Trash by Andy Mulligan

Olondriz.’
    ‘Like I say, he does get visitors and is always keen to see them. You know he’s a very sick man?’
    Gardo nodded at me, and I said: ‘Yes.’
    There was a silence.
    ‘It’s one of the reasons we’re here,’ I said.
    ‘It is not out of the question,’ said Mr Oliva. ‘There are some formalities, however. Usually we can set these things up all the better if we have some notice, you see. You could come next week, maybe?’
    I shook my head. ‘I’m very sorry,’ I said. I could feel Gardo’s panic – he could sense we were close to success. ‘I’m embarrassed, in fact. This is my friend Gardo, and he only told me about the problems yesterday, and he says it’s urgent. I think it’s incredibly kind of you to even consider seeing us.’
    Mr Oliva smiled. ‘You are very patient and very educated. You’re a social worker, yes? In Behala?’
    ‘I’m an unpaid worker – it’s completely voluntary.’
    Mr Oliva extended his hands and shook mine firmly. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Without people coming to help like this, things would be worse than they are. This city has many problems. Every city has problems – but maybe this city has more than most, I don’t know. You are looking after this boy?’
    I said, ‘He was very upset yesterday. I didn’t understand everything, but he told me I might be able to do something.’
    ‘Is he a good boy?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘He goes to your school?’
    ‘Not as often as I would like,’ I said, and Mr Oliva laughed.
    He exchanged a few words with Gardo and patted his arm. ‘You know the man you wish to see is in the hospital at the moment?’
    ‘I don’t know very much about him,’ I said, ‘except what Gardo told me.’
    ‘He’s not a well man. I think you might be upset. Also, the conditions – the meeting area. You’ve been in a prison before?’
    I shook my head.
    Mr Oliva smiled. ‘You see, our government has many pressing problems. It does not put money into its prisons – I think the same was true in your country a hundred years ago. I think you will be upset by what you see. Perhaps just the boy should come – if it’s between him and Mr Olondriz?’
    ‘I think I ought to be with him,’ I said.
    I didn’t know why. I was getting frightened again – but having come this far, would I really sit in the waiting room? This was my year of seeing the world, and it occurred to me that to see the world of Behala, and now a jail – perhaps it would teach me more than I’d ever found at university.
    Mr Oliva said, ‘The problem is the fees. To organizevisits like this – to “fast-track”, so to speak. They told you at the gate?’
    ‘They didn’t,’ I said.
    ‘They were embarrassed,’ he replied. ‘It is a question of getting security clearance – we have to send somebody very fast for approval. We could get a waiver if you gave us some time.’ He looked so honest. ‘Is it really so urgent?’ he said.
    I nodded.
    ‘I can check in a moment,’ he said. ‘But I think it will be ten thousand. And a receipt – with the governor so busy …’
    ‘I don’t need a receipt,’ I said. I must admit, I felt slightly sick. The day was costing me a fortune. ‘The problem is, I’m not sure I’m carrying as much as that.’
    Gardo was looking away.
    ‘I’ll get the forms and check,’ Mr Oliva said. ‘I want very much to help you, but … I don’t set the fees, they are set by the government.’ He smiled. ‘I think the government must be very rich!’
    Ten minutes later he was back. He had a form in his hand. ‘You will have to be photographed also, I’m afraid. And I was right: it is ten thousand.’
    I was carrying eleven thousand. I had been to the bank that morning and had withdrawn extra because I was meeting friends for dinner in a very expensive restaurant that night. In half an hour they’d made a security pass forme, with my photograph and a number of signatures. Mr Oliva shook my hand again.
    As he left, he