CHAPTER 13

PROGRAMMING

French

I GOT WORD THAT THE PROGRAM WAS STARTING THE moment they switched the lights on, so that the news was delivered while I was switching from disorientation to relief. And so it became good news in my body. And I supposed it was. This was my chance, the only one I could see. What I couldn’t see yet was the cost of it.

“You commence activities tomorrow,” the man at the door called in. His voice was low and quiet. I hadn’t seen him before. He wore grey scrubs, and as far as I could make out, he was unarmed. He stepped just inside the room carrying a canvas sack and threw it onto the foot of my bed, where I was still lying. “Be ready. And be presentable.”

Then he turned and left, the door slamming and clicking behind him. I waited for the dark to return, but this time, it did not. The first thing I did was look at my hands, fingers outstretched. There were a few old cuts, broken fingernails from scratching the walls, but otherwise, they were mine. I was still me. I put them to my face and winced. Six small stitches held a split over my cheekbone together. My head felt a bit better. It was bruise sore but not trauma sore anymore. I reached for the sack and sat up to check it out.

I pulled out folded scrubs, grey like those of the man at the door, a pair of white boxer briefs, a bar of green soap, a toothbrush (!) and a small tube of toothpaste, and a clean pair of white socks. At the very bottom were grey canvas slip-ons. No laces, no buckles. Oh, I was so happy to see clean clothes, to see a toothbrush, and the soap smelled strong and good. I rechecked the empty sack, hoping for a comb. My hair must have been a mess. Then I remembered it was gone. I ran a hand over the stubble and really felt that loss for the first time.

There was a sudden burst of sound, and then water shot from the ceiling over the toilet. Embedded in the ceiling with no pipe to hang a noose on, there was a shower, the controls somewhere outside this room. The flow was steady over the sink and toilet, splashing onto the cement floor, but not strong enough to make it to the bed. I watched it for a moment, and then, realizing this might be my only chance to get clean, I rushed to throw off my clothes and step under the stream. It wasn’t hot, but it also wasn’t cold, and it lasted just long enough for me to lather up and rinse off. I contemplated brushing my teeth under it, but just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. I looked around for a towel, but I guessed that was a luxury item. So instead, I used the scratchy blanket to dry off and mop up the water that hadn’t gone down the drain beside the sink, then hung it over the toilet to dry so I could use it later tonight to sleep.