Chapter 2

The interrogation Rooms

“This is all your fucking fault,” he said. “No, look, please I…” Two army men stormed into the arena and jerked the scrawny kid from her side. “Don’t!” Laura started crying as two other men came up to her and struggled to keep her still. “Fascists, you fucking fascists, die!” she screamed out to them. “It’s all your fault!” he yelled out to her as the men dragged him away. “No, Henry!” She kept trying to walk out and reach for him. “Ayúdame con esta,” said one of the men trying to hold her down. She resisted. “Cállate, carajo!” he insisted. She kept pulling away from them and started kicking them on their boots. They punched her in the stomach. Recoiling from the pain, kneeling on the floor, anger filled her veins and circulated through every inch of her body. “Don’t you fucking blame me! This was your choice!” she screamed across the arena to Henry who was already several meters away from her, being dragged into the interrogation rooms.

Henry was taken into one of the old office rooms on the second level of the stadium.  At the end of the room was a dusty Oak desk with a leather chair looking out a window-wall into the main arena of the stadium. In the center of the room there were three steel chairs. Small puddles and dripped blood surrounded the middle one. The other two were facing it.  Henry was told to wait for his interrogator inside the room. As the army men brought him in, one of them looked at him in the eyes and told him, “sin trucos… Don’t try anything smart in there. ¿Entendido?”

Henry waited.

“So, finally Mr. Al-Velo, what a pleasure.” The interrogator walked into the room stealthfully behind Henry’s back. Henry was not scared by his presence. He was prepared for anything. The interrogator walked past Henry and stopped behind the desk, facing the window-wall, always keeping his back to him. The two army men standing guard outside the room walked inside the room shortly after and sat down on the other two chairs facing Henry. Whatever happened, he told himself, he would not incriminate the others, no matter what.

“I am all about efficiency. You know this, right Henry?” His voice sounded familiar, but Henry couldn’t quite yet pinpoint whom it belonged to. “We’re running this stadium very inefficiently. Some of the people in here don’t have anything to do with the movement. There’s children, women, elderly. So many resources and money are being wasted right now to keep them here. Alive! We should just keep the ones we need. The hell with the rest!” Henry recognized his voice now.

 “Vete pal carajo, José Carlos.”

“Ay Henry, you recognize my voice? Well I’m flattered.”

“Yeah, I recognize your voice and your stupid accent. ¿Por qué no me hablas en español, pendejo?”

“Ha! Well, the answer to that is simple, my friend: I simply don’t see the point in talking in Spanish,” he said in a sarcastic tone of voice. “Believe it or not, my friend, I’m not here to torture you or extort any information from you. I already got my fill from the rest of your friends –who, by the way, talked up a storm for me! ¿Puertorriqueños al fin y al cabo, ah?”

“Pobre madre tuya por haberte parido,” Henry said.

“Don’t you fucking dare talk about my mother!” the interrogator snapped. He slammed his hand on the desk behind him and the army men in front of Henry started beating him.

Warm blood slowly spread across the cold puddle on the floor.

Henry remained silent.

“Are you calm now?” José Carlos asked the faint-headed Henry. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! ¡Que difícil es este hombre!” José walked toward the men sitting in front of Henry. “Guys, just put him in the room with Jamal for the moment. I need a smoke.”

The army men picked up Henry and dragged him into another room. An old dressing room used by many of the artists and sportsmen that were showcased in the stadium. Mirrors surrounded by round yellow-glowing bulbs covered a north-facing wall. A giant Puerto Rican flag covered the east-facing wall. Under it, in one of the corners of the room laid Henry’s most valued person: Jamal. The men dropped Henry on the floor, where he laid silently for several minutes. Jamal, who was asleep, woke up, saw him, and rushed out to him.

“Henry, bro, wake up. Wake up man.” Henry opened his eyes and saw Jamal standing over him.

“Cabrón, ¡despierta! Brother, can you hear me?” Jamal asked anxiously. Henry didn’t respond. Jamal looked around Henry’s head and noticed his ears were bleeding.

“What the fuck did they do to you?”