One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 17, page 2

(start of book) (start of chapter) (previous page)



Emperor Bhanar of the House of Narakamíníkı awoke to clanging steel.

A man’s voice bellowed, “Up and at ’em!” or something similar that Bhanar couldn’t quite understand.

The young man moaned and rolled over on the cot so he could see. A policeman banged on the metal bars with a spoon. He held a tray of food--or at least an opaque bowl and cup.

“All right,” Bhanar muttered, but it was swallowed by a yawn.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes.

The policeman set the food tray--including the spoon he’d been banging on the bars--on the floor and slid it into the cell.

“The detective wants to interview you in ten minutes. Do you wish to make a telephone call before then?”

Ten minutes? I’ll still be asleep. Telephone call?

Bhanar stretched his neck to one side and then the other. He didn’t need to call anyone. Who would he call? His father? That would hardly be the imperial thing to do. No, he had to take care of this himself.

“No telephone call, thank you.”

The policeman grunted and stalked off, exiting through the same door at the right end of the hallway that Bhanar had been brought in through.

Bhanar stood and crossed the cell to the food tray. It looked like instant oatmeal in the bowl, with milk in the cup. Milk builds strong bones. Bhanar thought of the television advertisements. How many more times would I have broken my bones if I hadn’t drunk milk as a kid? He took the tray back to the bunk and set it on the mattress.

When he saw the detective, Bhanar would ask for a lie-detector test. He could then prove his innocence and move forward with catching Zhíno.

Grabbing the bowl and spoon, Bhanar shoved a large scoop of oatmeal in his mouth. He needed his energy for the day. The oatmeal stuck to the roof of his mouth, but wasn’t too bad. Maple cinnamon flavor.

He paced the small cell as he chewed, bowl in hand.

After I get out, maybe I can do something about Pí‘oro’s death, too. Somebody needed to be held accountable, and that somebody was probably in the police force.

It’s what Nulıpésha would want.

(next page)