Two Peasants and a President Read Online Free Page B

aseptic.  Then she was brought up short by the men holding her arms. 
    A key was turned in a lock, not quietly like the sound of a door in a house, bu t metallically as in a cell.  This sent a shiver down her back.  U shered into a room where the blind fold and handcuffs were removed, s he found that she could open her eyes now, with only slight discomfort, and she looked around her.  To h er surprise, the room was slightly larger than a s mall motel room.  It had a metal table with a single chair, a cot topped with a thin mattress and a sink and stool against one wall.  A single lig ht bulb hung from a ceiling which was painted institutional green like the walls.
    “Where am I ?” she asked.  “Where is my husband?”  The men turned and left without saying a word.  A clanging sound from down the hall told her that they ha d closed another door. 
    For the first time in she knew not how many days, she was no longer in pitch blackness.  She stretched, savoring the movement and the fact that her cell door had a small window, but when she looked closer, her reflection told her that they could see her but she could not see out.  She desperately needed a shower but there was only the sink and a few tattered towels and a was h cloth.  No suitcase; how she missed that little piece of familiarity. 
    Moving around the perimeter of the room, she examined the walls for some means of escape, not really expecting any.  The walls were of concrete block; it was obvious from the way they felt to the touch.  The floor and ceiling appeared to be concrete too.  Her spirits sagged again, realizing that her iron pr ison had merely been replaced with a concrete one.  She tried to focus on how her situation had improved, but the tears came welling up nonetheless.  Then the light went out and she was once more in darkness.
    She found the cot and lay down upon it, thinking about home and those she loved until finally she fell asleep. 
     
    ******
     
    T he sound of the steel lock disengaging awakened her .  The light had been turned on and the door was opening.  She sat up, pulling her knees up to her chest.  A thickset man stood in the doorway, wearing a uniform like the man in the van.  He looked at her for a moment and then around the room.  Finally he stepped outside and motioned to someone in the hall.
    A tiny woman shuffled into the room, pushing a wheeled bucket and mop.
    Her stooped back spoke of a lifetime of labor, making her appear to be in her mid-sixties, but something about her suggested otherwise.  Her white blouse and loose black pants momentarily sent a chill up Holly’s spine as she recalled Jimmy and Grace, who were dressed similarly.  But there was nothing sinister about this tiny person; she had a quiet look of resignation as though she had chosen to placidly accept her lot in life.  A pair of well-worn pink canvas shoes was the only thing about her that stood out. 
    The man grunted something in Chinese and then took a seat directly across the hall where he could see into the room.  The woman looked up at Holly briefly, curiously, then began to mop the floor.  When she had mopped her way into the corner where she was out of sight of the man, she looked again at Holly, as if searching her face for something.
    Holly felt strangely drawn to her, like fellow prisoners whose shared misery forges a common bond.   There was something else about her that was difficult to pinpoint, something that she held inside.  When she had fi n ished mopping, she sponged the sink and swabbed the toilet.  Then she turned to leave, pausing to look at Holly once more.  The guard made a guttural sound and the stooped lady turned and shuffled out.  Once again the door was locked. 
    About an hour later, the door was opened again.  A short Chinese man of medium height, dressed in white slacks and lab coat, carrying a clipboard and with a stethoscope around his neck walked in.  He had a bland, officious air about