The Raindrops of Quintana Roo

The prisoner lived in a fetid, fifteen-by-fifteen foot concrete box that was always dark, save for a light turned on one hour, twice a day. He had no hands or feet or ears. They had been removed during the past nine years by a skilled surgeon without the use of pain medication.

He called the first hour day-light, and the second hour, night-light.

There was a straw mat and stiff wool blanket for sleeping. A rusting, metal door was sealed on all four sides with thick, rubber strips to prevent any penetration of light.

A single bulb, caged in steel-mesh was installed in the middle of the ceiling where a six inch square grate provided the only fresh air.

The cell had been designed and constructed under the personal supervision of the tormentor and located in a corner of the basement of the old prison. The prisoner had spent the last nine years there.

His meals consisted of two cold corn tortillas, a small portion of pinto beans and a four-ounce piece of boiled animal flesh, perhaps dog or cat or rat, and a pail of water.

He always reserved a small portion for his friend, Gabriel.

Sardonically, he was God’s captive and felt it was his responsibility to feed the rat that came in the darkness. This was God’s heaven or hell or both. It didn’t matter. He was alive and survived within its boundary.

He used his teeth and arm-stubs to unfold the last letter he’d received from the tormentor.

Still alive Toro? I’d check on you personally but would be too sickened by the sight of you. I’m sure you’re experiencing the filth and pain and misery I want you to feel. The things I felt when you took my love and my joy. My hell is the bliss that can’t be mine. Yours is darkness, and seclusion and condemnation and guilt. I’m comforted that you’ve tried to kill yourself.

Always with you.

Hatred! The prisoner nick-named ‘El Toro’ only remembered hating once, when he was a child. He hated the Pouton Indians that killed his dog Tico many years earlier.

He knew fear in his life, but fear evaporates. Killing for Batista, “The Scourge of Chiapas,” was painless.

Guile, narcissism, and a lack of emotion were traits he acquired surviving his own indoctrination into a world he didn’t choose.

Young men who do horrible things to survive don’t reflect on them. Reflection is reserved for old men. Young men act, and hide their feelings, because feelings serve no one, and they hurt.

Surviving was easier than hating. Surviving was eating, and drinking piss water, and meeting with the rat, and running through the trail to the ancient Cenote, and sleeping.

He didn’t need to hate, or fear, or plot-revenge, or beg for sympathy. He needed only to survive.

The night-light snapped on at a strange time. He pushed his way to the slot in the door for the meal. It didn’t come. There was a knock, then a stern voice, “Move away.”

It was the surgeon. He was thin and wore a white lab-coat, and a black ski-mask covered his face. He wore black rubber slippers with a rounded toe and no heel. He walked over to him and stuck a needle in his neck.

That’s all he remembered.

When he opened his eyes, he felt sick and threw-up. He was chained at the torso to a ring above the mattress and couldn’t move more than a few feet.

The light was on. The tormentor had arranged plates of food on a folding table out of reach.

Unbelievable smells filled the room; smells he had forgotten, steak and butter and garlic and vegetables and chocolate. The sensation of smell had become heightened over the years to compensate for the lack of light. He could smell the rat when it entered the room.  He could smell the piss in the water and distinguish it by the men that did the pissing. He knew when they ate strong chilies or limes. He knew if more than one man pissed in the water at the same time.

There was a note next to his mattress.

Today the surgeon brought you a surprise. I hope you enjoyed seeing the meal and appreciate the quality of the meat, the coulotte cut, the marbling, and the dry-aging. The cake was baked with imported Swiss Cocoa by the pastry chef at the Ritz Carlton in Mexico City and flown to your suite. I’ll soon remove your nose and eyes, but today they will replace me as your tormentor.

Always with you.

The prisoner smiled at the depravity.

Then the rat arrived.

“This is how it will come at the end of times. An angel will come, and separate the wicked from the righteous, and throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth,” the prisoner thought to himself.

The rat he called Gabriel spoke to him, “Thank you Toro for the daily meal you always provide. I will partake of it first. The entreaty will be infinitely more satisfying than the feast spread before me by a man who suffers more than you. I will eat the steak and vegetables and the cake after your offering. Have you recognized the pain? I will always ask this of you. It is the only way you will humble yourself. But remember what I’ve told you, don’t look back! That’s the sure road to torment, the view of Gomorrah. Men through the ages have done far worse than you. God knows you very well, the child who ran through the jungle to the ancient sparkling Cenote to bring fresh water back to his grandfather who was dying with fever. God saw your tears and blew the cool wind of comfort on your hammock that night and it was God who sent Tico who was your companion for years to follow. He hears your prayers for comfort and happiness and peace, but never one for forgiveness. Why is that?”

“Was God responsible for Tico’s death? Did God eat Tico, or was it the fucking Indians?” Toro asked

“The Indians ate Tico. They were starving.” Gabriel replied.

“Fuck God and the Indians,” Toro replied.

Gabriel continued, “Fathers will do anything for their children who suffer. They’ll steal from others, and they’ll even sacrifice themselves.”

“Don’t go there you smelly, sanctimonious, rodent,” Toro said.

“I haven’t gone anywhere but to your side. I’m worried about your tormentor. I came today to ask a favor of you. You felt anger and pain when Tico was ambushed and eaten. How do you think your tormentor feels? Don’t you think his loss was at as great as yours? Yet I fear for him more than you. God has your attention, so to speak, and I’m seeing a change of heart, an epiphany, that’s beginning to nourish your soul,” Gabriel replied.

“Fuck off rat, what’s the favor?”

“I want you to forgive the tormentor and pray for his comfort and peace; the same comfort and peace you felt in the cool waters of the Cenote when you swam there after the death of Tico.”

“Why?”

“Because you need salvation and so does he.”

“Bullshit! I’m going to hell and you know it.”

“Your choice.”

“Eat my feast and the tormentor’s and then get the hell out of my head.”

“Thank you Toro, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Gabriel replied, and then disappeared.

The prisoner slept.

The day-light snapped on. The steak and asparagus and chocolate cake had been eaten by Gabriel.

When it was time for the prisoner to receive his regular meal, a guard entered and tossed a note at his feet and then removed the empty plates.

The prisoner sensed a problem. The note was written without the precision of prior letters, as if it were completed in a hurry.

He heard a man scream when the guard left.

Then there was another note.

“You think you’re gonna get away with this you’re wrong. Did you bribe the jailor? What else have you been getting that I’m not aware of? I’m going to have him fired and all the others. I could buy that stinking jail and turn it into a one-man torture chamber. Next time I’ll have them do a full body cavity search. I’ll poison your food. I’ll have a butcher skin you alive. No! You think you can trick me into killing you with your goddamn sleight of hand? I lied, it was a shitty steak, and the cake was a leftover and I shit on it before it was delivered it to you.”

El Toro smiled at the irony. The tormentor, tortured. He could imagine the face of the tormentor who must have been waiting outside the cell when the empty plates were removed.

A week passed without food or water. He was too weak to sit. His heart was racing. Death was imminent and he prayed for the lasting sleep

He heard a noise.

Gabriel was back, but he wasn’t talking. He was sniffing around the foot of the mat.

He heard a jostling, and the door opened. A heavy-set man with a trim, white beard and friendly eyes dressed in an inexpensive brown suit walked in with a uniformed guard at his side.

The rat disappeared.

“Jesus Christ, get a doctor down here. Risolvo, get water, Now! Oh my God, Oh my God.”

The man yelled and then knelt at his side.

“Toro, I am the new warden of this prison. My name is Santiago Cota. I am aware of your history and the crimes you’ve committed. You will be hung when your state-funded appeal has been exhausted and I understand that could occur within weeks, if not sooner. In my opinion, a hanging is too easy for you, but the law is what it is, and, unlike the actions of my predecessor, who is now under arrest, I will adhere to it.”

The words were spoken by a friendly man. So he would be hung! The joy! He wished he could tell his friend, who had disappeared.

He closed his eyes and lifted his head as the warden continued.

“You will be moved to a standard, solitary cell, and given light, and three meals a day, with clean water, and a blanket, and a pillow, and you will be given four hours a week in the yard, in the sunlight. I will stand beside the men that hang you, but until then, you shall remain under my custody, in my prison, in accordance with the laws of Mexico. We will transfer you shortly,” he said, as the guard unshackled him. The warden put a cup of water to the prisoner’s mouth and gently allowed the prisoner to drink. “The men who did this to you may be hung as well. This is barbaric. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Then they left.

The light stayed on. When the door closed, Gabriel reappeared at the foot of the mat.

“Thank you for your prayer Toro. God hears your prayers and it pleases him. You will most certainly be blessed,” Gabriel said.

“I couldn’t be happier, knowing I’ll be in kept in solitary and then hung. God really knows how to bless a man,” Toro said, weakly.

“You’d be surprised. Have you recognized the pain?” Gabriel continued.

“Yes, I recognize what a pain in the ass you are.”

“It has always been a rhetorical question my friend. I know you’ve recognized the pain or there never would have been a prayer.”

“During my years with Batista, I killed many men, women, and children. Does it matter? I have thought about it and cried. Your rationalization regarding Tico caught me off guard. Yes, you smelly rodent; I’ve felt the pain, but what difference does it make; the work was done, too long ago; I feel no remorse, it’s too distant, too far out of reach. The only thing I feel is friendship with a stupid rat. Yes, I feel the tormentor’s pain, yes your correlation of pain to my loss of Tico was insightful, but I’m numb. I’d probably kill the Indians again if I had the chance.

“Would you kill me?” Gabriel asked.

“No, you’re my friend even though I don’t like you very much.”

There was a knock at the door. This time four guards appeared. Gabriel disappeared.

“Toro, we’re here to carry you to your new cell,” said one of the guards. Two of the guards unfamiliar with the stench were holding their noses.

“Oh my god, this is repugnant!” one said.

The two older guards laughed, “Believe it or not, you get used to it.”

His new room was smaller than his previous cell, but well-lit and the bed was a six-inch mattress with a sheet and a blanket and a pillow. There was a sink and a small table and a toilet in the corner and a polished surface mirror; paradise!

“You will be given a shower in one hour and new prison clothes. The Warden has also authorized a thirty minute stay in the sun room, a small patch of grass surrounded by four walls with no ceiling. The sun is out today and the weather is beautiful.  My name is Francisco Caldron. If you don’t make problems, your stay will be as comfortable as possible. You are famous for your atrocities. I believe all men have an inner soul that is good. I hope yours is saved before you are executed,” Francisco said.

“Thank you, the warden is a good man and so are you. Francisco, if you come back in an hour I’ll have something prepared that I think you’ll find useful. I need to write a few things down. Can you give me a pencil and paper?” the prisoner asked.

“Yes, I’ll bring them shortly, and then you can have your shower and stand in the warm rays of the sun.”

When he left, Gabriel was sniffing around under the mattress and poked his head up when the door shut.

“Toro, what you’re about to do is a good thing. Every soul, every sinner, must pay a price brought by their acts, but we exist in eternity and everyone is entitled to forgiveness. All you need to do is ask with a sincere heart and it will be granted.”

That sounds good, but I don’t believe any of it. I know I will die in this prison, probably soon. I’m going to give away everything I have, which includes a lot of money. I’m going to give the warden and Francisco each one million pesos and I’m going to give the Chiapas Indian Tribe that killed Tico one million pesos, and lastly I’m going to give my tormentor three things.

First, a dog. I want Francisco to pick out a puppy; it needn’t be pure bred and I’ll have him deliver it to the tormenter.

Second I want to send the tormenter a video of my execution.

Third, I’m going to write a letter which I’ll have Francisco give to him before they hang me.

The balance of my money will go to an orphanage and I’ll rely on Francisco’s judgment to determine where that should be.

“No forgiveness?”, Gabriel asked.

“No. My gift, to me, will be no more selfish acts. I won’t ask for forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. If heaven is as easy as asking God for forgiveness after what I’ve done, a simple, please forgive me, then I’m not going. It’s not fair for the pain I’ve inflicted.” It’s something Batista would do; I can see him dropping to his knees weeping and begging, “God, I’m sorry for the thousands of men, women and children I’ve killed, kidnapped and tortured, I’ve thought about it, and I was wrong. Please forgive me; I want to go to heaven.” Batista is a coward and weak.

“If it’s that easy, something is wrong. I won’t allow myself to go to a place like home, where the land was beautiful, and the food was good and the ancient Cenotes were refreshing, and the rains came as a blessing in the heat of the summer. Wherever I end up, I hope you will remain my friend and visit me often.”

Gabriel left.

Toro closed his eyes, extended both arms, tilted his head back, and stuck out his tongue and waited for the raindrops of Quintana Roo.