Arthur Hailey - Evening News

Socorro continued, "These men will do it, and there's nothing you can do to change that. But it will hurt more if you struggle, so keep still!”

Ignoring the warning, mouthing incoherent words, his eyes moving wildly, Nicky fought even more desperately to free himself, to somehow pull back his hands, but did not succeed.

Jessica emitted a piercing wail.”Oh, no! Not fingers! Don't you understand? He plays the piano! It's his life . . .”

"I know.” This time it was Miguel who turned, a small smile on his face.”I heard your husband say so on television; he was answering a question. When he receives those fingers he'll wish he hadn't.”

On the other side of Nicky's cell, Angus was banging his screen and shouting too. He held up his hands.”Take mine! What difference will it make? Why spoil the rest of the boy's life?”

Miguel, this time his face working angrily, flared back.”What do two fingers of a bourgeois brat matter when every year sixty thousand Peru children die before the age of five?”

"We're Americans!” Angus hurled at him.”We're not to blame for that!”

"You are! The capitalist system, your system which exploits the people, is depraved, destructive. It is to blame . . .”

Miguel's statistics about the deaths of children were a quote from Abimael Guzman, Sendero Luminoso's founder. As Miguel knew, Guzman's figure might be exaggerated, but without question Peru's child malnutrition death toll was one of the highest in the world.

While the epithets flowed back and forth, it happened quickly.

The small table Gustavo had brought was moved in front of Nicky. While the boy continued to squirm and wriggle, begging and crying, pleading pitifully, Gustavo forced the boy's right index finger on top of the table so it was there alone, the other fingers curled back against the table's edge. Ramon had produced a sheath knife. Now, grinning, he tested the bright blade's razor sharpness with a thumb.

Satisfied, Ramon moved forward, placed the blade against the second joint of Nicky's exposed finger and, with a single swift movement, brought the heel of his beefy left hand down sharply against the back of the knife. With a thunk sound, a spurt of blood, and a piercing scream from Nicky, the finger was almost severed, but not quite. Ramon lifted the knife, then cut away the remaining tissue and flesh to complete the finger's severance. Nicky's despairing cries, now from pain, were shrill and harrowing.

Blood flooded the tabletop and was on the hands of the men holding Nicky. They ignored it and moved the boy's little finger, also of the right hand, from the table's edge to the top. This time the action and result were faster. With a single chop of Ramon's knife, the finger was separated from the hand, falling clear while more blood spurted. Socorro, who had collected the first severed finger and put it in a plastic bag, now added the second and passed the bag to Miguel.

Socorro was pale, her lips compressed. She glanced briefly toward Jessica whose face was covered with her hands, her body racked by sobbing. By now, Nicky—barely conscious, his features ashen white —had fallen back on the narrow bed, his screaming turned to agonized moans. As Miguel, Ramon and the fourth man moved out from the cell, taking the bloody table with them, Socorro told Gustavo whom she had signaled to wait, " Agarra el chico. Sientalo !”

Responding, Gustavo raised Nicky to a seated position and held him while Socorro moved outside, returning with a bowl of warm soapy water she had brought when the group arrived. Taking Nicky's right hand and holding it upright, Socorro carefully washed the raw stumps of the two severed fingers to forestall infection. The water turned bright red as she did. Then, after covering both wounds with several gauze pads, she securely bandaged the entire hand. Even through pads and bandage, bloodstains showed, though it appeared the flow of blood was slowing.

Through it all, Nicky, clearly in shock, his whole body trembling, neither helped nor hindered what was being done.

Miguel was still in the area outside the cells and Jessica, who had moved to her own cell doorway called to him tearfully.”Please let me go to my son! Please, please, please!”

Miguel shook his head. He said contemptuously, "No mother for a gutless chicken! Let the mocoso try to become a man!”

"He's more of a man than you will ever be.” The voice was Angus's, filled with rage and loathing; he too had moved to the doorway of his cell to face Miguel. Angus groped for the Spanish curse Nicky had taught him a week before.” You . . . Maldito hijo de puta ! “

Angus remembered what it meant: Cursed son of a whore! Nicky had repeated to Angus what his playground Cuban friends had told him: To bring a man's mother into a Spanish curse was the gravest insult possible.

Slowly, deliberately, Miguel turned his head. He looked directly at Angus with eyes that were glacial, vicious and unforgiving. Then, his face set, his expression unchanged, he turned away.

Gustavo had emerged from Nicky's cell in time to hear the words and observe Miguel's reaction. Shaking his head, Gustavo said to Angus in his halting English, "Old man, you make bad mistake. He not forget.”

* * *

As the hours passed, Jessica became increasingly concerned about Nicky's mental state. She had tried talking to him, attempting to find some way, through words, to comfort him, but with no success or even a response. Part of the time Nicky lay still, occasionally moaning. Then suddenly his body would jerk several times and sharp cries escape him, followed by a bout of trembling. Jessica was sure that severed nerves caused the movement and accompanying pain. As far as she could tell, most of the time Nicky's eyes were open but his face was blank.

Jessica even pleaded for an answer.”Just a word, Nicky darling! Just a word! Please—say something, anything!” But there was no response. Jessica wondered if perhaps she was going mad herself. The inability to reach out, to touch and hold her son, to try to bring some solace physically, was a frustrating denial of what she craved.

For a while Jessica herself, close to hysteria, tried to empty her head of thoughts and, lying down, shed silent, bitter tears.

Then with a mental chiding . . . Take hold! Pull yourself together! Don't give in! . . . she resumed the attempt to talk with Nicky.

Angus joined in but the result was as unproductive as before.

Food arrived and was put into their cells. Not surprisingly, Nicky took no notice, Knowing she should preserve her strength, Jessica tried to eat but found she had no appetite and pushed the food away. She had no idea how Angus fared.

Darkness came. As the night advanced, the guard changed. Vicente came on duty. Sounds from outside grew fainter and, when only the hum of insects could be beard, Socorro arrived. She was carrying the water bowl she had used before, several more gauze pads, a bandage, and a kerosene lamp she took with her into Nicky's cell. Gently she sat Nicky upright and began to change the dressing on his hand.

Nicky seemed easier, less in pain, the jerking of his body more infrequent.

After a while Jessica called out softly, "Socorro, please . . .”

Immediately Socorro swung around. Putting a finger to her lips, she signaled Jessica to be silent. Uncertain about anything, disoriented by strain and anguish, Jessica complied.

When the bandaging was done, Socorro left Nicky's cell but didn't lock it. Instead, she came to Jessica's and opened the padlock with a key. Again, the signal for silence. Then Socorro waved Jessica out from her cell and pointed to the open door of Nicky's.

Jessica's heart lifted.

”You must go back before daylight,” Socorro whispered. She nodded in the direction of Vicente.”He will tell you when.”