Death of a Pharaoh Read online

  The rumor mill, not that you can believe everything you hear in prison, said that he was once the mayor of a small but prosperous agricultural town in the Peruvian highlands. A drug lord moved in, took over the region and forced everyone to start growing coca leaves for cocaine. With the drug trade, violence soon became a part of their lives and Diego was one of the only people who resisted the cancer of corruption. He paid a terrible price. One day they slaughtered his entire family, his wife and teenage daughters raped then killed and his sons castrated while still alive. Even before the call came from the neighbors, he knew something had happened by the look of shame in everyone’s eyes and even the birds had stopped singing as he sped home.

  After the funeral that no one dared attend, he sold everything and came to visit relatives in America. He worked with a landscaping contractor and became an accomplished gardener. Eventually, he located the retired drug lord and applied for a job. Diego soon became the most loved and trusted of the entire staff and they treated him like a member of the family. Just before he shot the father, he told him his real name and reminded him of what he had done years ago.

  I knew it was true because I often heard Diego praying silently at night asking for the forgiveness of the Gods. He seemed to know a lot about plants and most of the Latinos swore that his herbal remedies were better than any bug juice from the Doc. Never spoke English to anyone, some said he only knew a few words. He mostly kept to himself, and because of his reputation as a shaman, no one dared cross him.

  Diego worked on one of the large pressing machines for sheets. His regular partner was in sickbay and the supervisor assigned me in the meantime to assist him. He labored in silence and rarely even looked at me. Suddenly he spoke but not aloud. I heard him in my mind and in Quechua, his native language. The funny thing is that I understood what he was saying as if he was speaking English. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before but I accepted it without surprise.

  “I salute you my Lord,” he began then methodically raised the arm of the press to place another sheet. “You understand my language and that is a good sign,” he added.

  He activated the pedal and the sheet inched toward me.

  “Among my people, you are known as Churi Pariacaca, the son of Pariacaca, the ancient God of Storms and Rain. He is often represented by a Falcon; something you will understand one day.”

  He continued to work without looking at me.

  “Your future is written, my Lord, and soon you will know your destiny.”

  He slowly raised his head and stared at me. He had a smile on his lips and his eyes looked misty.

  “May the Gods bless and watch over you,” he added.

  The silent conversation ended as suddenly as it started and Diego lowered his head. It could even have been a bow then he began feeding another sheet into the press as if nothing had happened between us. I might have considered it the ramblings of an eccentric old man if it hadn’t been for the term “My Lord”; the same two words I read in Ethan’s mind only a few days before.

  I always questioned where my special gifts came from. Was I an angel or a messenger of God? Maybe even an instrument of the devil. I lost many hours of sleep trying to figure it all out but now this strange yet dignified man from Peru told me that my future was somehow planned and that I would soon know my destiny. I wondered what God wanted me to do in Sullivan. I could think of nothing else for days.

  Chapter Eight

  Apart from Zach, Ethan and Diego, I made few friends those first months. Friendship was a commodity like any other on the inside and I preferred to keep myself free of obligations. I started to teach Zach chess in the common area and other inmates would often gather around to watch the game. One day a young Latino guy sat down beside me. He was a fish. I could feel him staring at me and he didn’t seem interested in the way the game was going.

  Finally, I turned to him, “What you staring at newbie?”

  He was nervous, “It’s just that…”

  “What?”

  “Diego told me you could help me.”

  “Help you with what?”

  “He said to tell you to put your hands on my head.”

  I glanced over at Zach who seemed as surprised as I was.

  “Are you gonna?” the newbie insisted.

  I took my right hand and placed it on his dark short-cropped hair. I closed my eyes. His name was Pablo. He’d robbed a liquor store because his mother needed an operation. They were illegal immigrants and didn’t have medical insurance. He’d used a toy gun but they charged him with armed robbery anyway. That and a few priors for shoplifting got him ten years. He felt he had abandoned his mother. Guilt was tearing the poor kid apart. I asked one of the others to finish the game with Zach.

  “I’ll be back in a while,” I told my cellmate.

  Pablo and I found a corner where we could talk. Thirty minutes later he walked away feeling much better about things. My Dad knew a good oncologist and I promised I would call and make an appointment for Pablo’s Mom.

  The next day there was an older brother waiting to see me. By the end of the first week, I had a line-up. Often, I couldn’t really do much to help their situations but I could tell them that they weren’t bad people just because they were criminals. I’d remind them of times when they had been happier and most of them left with a tear in their eyes and less of a burden on their shoulders. After two weeks, everyone noticed a difference in our block. Fights diminished dramatically and two black guys even came to the aid of a young Puerto Rican about to get punked in the showers. Normally, they wouldn’t have given a shit. People treated me different as well. Zach said it was like having a movie star as a cellie.

  I saw Diego every day in the laundry but he never said anything to me about the touch thing, either aloud or through a silent conversation in my mind. My informal therapy sessions had been going on almost a month, when two CO’s showed up while I was sorting a bundle of towels.

  “Warden wants to see you,” the senior officer barked, “now!”

  Zach bristled but I nodded to signal everything would be OK.

  They put me in cuffs attached to a waist chain; standard procedure for moving inmates who weren’t trustees to the administration building. It was my first trip. The guards removed the chains just outside the Warden’s Office.

  “Be good now,” one of them whispered in my ear, “or I’ll Taser you until your hair looks like Don King’s. Got that?”

  I wasn’t sure who Don King was but I nodded yes anyway.

  They hustled me into the reception area. The secretary grabbed my right hand to scan my DIN then pointed with her pen to the closed door behind her right shoulder. Black letters stenciled on the glass window read, Theodore Lawson, Warden.

  The guard knocked three times.

  “Come in,” a voice bellowed from inside in a tone that sounded more a threat than an invitation.

  The warden sat behind his desk reviewing some papers. He looked like the Vice-president of the NRA. He made me wait. A control tactic he’d learned in warden school I imagined.

  “Murphy, seems you’ve been making new friends lately.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “CO’s tell me you have a line-up of customers almost every night.”

  I shrugged my shoulders as if to say so what.

  “Answer me when I talk to you,” he barked.

  “Yessir.”

  “Don’t know what you’re up to in there but we don’t appreciate people putting strange thoughts into inmates’ heads. If anyone is going to fuck with their minds, they’ll be wearing a uniform.”

  He stared at me for a moment. “You’re not one of those Black Panthers are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “We had a bunch of them here once. They walked around wearing skullcaps like the Arabs,” he drew out the first letter of the last word. “We had no end of problems with all that black pride shit. Somebody sent them a crate of books by Malcolm X; had to confiscate ever
ything. Look where that got us with Obama.”

  I wondered how long I’d have to listen to his racist rant. He must have read my mind because he changed tact.

  “My officers report that things have calmed down somewhat in your cellblock. There hasn’t been a violent incident in over a week. They blame you and all those whispered conversations you’re having and everyone acting all buddy-buddy like some freaking hippy commune. Next thing you know you’ll all be holding hands and chanting like back in the 60’s.”

  His face turned red and a large vein throbbed in his neck.

  “Anyway, I won’t stand for it. I run a prison here son, not a fucking daycare. Excuse my French,” he apologized. “We can’t have an inmate walking around like a gospel preacher laying hands on everyone and making them contented. If the State of New York wanted inmates to be happy, they would have told me. This is a medium security prison. There hasn’t been a rape reported in two weeks in your section. This is an all-male facility, what the hell else are they going to do with each other?”

  He looked embarrassed when he realized what he had just said. He coughed and picked up a manila folder on his desk and flipped a page.

  “I’ve been looking over your file. You’re a regular genius it says here. You might have seen yourself as a sort of Robin from the Hood with all the vigilante shit you pulled at school but that ended when they put your black ass in here. Don’t know what you’re planning but it’s always the intelligent ones you have to look out for. Got any tattoos? I saw every episode of Prison Break and I am going to keep an eye on you. You won’t be able to piss without having two CO’s watching.”

  He paused to let his point sink in, “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  “With all due respect Warden, you’re crapping me out for making people feel better about themselves and as a result letting go of violent behavior toward their fellow inmates. And you think that is bad?”

  “Of course I do, dammit,” he swore. “I’ll be the laughing stock of the Department. Prison is full of hard-assed criminals, not a bunch of self-loving pansies. You have another four and a half years before your first parole hearing, Murphy. Keep this up and you won’t get it approved until your thirty. Now get out of here!” he yelled.

  Zach was waiting in our cell when they brought me back.

  “What happened dude?”

  “He cut me a new asshole for making people feel better. He wants me to stop.”

  “Did you tell him to go fuck himself?”

  “Naw, I just let him unload! When I met his secretary I found out she screws him on the couch in his office twice a week. Regular like clockwork and they are both married.”

  “Never saw him as the type,” Zach admitted. “Too much of a tightass. Just shows you never know.”

  “I am going to call my buddy Tony and get him to plant some rumors on Facebook. Apparently, she calls his dick ‘The Beast’ and they refer to their sessions as ‘Beauty and the Beast’. Maybe the Governor would love to know about a sudden interest in musical theatre here at Sullivan?”

  When I returned for my regular shift in the laundry the next day, Diego was there as usual but this time he made a silent comment, “Soon, my Lord, soon!”

  Chapter Nine

  The day before my birthday on September 12th, Tony and the gang came back for a visit as they promised in May. They bubbled over with stories about their summer adventures. Susan met an Italian guy she really liked, and who was very much alive. Alex did make-up every day for several hot young actors who apparently gave him more than just their autographs. He was finally getting over the Bieb.

  Tony was pleased that the smut he planted about the Warden and especially the anonymous note he sent to his wife and the Governor, resulted in a transfer, a demotion and a divorce for Lawson. He didn’t say much about his summer in Texas but I knew that everything went amazingly well. I was proud of him.

  It was a bittersweet occasion. I was happy to see them but I also knew that their lives were drifting away from me. They were all off to college or great jobs, even Tony, and with me stuck in jail it was going to be difficult to keep the gang together. I wondered if they would ever come back. Susan asked me what my birthday wish was. I hesitated to tell her so as not to jinx it. But it was real easy to guess. I wanted to get out of prison.

  The next day everyone acted strange, especially Zach. Nobody mentioned a word about my birthday, my first in prison. I could have had the plague at recreation from the way they all avoided me. I knew they were only fucking with me, even Ethan kept to himself.

  I shouldn’t have worried. Two cooks marched out with a giant chocolate cake after dinner with vanilla icing sprinkled with toasted coconut. Pablo was in charge of desserts in the kitchen and his mother was doing just fine after her scare with breast cancer. My Dad’s doctor friend came through, and some charity even picked up the tab. Ethan brought a box of candles and the other CO’s turned a blind eye while he lit them up. The prison choir sang a stirring rendition of Happy Birthday and then I made my wish. I have to admit that I got a little choked up. It was almost 19.30 when I finished doling out cake to everyone.

  “Want to play a game of chess.” Zach proposed.

  “Sounds great to me!”

  “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you, birthday boy.”

  When we got to the table he shyly pulled out a large brown envelop and handed it to me.

  “I got you a present,” he said trying not to fidget.

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Open it already.”

  Inside there was a small stuffed lion. I didn’t get it.

  “He’s the young lion from the Disney movie, you know, Simba.”

  I was still confused.

  “It just that … I checked what your name means. It stands for a little king in Irish. So I thought… you know, a little lion king. It even rhymes with Ryan…It seemed like a good idea…from Africa and all…” his voice trailed away, he blushed and stuck his hands in the pockets of his overalls.

  I had never seen him look so awkward.

  “You do like it don’t you?”

  “I love it,” I assured him. “Best present today.”

  “It’s the only present you got today,” he reminded me.

  “Still the best one!” I repeated. “Just wait for your birthday, I’ll get my revenge. I’m thinking an autographed poster of Zach Efron with his shirt off?”

  We both laughed and I started to feel it was the finest birthday I could remember. Suddenly there was an enormous flash. I thought someone had attacked me from behind. I fell to my knees. The pain was horrific, like some demented tap dancer in spiked boots stomping on my skull. Zach held me up as he called for help. A crowd of inmates gathered around as the din in my brain became unbearable. It was like all of Manhattan was shouting to me at once. Ethan and another CO elbowed their way through the throng.

  “Give him room,” Ethan hollered.

  There was a look of panic on his face.

  “Are you alright?” he asked me.

  “Yeah, I think so. There was this blinding light, like a nuclear explosion, and I thought I was going to faint. My head hurts like hell.”

  “We better get you to the infirmary right…” he paused in mid-sentence. He suddenly turned to his colleague, “Take him to the clinic. I have to make an urgent call.”

  Even with the intense pain, I thought it strange that he would abandon me right then after paying so much attention to me over the past months. He almost ran toward the control room door.

  Zach hugged the stuffed lion and looked scared.

  “Take care of him for me. I’ll be back real soon,” I assured him as another bolt of agony shot through my head.

  Ethan went straight to the telephone in the CO’s office and dialed an outside line. He knew the Philadelphia number by heart. He’d felt the vibration on his beeper just as he’d bent over to talk to Ryan. It was an emergency flash from the Falcon Foundation. The mes
sage read ‘Code Five’. He couldn’t believe that the Pharaoh was dead but it did explain what had just happened to Ryan. He listened to the priority message and entered his code to accept. It instructed him to confirm the transfer of powers as soon as possible. He disconnected the call and dialed the Command Center for the prison.

  “Walters here, I’m heading to the infirmary to check on inmate Murphy,” he announced.

  He arrived within five minutes. Ryan lay on a stretcher with a cold compress over his eyes. Ethan pulled the doctor aside.

  “How is he?”

  “Complains of a sever migraine with loud buzzing in his ears. He feels nauseas. I’ve given him some Ibuprofen but it doesn’t seem to be helping so far,” he informed Ethan. “I’m going to keep him here under observation for a few hours. It might be an extreme form of post-traumatic stress brought on by the emotion of his birthday or even a seizure. He’s in a great deal of pain. He mentioned a blinding light. Did he fall or hit his head?”

  “His knees buckled but his cellmate caught him in time,” Ethan confirmed. “Did he say anything about hearing voices?”

  “Yeah, he asked me if I could turn the volume down. Says everyone is saying the same thing, ingosana or something like that. Claims it’s driving him crazy!”

  “Thanks Doc, I’ll check in on him later.”

  Ethan walked to a corner, took out his cellphone and typed a short text message. It read, “TOP confirmed. Long live the True Pharaoh.”

  He pressed the send button with tears in his eyes. They were expressions of both sorrow and joy. Now he had to make certain nothing happened to Ryan. He wasn’t babysitting the heir anymore, he was protecting his King.

  Moments later, Lord Thoth held his breath as the long awaited words began to appear on the scroll.

  “We are humbled to confirm the successful transfer of powers to Prince Nkosana. Long live the True Pharaoh and may Horus protect him from evil.”

  So, the boy was now Pharaoh designate. It was a ray of hope for humanity in this their darkest night. He made the appropriate notation in the Book of Kings. It was out of his hands now. The Servants of Ma’at would need to decide how they would deal with the present situation. One of Nkosana’s predecessors as Pharaoh had been a slave for many years but this was certainly the first time that a king would begin his reign in prison. Thoth was the God of Wisdom and he prayed that young Nkosana would find all of it that he would need.