Class work example 3

We were thrown into the blackness and landed in piles. I felt something scrunched up by my shoulder that didn’t move when I shrugged. I prayed it stayed still because it was never alive, not because it had ceased to be. There were grunts, staccato demands barked as the men dragged us around like sacks of spuds. ‘Mover, perra,’ and ‘callate, puta Americana.’ One grabbed me round my chest, pinching and pulling at the flesh of my armpits with his stubby fingers. His hands left a sluggy trail where they brushed over my face, and his rotten odour filled my mouth. I could hear my own constant wheezing breaths and the pump-pump of my heartbeat like white noise. I half expected one beat to be too much, to push my insides out of my chest like a scene from Alien. Finally the turn of phrase ‘heart in my throat’ made sense; it sat engorged at the base of my neck, threatening to choke me.

Once the Men left us alone we were silent for a long while. Or at least it felt like it. Time isn’t quite so measurable in the dark, when it expands and contracts into gaping holes or flurries of panic. The first voice to speak out wasn’t mine. I was waiting, willing someone else to go first, frightened that if I spoke no-one would answer back. I didn’t want the answer to be finite, and in the dark there are always possibilities. ‘H-hello?’ came the first voice, female and stuttering. There was a pause and I felt us hold our collective breaths. A man responded ‘I’m here’ he said. His voice came from behind me, her voice from in front. Surrounded I spoke out ‘How many?’ At the same time another voice spoke, posing the same question. ‘Are there more of you?’ she asked, a distorted echo.

Again nobody spoke. The pause was too long and so two more people started at once, like a conversation with satellite delay. Again I asked my little question: how many. The number was most important, providing substance where nothing else was tangible. Concentrating I could feel very little. My arms were tied and numb behind my back. My face was pressed against the floor, gritty against my cheek. I lay on my side in a position like the result of a suicide leap, spine twisted and legs bent awkwardly. I pictured the chalk outline from cop shows, and in my mind I was already dead. ‘I’m here’ it was the woman who first spoke up ‘my name is Geneveive’ her English was perfect, but she spoke with a thick French accent. ‘I’m thirty-four years old, from Lyon. I’m a journalist.’ ‘Hello Geneveive’ another woman spoke out encouragingly. ‘I’m Annik. Dutch. Also a journalist.’ ‘Thank you.’ Courtesy, rather than a hand to hold, was all we could offer.

Taking a ragged breath I decided it was my turn ‘Hi…everybody. I’m Bethan, I’m British, from Leeds.’ I paused before the final push. ‘And I’m looking for my husband.’
Then they came thick and fast.
‘Paul. From Boston.’
‘Tina, Paul’s wife.’
The two voices came from very near each other, maybe within touching distance. I tried to stretch a foot, to make contact, jealous of theirs.
‘My name is Diana. Travelling from Cambridge, England.’
‘Diana! I’m here – over here!’
‘Stephanie!’
‘That’s my friend, Stephanie.’ There was rustling in the dark, perhaps Diana reaching out her foot.
‘And Dan, Daniel. I’m with them. Girls, where are you?’
‘Over here’ ‘Here’ The words came at once, a confused echo from opposite sides in the darkness.
‘I don’t know where that is’ Dan’s words were met with another confused silence. The connection between us was tenuous, and I didn’t want to break it.
‘Is that everybody?’ I asked, to which there were murmurs in reply.

With no visual clues I couldn’t see if I should talk. Nobody had instructed not to but it seemed unwise to anger the Men.
Out of the darkness we heard Geneveive ‘Who are you?’
Confused, I responded. ‘We already said. I think that’s everyone.’
‘No, I mean who are you. Like I’m a news journalist from the Netherlands, out here with only a small crew. My cameraman is missing, and I think the others escaped. I am lucky, I have no one at home waiting for me.’
‘No-one? There must be someone.’ Tina spoke up from across the room, and I felt an almost physical pain as I imagined she would be squeezing Paul’s hand, grateful.
‘My parents are gone, that’s ok, and I have no other family.’
‘Someone will care though.’ I couldn’t help myself. Being alone there was bad enough for me.
‘I have friends, but they will be fine – they have each other. Somebody said before their husband is missing.’
I swallowed, but shielded by the dark decided to tell them.