Just as that thought crossed my already troubled mind, the soundof approaching Jaffa drowned out my thoughts.Shit.Noticing an enclave off to the left of the passageway I dived in thereas quickly as possible, just quickly enough to avoid detection by theapproaching security patrol. I will undoubtedly be seen as they passby.Hoping for the best but preparing for the worst, I raise my P90 andsilently await the inevitable confrontation. I knew this wouldn't beeasy, patrols around the brig have been reported as double in frequencyand size to the security precautions taken around less secure parts ofthe base.The first Jaffa walked past the entrance to the enclave. A deafeningsound is let rip as the P90 tears down the closest Jaffa. And then... ablinding light that seems to burn my very retinas. And darkness.The world gradually fades back into a hazy semi-conscious view...This is not the brig. I seem to be laying horizontally on some kind ofdiagonally slanted bed. I try and move my legs and. He said he dreamed about me intensely. Occasionally he would call me from airports. Out of breath, with two minutes to spare. I was glowing. People said I was lit up. I caused a seven car pile-up walking down to Elizabeth Street. I was obliged to go out in a purdah like my Afghan woman friend who may or may not have shaved her legs. Hours, days, weeks went by. “I’ve been thinking about the Afghan woman,” I suddenly said when he called. “The one who came to your room in the middle of the night. What happened to her?” “It all went wrong,” he said simply. “Did you make love to her?” “Yes.” “And then?” “She wanted to marry to escape the country.” “And you wouldn’t save her? After you’d had her?” “I’ll be in New York on the 3rd,” he said. When he came we danced together. “Where were you today?” I asked. “At a meeting with the charity board,” he replied. “In Seattle.” “Was it boring?” “The desire to see you was almost unbearable,” he said. He took my shirt off and we slow danced like that..
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