Chapter Three: Meeting the Tourists

Just to maintain his sanity Arthur started writing down his thoughts in the form of a letter addressed to someone back home. He thought it might help if he could tell someone what he was going through.

He got out his pen and paper and wrote his sister�s name at the top.

Tee,

I�ve spent three weeks in this damned weird place but it sure feels longer. I�m not allowed to wear any clothes except the work-boots and gloves I was issued, and those may only be used at work This cold metal collar that's been clamped on my neck is something that I don't think I'll ever get used to. Back in college I helped wildlife biologists put similar tracking collars on bears in the national forest. Sometimes I imagine those bears rolling on the ground laughing their asses off, I now have the same uniform as them. But I realize that I'm not just an animal to be tracked, I'm also cheap labor. Criminals here are used in the jobs that are too difficult, too dirty, or too dangerous for free citizens. The function of the safety equipment that the government issues is for the protection of government property. In the same way a farmer shoes his workhorse, the Danubian Government provides work-boots, hard hats, and gloves to its criminals.

I'll tell you a little about what has been going on in my life these past three weeks. Since I didn't know the language my Spokesman decided to set me up with a job doing some manual labor that didn't require a lot of communication. I work for a stonemason who has a contract to build a brick walkway from the Plaza to the War Memorial. I had some experience with this kind of work back in the US so I don't require much instruction, which is good because the boss doesn't speak any English. I had to stay in my spokesman�s house for most of the first week, maybe so he could keep a close watch on me (to make sure I didn't kill myself or try to escape), or perhaps he was having a hard time finding anyone willing to house me.

After five days my spokesman told me to move to my employer Mr. Jakt�s house, so I picked up my notebook and pens (my only possessions) and walked to my new home. By Danubian standards his place was a mess, the lawn was high with un-mowed grass and weeds, boards were missing from the picket fence, and paint was peeling off the house. Something pleased me about seeing this disorder though, perhaps because the rest of my life is now so structured.

Mr. Jakt is an older man who had apparently lived alone for years. His wife�s long dead and he has no living children. He must be well past retirement age but just doesn�t want to quit working, probably doesn�t want to feel old and useless. Although I don�t understand much that he says the old man likes to tell me stories. He usually spends some time after supper gesturing wildly, laughing, and describing things I could only guess at, though it is reassuring to hear some laughter for a change in this overly serious country.

Spokesman Ralkliv got me enrolled in an emersion style Danubian language class three days after trial. The class had been going on for over a week already so I had to catch up quickly. There�s a collection of foreign students in the class, as well as a couple older businessmen. I was the only English speaker and the only one wearing a collar though. From the way they stared at me I suppose I must be quite a novelty, they probably told their friends back home that they shared a class with a recently switched criminal.

My first week in class I learned the essential phrases for a Danubian criminal. I learned: "Yes officer", "No officer", "I don't understand", and those peculiar phrases that spokespersons and criminals exchange about a path. I also know the alphabet, numbers 0-99, and of course my name: # 88588. For work I learned the Danubian words for the tools and supplies used. I can talk about the colors of the bricks that I lay at work, and the sand, cement, and water that I mix into mortar. By the second week in class I was having compelling conversations about the time of day, trolley schedules, and bus stops.

The number one lesson outside of class however, is to fear the police. They're hostile toward criminals in general, but are positively gleeful to harass me in particular. They blame me for what my former employer did. It doesn't seem to matter to them that I didn't know what was going on and I certainly didn't take part in that gunfight. But I suppose since Rumak's dead they have to hold me responsible for their friend's injuries.

As soon as my shift is finished at work a group of them usually appear. They have all the paths covered and I know that any way I travel the result will be the same. When I get within ten feet the cop calls out my number. When I turn toward them they always do seem to have that same cruel smile.

As a criminal I have to kneel before any officer who addresses me, and I have learned that there doesn't seem to be any specific time limit for that gesture. Just about every day a group of them come to humiliate me. This does seem to be the highlight of their day.

It begins with that horrible kneeling position. It�s obvious that they take great pleasure in leaving their victim exposed to passing foot traffic. They leave me kneeling with my forehead pressed to the sidewalk and my body as exposed as possible while they talk about whatever interests them. Countless people walk past, and though my muscles ache I remain still because I know there's always a switch handy to punish a criminal who moves out of position. After having me kneel for a very long time on the busy sidewalk they usually taunt me by having me thank them for discipline or some shit like that. Finally before letting me go they always tell me how they�re looking forward to seeing me the next day.

----------

The Friday of my third week started relatively well, at my language class in the morning I could tell that I was pulling ahead of the crowd, probably none of the others were motivated like I was. Then later at work my boss let me off an hour and a half early since we ran out of stain for the mortar. That meant that I could be out of the city center before the cops came looking for me. It felt so good to escape them. I cautiously walked the back streets and alleyways that kept me away from their usual patrols. Eventually, I stopped on a narrow street with a few shops on the left and a diner on the right.

Behind me I hear a young lady's uncertain voice. " Uh... Valugsk un...un Astik..."

Here I turn around to see two college age girls; both wore backpacks and were dressed in shorts and tee shirts. They looked tired; I thought they had probably been wondering lost all day with their crappy tourist maps to guide them. I could tell by their expressions they were not used to seeing criminals yet. Then the taller girl, whose face had turned bright red, tried to translate from her English to Danubian dictionary. Deciding on a Danubian phrase she looked at me anxiously and said something that loosely translated to: "my fish is gone, where is the bed?"

I felt a bit ornery right about then so I shrug my shoulders, and reply in English. "While I am saddened by the loss of your fish, I truly don�t know where your bed is."

The girls were so stunned to hear me speak English in an American accent that they just stood there for a couple seconds with their mouths open.

"But... Your an American, what the Fuck!" The blond cackled, as her friend held her hand over her mouth in quiet shock.

�Guilty as charged... seriously guilty."

�What are you doing here, like that!" She was trying to stop laughing.

�I am from the US, but for the last three weeks I�ve been in the custody of the Duchy." Gesturing to my unclothed state. "This is what they do to people who break their laws. You two look lost, maybe I can help you find your fish." I say smiling.

�Fish?"

�You said: ' Istal klot yervatna, unst kraz lierst', which in Danubian means: 'Fish is gone, where is my bed.'"

The taller girl starts laughing again. "Oh shit! What have I been telling people, I should throw this fucking dictionary in the trash."

�Well it�s actually our hotel that we have been searching for what seems like forever. It�s called the Vladiserikt or something." The dark haired friend said nervously while looking away from me.

"I recognize the place; its across the City Plaza and to the east of the University" I say glancing at their map and pointing east.

Not wanting the rare opportunity to talk to other Americans to pass; I told the girls that I had been alone in this foreign country for three weeks, and it would be nice to talk to some normal people again. I offered to treat them to lunch at the nearby diner and escort them to their hotel afterwards. They agreed, so we made our way over to the patio. I had the waiter ready a table overlooking the street and copy down my number to arrange payment.

I put out my hand to greet them. " Although I'm officially # 88588 my friends call me Arthur. The baked fish is good here by the way."

"I'm Samantha." The slim blond studied the incomprehensible menu. " I'm a vegetarian so I'll just get a salad. "

I glanced at her dark haired friend, who seemed still very nervous. "I�m Laura... uh the baked fish sounds good but we can pay."

"My treat, I insist, really what have I got to spend money on anyway?" I gave the waiter the order. Then turned to my dinner guests.

"So, you don't know much about Upper Danubia yet do you?"

�We just arrived with my family, yesterday. We're on a tour through Europe, and we thought we could ditch the folks for a day and see the city by ourselves." Samantha answered.

�It�s pretty shocking to see people walking around naked in the middle of city isn�t it? After a while you get used to it though. I don�t suppose you know anything about the Danubian criminal justice system?" I asked, and they shook their heads.

"Then I suppose you�re curious about me, so before the food arrives lets just get it out of the way. The short version is that I took a high-paying job from a shady character. Three weeks ago I was convicted and sentenced. In this country you wont find any jails or prisons, but your going to see criminals walking around out in the open, working, going to school, or whatever." Tapping my collar, " All of them wear these tracking collars though, so they can't leave the city. Like any other criminal I am not allowed to wear clothing, but aside from the uniform we have fairly normal lives."

"You mean you�re a criminal," Laura asked with wide eyes. " We're not going to get in trouble talking to you are we, your not escaped or anything are you?"

Not getting though to them the first time I try again. " I am a criminal, but I'm allowed to go anywhere within the Rika Chorna collar zone during my free time. I can talk to people, make small purchases, ride public transportation, or do whatever else I want within reason."

�My dad said that they beat prisoners here." Samantha blushed. She must have seen that I didn't particularly want to talk about that, and was about to change the subject.

Well this is real pleasant dinner conversation, I thought. Still embarrassed about that whole subject, I paused, and then decided just to tell the truth and move on.

�Yes, all sentences include at least one judicial punishment per year, with the first starting directly after trial. Criminals are punished by the police. The subject is strapped down to a table, and then a police officer strikes him or her fifty times with a switch. I've just been through one and I can tell you its one hell of a deterrent."

I laughed when I looked at their shocked faces. " Its no surprise that the crime rate's so low here; you could leave that handbag of yours on the side of the street all day and no one would steal it. They don't lie here either; it's some kind of religious thing that�s been taken to the extreme. They even consider make-up and hair coloring to be deceptive. Lying to a public official would get you a uniform like mine, and an invitation to stay here for a year. Another thing, they don't have much of a drug problem either, I hear that the sentences are pretty harsh for even simple possession."

Samantha turned pale. "Oh shit, did you have any of those �skittles� left Laura?"

Laura looked up thinking. "Fuck�I think so�but they're safe back in the hotel room in my bag. We can get rid�"

�Skittles?� Then it dawned on me what they meant. Not �Skittles� meaning the candy: �Skittles� meaning ecstasy!

"Stop talking!" I interrupted, and then I lowered my voice to an urgent whisper. "Don't tell me about your �skittles�, I'm a fucking criminal! If the police find out I know about another crime..." I shook my head. "Lets just say I'm in enough trouble already."

I lean back and take a deep breath to try to calm down. Of all the people in this city I had to meet these two drug users. They didn't seem presently high but if they got picked up by the police, or their drugs were found at the hotel I knew that my name could come up. It wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to find a criminal named 'Arthur' in Rica Chorna. I decided my best option was to remain calm, finish lunch, and then escort the girls quickly to their hotel.

�Sorry for yelling but you've got to understand that you can't even talk about stuff like that here. If someone overheard you could be in some serious shit."

Samantha was startled by my outburst. " OK, I think this country scares me now."

"As it should. So, where are you two from anyway?" I asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

�San Diego, well a suburb really, me and Laura went to the same high school together. And when Dad said he was making me tour Europe with him and mom I insisted on Laura coming too. I mean I'm 18 and I don't want to hang out with sucky old people all the time. So I just said to dad 'if your making me go on this stupid trip then I'm bringing a friend.' He argued a while but he finally gave in just like I knew he would." With an exasperated sigh she exclaimed. "My life really sucks."

Well, I thought, it was truly is shocking to hear the plight of these San Diego teens, being forced to go on European vacations against their will. Where's Amnesty International when you need them?

During lunch, I mostly sat and listened as they did most of the talking. Apparently all I had to do was get them started. They complained about their parents, inadequate allowances, their clothes, how little luggage they could bring, and how stupid this trip was, as well as a lot of other things that they hated about various subjects.

After hearing their long list of grievances against the world, I was impressed. Most people, I thought, wouldn't have had the confidence to air their complaints to a stranger who obviously had so little.

We finished lunch, and I lead them off toward their hotel. As much as I now wanted to abandon these two brats, I couldn't do that. Besides, I thought if the police caught them with their drugs, there was a small chance that they would appreciate my assistance enough to keep my name out of it. So I decided to use the same back streets as long as I could to avoid the police.

Once these girls started talking they just didn�t stop. I lead them down an old cobblestone street that divided two residential neighborhoods and then through a city park. We walked between the ancient oaks in the quite city park and then across an arched stone bridge before returning to the cobblestone road. Meanwhile the girls seemed to have snide remarks about the hair or clothing of every local they saw. Men, women, and children; no one was safe. It was good that the Danubians on the street couldn't understand English.

I was eventually forced to take a right turn onto the crowded street that lead to their Hotel. There were a variety of venders and open-air shops catering to tourists along this stretch. When we passed a shop selling hand made shoes Samantha had to have a look. Shoes were a common topic of conversation. After walking all day Samantha thought her shoes were chaffing her ankle a bit and apparently Laura's were not as fashionable as she wanted either. Neither of them seemed bothered by taking a person who wasn't allowed to wear shoes at all, to a shoe store. So while I found some shaded concrete to stand on, they took their good sweet time trying on shoes. It must have been half an hour later when they finished shopping and we could once again continue walking toward their hotel.

After walking up the street a bit, Samantha complained about how hard it was to carry all the shopping bags they had. Then she asked "Arthur would you carry our bags?" Being a criminal I had to comply. The hotel was at least within sight about half a kilometer ahead. With bags in each hand I marched on eager to be rid of these two.

As we got closer, I could see a disturbance up ahead near the hotel. A bus had stalled across the trolley line and a crowd of tourists was watching a wrecker hook up to their stranded bus. They must be waiting for another bus to pick them up outside the hotel, I thought. What was most worrying was that a group of Danubian police had taken charge of the scene. With the girl�s hotel strait ahead I couldn't avoid walking right through the crowd. Moving quickly I hoped to get into the hotel unnoticed.

Before I could get even to the sidewalk, I heard a policewoman order me to stop. The two girls walked right on by as I stopped and turned toward the officer. My heart sank when I recognized her as one of the cops who likes to harass me after work. In what has become a conditioned response I quickly place the shopping bags on the sidewalk and kneel as the officer approaches.

I could see out of the corner of my eye the crowd of tourists had all turned in my direction. There was a flash; someone in the crowd was taking pictures. This seemed to amuse the officer, who had her switch out and posed by me for several photographs. "This is what happens to spies here,� she kept saying in English. This cop's English has improved significantly in the last three weeks; I think the bitch is probably taking English classes just to insult me better.

After what seemed like an eternity the wretched tourists loaded up onto a new bus and left. About this time the policewoman noticed my two companions who were staring wide-eyed at the scene before them. In English she says " This your girlfriends?" she gestures toward the two. " Now they see you dishonored."

In Danubian she said what I believed to be "Criminal # 88588 tell your girlfriends what disgraceful trash you are!" And then something about crimes and trial. Though I didn't understand every word I knew from previous encounters that she wanted me to tell these "girlfriends" not only of the crimes I was convicted of but also about the shooting. I could see a couple pairs of feet to my left, assuming those belonged to the girls I translated.

�The officer ordered me to tell you two the circumstances of my arrest. I was arrested after my employer and I broke into an office to steal data and he shot a Danubian police officer while trying to escape. The officer survived but he has not recovered."

"Tell girlfriends you sentence." The officer smugly ordered.

"I'm sentenced to twenty years of wearing the criminal's collar"... knowing that the officer would demand it I continue. "And a switching every 90 days."

She was not through yet, calling to some of her fellow officers in Danubian, She says what I think meant: " Officers, It seems that I have caught criminal # 88588 corrupting these two young women. I think he should know that dishonored scum like him don't deserve their attention."

Several more officers were near me then. My tormenter was pleased. "Officer Stashak, I believe you know this criminal."

I heard another female voice then. This policewoman quickly let loose a long series of insults in Danubian which I couldn't keep up with. It was Officer Stashak, a woman I knew all too well.

In English my tormenter asks: " You miss Officer Stashak? Tell girlfriends who Officer Stashak is."

Utterly humiliated I reply. "Officer Stashak is the partner of the policeman that my employer shot... and she administers my judicial punishments."

�She make criminal # 88588 scream at trial and much cry yes?"

I remained silent, and apparently moved a bit too much. I felt the burn of the switch across my shoulders.

Snapping back into form, I managed to reply in a tone of barely suppressed hatred: "Yes, officer."

"Get up�, the officer said, �carry for girlfriends."

I tried to ignore the stares of all the people who had been watching this curious scene and picked up the bags. I walked inside the lobby eager to finish and go home. The girl's were ahead of me, and the officer who stopped me followed behind. With my mood lower than ever I follow the girls into the elevator. The officer still has a look of pure delight on her face, as we got off at the third floor and find the suite where the girls were staying.

Samantha knocked on the door. An older man that I suspected was her father answered the door. He obviously wasn�t thrilled to have his daughter and her friend escorted by a naked criminal and a cop. " Sammie, Is there a problem? Who are these people?"

Samantha looked back nervously. "Uh... this is Arthur, he's a criminal that helped us carry our bags, and this... this is Officer... I don't know her name but she's just escorting us to the room."

"I... I see, thank you Officer, and... and Arthur. Please excuse us." Here he hurried the girls inside and shut the door.

I turned to the Officer.

Pleased with herself she smiled. "That will be all criminal # 88588, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

So Tee, that's how my day went...

Arthur grew tired of writing. He put down the pen and carefully removed the pages that the letter was written on. He wadded them up in his hands and then threw them in the trash with all the other letters that he never mailed.

----------

The Not so Secret Agent - Chapter 4