Far Afield

XXV

171 XXV In its smells and crumbly institutional facade, the jail was exactly as how I remembered it. Only the people attending it had changed. Now there were officers I did not recognize, as well as a new civilian volunteer, a comely looking young woman whose oversized badge simply read “ERICA.” She appeared to be about twenty and to have no duties whatsoever. Following her, I was led to the same cell that I had occupied a few weeks earlier. But due to the riot, this time the adjoining cages were filled with about a dozen paint-splattered detainees, men and women mixed in together. They looked tired, as if they had been there many hours. Then I recalled my jail experience and one of the first truths that I’d learned from it: that institutionalization is meant to be wearying at every turn. Owing perhaps to his status, Trevor was being kept in a cell by himself. Bunched around his shoulders was the same dirty down jacket I’d been offered and he clung to it as if he were outdoors on a frigid day. He stood up slowly when I came to the other side of the jail doors. “You’ve made it!” he exclaimed. He extended both of his hands through the bars to grip mine. “What happened?” I asked. “A simple thing, as it always is. They needn’t concoct complicated reasons to imprison people. When I can be let go?” I shook my head. 172 Far Afield “I don’t know. Tell me what happened.” “Later. I must leave at once. The election rests in the balance. I cannot operate from here. Go see what you can do. Now.” Impatiently, he signaled me away, refusing to say anything more, and after a moment of his baleful staring, I left to find someone I could engage on his behalf. Fortunately, though, I only had to go out to the waiting room where I at last discovered Wilkie, who was sitting alone on a wooden bench and eating from a plate of homemade cookies that had just been handed to him by the civilian volunteer. “Wilkie!” I exclaimed, truly glad to see him. “Tell me what happened.” As I asked him, it also occurred to me that I had been repeating the same question for the last hour without getting much of an answer. My skills as a reporter were obviously in sharp decline, I thought. Thankfully, though, Wilkie was able to provide me a summary of the events and it felt good to finally be able to communicate meaningfully with someone. His story went as such: Just after I was awakened by Sono’s call, Trevor had impulsively decided to stage a last-minute, impromptu campaign rally. “To assess the voters’ mood,” as he’d put it. Not only did he want to hear what people were talking about, he said, but he also wanted to show gratitude at their support. In reality, though, said Wilkie, Trevor was simply too excited. While resting, he had overheard the reporters on the lawn speculating on his good chances and at that, he could not contain himself indoors. Setting off with a banner slung across the back of the Renault, he, Wilkie, and the partially clothed Mr. Botolph then began stopping at various polling places so Trevor could mingle with voters and see for himself his own possibilities. At each site, said Wilkie, the noise and the fervor—engineered by Mr. Botolph, who as a concession to events had donned a tight-fitting red sarong—grew until a lengthy, noise-making caravan of supporters became attached to them. Trevor was buoyant, said Wilkie, and for awhile he even sat on the Renault’s hood, waving to those on the sidewalk. Scott Brown 173 For twenty minutes then, their procession meandered ebulliently throughout the city until finally it reached Grande Place, where Trevor had opportunistically spotted a milling throng of people. Unfortunately, though, the crowd had been assembled for a rally in Stanley’s honor, and as Trevor’s procession drew closer, it became more and more ensnarled by the mob until finally all his cars were forced to a halt. All told, said Wilkie, there were several hundred people at the rally, along with a band, some dignitaries, and television cameras that were airing the event live (had Sono been there too? I wondered). As they arrived...