The Insurrectionist (15 page)

            “A breakfast,” he sighed. “I didn’t know I was hungry.”

            He lifted himself from his bed to retrieve his breakfast—pancakes, two sausage links, a carton of orange juice, and cup of coffee.
Not too bad
, he thought as he started to scoff down his food.

            Shortly after breakfast, Deni’s cell door opened and a guard appeared with shackles in his hands. “Let’s go,” he said.

            “Where are we going?” asked Deni.

            The prison guard shackled Deni’s cuffs and ankles. “Does it matter?”

            Deni could hardly walk with his ankles shackled; he kept tripping on his own chains, but fortunately the guard was there to keep him upright and drag him along. When they came to a plain wooden door, the guard knocked and then opened the door to an office. Deni was pushed into a chair opposite a very attractive Indian woman. He guessed she was in her thirties or forties but she was totally hot. Whatever she was there for, he liked it.

            “Please remove the restraints,” she said to the guard.

            “I don’t advise that,” said the guard.

            “Remove the restraints,” she replied strongly to the guard and this time he obeyed.

            When the guard left, the woman extended her hand to Deni. “I’m Dr. Jagvi Sodhi.”

            Deni shook her hand. “Doctor, I have this itch.”

            Dr. Sodhi laughed. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

            “What kind of doctor are you?” he asked.

            “Psychology,” she replied, sharply sitting behind her desk.

            “Huh, I was expecting an old, bearded German,” joked Deni. “So you’re the one to label me psychopath and sociopath. I never killed any puppies or even an ant for that matter.”

            “Well, what I’ve seen you’re hardly anti-social.” Dr. Sodhi sat down on the chair and crossed her slender, shapely legs. “You do like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”

            “I’m the only one that listens to me, so I talk to myself. I guess that proves it: I’m insane. Case closed,” said Deni.

            “Only a sane person can measure their insanity,” she replied. “Do you mind if I tape our sessions?”

            “Yes,” replied Deni.

            “You don’t’ trust me?” she asked.

            “No,” he replied.

            Dr. Sodhi put away her recorder and then reclined in her seat casually. “Okay, tell me about your childhood in Grozny?”

            “I was young. I don’t remember much,” said Deni.

            “Did the violence scare you?” she asked.

            “It is fear that keeps a person alive. Once you stop being afraid is the day you die,” Deni replied.

            “That sounds like a well-rehearsed response.”

            Deni grunted and twisted in his seat. “What do you expect?”

            “Does anything frighten you now?” she asked.

            He thought about it and his answer shocked even himself. “No. I guess I’m ready to die.”

            Dr. Sodhi studied Deni and paused, careful to choose her next question. “When did you stop being afraid?”

            “When my life ended.”

            “When was that?”

            Deni reclined back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “When do you think?”

            Dr. Sodhi read Deni’s body language; he was going to be hard to crack, so she decided to change her line of questioning. “How about your family, how did they handle the war in Chechnya?” she asked.

            “As I said, I don’t remember. I was five,” repeated Deni.

            “What do you recall of Volgograd?” she asked.

            “I miss it a lot. My family has a lot of history there.”

            “I read in your file they were Partisans during WWII,” said Dr. Sodhi.

            “Every Russian was; it was a requirement of the state. Everyone was obligated to fight; it’s inspiring,” explained Deni.

 

            Uncle Aslan drove along a country road and through a dark forest. He turned to Mikail and Deni in the back seat. “This is where it would happen, along this road. Nazi troops would march past and the Partisans would set up wires and bombs alongside the road. They would sit for hours, sometimes days just waiting for the Nazis to come and then take their shot. They would stop at nothing to defend their home.”

            Mikail glanced out the window and imagined Partisan terrorists taking down Nazis. “Did they take prisoners?”

            “No prisoners. Prisoners were a liability.” Their uncle turned around and glanced at Mikail. “The Nazi army was powerful, but they didn’t have a stomach for terror. If you can’t defeat your enemy with might and numbers, you defeat them psychologically. You defeat them with your mind. Partisans would decapitate the Nazis and leave their heads on stakes for the next advancing German army. When the next round of German soldiers came they knew exactly what they were dealing with. I bet there was more than one piss-stained Nazi uniform when they marched down this road.” Uncle Aslan laughed. “Sometimes you just need to get your point across.”

            Deni slid over to Mikail’s side of the car and looked out the window. “Are there any Nazis left?”

            “They were exterminated in Russia, son. We no longer have a Nazi problem.” Uncle Aslan laughed.

 

            Dr. Sodhi glanced up at Deni. “How is being a Partisan inspiring?”

            Deni sat forward in his seat. “Everyone was united to fight for a common cause¾for freedom and for survival. No one was interested in their own personal, selfish needs.”

            “Is that what you think of Americans—selfish?” asked Dr. Sodhi.

            “Let’s just put it this way, there are some real issues facing this country. There are no enemies at the gate, the dangers lie in your own government, but few will stand for another. It’s all about the individual in the US. No one stands together in America, not even family. Nobody even listens and even if they hear the truth, it’s the prosecution and the media’s twisted version? Will they hear me or what the US government wants them to hear?” questioned Deni.

            “It really bothers you that people aren’t paying attention to the troubles of the world,” said Dr. Sodhi.

            “It’s like that quote; people who see injustices and do nothing about it are just as guilty as those who commit the crimes,” replied Deni.

            “Are you saying Americans are guilty for the government’s actions overseas?”

            “As I am guilty for my brother’s crimes, I am an accomplice and so are American citizens. They are accomplices for the US government’s crimes. Everyone is guilty,” explained Deni.

            “That is not the law. Americans have committed no crime in the eyes of the law,” replied Dr. Sodhi.

            “America’s laws: George Bush even pardoned himself for the crimes in Iraq, how convenient for America.”

            “Deni you are not helping yourself,” said Dr. Sodhi.

            “Who cares?”

            “You should. This is about you, your life. Don’t you care about your life? Do you care so little for yourself, that you would sacrifice yourself for some ideal and some truth you can never prove? You have given your life and future to your brother and look where you ended up. Has there ever been a time when you put yourself first or have you spent your entire life sacrificing for others?” questioned Dr. Sodhi.

            Deni stared at the doctor unsure of how to respond to the question. Honestly, he never did think of himself. There always seemed to be some tension or drama with his family, friends, or even some girl and all he wanted to do was lighten it up, not matter what it was. He hated drama above all else. “Well doc, you’re a genius; you figured me out. Can we wrap this up now?”

            Dr. Sodhi could sense Deni was working himself up to a platform so she intentionally diverted the conversation. “How do you feel about your brother’s death?”

            “Sad. Are we done now?” spat Deni.

            “We’re just getting started,” said Dr. Sodhi.

            “Look I don’t see what the big deal is. No one fucking cares what I really feel. This is just a charade. It’s all irrelevant,” he replied.

            “You feel your life is irrelevant? You are a young man; you had so much promise and opportunity.”

            “Only if you count the number of years; my soul has been around for thousands.” Deni stood abruptly from the chair, forgetting about the wounds in his legs. He winced from the sudden movement and then limped around his chair. “Everyone talks about their reason for being, their purpose in life, but a person’s reason for living often isn’t known until after their death.” He paused and then continued. “Sometimes a person’s reason for living is their death like Archduke Ferdinand of Austria. He lived to die. His purpose in life was to be assassinated by a Serb. Do you know the repercussions of Archduke Ferdinand’s assassination?”

            “WWI,” replied Dr. Sodhi.

            “Yes, he lived to be the spark that caused a world war,” Deni said with a smirk.

            “So you believe you were born to die?” asked Dr. Sodhi.

            “I believe I was fated to die young. My life will not have as big an impact as my death,” he said.

            “You don’t think you made an impact on others—family, friends?” she asked.

            Deni shrugged. “No, I don’t.”

            “What impact do you think your death will make?” questioned Dr. Sodhi.

            Deni laughed. “Not a world war.” He stared at Dr. Sodhi. “We won’t know until I die, will we?”

            He walked to her bookshelf and studied her psychology books and her diploma on the wall. He threw her a glance over his shoulder. “You graduated from Temple?”

            “Post graduate and doctorate. West Chester under grad,” she said.

            “Cool,” he said.

            “That could have been you. You could have had an office, a career.”

            Deni shook his head. “No. It wasn’t going to happen, not for me.”

            “How do you know?”

            “I just know. My eulogy was written the day I was born,” Deni said casually leaning against her bookshelf. He smiled. “Deep inside we all know our fate, but most people fight it believing they can be something different, or something more than what they were meant to be. Most people are just fooling themselves. Even I was fooled once.”

 

            Deni collected his lunch through the high school cafeteria line. It was a good one today—meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He passed on the limp green salad and the lime Jell-O with mysterious fruit floaters inside. Once he paid, he headed out to the lunchroom and saw Heather seated alone.

            He walked over and sat across from her. “What’s going on?” he asked casually.

            “Oh nothing,” she started with a bit of venom on her tongue. “Just waiting to be asked to the prom.”

            Deni’s eyes widened with surprise as he opened his carton of milk. “No one asked you to the prom?”

            Heather glared at him “No, but I hear you got a date, Eva Sanchez. Wonder why you asked her? Oh, that’s right¼she’s a slut.”

            “I’ll have you know, I didn’t actually ask her. She kind of hinted around she wanted to go and then asked me if I was going,” Deni explained defensively.

            Heather lifted her tray. “I’ll see you around.”

            “Heather!” he exclaimed, “If you wanted to go, why didn’t you say anything?”

            “Are you totally retarded?”

            “Apparently, I must be!”

            “Well, have fun,” she said and then walked away.

            “Heather, don’t be mad. You should have said something.” He looked down at his meat loaf and suddenly he was no longer hungry.

            The next day in history class, Deni stared at Heather to get her attention, but she refused to look at him. He got it; it was the silent treatment, but it didn’t deter him. He reached over and pulled her chair next to his. “I can call it off with Eva, if you want. I know she already got her dress, but I’m sure someone will take her.”

            Heather lifted her chair and moved away.

            “Come on, you’re not being very diplomatic, in fact you’re being immature,” he said, “You can’t stay mad at me forever. Come on, it’s just a stupid dance.”

            She turned to him. “Stop talking.”

            He knew she was serious and slumped in his seat. “This is just so stupid,” he muttered.

            The afternoon of the prom arrived and Deni couldn’t shake the sickness brewing in his stomach. He didn’t feel good and he was inches from calling Eva and cancelling, then he realized he would be ruining two girl’s prom dreams. He checked himself in the mirror; he really didn’t like the haircut he got yesterday and was very uncomfortable in the ill-fitting and scratchy suit.

            When he walked out of the bathroom, Kamiila immediately came to him. “You look so handsome.” She fixed his bow tie and the carnation on his lapel. “Make sure her parents get plenty of pictures.”

            “Sure,” he sighed. He kissed his mother on the cheek and gave Bashir a hug.

            “Have fun,” said Bashir.

            Deni nodded and headed out to pick up Eva, who lived in the poorer section of South Reading, which didn’t at all bother him since he was hardly from the rich side of the track. He parked his car outside the rundown row homes with unkempt front lawns and littered sidewalks.

            It was Eva’s mother who excitedly answered the door and gestured for Deni to step inside. Eva of course looked hot in a red, low-cut dress. It appeared she dressed for a gala at the Playboy mansion rather than a high school prom, but Deni wasn’t about to complain.