One hundred and twenty-four

The packing crate may have been damaged beyond repair, but it was a source of enormous joy.

Through his incarceration, Omary had endured loneliness, violence, cold, and appalling food, but it was the lack of anywhere to sit that was the worst punishment of all. We take chairs for granted, perching on them, or reclining back at whim. Yet most of us have never had to consider a life without sitting down.

The increased space was pleasing, too.

There was so much of it that Omary found himself suffering from almost a phobic reaction. He couldn’t understand why he had been moved to the new facility, or given what he regarded as luxuries.

He sat on the crate, filled with new vigour.

At two in the afternoon, the guard tramped fast down the corridor outside the cell. The familiar sound of keys jangling was followed by old rusted hinges opening.

‘Get against the wall!’ the officer ordered, ‘and splay your legs.’

He placed something on the packing crate and was gone.

Cautiously, Omary turned around.

Confused, he looked at the object as though it were from another century, another world. Bending down slowly, he picked it up – turning it in his hand.

It was a miniature battery-operated television.

He flicked it on, and the screen came alive to a news station – the Globalcom News 24.

Omary gasped. Then he laughed, his eyes welling with tears.

Someone out there wanted him to watch the news. At first he thought it must have been sent by Ghita, smuggled in with yet another bribe. His eyes narrowed and he felt his back warm with disapproval. But then, as he considered it, he realized that he had missed something, something important.

On the packing crate there was a note card. He picked it up, held it into the light.

My dear Hicham,

I wanted you to see for yourself the grand plan we have for your beloved firm.

Hamza H.