"Better," I said, looking up to lock eyes with a passing guard.

The temperature in the cellblock dropped dramatically as the sun slipped below the horizon. I sat on my bunk trying to ignore the stench and Reginald's ramblings on everything from cricket strategy to Irish autonomy. I nodded and grunted in agreement just often enough to keep his attitude even.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to a cardboard box tucked under his bunk.

He leaned over and slid the box out into the dim light. "This is a collection of crap sent by the Red Crescent. They come here every six months and bring care packages like this. Let's see here," he said, tossing the contents onto the floor one by one, "an English language version of the Koran, fucking useless, a little Arab skull cap hat, fucking useless, and notebooks of empty paper and pens for writing letters, fucking useless," he said sarcastically.

"Why are the notebooks useless?" I asked.

"There's no mail here, no pickup, no delivery. We have no form of communication with the outside world. If whoever you have on the outside didn't know you got in trouble here, then they won't know anything of what happened to you until you get out. That's the thing that weighs on me the most Evan," he said in a serious tone. "Back in the West End, I left a beautiful young wife and a one year," he checked himself for a second, "a four-year-old boy. They know nothing about what happened. They probably think I'm dead, and I must remain so for another eight months, each day wondering if I'm still in her thoughts, wondering what proxy lies between her legs and acts as father to my son."

I laid back against the wall and felt a part of my spirit leave. It was the part of me that still clung to the hope that my gift, a well-placed favor from Ramsay, might remedy my condition. She had no idea where I was, nor did anyone else for that matter. I had been denied any form of communication or representation until I reached Tunisia, and by then it was too late. The realization then came over me quite effortlessly that if she was not empowered to commute my sentence then, as Samas had said, that responsibility naturally fell upon my own shoulders.

"Well, it's about that time," said Reginald as he got up and placed the open chamber pot at the foot of his bunk.

"Time for what?" I asked.