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Excerpt
The
official at the civil registry did not appear amused. His fat finger rubbed the
thick fluff of his beard, as he measured me with cold curiosity. He then turned
back to the medical certificate on the table and examined the paper against the
light.
‘Yesterday,
you say?’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘What’s the rush?’
I tried to
remain composed, despite the fact my knee was twitching. As the official
glanced at my leg, a slight tremor sneaked into my voice.
‘It’s the
family, Señor. They want to hold a ceremony.’
The
official raised his eyebrow, sending pinpricks down my spine.
‘Without a
body?’
This is a mistake.
Pushing
doubts aside, I said, ‘As the certificate explains, the body is too damaged to
be transported. It has to be buried here.’
A long
pause as he skimmed over the certificate. Once. Twice. Three times, as if he
was searching for something.
He knows it’s a fake.
He put the
certificate on the table and leaned back.
‘Hm, yes,
an unmarked grave,’ he said in a strange tone, crossing his arms over his
chest. ‘You’re sure this was
your friend? Not some stranger?’
My tongue
stuck to my palate and I eyed the glass of water on the table. The electric fan
didn’t do much to cool down the room, it only added a nervous beat that sped up
the rhythm of my heart.
‘Her
phone, Señor. I was the last person she talked to, so they called me. Her
passport was found at the site with some of her belongings…’
‘She
burned but not her phone?’ he asked.
‘The phone
fell out, Señor.’
The
official stroked his beard, his eyes absent, as though he’d already made up his
mind and he was only listening to check if I’d come clean. He glanced at the
phone on his desk, then back at me.
‘What was
she? Italian?’ he asked.
‘Dutch,
Señor.’
His eyes
narrowed. What if men like him couldn’t be bribed? What if he was only dragging
out to get proof. Once again, he glanced at his phone.
Is he recording?
He held my
gaze. Beads of sweat trickled down my buttocks.
‘I suppose
you need this for the consulate?’
I nodded.
‘The
family authorised you to make arrangements?’
Another
nod.
He
uncrossed his arms and picked up the certificate from the desk, rubbing the
paper in his hands as if checking its thickness. Then, he took his phone and
scrolled through the screen. He started to type something and grinned as he
did. He turned back to me with a slightly dazed expression, almost as if he’d
forgotten I was there.
‘I doubt
this certificate will be… sufficient,’ he said.
My head
thudded. ‘How come?’
He’s just stalling till the police arrive. Make an excuse. Get
out.
He tapped
his fingers on the desk. ‘I assume the consulate will need more information.
More paperwork. This means there’ll be calls, inquiries, additional costs.’
Is he asking for money?
I
struggled to read his face because he displayed no particular emotion. The next
moment would be crucial. If this was a trap, I’d be walking right into it. Then
again, what choice did I have?
‘Could I
contribute to cover some of those costs?’ I asked, meekly.
His face
remained stern, only the forehead wrinkled. Then he cocked an eyebrow.
‘Contribute?’
My stomach
shrunk to the size of a marble and the thumping in my head felt like a giant
drum that someone was hitting with both hands.
Run.
The whole
plan crumpled like a piece of plastic thrown into a bonfire. Back home, bribing
was easy. A few transfers here, an inflated fee there, a double transfer now
and then, as if by mistake. Jimmy took care of whatever needed to be handled in
cash.
The chair
squeaked as the official stood up. He walked to the window and looked outside.
He’s checking for the police.
I couldn’t
move. It was as though my limbs had stuck to the seat. The official raised his
hand.
He’s giving them a sign.
Any time,
the police would storm in and arrest me for fraud and corruption. The consulate
would contact Jimmy to tell him I was in jail. Once Jimmy found out I’d tried
to trick him, he’d make me suffer, way more than I could ever imagine. I’d
never get another chance to get out, not unless it was in a coffin. In the end,
Jimmy would get what he wanted.
After what
seemed like many minutes, the official returned to the desk and opened the
drawer. Tiny, blurry dots danced in front of my eyes.
‘Ten
thousand.’
He said it
so fast that I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. I took out my wallet and put the
notes into the drawer. The last of my money.
‘And the
certificate?’ I asked.
‘We’ll
send it by the usual channels,’ he said.
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
Pushing
down nausea, I unpeeled myself from the seat and stood up. My head was light
and still throbbing, as though I was both drunk and hungover.
Now what?
Author
Bio –
Karmen Špiljak is a Slovenian-Belgian
writer of suspense, horror and speculative fiction.
Her short fiction has been awarded and
anthologised. Her thriller, ‘No Such Thing as Goodbye’, was shortlisted and
received an honourable mention at 'The Black Spring Crime Fiction Prize 2020'.
She lives in Sao Paulo with her husband,
two mischievous cats and an undefined number of literary characters.
Find out more on www.karmens.net
Social
Media Links –
Twitter
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Instagram
https://www.instagram.com/karmenseeta
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/karmens
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/karmenspiljak
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