Allahtown (2) (1313 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: Allahtown
Rating: 1.79 on 40 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-09-23 18:29:56 EDT
Allahtown (1) http://www.ubersite.com/m/75396
ALLAHTOWN
(2)
Samir was mopping the expanse of linoleum that was the floor of one of the empty mess halls. It had been a few days since his talk with Yusif, and he had only seen the man in passing since then.
He was working with Hanif and Da'ud, two men he had just met.
Hanif was an old guy, and Samir thought he looked as crazy as a shithouse rat. Da'ud was younger than Samir and did everything the older man said, including the heavy lifting, which in this case was about a hundred chairs that had to be upended on the tables to clear the floor for mopping.
Hanif watched Samir, stroking his beard.
Da'ud worked fast, glancing at Hanif every other minute.
What the fuck ever, Samir thought. He probably shouldn't be so judgemental. As a fourth-generation Texan buddy of his would say, 'we've howdied, but we haven't shook yet.'
He worked the mop and tried to ignore the old guy, wondering why there was never a governor around when you actually wanted one cracking the whip.
Work crews were always jumbled, mixed, random. The majority of the tasks assigned were so simple anyone could do them, so the ISS made sure crws were chosen at random to hinder the formation of buddy-systems and cliques for moral and spiritual support.
Samir had slept in every one of the ten barracks. Sometimes you spent two nights in the same bed. Never three. Not that it mattered. You didn't have any personal possessions to take from place to place.
Everything was provided. Dyed denim jumpsuits, underwear, socks and shoes, all of which were turned in each night for cleaning and replaced with a cotton sleep-smock. In the morning you got clean clothes in your size. Detainees always filed past the clothing stores before going to the mess hall for breakfast. Sometimes the clothes were new, sometimes they were threadbare. You also got disposable plastic utensils for every need. Forks and knives, combs, toothbrushes.
In the evening you got one sheet, one blanket, one pillow, one smock. The sleep smocks were thin. The work clothes were thick denim. Detainees spent a lot of time either sweating or shivering.
Never knowing which set of clothes you would get or which bed you would be sleeping in resulted in a mass of men with good habits. They took care of their clothes, their beds, their tools. They didn't leave a mess when eating and they kept the bathrooms clean.
You didn't have any pens or pencils or paper because contact with family and friends was 'strongly discouraged' by Internment Security Services.
What communication was allowed was one-way only, from the outside in. Once in a rare while a detainee might receive a parcel from home, but after being picked through by the governors for items they wanted to pocket or were required to report, little was left. Cash, papers and magazines and letters containing current events updates on anything not strictly related to family members were confiscated. Cigarettes and anything that could be used as a weapon were prohibited. Metals were a no-no, but so was a knitted scarf that could be used as a garrote. Baked goods and candy always went to the guards. Packing material was carefully inspected, as it could hide small tools, blades, pills. Newspaper used as packing material was destroyed.
Photographs were prohibited as well. Photos were kept in the library.
The library was full of books, but it was not a place of learning. The books were photo albums. One for every detainee. A picture of a loved one carried around 24/7 might give rise to strong emotions and motivations for violence or an escape attempt. The pictures were kept in albums, and detainees could go to the library during their lunch hour to view these images from the real world, but they had to pay for library access from the banked funds they earned as they worked for a dollar an hour. That money also went toward blankets and food and bed space.
Many families didn't even know if their sons or fathers or brothers were still alive. They had to take the government on their word that detainee X was alive and well.
Samir knew that the ACLU had been fighting the very existence of the internment camps right up until the day he was taken away. It was on the news every night, getting non-stop coverage on FOX News. He did not know that a week ago, the ACLU had been shut down after Homeland Security proposed and received Congressional approval on expanding the Treason Act, the same set of laws that had led to the formation of the internment camps five years before.
The old man watching Samir called to Da'ud in Arabic, and pointed to Samir.
Da'ud looked Samir up and down and responded.
Samir didn't catch a damned word. Well, he caught the last one, hearing what sounded like, 'Yahalla-balla-jalla-English."
When Samir was nearly finished the floor, his arms aching from the unaccustomed repetitive motions, the old man stepped close and poked his chest with a fingernail so thick and yellow it looked like a kernel of corn.
"Are you a soldier?" The old man's accent was very thick.
Shit, Samir thought. Time for another fundamentalist hoe-down.
"Are you a soldier of Allah?"
Samir shook his head. "Back off, old-timer. I'm an American."
The old guy slapped Samir's face.
Samir was so shocked he could only gape.
The old man jabbered some more and then spat at Samir.
Samir jumped back. "What the FUCK?"
"The mullah thinks you are a traitor," Da'ud said. "You are worse that the Americans birthed by Satan, for you were not born an infidel but have chosen to be like them."
"Are you kidding me? Jesus kid, this is the twenty-first century."
More jabbering, and then the old man turned and walked away.
Da'ud smiled. "The mullah is so wise. He says you will be made to pay for your sins with blood, as Muhammad has directed."
The kid ran after the old man.
Samir dropped his mop into a wheeled bucket. Two governors stepped into the mess hall, joysticks ready.
"Interrogation time, shithead," one of them said. "Let's go."
*
A detainee never knew when an interrogation would take place. He never knew how severe the procedure would be. Sometimes they came at lunch, or first thing in the morning, and it was just a few questions while sitting in a wooden chair. At other times they came at 3am, or hauled your carcass off the shitter while you were in the middle of a dump and used a car battery and a couple of wires to burn your ballsack, or practiced a Camp Lupe speciality, which was an iced iron rod up the anus.
Sometimes they asked you about someone you knew. Most of the time you had no idea what the hell they were talking about.
Samir had been questioned three times so far. The first two go rounds had been benign. The third session was borderline ugly, a governor standing behind his chair and slapping the back of his head with hands that seemed to be the size of frying pans. Samir had left the session knowing it could have been much worse.
The chair was wood with a straight back. The table was steel, welded to the floor. The 'interview' room was a small square. No windows. A fan whirred behind a narrow vent in the ceiling. If there were cameras or microphones recording this session, Samir couldn't see them.
It was twenty minutes of silence before the door opened and a brown-suited governor stepped through.
"How's tricks, cumspill?"
Samir's favorite, the beefy redhead.
His nameplate read O'Hare.
The governor moved behind Samir's chair, out of sight. Every time O'Hare exhaled Samir caught a whiff of Juicy Fruit.
A minute later (twelve waves of Juicy Fruit, by Samir's reckoning) another man came into the room and closed the door. He was wearing a black suit, cut similar to O'Hare's.
Black suits carried out interrogations. Black suits oversaw operations. Black suits were called assessors.
The assessor's nameplate read True. He was holding something wrapped in brown paper.
True sat down and looked across the table at Samir.
"What are you and the old man planning?"
"Nothing."
A blast of Juicy Fruit, knuckles rapped against the back of his skull.
"I only just met the man, so we aren't planning anything. He's a fundamentalist. I'm an American. That makes us from two different worlds."
Samir had learned of the three D's from Yusif when they had dug the latrine holes.
Denial, distance, diversion. Let them know up front you don't know the guy they are interested in, you have nothing to do with the guy, and yes, he does seem like a shady character.
"He talked to you," True said.
"If you saw that you saw that kid, Da'ud, translating. My Arabic is limited to 'fuck your mother,' 'how much does it cost,' 'this is very good,' and 'where's the pisshouse.' That's it."
Another sweet wave, another rap against the skull.
True unwrapped the brown paper package, and set a Quran on the table.
Samir looked at the book, looked up at True.
O'Hara made a snuffling sound and reached by Samir.
The beefy redhead smeared a wad of snot across the cover of the book.
True watched Samir.
The days of Guantanamo Bay were long gone.
Samir wondered how long this was going to last.
True opened the Quran and selected a page at random. He ripped the page out of the book. Maintaining eye contact with Samir, he began tearing the page into small bits.
There were a lot of pages in that book. Samir realized he could be here all day.
"You can roll a joint with that or wipe your ass with it for all I care. It's just a book."
There was a time when Samir wasn't so outspoken. If you didn't show any balls here, the governors would walk all over you. Show that you had too much in the balls department and they might get cut off. Every day was a high-wire balancing act, and if there was one thing Samir knew for sure, there wasn't a god-damned safety-net in sight.
The assessor stood up. "I don't like you. I have a sense about people. I know how they are wired. I know which wires to cut to shut them down, like deactivating a bomb. Take some time to think about the old man. We will be asking about him again, very soon."
True turned and opened the door, glancing over one shoulder as he stepped away.
Samir smelled Juicy Fruit and realized that the assessor had given the governor a brief nod. He braced himself and felt the end of the governor's joystick jammed into his left ear.
There was a crackling buzz and Samir felt his body lock up. His legs bucked against the table with such force that the wooden chair under him shattered and he sprawled on the floor.
In the hall, the assessor was listening. He had told O'Hare to juice the detainee twice. He didn't like this Samir character. With most people he could see their wiring just as he had said. Blue wires and red wires and green wires and yellow wires. He knew exactly what to cut, and when. With Samir all he saw was black wires and white wires. That disturbed him. He didn't even know where to start with Samir.
"Fuckin wise-ass," O'Hare said, bending low. He jammed the end of the joystick into Samir's ear again.
This time, Samir heard and felt something pop as piss surged into his pants and his feet drummed on the floor.
"Check it out," O'Hare breathed. He was holding something in front of Samir. A photograph. A picture of Ana. "What a ripe piece of fuckin ass she is. Guess you didn't get the letter this came with, huh? Too bad."
When O'Hare stood and left the room, Samir realized his left ear was essentially dead.
Two men in blue jumpsuits dragged Samir out of the interview room and into a 'rest' room. Rest rooms were interview rooms without the chairs and tables. A cold steel cube.
Samir was held in the rest room for twenty-four hours.
User Reviews
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-04-14 10:04:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this is going to make my day. no work, all jack mac reading makes tim a ha ppy friday liver.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-11-19 14:19:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
To offset the French ass.
Submitted by Psycosis (user info) at 2005-11-17 03:16:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Another good read, thanks.
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2005-11-16 20:03:05 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
you must be ugly
Submitted by matnotharry (user info) at 2005-11-07 18:22:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-11-06 15:49:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-10-03 10:04:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Isn't that a Billy Joel song?
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-10-03 09:55:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2005-09-30 23:42:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
needs more outsourced interrogations
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2005-09-30 23:18:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by sideshow (user info) at 2005-09-30 18:41:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nice work
Submitted by HadToBeDone (user info) at 2005-09-29 16:17:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-29 15:49:54 (#)
Ranking: 0
Jeez. I gotta fire down some Red Bull and get cracking on another installment.
-------------
Is that the secret....?
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-29 16:08:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
In case anyone caught a small fuckup in part one, the answer is:
Five years.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-29 15:49:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Jeez. I gotta fire down some Red Bull and get cracking on another installment.
Submitted by hcp28 (user info) at 2005-09-28 11:11:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is good in a too close to reality kind of way.
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2005-09-26 09:14:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-09-26 02:56:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-25 09:55:14 (#)
Ranking: 0
You sound a little bitter, my friend. Instead of spilling it here, why not create another literary masterpiece containing more deep musings on your place in the universe? After all, that is always so refreshing to see on Uber. """
Yeah, you're right.
I had a pretty shitty weekend, sorry dude.
+2.
I still think that shit house rat think didn't fit though.
:-)
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-09-25 20:43:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Apollo, you sound like a retard. Those were pretty lame criticisms.
Good installment Jack. You're really REALLY making me hate 'the bad guys' in this piece. I think this series packs a lot of punch because the concept is not so inconceivable. Nice description of the daily routine of the prisoners, too.
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2005-09-25 19:07:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i really like the perspective you've got going here. ever notice how it's the ones who don't contribute but shit and heat to this place who get uppity when you post something you actually put some WORK into?
buncha fucknutz.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-25 09:55:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
You sound a little bitter, my friend. Instead of spilling it here, why not create another literary masterpiece containing more deep musings on your place in the universe? After all, that is always so refreshing to see on Uber.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-09-25 08:46:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-23 22:41:36 (#)
Ranking: 0
Google search...
Results 1 - 10 of about 825 for "crazy as a shithouse rat". (0.36 seconds)
The saying goes back to at least the forties as far as I know.
Chronic and Apollo, any time you guys want to start posting actual stories instead of bullshit, let me know, cause I'd be happy to offer a critique. """
yes bit is unlikely to be said from an arabic poitn of view isn't my dullard friend?
'actual stories' ahahhahahhahahhahaaaaa.
Aw is wittle jack making mommy a 'story'.
You never have anything to say, no point, no expression and certainly no original thought.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2005-09-24 16:30:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Brilliant work as always jack.
Submitted by Barnymeinhoff (user info) at 2005-09-24 06:28:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-24 01:10:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by knucklesnelson (user info) at 2005-09-23 23:35:10 (#)
Ranking: 2
damn here i thought this was gonna be some sort of billy joel/arab joke.
--
I'm surprised it took this long for that to come up, although in Samir's case, it IS 'hard to keep a good man down.'
Submitted by knucklesnelson (user info) at 2005-09-23 23:35:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
damn here i thought this was gonna be some sort of billy joel/arab joke.
Yeah were sitting here in allah town.........
ah fuck it im old.
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-09-23 23:19:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-23 22:41:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Google search...
Results 1 - 10 of about 825 for "crazy as a shithouse rat". (0.36 seconds)
The saying goes back to at least the forties as far as I know.
Chronic and Apollo, any time you guys want to start posting actual stories instead of bullshit, let me know, cause I'd be happy to offer a critique.
Submitted by Chinaski (user info) at 2005-09-23 22:41:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I didn't read this. +1 for residing in San Francisco.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-09-23 21:16:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Derka derka Mohammad jihad.
Submitted by ChronicMasturbator (user info) at 2005-09-23 21:16:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I am not going to give this a -2. Well written however, which is fine. However, there are some aspects that could have created an improved environment of fiction.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-09-23 21:13:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OK, I read the post. Jack, eat shit and die!! I have MANY things I have
written, some I think are pretty good. But when I look at them and then read your stuff,
I look like a third-rate hack. So fuck off, you +2 freak! Keep 'em comin'
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-09-23 21:05:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2005-09-23 20:27:32 (#)
Ranking: 2
Very well written as usual although I'm not sure I get the reference about being crazy as a shithouse rat. I can't imagine things are going to go well for Samir.
____________________________________________________________________________
"Crazy as a shithouse rat" is the apotheosis of insanity. Now I
will back up and read the post. . .
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2005-09-23 20:57:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm scared.
Submitted by freebie (user info) at 2005-09-23 20:36:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Sounds like a liberal paradise. Free food, clothing, shelter, no-brainer work that takes little real effort. Dissolution of the family unit with a central authority in control. You'll get lots of +2s for this on this site.
Overall, I see where you're going and like the premise. I also can't pass up taking a poke at the lefties.
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2005-09-23 20:27:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very well written as usual although I'm not sure I get the reference about being crazy as a shithouse rat. I can't imagine things are going to go well for Samir.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-09-23 19:28:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i don't think I'm going to like how this will end...
Submitted by tlozoot (user info) at 2005-09-23 19:21:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What??
Submitted by Phinch (user info) at 2005-09-23 19:12:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i'm impressed.
Submitted by Yes (user info) at 2005-09-23 18:45:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
holy shit.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-09-23 18:40:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Hanif was an old guy, and Samir thought he looked as crazy as a shithouse rat."""
poor, poor, poor.
jesus.