Klempner

What's the obsession with potatoes?

I called her Potato Face when she was a kid.

What does she look like now?

Jenny was no looker at that age…

… But she matured. Bloomed.

Juliana... Never the same twice.

I scratch at my beard. I’ve never liked facial hair in hot climates, but I don’t have a choice right now. Even so, the flourishing colony of lice that has stowed aboard adds an extra edge of irritation.

Lice…

Where the fuck did they come from?

Can rat lice live on humans?

Having a fucking good go at it…

I catch one, squeezing the revolting thing between my fingernails. It bursts with a Pop!

Only another 999 to go…

*****

The boredom’s the worst. Endless hours. Endless days and nights. I’ve no idea how long.

The only breaks in the monotony are Juliana’s visits: just long enough to sit, eat something at me, toss a potato at me.

No, not Juliana: Solana.

Why's she so obsessed with the name?

How many names have I used over the years? Worn like a suit of clothes to be discarded when the weather changes and something different is needed.

I’ve never been defined by my name.

But she sees it differently…

Something skritches and I jerk a look sidelong

It’s a rat…

Just a rat…

down gunmen,

It’s just a rat…

openings, more scratching. And a

an

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle an uneasy

*****

know

something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a

psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation,

saying you're getting attached

but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse

“So?”

your

The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the

why do you

pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging

you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera

you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change

a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're here every day or

only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that

her head, giggling. “So, you're

me, “You think someone's going to come and save you, Larry? You believe you're worth saving? That there's anyone out there who thinks you're worth it? The daughter you had slated as a sex-slave when she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same heartless bastard that shipped me out to dig up potatoes for the rest of my life. Along with all the others you did the same to. You’ve not changed. And I’m going to make you

her arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making

my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever

“Solana…” she hisses.

she stands, the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this

her heel,

taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from

adjust to the green blink of the camera. It

bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a fruit

eaten anything

For how long?

sense of time is

had a

mouthful of empanada, then another,

soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m

my scavenged meal, I barf it

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