Simmering(A short story)

Simmering

I.

“They don’t even need a reason.”

It was just after six p.m. Beth and her husband Carter were on their way home from Sunday dinner at his mother’s house. The flashing red and blue lights ahead of them irradiated their Brown skin and the roundness of her stomach.

“When have they ever needed a reason?” Carter said.

“Slow down, Carter.”

“If I go any slower, we won’t be moving.”

“I just don’t want to give them a reason,” Beth insisted.

As they rolled by, Carter’s eyes briefly locked with a man whose cheek was pressed against the hood of his car, the hand of the officer like a spatula against a patty on the grill. Beth gently placed her hand on his knee. It was the only thing she could do.

II.

Once safely inside, and three lock clicks later, Carter glanced outside from behind the sidelight curtain. He did so like someone who constantly needed reassurance that the gas stove was off. Beth sat quietly looking into a monitor and waiting for an opportunity to interrupt his pacing.

“Maybe we should go,” Beth finally said.

“Go where?”

“Away from here! All the videos I’ve seen have been wonderful. Once people go...it’s like they never want to come back. I can’t blame them. Aren’t you tired of always having to hold your breath? The government will even pay for the relocation. Why not just go? We can start over."

"More importantly, we can give our son a better life.” Beth said, caressing her stomach.

“When have you ever known them to do anything that benefitted us?” Carter countered.

“I don’t care what they do or offer us to leave. The blood of my ancestors is in this soil and I’m not going to abandon it. They can leave and go start over somewhere else. It shouldn’t be us who leaves.” Carter said, indignantly.

“That’s your pride talking,” Beth said.

“What matters more to you? This land or the future happiness of our son? Do you want him going through what you went through?

“I work 6 days a week to make sure he won’t have to.” Carter replied.

III.

Carter had worked at the same plantation for the better part of 20 years. The work was grueling. Some say it was a young man’s job, but he could produce with the best of them. And not since the introduction of the cotton gin had so much been required from so few workers. Besides an occasional exchange with Sam, who was the second oldest person on the job, Carter largely kept to himself and focused on work until he could leave and focus on who mattered to him the most.

“Today is my last day, “Sam said, barely able to contain himself. “I’m finally going.”

“Why?” Carter asked.

“My great grandfather was a slave. My grandfather was a sharecropper, and my father was too. Whatever sins I may have committed in a previous life, I’ve more than made up for them. I want something more out of life than this. And who knows how long these jobs will last anyway. The way technology is advancing, I figure our days here are numbered. Besides, look around you. How many men do you see around here our age? This life clearly wasn’t meant for us. You and your wife should come with us. I just got a video postcard from Bill and his wife the other day. They are having the time of their lives.”

Before Carter could respond, the foreman appeared behind the two of them. His clothes were always sweat stained even though he never did any manual labor. Coupled with a seemingly permanent 5 o’clock shadow, he looked like he could never get clean no matter how many showers he took.

“Sam, Carter, you know we got a quota to meet. It looks like you two are doing more talking than picking. I need you to get the lead out.”

“No problem, “Sam said.

“Asshole,” Sam muttered under his breath as the foreman sauntered towards the next workers.”

“Anyway, you should come with us,” Sam said, putting his hand on Carter’s shoulder before uncharacteristically hugging him.

“I’m going to miss you too,” Carter said. “But enough of the male bonding before the foreman starts docking us pay.”

“My wife’s been trying to convince me to go for a while now,” Carter said while continuing to work.

“That’s because she’s a smart woman,” Sam responded.

“Yeah…everyone constantly reminds me of that.”

IV.

Exhausted after another long day, Carter couldn’t wait to leave. Beth had promised him her famous peach cobbler would be waiting for him after a long, hot shower. As he made his way home, the flashing red and blue lights were as familiar as the street signs. They almost faded into the background until he saw Sam being accosted by an officer. Carter pulled up behind the squad car and quickly exited the car.

“Is there a problem officer?” Carter inquired.

“This doesn’t concern you. Get back in your car and go home.”

“Officer, I know this man, “Carter insisted. “This really isn’t necessary. He isn’t even resisting.”

“I’m not going to tell you again,” the cop said, this time taking out his baton.

“Beat it,” he said, striking Sam in the thigh.

“Please, none of this is necessary,” Carter insisted.

“That’s it. Let’s see your ID.”

“I…I can’t find it.” Carter replied.

“So, you’re driving a vehicle without a license? Looks like I’ll be taking in two niggers to jail tonight instead of one.

V.

There’s something about jails and courts, especially the kind that prey on Black men. The despair is palpable; it could be cut and served like Shephard’s pie. Most people making their way from the maw to the belly of the beast have a look of resignation, but there’s always a few who react differently to any environment.

“You shoulda never came here, boy,” said a disheveled man with a book that may or may not have been a Bible. “You done jumped out of the frying pan and straight into the fires of hell.”

“Don’t I get a phone call?” Carter asked.

“You’re lucky if you don’t get a boot in your ass.” the guard replied.

“What about my friend? Where did you take him?”

“You ask a lot of questions. Your friend is in another holding cell. Birds of a feather, I tell ya. Don’t worry, you two will be re-united soon enough. Now shut up and get in.”

VI.

After several hours of waiting in a holding pen, Carter was escorted to the magistrate. The magistrate was an old, bespectacled White man. Carter could tell he would just as well look through him than at him.

“How do you plead?” the Magistrate asked.

“I do have a license. I ... I must have misplaced it.”

“So that would be guilty of operating a motor vehicle without a license,” he concluded.

“I hereby sentence you to 3 months in the Carcarrion Correctional facility.”

“3 months!?! But…. I have a pregnant wife?!” Carter pleaded.

“Well, you should have considered her before you broke the law.”

“Please, your honor, I didn’t mean to. I’ll miss the birth of my son!”

VII.

Carter didn’t remember much after saying he’d miss the birth of his son. Some sort of struggle ensued, but he could not remember. He awoke with several stiches to his forehead that he could only assume came from an officer’s baton. As his vision started to clear, he saw a Black man in white scrubs smile at him.

“There you are,” he said.

“My name’s Cook. It’s short for Cookie.”

“Don’t ask why they call me that.”

“I ran your bloodwork … there was enough of it pouring out of you,” he said, mustering up a laugh.

“Everything seems fine. You’re pre-diabetic, by the way, but that isn’t a problem. The food here is actually really good. Between the diet and work detail, you’ll be in tip top shape in 6 months.

“6 months?” I said bewildered. “I’m only supposed to be here for 3 months.”

“Yeah, it was three before your little outburst in the courtroom.” he said. “And before you decide to have another conniption in here, I highly recommend you think about whether or not you want to be out before your kid graduates high school. Look, I won’t lie to you. It’s bad here, but it can always get worse. Stay on the straight and narrow. And try to keep your head off the chopping block. You’ll be fine. Someone will un-cuff you take you to your cell soon.”

VIII.

After a few more hours chained to a bed, a CO came to escort Carter to his cell.

“Does my wife even know if I’m here?”

“The fuck would I know?” the CO responded nonchalantly.

“I never even got my phone call. I never saw a lawyer. I want to talk to my wife!!”

“Keep talking and I have you seeing Jesus,” he said, removing his baton for emphasis.

At that moment, the warden appeared. He didn’t wear anything that would allow you to readily identify him as the warden, but you always know when you are in the presence of an apex predator. He looked directly at the CO. There was an awkward silence for a moment where neither man said a word. It wasn’t until the CO realized he was still tightly griping the baton in his hand that he quickly holstered it before the warden continued.

“That’s no way to treat our newest guest, is it Joe?”

After a long pause, he said, “No, sir. I’m sorry, Warden Miller...”

“I WANT TO SEE MY WIFE!” Carter interrupted.

The warden paused for a moment before continuing with the correctional officer.

“Joe, come here. Do you have a lighter?” Miller asked.

“Yessir.”

“Good. Light my cigar for me, would you?”

Before the officer could put the lighter away. The Warden stopped him.

“No, keep it going.”

“Good, now place your hand over the lighter and don’t remove it until I say so.”

A look of confusion mixed with impending dread took over the CO’s face. It was the same feeling Carter had experienced many times before, including right before waking up. Visibly shaken, the CO complied.

“Ah…ah, ah ah…no yelling,” Warden Miller said.

A small tendril of black smoke began to escape his palm after a few seconds, and he looked near on the verge of collapse before the Warden told him to stop.

“Joe, that was about 10 seconds. The same amount of time it took for you to follow my orders. You should take yourself to the infirmary and get that hand checked out. I’ll see after the prisoner.”

“Yes, sir,” he said before staggering away.

“Now, what’d you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. My name is Carter.”

“Yes, Carter. Why did I just do that, Carter?”

“I…I don’t know.” Carter replied.

“Because, in here, my word is law.”

“That man would self-immolate if I asked him too. So, who, in the fuck, do you think you are to bark an order to me? Are we clear?”

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question. I require a response.”

“Yes…” Carter responded.

Warden Miller just stood there and continued to look at Carter until the awkward silence prompted Carter to think about what he had just said.

“Yes…..sir.”

“Now, I know you’re new here and hell, we’ve all seen some miraculous shit in the last few years, haven’t we? So, I understand it’s a bit of an adjustment. But you disrespected my officer, and you disrespected me. And in front of the other inmates too. I can’t let that stand. I think 4 hours in the hot box should soften you up. I’ll leave you to it.”

“What…where do I go?” Carter asked.

“Well, I think you should just stand there,” he responded. “In fact, I think you should stand exactly where you are and not move an inch until someone comes to get you. And I want everyone in there to see you standing right here.”

IX

Carter spent the next several hours… in a wooden box, like the ones used to torture prisoners in Korea except these were made of solid wood panels instead of Bamboo. The box wasn’t tall enough to stand, nor wide enough to sit. The unblinking sun and reflective panels around the box meant the temperature would quickly rise to over 100 degrees. 4 hours might as well have been 4 days. At some point, a delirious Carter was removed and carried to his cell. When he finally awoke, it must have been after midnight. And it was to someone in the adjoining cell talking to him.

“What up, new fish?”

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

“Don’t be like that,” he said. “You need friends when you’re here. They trying to break you.”

“They’re doing a good job.” Carter was finally able to croak.

“I go by Stick.” he said.

“Why they call you that for?” Carter asked.

“S’pose it’s cuz I’m built like one. Or maybe because I’m always stirring shit up. I don’t know.”

“What … are you in here for?” Carter asked.

“Fishing without a license. Farm raised just don’t taste the same.”

“How long did they give you?”

“3 months…. but that was 6 months ago. They ain’t never letting me out of here.” Stick said with a slight sigh.

“I have a wife and kid on the way. I have to get out of here.” Carter said.

“The only way that’s going to happen is if you get in good with the warden,” Stick responded.

“How do I get in good with the Warden?” Carter asked.

“By doing whatever the fuck he says,” Stick responded.

“He already hates me.”

“Then you, my friend, are royally fucked, “Stick laughed.

“I just want to talk to my wife. Let her know I’m okay.”

Stick offered, “Well, let me be the first to tell you that you are most certainly not okay. Second, I may have a way to get you in contact with your wife. But I need something in return.”

“What’s that?” Carter asked.

“A favor. I just need you to pass a message. I’ll have it for you in the morning and show you who you need to give it to. I can’t be the one to deliver it. If you do that for me, I have a contact that can get messages in and out of the prison. We have a deal?

“Deal.” Carter said.

X.

The next morning, Stick gave Carter a piece of paper folded several times and taped. He used his eyes to point out a tattooed individual on the other side of the mess hall. Carter delivered the message as inconspicuously as someone like him could. He returned to his table and sat down to a medley of fresh fruits and vegetables and a couple of lobster tails. He eats, talks to Stick, and eventually returns to his cell. Later that day, CO’s storm his cell and drag him to the Warden.

“Have I not been as hospitable to you as I can be given the circumstances?” Warden Miller asked.

“I don’t know what...

Interrupting Carter, Warden Miller says, “Don’t even bother finishing that sentence. Actually, go ahead if you want to but, if it is not the one I want to hear, it’ll be the last sentence you ever finish. I will make sure you spend the remainder of your natural life, short as it is, inside the box.”

“…I was just supposed to pass the message along. I don’t even know what was on it.” Carter said.

“So, you confess to being a part of it?”

“A part of what?” Carter asked.

“The conspiracy to kill me.” Warden Miller said.

“No..no… I just wanted to talk to my wife.” Carter pleaded.

“Guards, put him in the hot box.”

XI.

Hours pass by, maybe more, you can never be sure about the passage of time inside the box. Eventually, the guard took Carter back to the Warden’s office and dropped him like a sack of potatoes in front of his desk.

“All the conspirators have been found. It turns out that you really were ignorant of their plan. Although ignorance is no excuse. Look, I just want to say it’s nothing personal but, without the rule of law, society would fall into savagery and disrepair. They would cannibalize each other if I wasn’t here and didn’t maintain absolute control. Now, I can’t let this stand. The major conspirators have been given life without the possibility for parole…or worse because, you know, it can always get worse. Now I could do the same thing to you…. but I’m inclined to show a little mercy given the circumstances of your case.”

“I take the sweat and stench emanating from you to mean you are interested.” he said.

“Here’s how this works. You will be immediately deported, and you will never be allowed to return. Before you decide, I want you to see this video.”

The warden hands me a hand-held monitor and Beth’s face suddenly appears.

“Carter, I have been so worried about you. Nobody will tell me what’s going on. I need you here with me. I don’t want to go through this alone. I don’t want our son to go through this life alone. Please, do whatever you have to. Just come back to me.”

“You have a lovely wife,” the warden said. “Do you see my dilemma? I can’t just let you go. If there were no consequences for your part, unintentional though it may be, and you were allowed to go walking around freely, then my days here would be numbered. On the other hand, I do understand your desperation to get back to your wife. I’m not an unreasonable man, Carter. This is why I’m offering you a deal. Permanent exile. Never return. It’s not like the races here ever mixed well to begin with. Like oil and water if you ask me. Your wife can join you there if she wishes. It’s up to her. You still have time to witness the birth of your son. So, what’s it gonna be? Life with her or life with me?” he said, flashing a smile.

“I choose my wife.” Carter said.

“Then we have a deal.” Warden Miller said. “You’ll ship out first thing in the morning.”

XIII

The CO takes Carter back to his cell. With Carter out of sight, he pulls out the piece of paper Carter delivered and unfolds it, revealing nothing on the page. He crumples the piece of paper, tosses it into the waste basket, leans back, and smiles. The next morning Carter is prepped for deportation. He showers and shaves. He is allowed to record a message for his wife.

“It looks like you were right all along. I’ll see you soon. They won’t allow me to come get you. You’ll have to meet me there. As soon as I arrive, I’ll plan for you to join me. I love you.”

XIV

The warden leans back in his executive chair and speaks to another inmate. Stick this time.

“Well, you have been very good over the last year, haven’t you? Well, a deal’s a deal and I am a man of my word. Because of your service, you will be granted parole. Now, you do understand our nondisclosure agreement, don’t you?

“Yes, sir.” Stick replied.

“And you know your parole can always be revoked, right?” the warden asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, if I were you, I would run away and never look back. In any case, try to stay out of trouble. I’d hate to see you back here.

XV

Carter entered an old diesel bus filled with other men set to be deported. As Carter left the correctional facility, he saw Stick embracing his wife and child just outside of the front gate. Their eyes locked for a moment before the bus sped away. As the bus hummed along and his body shook to the bumps and dips in the road, he contemplated the last couple of days. Deportation didn’t sound like a bad idea to him at this point. In fact, it didn’t seem like a bad idea to anyone on the bus. His wife was right. He …. they didn’t belong here. They can go and be with people like themselves and be free to do what they please. His pensive gaze was interrupted when a gentleman who looked to be in his late 50’s started chatting him up.

“You ready for a brand-new life?”

“I suppose so.” Carter said.

“After the hell I’ve been through,” the older gentleman said, “this entire world can kiss my ass. There’s nothing here for me. Never has been the more I think about it.”

“There’s only one reason, soon to be two, for me to leave here. As long as I can be reunited with them, I’ll be okay.” Carter said.

XVI

Back at the plantation where Carter used to work, the foreman patted Sam on the back in front of a basket of picked fruit. It looks like you met your quota after all. I need your ID so you can be paid. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a license and handed it to the foreman. The foreman took the license and went back to his office where he looked at the picture showing Carter’s face before throwing it in a bin containing hundreds of others.

“I’m sorry, Carter.” Sam muttered to himself.

XVII

On the ground, the ships were making last minute preparations to take off.

“People can actually pilot these things?” I asked.

“It is amazing the things we can do or learn how to do when we need to,” said the old man. “I hear these ships are not as advanced as the first ones, and the computer AI is somewhat limited, but all they need to do is go from here to there, so I suppose there isn’t much need for all the bells and whistles.”

The soon-to-be expatriates made their way to the ship and were told by a mechanical voice emanating from the ship itself to enter their assigned travel chamber.

XVIII

They were on flight for nearly 12 hours, give or take. Suddenly, the same mechanical voice that greeted them broke the monotony of the trip.

“Please prepare for descent. There may be some slight turbulence.”

After a small jolt of touching down, the hum of the engines became less intense.

“You may now leave your chamber and head for the decontamination unit.”

“Are we free to leave once we exit the ship?” I asked out loud.

“Unfortunately, that is not possible at this time.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Our atmosphere is much thinner than yours. Ours is a harsher climate than what you are used to. You must remain in a sealed and controlled environment for a brief period of time to give your bodies time to sufficiently acclimate to your new environment. Please continue to the main foyer for continued processing and decontamination.”

Once inside the main lobby the voice continued, “Our facilities are designed to process you individually. If you will, please face forward and walk towards the scanning window in the individual booths so that we may complete processing and begin decontamination.”

XIX

They entered a large circular room, sterile except for stations with monitors for recording video postcards. Carter could hear a mechanical voice talking to the old man on the bus.

“Please state your name, date of birth, and family members. Please repeat the following words so that our computers may accurately identify you and respond to your verbal requests: ball, dog, grapes…”

After recording video postcards for friends and family, they were all instructed to go down a long corridor into another wide, open room. There they were forced to disrobe down to their undergarments. Nozzles appeared from the ceiling and emitted a dampening mist that filled the room, slightly moistening up our travelers. Suddenly the wall around them began to part revealing a large bay window. Two towering figures became visible from behind the window. “Excellent choice,” said one as the other Kanamit pointed directly at me.

Fin.

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