He thinks of the Nepali boys.
Purple Haze.
The first time in his life he was free.
The first time he threw his freedom away.
* * *
—
Something is hardening. Hardening in him.
He buries all his past.
Buries his kindness.
Finds a new way to live each day.
2.
The air warms, the days begin to shimmer and bake. Some prisoners leave. New prisoners arrive. Fresh meat. They are sorted, graded, threatened, coerced. Those who are strong will pick a gang. Those who have money will buy their protection. Those with lots of money can buy anything. Those who have nothing are preyed upon. They can be servants, they can be slaves. Scrub the toilets, wash clothes. A nineteen-year-old boy comes in, skinny, milk skin, high cheekbones, wide-set eyes, a pink bud of a mouth. Beautiful. Terrified. Jailed for stealing a mobile phone. Everyone takes notice. A flower, a prize. Sikandar licks his lips. He looks like a little calf, he says. Three Sissodia men surround the boy in the yard, make lewd comments, push him around. The kid withers as they caress him, grope him, whisper in his ear, take him by the wrist and pull away. At the last moment, Sikandar steps in. Shoves the Sissodia men aside, beats one of them to the ground, puts his arm around the kid, and leads him away.
* * *
—
Tender Sikandar. He tells the boy not to cry, guides him back to their side. He has a friend now, he’ll be taken care of. What’s your name? Prem, the boy says. Prem. Sikandar toys with the name. He offers him a cigarette, some good food, some soap to wash, something to ease the pain. Arranges to have Prem transferred to their cell. Welcomes him with open arms. It’s hard out there with no friends, no money, and so young. There are so many wolves out there, but not everyone is bad, not everyone is in it for themselves. You won’t be preyed on now. I’m a big man here, you saw what I did. They’re scared of me. Eat something. Take a blanket. Watch TV. Prem takes a seat on the mattress and hugs himself close. Have a peg of whisky. This is Bablu, he’s your friend. This is Ajay. He’s a killer, but don’t worry about him. Just stay close to me.
* * *
—
Out in the yard, Sikandar keeps Prem by his side. There are jeers, cries of pleasure, taunting and mocking. Sikandar winks, grins, nods, plays the clown. To Prem he says, Don’t listen to them. They’re jealous. They want to take things from you. Prem is trying hard not to cry. What’s wrong? Sikandar asks. Are you afraid? No, no. You don’t have to be afraid. See across there, see the men who were going to hurt you? They’re looking at us now. See them. They can’t hurt you. They don’t dare. See, I’ll prove it. Go over there. Go stand right in front of them. Prem shakes his head. Come on, Sikandar says, and grabs Prem by the arm. Don’t be scared. Let’s go over now. We’ll go together, you and I. He drags Prem across the yard. The Sissodia men stand unmoved as they get closer, Prem a child, Sikandar a harridan come to scold the neighborhood boys. Look at them, Sikandar giggles. Look at them, they’re cowards. The men scowl and bristle at Sikandar’s words. But they do nothing. Look at them. Sikandar grabs Prem’s head and jerks up his neck. Look. A nasty edge to his voice. See. They won’t do anything to you. He lets go and takes a step back. He grins and makes silent laughter at the crowd.
See. They’re afraid. Stand there, look those fuckers in the eye.
Stay where you are. Stay where you are and look them in the eye.
Keep looking.
Sikandar steps back silently, across the yard.
Keep looking, don’t turn around, look those fuckers in the eye. They’re not going to hurt you. See.
Sikandar can barely contain his glee. He slaps his thighs and bites his fist.
See, he calls from the far side. There’s nothing to fear.
Prem is left standing alone, face-to-face with the Sissodia men.
Now hit them! Sikandar cries. Hit them as hard as you can!
Prem is shaking.
ARGGHHH!
One of them makes a lunge at him.
Prem bolts as fast as he can across the yard, all the way back to Sikandar’s side; Sikandar hooks him in his arm. And like that, it’s known by all, he is Sikandar’s boy.
* * *
—
Sikandar gets drunk and feeds Prem liquor too. Makes Prem sip liquor as he sobs, and as he sobs makes Prem massage his feet. Don’t cry, Sikandar says. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. You just have to realize one thing. Things work a certain way here. Everyone has their place. If you want to survive you have to know your place. Sikandar, ever more drunk, tells Prem the story of his second wife. How he loved her more than anything. But how she betrayed him. Her name was Khushboo, he says. When drunken Prem gets up to pee, Sikandar orders him to squat. “Do it like a girl,” he says. And when he returns, Sikandar unbuttons the boy’s shirt to display his smooth chest, ties the tails of the shirt together in a feminine way. “What’s your name?” Sikandar asks. “Prem,” he says, fighting tears. “No,” he whispers, “that’s not right.” He pulls Prem down to his crotch, holds him by the shoulder with his dreadful grip. “Khushboo,” he croons. “Khushboo is your name. Would you like to stay here, Khushboo? Or would you like me to throw you back out to the wolves?”