WEEK THIRTY-TWO
“It’s been a blast, kiddo,” said Phil the philosophical cockroach.
“Whu…what?” I blubbled. The blaring music had stopped days ago, but I still hadn’t been able to sleep properly.
“I’m outta here,” Phil said. “There’s a kid in China what needs a prison buddy, knowhatImean?”
“The…tied bag on a stick is a nice touch,” I commented.
“Yeah, yeah, not the sort of thing you’d find in nature,” the cockroach spat out. “Still, a talking cockroach ain’t the sort of thing you’d find in nature either, so everything else pretty much follows, capisce?”
“Sure,” I agreed, seeing no point in arguing.
“Okay, then. This is the way things are gonna play out. Tomorrow, you’re going to be taken in for one more round of ‘questioning.’ It will become immediately apparent that the interrogator’s heart really isn’t in it, and the pain will be light. Be gracious about accepting it.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s his way of acknowledging that he’s been wrong all these months. When he takes the electrodes off your nads after giving you mild shocks, in his mind he will be apologizing to you. Why be gracious? Other interrogators would double down and give you a killing dose of electricity. Be thankful you get out of this alive.”
“So, they’re finally going to let me go?”
“Oh, yeah. What they’re gonna do is, they’re gonna give you a suit that doesn’t fit and a quarter. Then -“
“Why a quarter?”
“So you can phone somebody to come and get you.”
“Payphones cost fifty cents.”
“Talk fast.”
The cockroach gave me a “you finished with the interruptions?” look. I smiled weakly, and he continued: “Okay, so’s, then, they’re gonna put a black bag over your head – remember the black bag they put over your head when they brought youse here? Well, at least they washed it. Probably. It don’t matter. One little prick and you’ll be under for a while. When you come to, you’ll be an American again. On American soil. In American clothes, more or less. With American rights and shit. More or less…”
“Just like that?”
“Pretty much, yeah. While you’re out, you may think you hear one of the guards transporting you say something like, ‘You’re a brave American. A hero. I admire the strength and courage you showed in the face of what we did to you.'”
I snorted. “Like I had a choice?” I sourly commented.
“Yeah, well,” Phil informed me, “it will probably be a drug-induced hallucination, so I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
“When will I be able to sue?” I asked.
This time, Phil snorted. I like the sound of my snorts much better. “What part of ‘you’re lucky to be alive?’ don’t you understand? The Army usually buries its mistakes, and I’m not talking in red tape, here.”
I thought for a moment. “Okay,” I finally conceded. “Will I at least ever know why I was put through all of this?”
“The world is full of mystery,” the cockroach advised. “Embrace it.”
“But…but, there must have been a reason,” I insisted. “There must have been.”
Phil sighed. It was marginally less creepy than the cockroach’s snort. “Maybe your name was close to the name of a terrorist and they just got a little confused.”
“Philip Bentley?” I scoffed. “How could anybody confuse that with a terrorist’s name? Phil al-Bentel? That’s just silly.”
“Maybe a terrorist organization hacked your personal information and was using your identity to conduct its nefarious little schemes,” the cockroach suggested. “Maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Are any of these explanations comforting you at all?”
“Erm,” I ermed. “Okay. This is me embracing the mystery of the world.”
“Good call.” Phil’s voice softened, when he added: “You take care of yourself, okay?”
“I’m going back to my life.”
“Uh, yeah. About that. You may find that things have…changed.”
“Changed? Things have changed? WHAT THINGS HAVE -“
Before we could say anything further, the door to the cell opened, and one of the guards told me that it was time for me to get some exercise in the yard. I turned to Phil to ask him about what had changed, but he was gone.
SOURCE: Harpo’s
[http://harpos.org/archive/2012/08/12/dd-9000032]
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