversive material we’d no doubt find if we raided your house and took your computer. It’s enough to put you away until you’re an old man. Do you understand that?”

Me no ia crede lo an per un secondo. No situa esiste en cual un judor ta dise ce esta colie representa vera un crimin de cualce spesie. Lo ia pertine a la parla libre, la bricoleta tecnolojial. Lo no ia es un crimin.

I didn’t believe it for a second. There’s no way a judge would say that all this stuff constituted any kind of real crime. It was free speech, it was technological tinkering. It wasn’t a crime.

Ma ci ia dise ce esta persones va pone me ante un judor, an tal?

But who said that these people would ever put me in front of a judge.

“Nos sabe do tu abita. Nos sabe ci es tua amis. Nos sabe como tu condui e como tu pensa.”

“We know where you live, we know who your friends are. We know how you operate and how you think.”

Me ia comprende alora. Los ia es a punto de relasa me. La sala ia pare deveni plu luminada. Me ia oia me respirante, respiras peti e corta.

It dawned on me then. They were about to let me go. The room seemed to brighten. I heard myself breathing, short little breaths.

“Nos vole sabe un sola cosa: cual ia es la tecnica per pone la bombas sur la ponte?”

“We just want to know one thing: what was the delivery mechanism for the bombs on the bridge?”

Me ia sesa respira. La sala ia oscuri denova.

I stopped breathing. The room darkened again.

“Como?”

“What?”

“On ia ave des esplodentes sur la ponte, longo tota sua longia. Los no ia es en portabagajes de autos. Los ia es poneda ala. Ci ia pone los ala, e como los ia ariva ala?”

“There were ten charges on the bridge, all along its length. They weren’t in car-trunks. They’d been placed there. Who placed them there, and how did they get there?”

“Como?” – me ia redise lo.

“What?” I said it again.

“Esta es tua ves ultima, Marcus.” – el ia dise. El ia aspeta triste. “Tu ia fa tan bon asta aora. Si tu dise esta a nos, tu pote vade a casa. Tu pote trova un avocato e defende tu en un corte de lege. Sin duta, on ave fatores lejerinte cual tu pote usa per esplica tua atas. Dise sola esta cosa a nos, e tu va parti.”

“This is your last chance, Marcus,” she said. She looked sad. “You were doing so well until now. Tell us this and you can go home. You can get a lawyer and defend yourself in a court of law. There are doubtless extenuating circumstances that you can use to explain your actions. Just tell us this thing, and you’re gone.”

“Me no sabe sur cual cosa tu parla!” Me ia es plorante, e me no ia es an embarasada. Sanglotante, babelante. “Me ave no idea sur cual cosa tu parla!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I was crying and I didn’t even care. Sobbing, blubbering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

El ia nega con sua testa. “Marcus, per favore. Lasa ce nos aida tu. Aora tu sabe ja ce nos oteni sempre lo cual nos desira.”

She shook her head. “Marcus, please. Let us help you. By now you know that we always get what we’re after.”

Un babela ia sona en la profonda de mea mente. Los ia es demente. Me ia reasembla mea fortia, multe laborante per para la larmas. “Escuta, seniora, esta es loco. Tu ia esplora mea aparatos e ia vide tota. Me es un studiante de liseo con des-sete anios, no un teroriste! Tu no pote crede seria —”

There was a gibbering sound in the back of my mind. They were insane. I pulled myself together, working hard to stop the tears. “Listen, lady, this is nuts. You’ve been into my stuff, you’ve seen it all. I’m a seventeen year old high school student, not a terrorist! You can’t seriously think –”

“Marcus, esce tu ancora no ia comprende ce nos es seria?” El ia secute sua testa. “Tua gradis de scola no es mal. Me ia pensa ce tu va es plu astuta ca esta.” El ia fa un jesti de dejeta e la gardores ia leva me par mea axilas.

“Marcus, haven’t you figured out that we’re serious yet?” She shook her head. “You get pretty good grades. I thought you’d be smarter than that.” She made a flicking gesture and the guards picked me up by the armpits.

En mea selula denova, sento respondes peti ia apare en mea testa. La franseses nomi esta l’esprit d’escalier – la replica de scalera, la respondes astuta a cual on pensa en desende la scalera pos sorti de la sala. En mea mente, me ia sta e refuta, informante la fem ce me es un sitadan ci ama mea libria, par cual causa me es la patriota e el es la trador. En mea mente, me ia vergonia el car el ia cambia mea pais a un campa militar. En mea mente, me ia es bonparlante e briliante e ia umili el a larmas.

Back in my cell, a hundred little speeches occurred to me. The French call this “esprit d’escalier” – the spirit of the staircase, the snappy rebuttals that come to you after you leave the room and slink down the stairs. In my mind, I stood and delivered, telling her that I was a citizen who loved my freedom, which made me the patriot and made her the traitor. In my mind, I shamed her for turning my country into an armed camp. In my mind, I was eloquent and brilliant and reduced her to tears.

Ma tu sabe ja? Zero de acel parolas bela ia reveni a me cuando los ia estrae me a la dia seguente. Me ia pote pensa sola a libria. Mea jenitores.

But you know what? None of those fine words came back to me when they pulled me out the next day. All I could think of was freedom. My parents.

“Alo, Marcus.” – el ia dise. “Como tu senti?”

“Hello, Marcus,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Me ia basi mea regarda a la table. El ia ave un pila ordinada de documentos ante se, e, como sempre, sua copa dejetable de Starbucks a sua lado. Me ia trova lo como consolante en alga modo, un remente ce un mundo real esiste a alga loca esterna, ultra la mures.

I looked down at the table. She had a neat pile of documents in front of her, and her ubiquitous go-cup of Starbucks beside her. I found it comforting somehow, a reminder that there was a real world out there somewhere, beyond the walls.

“Nos ia fini investiga tu, per aora.” El ia lasa ce esta pende en la aira. Cisa lo vole dise ce el va relasa me. Cisa lo vole dise ce el va lansa me a un poso e oblida ce me esiste.

“We’re through investigating you, for now.” She let that hang there. Maybe it meant that she was letting me go. Maybe it meant that she was going to throw me in a pit and forget that I existed.

“E?” – me ia dise final.

“And?” I said finally.

“E me vole impresa denova a tu ce nos es multe seria sur esta. Nosa pais ia esperia la ataca la plu grave realida de sempre sur sua tera. Cuanto dias 11 de setembre nos debe sufri ante cuando tu va coopera volente? La detalias de nosa investiga es secreta. Nos no va esita an pico en nosa laboras per trae la esecutores de esta crimines odiable a judi. Esce tu comprende esta?”

“And I want you to impress on you again that we are very serious about this. Our country has experienced the worst attack ever committed on its soil. How many 9/11s do you want us to suffer before you’re willing to cooperate? The details of our investigation are secret. We won’t stop at anything in our efforts to bring the perpetrators of these heinous crimes to justice. Do you understand that?”

“Si.” – me ia farfulia.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Nos va reenvia tu a casa oji, ma tu es un om marcada. Nos no reconose tu como nonsuspetable – nos relasa tu mera car nos ia fini interoga tu per aora. Ma de aora, tu parteni a nos. Nos va oserva tu. Nos va espeta la momento cuando tu va fa un mal paso. Esce tu comprende ce nos pote oserva tu en modo atendente, a tota tempos?”

“We are going to send you home today, but you are a marked man. You have not been found to be above suspicion – we’re only releasing you because we’re done questioning you for now. But from now on, you belong to us. We will be watching you. We’ll be waiting for you to make a misstep. Do you understand that we can watch you closely, all the time?”

“Si.” – me ia farfulia.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Bon. Tu va parla nunca sur lo cual ia aveni asi, a cualcun, a cualce ves. Lo es un caso de securia nasional. Tu sabe ce la puni de mori es ancora valida per tradi en tempo de gera?”

“Good. You will never speak of what happened here to anyone, ever. This is a matter of national security. Do you know that the death penalty still holds for treason in time of war?”

“Si.” – me ia farfulia.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Bon xico.” – el ia ronrona. “Nos ave asi alga paperes per tua suscrive.” El ia puia la pila de paperes sur la table a me. Notas aderente con la testo primida “SUSCRIVE ASI” ia es fisada tra los. Un gardor ia deslia mea securipolso.

“Good boy,” she purred. “We have some papers here for you to sign.” She pushed the stack of papers across the table to me. Little post-its with SIGN HERE printed on them had been stuck throughout them. A guard undid my cuffs.

Me ia turna la pajes e mea oios ia larma e mea testa ia marea. Me no ia pote comprende los. Me ia atenta desifri la jergo ofisial. Lo ia pare ce me va suscrive un declara ce me ia es detenida sin protesta e ia sede me a interogas sin protesta, par mea propre volunta libre.

I paged through the papers and my eyes watered and my head swam. I couldn’t make sense of them. I tried to decipher the legalese. It seemed that I was signing a declaration that I had been voluntarily held and submitted to voluntary questioning, of my own free will.

“Cual va aveni si me no suscrive esta?” – me ia dise.

“What happens if I don’t sign this?” I said.

El ia resaisi la paperes e ia fa denova acel jesti de dejeta. La gardores ia aranca me a sur mea pedes.

She snatched the papers back and made that flicking gesture again. The guards jerked me to my feet.

“Para!” – me ia cria. “Per favore! Me va suscrive los!” Los ia tira me a la porte. Me ia vide sola acel porte, ia pensa sola ce lo va clui pos me.

“Wait!” I cried. “Please! I’ll sign them!” They dragged me to the door. All I could see was that door, all I could think of was it closing behind me.

Me ia abandona me. Me ia plora. Me ia suplica ce on permete ce me suscrive la paperes. Pos es tan prosima a libria e trova ce on saisi lo a via, me ia ta aseta fa cualce cosa. Me no pote conta la cuantia de veses cuando me ia oia algun ci dise – “O, me ta prefere mori ca fa esta-o-acel.” Me mesma ia dise lo de ves a ves. Ma esta ia es la ves prima cuando me ia comprende vera sua sinifia. Me ia ta prefere mori ca revade a mea selula.

I lost it. I wept. I begged to be allowed to sign the papers. To be so close to freedom and have it snatched away, it made me ready to do anything. I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard someone say, “Oh, I’d rather die than do something-or-other” – I’ve said it myself now and again. But that was the first time I understood what it really meant. I would have rather died than go back to my cell.

Me ia suplica cuando los ia sorti me a la coredor. Me ia dise a los ce me va suscrive cualce cosa.

I begged as they took me out into the corridor. I told them I’d sign anything.

El ia esclama a la gardores e los ia para. Los ia retrae me. Los ia senta me. Un de los ia pone la pen en mea mano.

She called out to the guards and they stopped. They brought me back. They sat me down. One of them put the pen in my hand.

Natural, me ia suscrive e suscrive e suscrive.

Of course, I signed, and signed and signed.

Mea jina e camisa T ia es denova en mea selula, lavada e pliada. Los ia odori como deterjente. Me ia apone los e ia lava mea fas e ia senta sur mea leteta e ia regarda fisada la mur. Los ia prende tota de me. Prima mea privatia, e mea dinia a pos. Me ia ta aseta suscrive cualce cosa. Me ia ta suscrive un confesa cual dise ce me ia asasina Abraham Lincoln.

My jeans and t-shirt were back in my cell, laundered and folded. They smelled of detergent. I put them on and washed my face and sat on my cot and stared at the wall. They’d taken everything from me. First my privacy, then my dignity. I’d been ready to sign anything. I would have signed a confession that said I’d assassinated Abraham Lincoln.

Me ia atenta plora, ma mea oios ia pare es seca, sin plu larmas.

I tried to cry, but it was like my eyes were dry, out of tears.

Los ia prende me denova. Un gardor ia prosimi a me con un saco, como la saco en cual los ia pone me cuando los ia catura nos, me no sabe cuando, cisa a dias a ante, cisa semanas.

They got me again. A guard approached me with a hood, like the hood I’d been put in when they picked us up, whenever that was, days ago, weeks ago.

La saco ia covre mea testa e ia streti tensada a mea colo. Me ia es en oscuria completa e la aira ia es sofocante e staniante. On ia leva me a sur mea pedes e ia marxa me longo coredores, asendente scaleras, sur calculos. Longo un plance de embarca. Sur la aser de la solo de un barcon. Mea manos ia es cadenida pos me, a un rel. Me ia ajena sur la solo e ia escuta la vibra de la motores de gasolio.

The hood went over my head and cinched tight at my neck. I was in total darkness and the air was stifling and stale. I was raised to my feet and walked down corridors, up stairs, on gravel. Up a gangplank. On a ship’s steel deck. My hands were chained behind me, to a railing. I knelt on the deck and listened to the thrum of the diesel engines.

La barcon ia move. Un tinje de aira ia penetra la saco. Lo ia pluveta e mea vestes ia es pesosa de acua. Me ia es a estra, an si mea testa ia es en un saco. Me ia es a estra, en la mundo, a poca momentos de mea libria.

The ship moved. A hint of salt air made its way into the hood. It was drizzling and my clothes were heavy with water. I was outside, even if my head was in a bag. I was outside, in the world, moments from my freedom.

Los ia veni per me e ia gida me de la barcon e sur tera nonplana. Me ia asende tre grados de metal. Mea polsos ia es desliada. Mea saco ia es desaponeda.

They came for me and led me off the boat and over uneven ground. Up three metal stairs. My wrists were unshackled. My hood was removed.

Me ia es denova en la camion. Fem de Capeles Sever ia es ala, a la table peti a cual el ia senta a ante. El ia ave con se un saco plastica reselable, e lo ia conteni mea telefon e otra aparatos peti, mea portamone e la monetas de mea poxes. El ia dona los a me sin parla.

I was back in the truck. Severe haircut woman was there, at the little desk she’d sat at before. She had a ziploc bag with her, and inside it were my phone and other little devices, my wallet and the change from my pockets. She handed them to me wordlessly.

Me ia pleni mea poxes. Lo ia pare tan strana: tota ia es denova en sua loca familiar, e me ia porta mea vestes familiar. Estra la porte retro de la camion, me ia oia la sonas familiar de mea site familiar.

I filled my pockets. It felt so weird to have everything back in its familiar place, to be wearing my familiar clothes. Outside the truck’s back door, I heard the familiar sounds of my familiar city.

Un gardor ia pasa mea bolson a me. La fem ia estende a me sua mano. Me ia fa no plu ca regarda lo. El ia basi lo e ia fa un surie ironiosa a me. Alora el ia mima zipi sua labios e ia indica me, e ia abri la porte.

A guard passed me my backpack. The woman extended her hand to me. I just looked at it. She put it down and gave me a wry smile. Then she mimed zipping up her lips and pointed to me, and opened the door.

A estra, on ia ave la lus de dia, gris e pluvetante. Me ia regarda longo un stradeta en dirije a autos e camiones e motosicles cual zumbi longo la via. Me ia sta encantada sur la grado la plu alta de la camion, regardante libria.

It was daylight outside, gray and drizzling. I was looking down an alley toward cars and trucks and bikes zipping down the road. I stood transfixed on the truck’s top step, staring at freedom.

Mea jenos ia trema. Me ia sabe aora ce los manipula me denova. Pos un momento, la gardores va saisi me e retira me a en, la saco va covre denova mea testa, e me va es denova sur la barcon, reenviada a la prison, a la demandas nonsesante e nonrespondable. Me ia preveni apena ce me pleni mea boca con mea punio.

My knees shook. I knew now that they were playing with me again. In a moment, the guards would grab me and drag me back inside, the bag would go over my head again, and I would be back on the boat and sent off to the prison again, to the endless, unanswerable questions. I barely held myself back from stuffing my fist in my mouth.

Alora me ia forsa me a desende un grado. Un plu grado. La grado final. Mea sapatos de sporte ia atera, cracinte la caca sur la solo de la stradeta, vitro rompeda, un ago, calculos. Me ia fa un paso. Un plu. Me ia ateni la boca de la stradeta e ia pone un pede sur la troteria.

Then I forced myself to go down one stair. Another stair. The last stair. My sneakers crunched down on the crap on the alley’s floor, broken glass, a needle, gravel. I took a step. Another. I reached the mouth of the alley and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Nun ia saisi me.

No one grabbed me.

Me ia es libre.

I was free.

Alora brasos forte ia lansa se sirca me. Me ia plora cuasi.

Then strong arms threw themselves around me. I nearly cried.