The Inducer

- What about you? Tell me something about your life.

- I was a very happy woman, until my husband decided to divorce me, he took custody of my son from me and I came to live in the United States after the American dream.

- Wait a minute, is she the mother of the Fournier boy?

- No, and that man is not the husband of whom I speak; rather, I speak of my former husband, Yaro, to whom I gave a son, to my misfortune.

The officer remains perplexed. These details of the defendant do not appear in your file.

- I didn't know this.

- I know. I came to this country as a single woman. I had to overflow a plane to go to a hospital for months.

- Did she come in sick?

- No, I was never healthier than I was then. At that time anger, hatred, resentment had not clothed this dry heart.

- I'm sorry.

- Can I have a cigarette?

- Of course. Here you go. He turns it on and gives it to her.

- You can't imagine what I was craving to smoke. Do you know what? When I started doing it, it was to fit in a circle. Funny, I ended up liking him. He's throwing smoke up.

- Tell me about that circle.

I'll talk to him, I just have to tell him the facts from the beginning, so that he can better understand and collaborate with what I'll ask without hesitation.

—Come on.

“Revenge Is A Kind Of Wild Justice “

Francis Bacon

CHAPTER II

Confessions

- The radiant woman coming from Kenya left her charm at the Nairobi airport after the call from my old husband, who told me at that moment the gravity of our sixteen year old son, my beloved Ismat, was in.

- She cries as she says her name, but continues to speak in tears. It was disastrous to see him in a coma. It was terrible. My little one, so many years without seeing him and seeing his face again, touched his hand without real life, connected to a device, as if he were a doll. I stayed by his side, never left him.

- What happened to the boy?

- Something unexpected. Well, a mother always thinks she'll die in her bed after having her whole family around about that time, but sometimes it's not like that; at least, I never thought of it that way.

- It must be painful what happened to you, I put myself in your place.

- You never wanted to be in my shoes, admit it. Deep down, you're terrified of my case, my reasons and my consequences.

- That's right - she sighs - but I'm a mother. Before I became a cop, I was a mother more than anything.

- Then, mother to mother, you'll understand me. HER eyes look watery. There's a deep regret in that look.

Officer Fatima was silent for a few seconds. I was impressed. The woman had struck a chord with his being. It made her feel a void for the unknown and a pain for what he would meet in the next two hours.

-Yes. She lowers her head, lifts it up and moves closer to the fence, their faces being very close. Only the cold bars separate them. Mother to mother, I promise.

-Good. He withdraws from the bars and sits on the floor at the back of the cell. You only see the smoke and the little light of the almost finished cigarette.

- I have to tell you, this is very strange. I know this case very well, I have interacted with the child's family, I have seen their suffering, but I must admit that their mystery has me totally captivated. It's a little hope.

- Hope? So, do you think I'm innocent? It would be a miracle. Everyone in this state and in this nation thinks I'm guilty. I don't recommend that you be any different from them. Well, at least for the duration of our talk.

- What's the point of me listening to her without hope?

- Well, do it for your children, think of them now. Close your eyes, think about what would happen if someone touched a single hair of theirs.

Fatima clearly understood that this woman could be more guilty than innocent.

- Then I will listen to her without hope, that's what I must do.

All right, that's the way I like it. The elements of surprise are indispensable in this conversation.

-Let's start again. Time is running out.

- I told you I was in that hospital for months, three and a half. At first there was hope that he would come back, but no. His case was very strange: he went into a deep coma that ate away his young body. It looked like a corpse connected to a machine. I hope it didn't hurt. Well, the doctors say Ismat didn't suffer at all. Maybe they're saying it so that I as a mother can feel resigned to it. I had an argument with his father the day I arrived, and with his mother, who was responsible for my husband's waiting with this country and deciding to leave everything to come and live here. At the time, the idea of leaving my life in Kenya was not attractive to me. We were happy, we had a home. He worked as a motorcycle mechanic downtown and I did fabric work. I'm a seamstress, although when I got here I gave up sewing, but it's what I do best.

He reproached me for the fact that I never wanted to come to live in this country. He was a fool, he thought I didn't realize that his mother had for him a wife he would marry when he got here, even though it was to get papers, but he did it, hidden from me. That's why he's asking me to get a divorce before he leaves Kenya. I didn't listen to any of it. His stupid argument only filled me with courage to realize that my son deserved to fight for it. To have come to the United States on my own was a feat. He was shocked to see me, never thought I'd make it on my own. Yaro fell into chaos at the sight of days passing by and Ismat did not awaken. He started drinking, took refuge in alcohol, suffered from severe depression. After spending three months living in poor conditions in a hospital, I had lost a lot of weight. Do you know what? I was a sturdy woman. In my country, the thinner the woman, and the fatter you are the more hopeful the husband is, the more on the contrary, on this side of the world. When I noticed the clothes were hanging down, my shoulder bones looked like deep basins and the lack of sun had cleared up my dark complexion a bit. That's when I started to go to sea, it was the only thing that calmed me down.

On the fateful morning when my old mother-in-law was visiting the hospital, my angel died. I only remember his smiley face at the airport when he was on retreat with his father. And to think I signed his permission to bring him here, thinking he'd have a better life here! And you see.

After several days, something unexpected happens: my old husband hangs himself after three weeks locked in his room with a terrible depression.

I had no more tears left. My mother-in-law almost went into shock, but I gave her support to keep her from collapsing.

I went to live with her for a while, in California, so I left the hospital and all the things in New York to go take care of Munga. Even though what bound us had disappeared and my heart at one point made her responsible for my divorce, I decided to follow her. Knowing she loved Ismat so much protected him while she could. That made me get close to her. In time I can say she's like the mother I never had. My parents abandoned me in a church, raised me there. As time went by, studying sewing, I met Yaro. The rest you know. My mother's heart needed a visit to the home of my son and former husband in New York. Munga wouldn't give me the keys, but I insisted so much he did. When I got there, my heart almost exploded: seeing her things, her photos, it was a traumatic memory. But I've got the courage. That's when I found what I probably shouldn't have found.

- Drugs? Officer Fatima's eyes were like two fried eggs. I was fascinated by that debutante confession.

- No, it wasn't drugs. It was his personal tablet.

-I see.

- Yes, a discovery that marked an ante and an aftermath in the life of this woman who is here. She gets up by throwing her cigarette butt on the floor. The officer looks at her with this bad habit, but her enchantment only allows her to ask for more information with her huge black eyes.

- I found a series of normal files for a kid his age: games, music and... chat. In that chat room I had a very pleasant and strange conversation with a person. I looked for old messages and found it. That guy was inducing Ismat to use cocaine. He even deliberately wrote to him that he would give him free to try, that it was nothing, to do it together. Yaro told me when I arrived that Ismat had had a sudden change in behaviour in the last six months before he died. He became uncontrollable.