The Death Toast

Free Day

The only whistle they heard the next day was that of their awakening. There would be no need for any other orders. They rushed up to their diner, making full use of their opportunity, laughing on top of their voices. They were all talking to Tristan who had told them some jokes the night before and now that the day had been declared free, he was sure to tell them more. It seemed like the first impression of Tristan was lasting longer. Although it was completely approved by every member of The Humour Sect that Pierson was quite the funnier of the two; in the Boorbunk bay, the laugh was louder for Tristan’s puns.

Now, they were all in the diner sitting as they usually did. Dale, Pierson and Michael on the same row with Barry and Tristan facing them and then Peter, and there were a lot of more people sitting around with The Humour Sect.

They were still murmurings everywhere when Tristan spoke. ‘Hey, everybody!’. Silence. ‘Take a look at your food, it looks good right?’. Everyone murmured ‘Yeah’, ‘Well, what do you call a violent breakfast food?’

‘A cereal killer!’. There were laughs and claps as usual. ‘Thank you, thank you’. ‘And yeah, it seems we all here eating telling really good jokes but there is this egg on my plate that is so grey, it can take no jokes’. ‘If they do, they’d crack each other up’, he declared and this time people tumbled upon each other.

The rest of The Humour Sect were laughing too, happy that people were laughing so whole-heartedly just the way it used to be, even though the puns were really silly. As everyone was busy laughing so hard, Dale gazed over to the grave-looking man, sitting in a different bench with himself all alone. He wasn’t even smiling, he was staring directly into his food looking so irritated by it, moving his spoon over it many times and then eating from it slowly. Dale had always wanted to ask Peter about him but he always forgot, he was determined to ask him today.

It was still early in the morning and they were ready to make the day as enjoyable as it could be.

‘Hey, Tristan you play table tennis’, one of the other men asked. His name is Carreras and he had no left arm. The flesh that was meant to be his left arm was so short and so thin that it was barely visible, it was only a bit longer than his armpit which was as good as no arm at all.

‘Nah, I don’t do that’, Tristan replied. Carreras was also really young and he even seemed younger than Dale, probably eighteen or nineteen. He wondered how old he was when he was brought there and even more, his offence. He looked so happy, so innocent, so meek.

‘Oh!’, he replied looking so disappointed. They were two bats and the egg in his hand, he seemed really good and confident to play.

‘Uhm. I am coming’, Tristan said and went to call Dale who was busy standing with some other men ready to play basketball. ‘Dale, would you like to play table tennis?’.

‘Yes’, he shouted and ran towards him. ‘Carreras, you would play with him, okay?’, he said and then Dale hurried to him.

‘Okay, thanks’, he replied and then he threw over a bat to Dale.

‘Can you play really well?’, he asked Dale.

‘Yeah, a lot’

‘But I am going to beat you. I promise’

Dale laughed as he remembered one of his classmates who had said the exact same words before the game but Dale had beaten him. All through his life, he had played table tennis on wooden tables and benches and he had won every time he played. This was the first time he was going to play on the real table. Just before he started doing magic tricks, he had thought he was going to play for Dexter in The Olympics and then get to live in Reckdette because it seemed he was invincible.

 ‘Here we go!’, the boy said and started the game.

Each of the ninety members of the house were scattered all about, playing different games, playing cards, drinking, singing and dancing, reading novels in the prison’s library that was only open to prisoners on days like that. It was probably the only room with a clock in it. Michael just sat by a radio outside the soccer field, on the track fields letting breeze blow on him as he watched the people play. Barry was playing, he was the goalkeeper.

‘Michael, you want to play?’, he shouted.

‘No, watch out!’, he replied and signalled him to the ball trying to sneak its way into the post from a free kick but of course, Barry was definitely going to get it. He remembered their times together in their high school, they had been best friends and the school’s soccer team brought them closer. He had always hated to play against Barry because he was a pain in the head from the opposing attackers and sometimes, some people, out of frustration, had asked him if there were magnets attached to his hand but he would just laugh. He was a good chap, a really good chap, the best friend he ever had. They had been both poor kids and they had both shared one soccer boot, Barry always went off for Michael to play. The memories came to his head freshly.

‘The cheapest shoe in the shop is 500.’, Barry said.

‘Oh God! There is no way we can afford that’

‘What are we going to do? The game is just tomorrow’

‘What if we buy one shoe? We can buy one shoe’

‘What. How. How are we supposed to wear..’

‘We’ll figure that out tomorrow, let’s just get it first. The shop is about to close’

They picked the green boots that fitted Michael’s feet precisely, there was no need to test it on Barry’s legs, they had the same shoe size.

‘Sir’, Barry called standing on his heels to make his head over the counter. ‘We want to buy this’, he said as he stretched his hand to drop the shoe pack on the table.

‘It’s 500’, the crotchety shop-owner who was chewing something really tough replied with the side of his mouth.

Both of them sighed and reached for their bags and brought out the jars containing all the coins they had saved throughout the year. Their parents who did not even have to pay the school fee would definitely have no money for playing boots. They poured out its contents.

‘That’s 610’, Michael said.

The man who looked really surprised with the amount of one-buck coins they had piled up, reached into his pockets and gave them their balance.

‘Thank you’, Barry had replied, really happy but Michael didn’t seem so glad.

‘What’s wrong?’, He had asked Michael while they were in the cab on their way to Crawdown, the suburban district that they were both neighbours in.

‘You said we are going to figure it out. What are we going to do?’

Barry sighed and shoved his hands through his yellow hair. Just when he thought that all the problems were solved. ‘Okay, this is what we are going to do?’. ‘We’ve got only boot and so you are going to have play. I will just play as a substitute’

‘No’

‘Yes, that’s the only way. I will tell Mr. Duster about that during the training’, he said. End of story.

The cab pulled over at the front of Barry’s house garage. ‘Barry’, Michael called, just before he got off the car.

‘Hmm?’

‘Thank you’, he said.

Barry nodded and smiled, before he left the cab. ‘See you tomorrow, Michael’, he said and waved to him. The car zoomed off to about quarter a mile in front of Michael’s house.

Michael could remember it vividly and he smiled as he saw his friend catching a penalty. It was about the twelfth time he was saving his team. He switched off his radio and walked away back into one of the chambers of the prison. Although there were other people in the room, it was still quiet. He could hear people laughing to Pierson’s jokes outside in the other room. He bowed his head on the desk and shut his eyes, he really needed to think, to be alone.

If only something had happened that had made them miss the plane to Reckdette, they would have thought that it was a big opportunity to miss but now here they were in a cell serving what they thought was a life sentence.. There was so much to think about and yet there was the urge not to think about anything, knowing that every memory would tear open your heart more and more, in a way that tears could not contain.

Michael had ended up sleeping right there and the next time he opened his eyes, he saw Carreras panting and sweating, looking really happy. ‘Hey, you’re Jesse right?’, he yawned and then sat upright watching him. Standing behind him he could see Dale.

‘No. Carreras’. ‘Is it all of you that play sports?’, he asked.

‘Well, Tristan and Pierson don’t play sports’, Michael replied.

‘Yeah. He and Barry play football and I play table tennis’, Dale said

‘God, Dale. I have never seen anyone that plays as good as you’, Carreras said.

‘But you play really well. You were a tough mate’, he said. I have never seen a one-handed person who smashes like you, Dale said to himself not sure if that was a clear-cut complement.

Later in the evening, Dale and the rest of them went over to the library where it seemed everyone had settled. Tristan, Barry, Michael and Pierson sat alone around a table. Alone. For the first time in many weeks, they had managed to make it go off the ‘public’ eye of the people. And now they could sit alone and talk about what mattered to them.

Dale kept walking around the large auditorium of the library across the several tall shelves filled with thousands of old books. The only fresh things in the room were the daily newspapers that he wondered how they managed to get into the prison every day. Just then, he looked into a corner among the self-help books and just there, he could sight a complete deck of cards.

With eager intention and wide open eyes, he picked it up and dusted it. He whispered an exclaim to himself in excitement as he brought out the cards out of its case. They still looked new, untouched.

Magic! Magic! Magic! Was what ringing through his head. Some few weeks ago, Tristan had called out Dale to come out and perform some tricks for the house but he was so shy and frightened that he just ran away. Later on, he said he wasn’t feeling in the right frame of mind to perform any activity of intense concentration which was like a metaphor for magic. Here he was now and he could feel the spirit of deftness drop on him in the most intoxicating fashion. He chuckled and then turned to face everyone.

‘Hello! Everyone. My name is Dale and today, I will be performing some magic tricks!’, he recited. It was the exact thing he had said every time he had performed in the clubhouse. Just like those times, a rush of claps and shouts had followed. It better be good, something in his mind said to him.

‘Uhm. Okay. Starting off I would be performing my signature wizardry trick and I say to you this is the most spectacular thing you have ever seen in your entire life’. There was silence in this house, everyone was waiting patiently for what he was about to do, what they were to expect.

‘Ray’, he called and walked over to him.

‘Yes, chap?’

‘You will be helping me with this trick’. When he reached his table, he pulled out the cards out of the deck. ‘I want you to keep calm and just do as I say’. He spread out the cards in front of him. ‘I want you, Ray to think of one of the cards and keep it in your head, don’t tell anyone’. The silence was more deafening and Dale felt really excited with it. He could foresee the roar of disbelief when he was done. It was time to show that he emitted the same level of delight that the rest of his group had provided for the prisoners.

‘Okay’

‘Have you done that? Okay, that’s good. Now, y’all should watch this’. He waved his palm over that laid-out cards once. ‘Ray, can you please tell the house what your card was?’

‘It was the four of spades’

‘Why don’t you check through all the cards and pick out the card’, he said and watched Ray check through the cards for the card.

‘It’s missing’, he said and laughed. There were a few mild claps in the background.

‘No. No. No. That’s not even the point. The real problem is where could the card have gone to’, he said and walked around the prisoners all hung in the suspense that he was providing for them. He took a glance to the rest of his crew and he could see them beaming with smiles. They had seen him do that trick before. He walked around everyone for about a minute before he returned to the cards and then spoke. ‘What if I told you, Ray that the card was right in the pocket of your trousers’, he declared and they were mumbles everywhere.

Ray paused for some moments shooting Dale with that are-you-messing-with-me-right-now look. He reached for his left pocket.

‘No, the other one’

‘No way, no way. There is no way’, he shouted out loud and brought out the folded card- four of spades. Suddenly, the library turned upside down with the on-lookers of the sorcery that had just happened giving an enthralled uproar. Dale stood in front of them with the card in his hand still showing the card that had mysteriously appeared in Ray’s pocket.

‘But I think I would like to take this a bit further. Something tells me that some of you don’t completely believe what happened now and some of you even think that this was earlier planned with Ray but guess what, I caught you’, he said. Low laughs. He remained silent for some while, standing in the same spot, bending his head down, shutting his eyes. Intense concentration! ‘Everyone look’, he said as he placed both of his palms over the four of spades. On opening his hands, it was no longer there, he managed to get his thoughts right with the ensuing explosive reaction of excitement from everyone.

‘Smith!’, he called out to one of the men who didn’t look really impressed with his trick. ‘The card is in your shoe!’, he declared. By the time Smith checked the sole of his feet he couldn’t help himself from leaving his mouth completely open and Dale could not help himself from blushing. He had done his job pretty well and the proud looks on the faces of his crew told him so. Everyone was on their feet, clapping for him, screaming for him, not believing anything like that. There were definitely no magicians in Tifftam or Redtwuft or BasKers or Yolyarkshire or any of the other states of Dexter Islands. If not for The Humour Sect in Gollogher, probably she would be part of the number too.

‘Thank you, thank you’, he said as he jogged to sit with the rest of his mates.

Night slowly came on and everyone was eating dinner. Only that, this time they could do whatever they wanted to do. Peter and Michael had a copy of the Dexter Call Newspaper with them, it was the daily newspaper and it was one of the only things in the place, besides the radio that gave them an insight about what was going on outside the confinement.

Dale looked over at the seat he had seen the elderly man and he was just there, reading a copy of the newspaper too with complete concentration. Ever silent, ever mute.

‘Peter, who is that man?’, he whispered, tilting his head to face the man.

‘Wow. That’s one hell of a man, if you ask me’

‘Really?’

‘No one knows his name, he has been here before anyone else. He is still the longest-staying prisoner ever, survived The Death Toast more times than he can remember’

‘Does he ever talk?’

‘Well, if you mean if he knows how to talk, yes but he rarely does, he only does when he asked something and even then, it takes sometime for him to reply’

‘Why? Is he okay?’

Peter laughed at the naivety of the question. ‘Of course he is not okay, no one who has stayed as long as he has stayed as long as him in Boorbunk should be okay’. ‘He has been here for more than fifteen years. He’s witnessed enough things in this place, you can not imagine’

‘Fifteen years? Boorbunk has been established more than fifteen years ago’

‘Of course. Boorbunk Bay is as old as the national crisis of this country. That was why it was established to put the most dangerous terrorists in’

Dale remained silent still looking all over him. ‘It’s just that he looks really strange’

‘He is strange. He should be. This place makes people insane and in the case of him, it gives powers’

Dale looked at Peter to get what he was saying. Powers??

‘Everyone here knows him as The Voyant. And he has the ability to see visions and predict the future’

Everyone on the table was staring at Peter in awe of what they were listening to.

‘In this case, he has the ability to predict beforehand who dies in The Death Toast’. The bombshell fell.

‘Oh my God!’, Barry whispered in complete incredulity as he stared at the man they were talking about. THE VOYANT.

‘Yeah, that’s exactly how I felt when I first heard that he could do that and when I saw him rightfully do it’. ‘He used to be one person that The Crusher respected and the only person that was untouchable to the harassment of his cult.’

‘The Crusher?’, Pierson asked.

‘Yes, the huge man who had been killed in the last ceremony when you just arrived. His real name is Gunther Djovaag and he was the biggest gangster in Boorbunk, he was here for quite some time too and he formed a cult that ruled this ward then. Despite the tough torture and punishments that was regularly meted out to him for harassing or harming other inmates, he continued, he was an obstinate bull. Afterall, death was prohibited in Boorbunk and The Death Toast was the only way people were gotten rid of in here but even at that, Djovaag was a beast. He always got tied up and I’m sure he spent most of his time here down in The Hole’

‘He is one of the savages in here, the true savages, the true terrorists’, Michael said.

‘No, never, that’s the wrongest assumption ever. He lived in Tifftam with me before he got here many years ago and he was the least most likely person to become a terrorist. He had no family, though but he was a fireman. He saved hundreds of people from their burning houses and he had risked his life many times, talk about a town’s hero. When he wasn’t at work or nursing his numerous burns, he was at the bar filling himself to the brim with strong rum, he had a huge voice and he was pleasant. He was a regular customer in my father’s bar but then over the years he got arrested for some offence that was not clearly explained and then we never heard from him anymore. When I got in here, I met him but he didn’t seem to recognise me anymore, he was different, he was like an untamed bear everywhere, always berserk, always grumpy. That’s what this place turns you to. For those of us who are completely innocent, we come in here loosing our mind each day and it’s either we get as cold as him’, he said pointing at the Voyant. ‘Or we get as hot as The Crusher’.

Dale’s body quivered at those words and then he took a glance at The Voyant again as he stood up and left the room with the newspaper.

‘Did he also predict The Crusher’s death?’, Pierson asked.

‘Of course he did, it was during a dinner like this, a week to The Death Toast. He was sitting in that exact lonely place he always stayed in when The Crusher had gone up to him, “Clairvoyant, who is leaving the world this Thursday?”, he said as if it were a funny joke. That was how he had always done, he had let him mention the person whose turn it was going to be and then he would mock the person singing some funeral songs to the horror of the future victim and the satisfaction of himself’. ‘That day, The Voyant looked away and then everyone was staring at him, the room was breathless, waiting for him to speak. Usually, he usually gave a long pause before he spoke but this time he even took more time and then he stood up. The atmosphere was tensed and silent, everyone was with sweaty palms and with clenched teeth, perspiration came from nowhere. It was like the actual Death Toast. It was. He walked slowly, one step at a time and kept looking at every one’s faces. He kept moving on around and around the diner. That was his usual ritual; whoever he touched first was the person whom he had seen in his trance as the departing one. He stopped in front of the table in which Djovaag and the rest of his gang sat and then walked more slowly towards him and then he tapped him loudly on his shoulder, shattering the thick silence in his room. It was as if the sound had broken the spell of uncontrollable muteness he had put everyone under. I could remember myself gasping for air. Then The Voyant spoke, “Yesterday, I dreamt of a banshee screaming out your name!”’

‘What? What does that even mean?’, Michael asked.

 ‘I don’t know, nobody knows. The Voyant has over a billion euphemisms that he uses during his revelations but we all knew that it meant that The Crusher was the one to be killed. The rest was history’

‘Is it possible to still ask him and get him to tell us?’

‘Of course but who wants to know? No one wants to know, we will have to wait for that day, only Djovaag could be so cold-blooded to ask for the next person to be killed so that he could mock the person’

Pierson picked up the newspaper and the first big headline on it was ghastly. NINETY PERCENT OF ALL DEXTERRAN SOLDIERS LOSE THEIR LIVES IN THE BIG SLAUGHTER. The infamous insurgent group have performed another despicable act, after invading the Dexterran army headquarters and left no stone unturned in the next big massacre Dexter as ever experienced

‘Hey, look. Governor Dormas is visiting Boorbunk Bay very soon’, Pierson said and then showed the headline to the rest of them on the table.

The headline read, THE GOVERNOR OF GOLLOGHER IS SET TO VISIT THE BOORBUNK PRISON IN THE NEXT FIVE DAYS. ‘Oh Dear God!’, Dale said as he fell on his knees in thanksgiving.

Peter could not help but burst into laughter as he saw Dale waving his hands in the air with hope glittering all over him that he was somehow going to get himself out of there. Dale looked at him. ‘What?’

‘What do you think the governor is coming here for?’

‘For a visit. We can all state our predicaments and tell him that we are innocent!’, he said and every other person on the table felt the same on the table except Peter who was still laughing at Dale.

This people don’t know what they are in for, he thought. ‘A visit, indeed. Do you know how many weeks there have been since the death of Djovaag?’

‘This is the third week’

‘And can you tell me what day of the week it is going to be in five days’ time?’

‘Thursday. Today is Sunday’

‘So what happens every four Thursdays?’

Dale’s mouth fell open as he realised what was in stock. ‘The Death…’