“No photographs, no photographs, this is a military area.”
He is screaming. His hands are very strong around my arm, his fingers, nails, drilling into my skin. My own hand feels numb.
I stumble after him, like a doll, too shocked to do anything else. He drags me back pass the fence, into the street, before he loosens his grip, positioning himself in front of me, so close I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“It’s illegal to take photos here, didn’t you see the signs?” He points at a sign near the fence. A very small sign.
I shake my head.
“I’m sorry, I’ll delete them.”
“So you took photos? Inside the fence?”
What do I say? The whole man seems to be vibrating with aggression. He is dressed in a military uniform, dark gray. Adrenaline is pumping through my body, my fingers shake, a little.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
Both I and the military man jump.
I turn my head and see Hasin approaching us.
“She took photos inside the fence,” the man says, angrily, loud.
“Did you? Did you really take photos in there?”
I catch it, like an invisible ball.
“No. I didn’t get to, before he came.”
The man stares at me, his eyes are so cold, colorless.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see the sign.”
I make my voice more like a girl, lighter, thinner. More innocent. I change my expression to, widening my eyes, flashing my lashes, just a little, standing somewhat more stupidly.
“OK, don’t come back. If you do, I’ll take you both in for arrest.” He turns around and marches back, disappearing into a boat.
My relief quickly vanishes, and I want to cry. Tears fill my eyes and my face burns red from humiliation.
“Thank you,” I say, to Hasin.
“It’s an honest mistake. You’re not the first, I promise.”
I appreciate his comfort. It helps.
We walk towards Billy’s.
“Why is the sign so small?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I think they like to catch people. As I said, you are not the first. And you’re lucky. Many get arrested. And then you are in deep trouble. They don’t like workers, for some reason.”
“I noticed.”
I see him smiling at me. He has this special way of speaking to me. Like we have been friends for years. Like he knows me. I hardly notice, the way he does it is so natural, to him, at least. I like his voice too. It is a kind voice, a bit muted, warm, thin, but strong, too. The kind of voice you listen to, no matter how low, that catches everyone’s attention without having to raise itself.
We step back into the safety of Billy’s and I drink the rest of my coffee, waiting for the warmth in my cheeks to fade. Now I feel angrier, and anger also makes my face flush red. That is the problem with being so pale. Your every emotion shows on your skin, like a traffic light.
Hasin does not say anything about what happened, and neither do I.