Everything Is So Political Read Free Page B

the left. I choose not to estimate the angle.
    â€œYes, I am.”
    â€œWho else has access to that room?”
    He already knows all the answers here, but I comply.
    â€œMyself, Carl, and Garrett.”
    â€œDo you suspect either of them could have taken it?”
    The warden is always practical. He sees no reason to yell.
    â€œYou know who it is, don’t you, Richard?”
    I focus on the painting. I focus on frozen oceans full of driftwood spray painted red. I focus on faces without names and ears turning scarlet in the cold. I focus on their faces in gray relief.
    There is a knock at the door.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWe found him in the mailroom again. All the envelopes have been confiscated.”
    These conversations always seem to be conducted through cold steel doors.
    â€œTake him down to interrogation for now.”
    The warden walks over to his bookshelves. He runs a thick finger along one shelf. He lifts it and examines the few specks clinging to his chapped skin.
    â€œWell, I guess this matter has solved itself for now. We’ll discuss it further tomorrow.”
    I nod my thanks and slowly back my way towards the door.
    The next time I see Carl, I will only recognize him by his eyebrows.
    * * *
    â€œTilt your head to the right.”
    Carl stares back at me. His lips are shaking. He wants to speak. I’ve advised him against this.
    â€œI made copies.”
    â€œHold up the sign, please.”
    â€œRichard, listen. Listen, okay? I made copies of the negatives.”
    When I pulled the blindfold from his face, it was drenched in sweat. There are no tears yet, just standard desperation swelling his eyes. His pupils are glistening under the translucent film.
    â€œUnder the sink. The one that drips. They all drip, but the one that really drips, you know?”
    Carl’s accomplice had been just like any other prisoner. His number is still fresh in my mind. 701 043. He stood stock still and stared at a space over my shoulder. I did not even need to instruct him on where to hold the sign.
    â€œRichard, you know what is going to happen to me, don’t you?”
    I nod. He continues.
    â€œNo one will ever see these photographs. They will burn them all when the time comes. They won’t find any evidence. This is just a hobby for him. Just a game. You were there yesterday!”
    I have heard all of this before, on endless repeat. It rings out inside my head each morning.
    â€œPlease hold up the sign.”
    â€œRichard.”
    His voice attempts to strangle itself.
    â€œStand still, Carl.”
    â€œI made… copies. Lots of them.”
    â€œI don’t want to ask you again, Carl.”
    His face begins to crack.
    â€œLose the picture or something. Open it up before you get downstairs. Do something to the film. Dip it in ammonia. Richard—I don’t want to end up like the rest of them. Please.”
    The guards outside can hear him as his voice mutates into a loud squeal. I need to take this picture soon. There are others out there lined up in the hall awaiting their turn. The door opens, and my camera flashes, catching Carl with his lips tightly sealed against the coming eruption.
    â€œDon’t let him have it. Don’t let him have it!”
    The guards enter the room, and I watch as clubs descend onto Carl’s skull. The sign showing his number clatters off the floor in my direction. I pick it up. It reads 701 044. I pluck off the final digit, “4,” as the two guards drag his unconscious body away. I replace it with a “5,” and the next gray flannel figure shuffles into the room. There is a red stain on the concrete floor beneath her feet. I pull the blindfold from her wet face and hand her the sign.
    â€œTilt your head to the left.”
    * * *
    The negatives are exactly where Carl said he hid them. I feel under the sink in the print room with the dim red lighting staining my hands. The room itself reeks of ammonia. The