This Time Tomorrow

Friday

The grating of metal on metal as the key twisted and squeaked reluctantly in the lock. So, this was it. My room. For the next four nights this would be my room.

It was small, hot, dusty and smelled of urine.  A hand in the middle of my shoulder blades pushed me forward, gently I thought, but I did not resist. Any resistance would, I knew, instigate a harder shove. Evening sunlight hit the left wall, the peeling paint. There was a bed of sorts on the right-hand wall, beneath more paint fragments. In the corner, a bucket.

The door banged shut with a finality that echoed long after feet had retreated. I went to the small square grill that comprised a window, took hold of the ancient rusted bars. Tugs and twists showed them to be sound despite their age; there’d be no escape that way. 

I stood on tiptoe and looked into the late afternoon sun. The compound was small with a nine-foot wall. Nothing grew inside, but I could see a Joshua tree on the outside. It cast some shade this side of the wall, and there was a couple of old chairs in which two guards lounged, smoking, listening to the hiss-hiss-hiss of the cicadas. I breathed deeply, wondering how many more breaths I had.

“When is it?”

The suddenness of the voice startled me, and I turned. I thought I had been left alone in this room, but there was a man standing near the door.  My first thought was how grey he was. He wore a once-white t-shirt, jeans that had faded to match, bare feet. He was lean, a few inches taller than me, with short almost white hair. He moved easily towards me, and I could see he had the lines on his tanned face that indicated an outdoor life. He stopped in front of me.

“When is it? I know you only come to this room for one thing.”

“Tuesday,” I replied, looking down at my feet, not meeting his piercing blue eyes. “At sunrise.”

He turned and stood next to me looking out the window. “Ah, that’s when it usually is. Tuesday at sunrise. Today’s Friday, right?” I nodded. He nodded back. “I lose track sometimes.”

“Are you a priest?”

His laughter cut through the hot air. “Do you want a priest? Do you need a priest perhaps?”

“Err, no.”

“No, I’m not a priest. The priest will be sent Monday evening, if he comes at all. He doesn’t always.” He turned to face me. “But I am here to help you prepare. If you want me to.”

I stood facing him, wondering how he could help me prepare for what was to happen when I heard footsteps in the corridor. “Ah, looks like it’s dinner time. Make sure you eat up. You’re going to need all your strength for what is to come. I’ll leave you now and see you tomorrow.”

With that he stepped back. The key ground in the lock and a tray with some sort of thin stew, a piece of bread and a cup of water was pushed inside. When the guard had gone, I saw that the man had left with him, and I realised I didn’t know his name. I had thought myself not hungry after the day’s events, yet the smell pulled at my stomach and I ate despite my initial reluctance. The bread was stale but dipping it in the stew made it palatable. The water was warm, and I wondered how clean it was. Then I laughed to myself. What did it matter now? At least it fed my thirst.

By the time I had finished, the sun had sunk behind the wall and I realised I was exhausted. I lay down on the bed which in truth was not much more than a pallet a foot off the ground. There was no mattress, no covers against the chill of the night. But as it was raised, I hoped it would deter some of the rats I expected lurked close by.

Saturday

I woke early the next day to find the sun in my eyes. I got up, my body aching from sleeping on the hard pallet. It was already starting to get hot and airless in my cell as I heard footsteps coming down the corridor. The keys scraped in the lock, the door was slid open, the tray replaced with a fresh one. A chunk of bread and water. Breakfast.

“So, how did you sleep last night?”

Had he come in with the guard? I hadn’t seen him, and there seemed so few places to hide in here, just that dark corner.

“You slept well?”

“Well, I slept, though it was hardly well.”

“Ah, the aches and pains. Stretch a little, stretch those aches out of your bones. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Why would I want to feel better?”

“The question is why would you need to feel better. Of course you would want to feel better. And the answer to both is to be strong for what is to come.”

“And why should I be strong?”

“Because it pisses them off. Don’t you want to piss them off one last time? They don’t like it when someone goes out there with stoicism, with a smile on their face. Especially a woman.”

I remained silent, wondering why anyone would smile if they were facing what I had to face, but I stretched anyway, and the man was right. It helped.

“So, what’s your crime?”

I hesitated, but what did it matter now? It was common knowledge after all, and I was finding this man easy to talk to. “I fell in love.”

“But falling in love is not a crime.”

I drew a deep breath. “It is when you love the wrong man.”

“And he was a bad man, yes?”

I nodded. “His name was Atanacio.”

“Atanacio. That means without death, you know. And why did he choose you?”

“Because I’m stupid.”

“No, no, no. I think he chose you because you are beautiful. Did you have a rich powerful father?”

“No, my father is a good man. But he could see Atan was no good. He warned me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

“Still, falling in love with the wrong man is still not a crime.”

“But I helped him, see? He was a bad man, a wanted man, a troublemaker, and when he asked, I helped him escape justice, even though I knew by then what he had done.” I paused. I’d also helped him because he threatened my little sister.

“Atanacio Enriquez.  Yes, I’ve heard of him. Do you love him still?”

It was a moment before I shook my head. “How could I after he used me like that?”

“But by then it was too late. And you are to be used to set an example to all other young women who might think they can help out such criminals.”

It was a statement, not a question, and no response was necessary. The man continued to talk for the rest of the day until dinner came. It wasn’t until after he left that I realised I had not told him Atan’s surname. But perhaps he knew the details of my crime before he came to see me.

Sunday

“You were arrested ten months ago. Why are you only coming here now?” 

I had breakfasted, stretched the ache out of my bones when the man came again. The guard had not replaced the bucket, and I expected that it would not be emptied for the duration of my stay, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

“Why the delay? One thing I know about these systems is that they’re quick to deliver judgement, even though they might get it wrong.”

“Because he left me with more than one consequence to face.” I would no longer use his name. There was a time when I had loved to feel his name on my lips. Now his name tasted bitter, sounded shrill.

“Ah, so you were able to plead the belly?” I nodded. “And the child?”

“A girl. Rosa.”

“And where is the child now?”

“My brother. He and his wife will raise her as their own.”

“So you had to say goodbye to her.”

I nodded. “I will not be there to see her grow. That is the hardest thing, not to see her grow. Knowing I can give her nothing.”

“You gave her life. What more precious thing is there than life? And your brother, he’s a good man?”

“Yes, he’ll give Rosa a good life.”

“And he’ll tell her about you? About his mother?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t.”

“I think maybe he will. I think that through his eyes, she’ll come to know her mother. She will have a good life, you know, a lot better than if you’d been able to stay with her father.” And of course he was right. I cried then for my lost child, and when I lifted my head, he had gone.

Monday

“It won’t hurt you know.”

“Pardon?”

“When they shoot you tomorrow. It won’t hurt.”

I’d done my routine stretches, eaten the stale bread looked out at the haze of the day’s heat when he appeared again. I no longer questioned how he came and went. What did it matter?

“How would you know?”

“Because I was shot once. In the arm. Just thought someone had hit me. Pain kicked in a few seconds later.  Thing is, you’ll be dead before you feel the pain.”

“Thanks. Doesn’t make it any less scary.”

“Doesn’t mean you can do anything about it either. Acceptance. That is the key. And at least it will be quick.”

“As opposed to what?”

“Atan. His death wasn’t quick.” 

“I – I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. They didn’t publicise his death for fear he might be martyred, and because of the manner of his death some might try to save him. So he’s just been ‘disappeared’.”

I wondered how I ought to feel, sad that my former lover was gone, glad that the reason I was here had been punished. I felt nothing.

“Buried him up to his neck in the desert and left him. That’s how they punished him. Took him days to die. Death is something we all have in common. It will come to all of us some day.”

“But it’s too soon for me.”

“It is, and that’s the tragedy. But acceptance will make it easier. Accept that it will happen and by this time tomorrow it will be over.”

“I’ll never see another sunrise will I?”

“You will if you want to. If you want to, the sunrise will be the last thing you will see.”

“But that will mean…”

“Yes, going without the blindfold. They hate that, you know. They hate it when prisoners refuse the blindfold. Means they’ve got to look into your eyes as they pull the trigger.”

“Means I have to look at them too.”

“Not at all. You look towards them, but you do not focus on them. You focus on something far away, have your mind on something that will make you smile.  Think about the wonderful woman your daughter will become. And look towards the horizon. You will be facing east, so the last thing you should see will be the sun coming up. Focus on that. Let them wonder why you die with a smile on your lips.”

“They’re sending a priest soon.”

“Then make your peace with whatever God it is you follow. Make peace with yourself, your mistakes. Accept what is to come.”

The priest came later that day. He talked about God, his forgiveness. He prayed with me, while in myself I kept saying, this time tomorrow it will all be over. I lay on my pallet and when I slept, I dreamt of Rosa, Rosa taking her first steps, saying her first words. Rosa on her first day at school. Rosa at college, graduating, making her way in the world. Rosa as a bride, as a mother herself. I dreamt all these things because I knew I could not witness them.

Tuesday

I stretched the ache out of my bones as I rose. It was still early, not yet sunrise when they brought my piece of bread, my cup of warm water. Within an hour, all this will be over, I told myself. I chewed on the bread slowly, savouring it as if it was the juiciest of fruits. I sipped the water as if it was the best of wines. And when they came for me, when their key grated in the lock for the last time, he was there.

“Look at me,” he said. “Just follow me with your eyes and you will be fine.”

I left that room for the last time walking erect, proud, keeping my eyes on the man as he walked in front of the guards. I had made bad choices, but I had come to terms with them. Within fifteen minutes, all this will be over.

The captain of the guard had a blindfold.

“No blindfold,” I said. “I wish to see the sunrise one last time.” The man smiled at me and I smiled back. The captain did not, and I could feel the discomfort of the others behind me. Bad enough they had a woman to execute, let alone one who wanted to look them in the eye.

I was taken out into the compound I had seen from my cell. Within ten minutes, all this will be over. I was taken round the corner to face the wall against which I would stand. I had not seen it before, it had been hidden by the guard house. The wall was whitewashed concrete, peppered with holes, stained with the blood of previous executions. I turned my back on it, the holes, the destruction symbolised on that wall, it was all in the past.

“I am sorry,” the captain said, “but we must tie you to the stake. You understand?” I smiled at him as if he had offered me his seat on a bus. Yes, I understood. They needed a stationary target. Within five minutes, all this will be over. 

“You’re doing well,” the man said. “Now just follow me with your eyes. Keep looking at me, I will walk towards the horizon, towards the sunrise. Watch me.”

I could see that beyond the compound wall was a hill, I could see in the pre-dawn light that the sun would come over that hill soon. I looked at the man. “Watch me,” he said. I watched. Within two minutes, all this will be over. I watched as he walked past the six men in front of me, the six men with guns who would shortly take my life. Each of these six thought I looked at them. Each felt the discomfort they were supposed to feel. I watched as he walked back towards the captain who stood in the middle, at the back, ready to give the command. The commander thought I looked at him and hesitated before speaking. 

“Ready.”

And as I watched, the man turned and walked towards the back wall and through it, drawing my eyes after him. Within one minute, all this will be over. 

“Take aim.”

And he walked up the hill, towards the sunrise, and my mind reached out to him, saying wait for me. And as the sun came up over the horizon, as I breathed my last breath, he turned and beckoned me to follow.

“Fi…”