The Room (9 page)

Sometime in the afternoon his cell door clanged open and the guard told him to come out. They went to the office he had been in the night before and Tom and 2 detectives were there. He sat in the seat pointed to. Sweat seemed to cascade from his armpits. He could feel it dripping down his sides.

The doctor examined the girl and shes intact (he stared at the detectives face, conscious only of the sweat covering his body. his scalp itched with it.) So we/re going to let you go this time. But if I ever see either one of you in here again I/ll break your head. The detective looked directly at him.

Why did you say you fucked her?

He blinked his eyes and it took him many seconds before he could mutter he didnt.

You calling me a liar?

He shook his head and blinked more rapidly. No sir. (He was trying to think, but his mind just wouldnt function. He tried to remember if they had asked him if he had fucked her, but couldnt. He was sure they didnt, but he couldnt remember.) He started to stammer something, but the detective cut him off.

Never mind the bullshit. Here, take your stuff and get out of here. I have work to do.

The envelopes with their personal items were dropped on the desk and Tom said his was the one with the most money. He stared at Tom and the smirk on his face, and almost panicked again. He felt like telling him to shut up. All he wanted to do was get out of there.
Nothing more.

The detective looked up at Tom. Dont give me any lip punk or youll find yourself in the hospital.

They signed the receipts, put their stuff in their pockets and left as fast as possible. All the way back to the barge Tom joked about it, but all he could think of was he was going home. She would never know.

Couldn’t get rid of the smell. Still there. So strong he could taste it. He couldnt tell her. How could he tell his mother. He didnt know exactly what it was, but he sensed it somehow. He knew it was her and it was something he couldnt, or shouldn’t, talk about. All he could do was sit at the table toying with his cereal, pushing it around with the spoon. Whats wrong son, why dont you eat your breakfast. I dont know mom. Just not hungry I guess. Do you feel all right? Are you sick? No, I feel all right. Just dont feel like eating. Maybe I/ll be hungry later. But you havent even taken one spoonful. Why dont you try some and maybe youll feel like eating? Im not hungry I told you. Why dont you just leave me alone, jumping up from the table and going to his room. He sat on his bed knowing his mother was still sitting at the table staring at his empty chair with that look of sadness in her eyes. The smell was still so strong he could taste it.

Shit. Stupid son of a bitch. Didnt know. Just didnt know. O fuck it. FUCK IT!

The car stopped in front of them and 2 men got out and one grabbed him and he hit him, knocking him against the car and was about to hit him again when the other one took out his badge and said they were police officers. He stood still and looked at them. Why didnt you say so. What do you want with us. We just want to check on the girl. We think shes a runaway. O.K. Im sorry I hit you, but I thought you were trying to rob us. The cop he had hit stared at him and he stared back, unafraid.

He sat on his bed with the smell. He was getting sicker. He wanted to go out in the fresh air and rid himself of it, but he would have to go through the kitchen, past his mother, to get out. He didnt want to, but he had to leave the house. If he didnt he/d be sick and his mother would start worrying and be all over him. The desperation forced him to his feet. He wanted to run out of the house, but he forced himself to walk as slowly as possible, telling his mother he was going out for a while and hurrying on before she could protest too much. He walked rapidly along the street breathing deeply and exhaling completely. Why didnt she know? Couldnt she smell it? Its hers, why didnt she smell it? Worse than Mary.

The cop he had hit glared at him and continually dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. He could see, from the expression on Toms face, that he was afraid, and he smiled at Tom reassuringly. When they arrived at the police station the cops started shoving him in front of them so he just stood rigidly still, and silent, and stared them in the eyes until they walked away and told him to follow them. He answered their questions calmly and firmly. When they asked him again about the girl he repeated that nothing had happened. Why dont you have her examined, now, and save all of us a lot of time and trouble? They yelled at him to just answer the questions and he simply stared at them, calmly. Either have her examined,
now
, and release us, or charge us with something and let us make a phone call. They continued to yell and threaten, but he simply told them he had nothing further to say. When they were released, a few hours later, he looked at the cop he had hit, coldly, and said goodbye, chuckling as he left the police station.

He drove to the Capitol Building with Don and Stace. He was calm and confident. The interviews with reporters and on t.v. allowed him to gain additional poise. When the campaign first started he was a little apprehensive, but now he knew he could cope with any situation. No, actually the real starting point was not so much the campaign and interviews, etc., but the way he handled the defense attorney at the trial. Yeah, that was the real beginning. On the stand for days and never once faltering in any way. After that he knew he could handle anything. Not that he ever really lacked confidence, but that certainly left no room for doubt. That was real concrete evidence.

As they drove along the highway they discussed the forthcoming hearings and senate investigation. They were elated. All their labors had at last been fruitful. They had not only reached the public, but had, at last, reached the State Legislature. They realized they would have to work twice as hard from now on, but at least now they could see the goal that they had been working so hard to reach in sight. This was not the end, but just the beginning.

The Sunday after the trial the interview with him appeared in the Sunday Supplement. The interview was augmented with pictures taken in various jails and detention homes graphically displaying the deplorable conditions under which accused individuals were forced to exist. (No. No. That would be the following week.)

The response to the interview was greater than expected. Reading, and acknowledging, the letters was a full-time job. The following week the first of a series of articles appeared, shockingly illustrated with photographs. The point was emphasized over and over again
that the people forced to exist under these conditions were not convicted criminals, but people who had only been accused of a crime and were, under the law, assumed to be innocent until proven guilty.

The most shocking article of all was the one dealing with juveniles, where they were forced to sleep on the floor and were literally suffering from malnutrition and many of them were not even accused of a crime, but were there because their parents were sick or unable to care for them for one reason or another and they had no place to live. Their only crime was homelessness. (an angry nod of satisfaction. that was good. he nodded again.)

He knew there would be reporters, news photographers and t.v. cameramen at the Capitol Building and that he would be asked many questions before he even entered the building, but he was well prepared. He would simply continue to tell the truth and rock the foundations of the authority that had abused him. The coverage of their campaign was so extensive throughout the country that the State Legislature almost begged him, and Don and Stace, to testify. Although Don and Stace had attaché cases filled with photographs and documents of all kinds, he knew that he was the nucleus around which the entire campaign revolved. The depositions, statistics, articles, photographs, etc., were important, but it was his testimony that made it all real to the people. Theirs were facts, but they were cold to the average person. He was living proof. He gave those facts significance.

When they reached the State Building in the capital, there was a group of newsmen waiting for them. He approached them with self-assurance. All the media were represented and many of the newsmen were known by name because of the many conversations they had. He waved to those who were familiar and answered questions calmly for the press, radio and t.v., while cameras clicked and rolled. Then, after many minutes with the newsmen, he entered the State Building flanked by Don and Stace.

The interior of the building reminded him somehow of the courthouse. He wasnt sure just why. Perhaps it was the marble or the long corridors, or the way footsteps sounded and resounded; or perhaps it was the high ceiling and massive wooden doors; or maybe it was simply the coolness
of the atmosphere that was reminiscent of the court building. In any event it wasnt necessary to define why this building reminded him of the other as long as he could enjoy the feeling. And with each click of heels on marble the flood of feelings increased. He enjoyed and savored remembering how he felt the first time he went to court, how the stone coolness penetrated his bones and how he was led around like a dog on a leash being forced to be subservient to everyone in the courtroom, even that goddamn idiot who told him he was his lawyer and then turned his back and did nothing. He wanted to remember that day, the day he stood before the judge as a defendant vulnerable to the blindness of justice. And those fucking cops lying their asses off and that stupid sonofabitching public defender doing nothing but kissing the judges ass. O, how he wanted their asses to roast in hell. How he wanted to peel the skin from their bodies slowly, inch by inch, listening to them scream; then yank the fucking balls right out of their bodies. How often had he clenched his teeth with anger until he thought his teeth and jaw would snap, or clench his fist until it felt as if his fingers would go right through the palm of his hand. Even now he could hear the hinge of his jaw crack and feel his knuckles turning white as the old rage seeped through his body. But this time was different. You bet your sweet ass it was. The stone is just as cool, the ceilings just as high and the doors just as thick and heavy, but this time there was a beautiful warmth flowing through him along with the bitterness and hate. Things were different now. Much different. He was no longer an unknown, insignificant and impotent nobody being shoved around by sadistic slobs and an impersonal law. Now he was someone. Someone that had to be reckoned with. Just getting those 2 motherfucking cops thrown off the force wasnt enough. That had been the beginning. He had started to shake the state to its very foundation and he wasnt going to stop. He/d continue fighting until the day he died if necessary. The entire world would see how rotten and corrupt the system is. Even if Don and Stace wanted to stop he would continue. He would never stop fighting. Never.

Here we are. He nodded and entered the hearing room as Don held the door for him. They walked to the front and sat. He looked around at the tables, chairs, microphones, the members of the press
and t.v. and the people who filled the chamber. While still remembering his first visit to the courtroom he enjoyed the atmosphere he was in now. He knew all the people would be watching and listening to him. He was the reason for this hearing. The cameras would be on him. And the eyes of the people sitting behind him would be on him. He knew that if he did nothing more than nod his head to a question that that nod would be news. And he knew, too, that not only the people in the room, but people everywhere were sympathetic toward him, that they understood what he was trying to do. He knew they were aware that he was doing something millions of people wanted to do. Something millions dreamed of and prayed would happen and he was making it happen. He was not just going to fight city hall, he was going to burn the motherfucker down.

As he felt the warmth of all those eyes on his back he was vaguely aware of Don and Stace taking papers and photographs from their attaché cases, sorting them and placing them on the table in front of them. The sound of their voices was a hum of approval. When the papers were arranged in the desired manner Stace asked him how he was doing.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Good. I guess it is a little difficult to believe that we are really here.

Well, I guess it is in a way, but I will tell you Stace, it sure does feel good to be here. I have never felt half – one-tenth – as good in my life as I feel now. I just cannot describe how good I feel.

Stacey Lowry smiled at him and patted him on the back. I can imagine. It has been a long and difficult struggle, especially for you (he shrugged slightly), but we are finally getting some real results. A great many good things have already been realized by our campaign, but this hearing will really provide the opportunity to get at the foundation – the very core – of this thing. And this is not the end, but rather just the beginning of another phase of the campaign.

Well, I am ready for it Stace. Ready, willing and able.
Nothing can stop me.

They smiled at each other again then turned toward the front of the chamber as the senators entered.

He watched them intently as they walked to their seats, growing in stature with each of their august steps. He sat taller and straighter in his chair as he felt their eyes single him out from the hundreds of people in the room, yet he was void of tension and his composure and calmness increased as did his excitement. And as his eyes continued to focus on the members of the senate committee as they took their seats and adjusted their papers in front of them on the huge oak table, he listened to the musical humming of the t.v. cameras behind him. Nods and various greetings were exchanged and then the chairman of the committee gaveled for quiet and attention (he lay on his bunk with eyes shut tight and the scene vivid within and before him. He could see their conservative and well-fitting clothes and could even sense the colors. He admired his blue, single-breasted suit that fit so perfectly on his shoulders and hung softly, wrinkleless, with half an inch of the soft, white shirt collar showing above the smooth line of the jacket. And though he was viewing himself from behind, he could see the concerned and relaxed expression on his face and the not too tight overhand knot in his tie, and the small gold tie clip. He could see too, under the table, his black socks and shoes, the shoes polished so they just barely reflected the light from the massive window on his right. All was as it should be. Vivid and impeccable. The scene was so vivid he could smell the newness of his shirt, the wool of his suit, the papers on the table in front of him, the table itself, the polish on the many newly shined shoes, the drapery on the windows, the ink on the ribbon of the reporters stenotype machines, the wood of the just-sharpened pencils and even hear the humming of the cameras. He was so deeply involved in the scene that it remained static for many minutes, or hours, and he just stared and stared, the images and smells coming singly and combined; simultaneously and overwhelmingly. He suddenly became aware of a creeping drowsiness and was almost tempted to open his eyes, but didnt for fear of losing the image. He couldnt and wouldnt lose this. He had fought too hard for it and now it had become more than just an image, more than something
conjured up in his mind, something that was now real, more real than the bunk upon which he was lying but could not feel, the cell in which he was locked yet did not exist. He relaxed ever so slightly and let the scene continue to its logical conclusion. It had to.) and the voices quickly silenced and for a second the only sound was that of the humming cameras.