Suddenly everything was ok and in the open, Inti was like a familiar face with whom he could converse. Mauro hesitated for a minute then withdrew from the chair, pointing at the pipe for Inti to give him a blow. Inti passed the pipe, ‘You have to inhale deeply for the purple smoke to take effect’, Inti said affectionately. Mauro did so, and felt a huge surge of blood shoot to his head, like an impact from the gravity that was sustaining him on earth. He paused for a few minutes spaced out, and not quite in tune with reality. ‘Do you feel good?’ Inti looked at him and then clicked. Mauro nodded and blinked immediately bringing him back to a degree of waking consciousness. ‘Mauro I have to tell you, this Tabaco is no ordinary Tabaco, it is from my indigenous tribe and I have kept for 42 years until now; it was handed down to me by an old merchant seller who used to grow this freely in his back garden, they are originally seeds, however they cultivate to become what you’re smoking, it is called Tabaco del diablo’, Inti said with deep mentioning about his culture. Inti took the pipe Mauro, and then inhaled a huge breath of Tabaco del diablo, which as an experienced man, he instantaneously reacted to with a breeze of fresh air, that was like a warm breeze.

Mauro felt inquisitive and wanted to understand more about Inti’s culture because he didn’t fully understand where Inti was coming from. ‘Inti let’s go and see Paloma’, he said. ‘Yes Mauro, let us go and see Paloma, why not, today is bright, like life could seem to turn for the better, maybe will wake up and her insanity will be gone’, he said with a tone of belief in what he had said. Inti nodded, then looked gravely at the clock. ‘We have to go now before it closes’, he said to Inti still looking with his fixed, entrenched stare. He put on his coat, and Inti his cloak, and then they moved like locomotives towards the door. At that moment he got a text from Ming, as his phone blurted a beeping sound, with a bleeping red light. ‘It’s me Ming, come see me today, after school, why you aint talk to us no more man, we not friends or what, neway meet us in Camden’, he said convincingly to Mauro. Mauro felt his integrity destroyed from the last time they met, so it became apparent that they had to reconcile a few things, in any case Mauro’s perspective had changed since then into a more positive outlook on life, since Inti and him were now discussing revolution. The birds were outside cawing in the light of day. They walked off the porch on to the street, where one of the street lamps were still flickering, probably broken by a group of vandals. They walked a further stretch of road until they reached a main road were Inti told Mauro to wait. Mauro waited patiently, as if he were blind and Inti was his guide. It made sense after all since Mauro had hardly spent time outside, and the world had become a estranged entity like a box. Mauro took out a cigarette, and suddenly he felt dizzy again, it seemed the Tabaco del diablo had taken its effect on him, and he wouldn’t come down for a while. Inti crossed the road with Mauro by his side, the old and young. Except with Mauro and Inti’s relationship there was nothing to hide, and generational gaps, just a relationship at its zenith.
The clockwork machinery was at its peak, at three o’clock a wave of masses arrived at the tube station, where Inti and Mauro were momentarily subdued by the entity of a wave of people, some on the cellular phones, others reading the Metro, the underground paper, most were commuting to and from their offices. The tube was damp, and sweaty with the heat that was exuding a cloud, like in a sauna, most of the people felt exasperated trying to claw their way out of the train, their eyes moving from side to side, as if to say that this breezeless atmosphere was oppressive. Inti stood up to give an old lady priority, which was the gentlemen thing to do. Mauro felt a little bit embarrassed as he was the younger of the two, and could have easily given his space up, but was in too much of depleted and demoralised state to even register when people, were coming and going, like the clockwork of a plant. The clockwork city, were the wires are internally connected to the photosynthesis of the plant, like a young rebel in the seed of internal, immortal contradiction. It seemed that these days the faces of people had become older and more mature, Mauro’s generation had grown up, ideas stimulated by like memoirs of a distant past. But these ideas may have been archaic, but were the youth unsettled in the current climate of the world global system of affairs. Everything was marginally blurred like a reality that pertained to a different era in the time of their life, and where every image was an impression to their sense, as if their being was afflicted to the point of no return. He admired many of the old revolutionaries of the past that he had learnt in his history lessons, because he knew that these people had fought for their rights in the epoch of an era that filled their minds with revolutionary diction, the anti-politicians like something remote, an unsettled idea, that wanted to be free and was guaranteed by the movement of people towards a goal and aim. Malcolm X the black militant, and Che Guevara, were the people that he knew. Was he then a young rebel, in the bloom of his blossoming; he knew that these people warranted recognition because they were people who had inspired a generation to fight for liberty. Mauro now retracted from his recurring thoughts, which were jumbled like some sort of puzzle of truths and lies, which were played like a casino; the economy was in pieces but as far as Mauro knew the politicians were fixing everything with their lies. ‘Inti, this is our stop let’s get off’, he pointed at the door indicating. Inti had gone into a state of paralytic unconsciousness, Mauro desperately tried to wake him up, as Inti’s eyes were firmly shut and Mauro could not, with all his human might lift him; when Mauro tried to ply his eyes open, Inti’s eye would not open; but Mauro persisted, and his eyes lids felt as heavy as lead. ‘No, Inti we have to get off, come on wake up’, Mauro tugged at his arm, and let go of the newspaper that he was reading before it dropping on the floor. People around started to look and they were glancing intrigued stares, as if a scene of absolute madness was erupting. Inti suddenly awoke, and saw that the doors were millimetres from closing. They both jumped up as it finally dawned on Inti that the doors were going to close and seal their fates. Mauro clasped Inti in his relatively conscious state as they both stumbled to the closing doors, but the doors were almost shut. Mauro leapt one foot towards the edge of the door keeping it narrowly shut. Now, both Mauro and Inti were leaning on each other, and the space was getting smaller by the second as they both realised that now was the time to use their brute strength to ply the doors open; ‘OK, one, two three’, they heaved and the door opened, but the carriage was still moving; Mauro pulled Inti with him and in a strenuous effort they both jumped off the train, landing on the platform. They looked at each other bemused, how could an old revolutionary man so experienced as Inti, find himself in such a precarious and funny situation. They looked at each other and Mauro broke the silence ‘Bloody hell’, he said. ‘You looked petrified Mauro’, Inti teased Mauro, then patted him on the back. ‘Bloody hell man, why do you fall asleep’, Mauro asked. ‘I dunno too much tobacco Del diablo I guess’, he said smiling a reassuring smile. Now that Inti and Mauro were out of the arms of danger, they strolled exhausted almost collapsing from the fright and exhilaration, both their hearts pounding at a compelling rate, that both of them could not tangibly abstract something out of this extraordinary mishap, other than that it was not their time to have been smoking this Tobacco Del diablo. They walked up the stairs instead of taking the elevator as it was temporarily broken, and Inti was far too exhilarated to walk up the stairs. It felt as if they were two rebels on the eve of a rebellion. Now Mauro more than ever felt as if he was compelled to meet this extraordinary human being, who had given life to the dishevelled walls in Inti’s living room. He felt akin with this kindred spirit, as if there was much to discuss about her revolutionary temper, as young temptress captivating the hearts of the celestial, and her admirers on earth, like a young Frida Carla, or Diego Rivera reincarnated as a rebellious women. Mauro let this be the day to answer all previous unanswered question of why she had become like she was. ‘Nod if yes, click if no’, he thought. In his way of thinking her mind had become so severely distorted that he would not be able to communicate to her the message that he so dearly wanted to communicate, which was that of freedom. Maybe if he made signs to her, her paranoiac ego would respond. Only then would he be able to really expound the laws of physical gravity. Free the prison of her mind. He felt like a freedom fighter on the path of righteousness. Righteousness was not a commodity, like money, but something that comes from an alter ego an untapped human capability to love, to share bonds of common humanity. After all she was still human. Mauro wanted more than ever to discover secrets her past, why she left Chile. And the most important question, why she was in this hell hole. Outside of the Walthamstow tube station, a young group of people were selling newspapers. And it seemed to Mauro that these young people were about his age. They were in normal clothes, but they had cheery faces. Mauro and Inti paused. Inti told Mauro to wait where he was. Mauro obeyed and patiently waited; as Inti strolled towards the path of the young people with cheery faces, Mauro looked from the distance of the tube station. He saw Inti buy a paper from the people, and one of them gave them a pen for him to sign a piece of paper. After that Inti rushed to where Mauro was and told him it was time to go. ‘What did you buy old friend’, Mauro asked Inti, and then looked at the newspaper that was in his hand. He told Mauro that it was something to do with forth of the blossom of revolution, but that it would be revealed to him as soon as possible.
They both walked on with a slow trot, and both of them had grins of men that were graced with the sun’s new horizon. It seemed that something was awaiting Mauro, an intriguing secret and development in his life that could possibly lead to something extraordinary. Mauro remembered that everyone in society has a degree of psychosis. It doesn’t matter if you’re young or old. You can’t lecture the youth about something in which you are inexperienced, Inti said. Somehow Inti felt disconnected from the milleu of working people, the hard grafters, the ones who are good at their trade. As a young socialist he would venture into the territory of militant trade unions, and discuss various topics on the agenda. Inti saw people come and go from the café near the park where he would momentarily be stuck in solitude of awareness, feeding the ducks leisurely. For six months Inti spent time in a squat in Northern Ireland before, he and Paloma finally decided to come to England, it was sublime, sharing cups of coffee in the darkness of incertitude, where only your friends who were closest to you would share the niche conversation that you were deeply engrossed in, which with Inti was more or less always about politics. Inti deliberated as to which way to go, whether be down the high street, or round the round -about. He asked a tourist, a stocky young Chinese man of 25, who’s oriental eyes were brim with life. ‘Sorry, my friend have you any idea where I could find Walthamstow care home’, Inti asked pressed for time. ‘No idea mate sorry’, the man who appeared to be a tourist came out with a fully developed Brazillian accent. ‘Ok, that’s great were lost’, Inti turned his undivided attention to Mauro. Mauro could not quite conceptualise the environment in which he was caught, like his senses were temporarily dulled. His expression seemed meek compared to the contained jungle of London around him. The sun had dipped slightly now in the sky, and the birds were no longer cawing the sweet melody of morning time tune. Instead now the skies were greying, and thin clouds were beginning to develop all around the area, like circling buzzards. Mauro can remember the distinct voice of a man. ‘Are you guys lost, what are you looking, eres Latino’, it seemed to Mauro that his culture was deeply embedded in the fabric of London’s melting pot society. Diversity was abundant, and the tonic smell of this passer by allured Mauro’s nose, like flakes of wispy air rushing through his nostrils. Mauro saw a route Master that was converted so that it looked something like a bestiality of a bus, drive past, spraying curdles of water into his path, like a skidding engine. Mauro took out a cigarette prudently making sure that the cigarette producing wisps upon wisps of dry air, would not hit the man’s face. Mauro slanted the cigarette slightly in his mouth, and from the corner of his eye he saw a tattoo parlour near-by and thought of getting a Che tattoo one day, because in his eyes Che was like an idol, a figure of the type of freedom, that Inti was always in fervent discussion about, ever changing, undying. If someone could encroach on the liberty of insane man, Mauro thought, shackle him to the chains of society’s conformism, then is it possible that insanity had rooted it self as a liberty in the minds of people. Or was insanity a further contraption of the society that created that inequality in the first place. Many contradictory, absurd to most people, thoughts were occurring in Mauro’s contemplative mind. For now Mauro was absorbed in his mission to get to Walthamstow care home. Inti paused for a second, then looked at Mauro. ‘Ok, Mauro lets go’, Inti said passively almost with a subduing and comforting tone. Mauro followed Inti as far as the corner of the street, where the bend lead them directly to where they had been weeks ago. The infirmary as Inti would later call it seemed even more dilapidated. It was as if the image of this place had been desecrated by hooligans. They entered the foyer, and sat down on one of the empty vessel, that were arranged in order of height and width, tallest to smallest. For some reason this particularity had never occurred to Mauro. Inti didn’t bother with the niceties of explaining Paloma’s abstract insanity however he gave a message to be nestled within the conversation that was to between them. With a brief message from the receptionist with whom Mauro and Inti were acquainted, they entered the room once again soldered like a box made of steel. Inti sat at the nearest available table, and away from the view of the guards.
‘Paloma should be here now’, Inti said calmly. Paloma entered with an emaciated face, which seemed to have been aggravated by something or someone, it seemed that this place was not treating her nicely. The prison, which was what Inti would later call it, had withheld this patient with whom Inti had first fallen in love with for too long. It seemed the eternal premise of love, had been compromised by time, and time had fled both their lives like a commodity which could not be afforded at the expense of a laugh or giggle. They had to meet eye to eye, for them to understand the internal bonds that their love animated, unlike the machinery of a grandfather clock, which oscillates back and forth with no restriction of how many times it can fall and rise, but instead their love was like a vessel sailing through a misty night were the rocky shores are plagued with sunken ships. ‘Amor, como estas no te visto en lunas aparecidas, como que en tus ojos yo me pierdo otra vez por la primera vez, tu son risa me recuerda de las sandias, moradas que me comía con plátano frito, que era tan delicioso como una raya en el mar, nadando opuesta a la composición del mundo celestial’, Inti laughed, ‘Hablamos en ingles o español, que prefieres tu amor’, Inti smiled reassuringly looking at the clock that was ticking away the minutes of their time in the shackles of solitude to be divulged under the Enterprise of this infirmary. ‘Ingles amor para que nuestro decaparecido entienda mas’, she winked with a knowing expression of confidence. ‘I’ve seen you in my dreams, alive with the twinkle of a passionate moonlit fire, celestial like the heart that inflames my torso’, he said with a piercing passion, melting Paloma’s heart instantly. ‘I’ve haven’t seen you in so long, why don’t you respond to my letters, and come and visit me from time to time’, Paloma’s heart raced a beat ahead of the pulse of her inflamed soul. Inti held her hands which had seemed to have aged, as if life had slowly decayed like petals that die on a plant. Nectar was engulfing her soul, like poison, so infected by Inti, that the very sight of him made her flitter with anticipation. A kiss that he might unexpectedly implant on her cheek, that would make her fluster with passionate yearning for Inti’s soul to be entwined a connection of beauty, a moment of positivity. For Inti life had become dogmatic, and now Paloma was in full frontal view of him, which was like a montage of reality mixed with a placebo of unparalleled insanity. ‘Mauro it’s good to see you once again, my friend who I thought died a terrible death, no Mauro you look good, youthful, full of life’, Paloma eyed Mauro fervently with no criticism intended. ‘You know this place gets you down, it seems all of life’s little quotidian things repress you, like a burden you have to carry on your back, but I guess there is joy from the shackles of insanity’, Paloma referred her comment to both Mauro and Inti, flittering her eyes back and forth. London seemed like an animalistic expression of tamed freedom to Paloma, were the windows that retained her, had slowly grown to become bars of death. The metamorphosis would be complete when she regenerated as a reformed citizen in society, the institution always said. They would make a particularly special commendation for Paloma’s improved passivity. She no longer contests to being a revolutionary, they said in her report, which they filed away for appraisal. Everything seemed like a chasm of doom, in Paloma’s insignificantly small world, for anyone who didn’t know her. But for Mauro and Inti, they were sharing her pain, like a finger prick that would never let go, a pain latched on to most of their sublime senses. Things that Inti took for granted like a toothbrush that wasn’t as hard as shrapnel. Or the linen that was as tough to the touch as when the bristles of a broom impact the floor to sweep away the remains of the dust of dawn. Everything was bland, and in line with the ritualistic conformity of the tainted area that was like being blind and deaf, but being able to hear and see everything around you. Taste no longer existed to the taste bud, and everything had been stripped away of colour. Inti looked at Paloma, with a repressed look of wisdom that echoed something of their primordial past. Suddenly, Mauro broke the intuitive glances that were being shared by these two people in an immortal cohesion of truth and beauty. No force on earth, a tornado, a hurricane, could have stopped them from being infixed in the arms of their looks of solitude and despair. It seemed that Mauro was breaking link between the bonds that made both their connection human, like there was an affliction in disparity and something was being channelled by through a looking glass as if they were on a summit about to make the unforgettable turn to freedom. Mauro was like the thin separator, the glacier at the top of the summit, where freedom was a delight in which they could revel for eternity. It suddenly dawned on Mauro that Paloma was not going to wake up like in a dream that was surrendered to Inti’s mind, and that she would be forever forsaken in this rotten wing of the infirmary. Somehow all three of their intrigued glances encapsulated their desires to rebel against the seed of all malice the contradiction which is fatal to our minds, at a time when the world is collapsing on either side of the poles. An eruption of consciousness on Mauro’s behalf, made him decipher a cleverly formulated plan to unstrap Paloma from the bonds of her chains of craziness. He didn’t quite know what how he was going to do, but it was somehow circulating like a concurrent idea swimming against a tide of rising insanity and tumultuous thoughts. Mauro had to clear his mind, ‘Ok he thought to himself looking at the guard never moving like a statue’, now was the time to move Paloma, edge her momentarily to the break of freedom to mankind. He moved his chair slightly at angle so that guard would could not catch adrift of the thoughts were occurring like an instantaneous convulsion, of unhampered tendency towards his required goal. To orchestrate this freedom fighting manoeuvre he had only seconds, and Inti was completely essential to the execution of this magical move. Magical because it was abstract that even thought that it must have come from an internal leakage of fluid from his ‘normal’ brain pattern. Now Inti was in full site of Mauro, and he was swaying with his words like a lilac plant that swishes in the tender breeze of a cool summer’s atmosphere. Mauro clicked once and Inti blinked. Mauro clicked twice, shook his head and Inti kicked his leg, Paloma shrieked in pain. ‘Inti what the hell, what’s going on’, Mauro clicked his finger again and Inti dived across the table and threw Paloma to the floor in one mighty push knocking her unconscious; whilst she was on the floor Inti managed to sweep her head. ‘Help this woman is dying she’s had stroke help us’, at once two guards came and then a succession of more nurses, who were at the beck and claw of Paloma, aiding her to a swift recovery. In the ambulance car the sirens were blearing, and the oncoming traffic was being dodged by the vehicles that swerving into the ambulance van, as if it was a moving target. Mauro and Inti were desperately trying to remain calm, in the excitement that was embroiling them like a dust cloud of energy, sweeping their bodies from one tide to another. Mauro looked at one of the nurses that were in the van. ‘Listen is my friend going to be alright’, Mauro asked helplessly, not knowing whether the fate of Paloma had been doomed because of idiocy, and the fallacy in his manoeuvre. ‘Yes she is, don’t worry’, immediately the nurse answered. Mauro was weeping tears of repressed joy as their plan seemed to be working as they had planned.
Before the whole incident that had occurred in front of their eyes, Mauro and Inti had been walking and talking about the day that Paloma would recover from her illness. ‘Is she going to live or die in this place, or is a part of her already dead’, Mauro asked diligently by Inti side. ‘To be truly freed Paloma, needs to forget about the past, and move on with the ever changing present, you understand’, Mauro looked bemused for a minute, but then understood the trail of thought being led by the old revolutionary. I think what will happen is she might die in the situation if she’s never brought back to a degree of reality, don’t you think Inti’, Mauro inquired inquisitively. ‘Yes, I agree, but Paloma is very resilient’, Inti nodded his head vehemently. ‘Paloma is a kindred soul, with whom everything is shared in affinity with the world, she reflects her beauty through mother nature, and her offspring are engendered on the walls like litter in the sky’, Inti said to Mauro trying to create some mutuality in their understandings. I don’t know how to explain what this person has felt like recurring dream in her past memories’, Inti was now painting a vivid picture of Paloma’s tore down soul. ‘Don’t get me wrong Paloma is a fighter, but the reason she lives in her past is because the present brings her too much pain, too many memories’, Inti coughed into his palm and then showed Mauro something which belonged to Paloma, it was a trinket locket, of a lady-bird which was hung around a yellow silk ribbon. ‘Inti, I have an idea’. Inti and Mauro began talking in depth about how they were going to rescue Paloma from the clutches of her imprisonment.
In the ambulance Mauro could feel himself becoming more nauseated by the sirens which were blearing at a high volume, as if the abyss of Mars could be contacted, if there was life on that planet. Now they were in a heightened state of anxiety if this radical manoeuvre was going to be pulled off. He was not quite sure whether or not the ambulance car was going to halt at a sudden red light, and throw Paloma overboard to comprise the whole plan. Mauro spoke to Inti with an air of indulgence in this mighty plan. ‘It’s going to work I’m telling you, we just have to get to the hospital, and then we act’, he declared radically. Inti was now clutching Paloma by her head to protect from the impact of the speed bumps, which would make her go into a frenzying haemorrhage. Now it was time for both of them to act accordingly as the ambulance pulled into the hospital parking lot. ‘I need for both of you to move away. They needed leeway do get away with this miraculous conviction to the motives of planning the escape of the prisoner and lover of Inti. They finally got Paloma out of the ambulance, and she was in a state paralytic fever drenched in sweat, and motionless. The ambulance told Inti what wing they were taking her to before the paramedics fled like locomotives rushing her into the hospital doors. Inti and Mauro were left feeling giddy and exhilarated. ‘You did well Mauro’, Inti finally spoke and hugged Mauro. ‘Thank you Mauro’, he said and looked at Mauro with affection. ‘I told you it would work, I blinked’, he said looking at Mauro through his emaciated expression of eternal gratitude. It seemed that this little escapade had firmly consolidated Mauro’s trust in Inti, their bonds of friendship had grown stronger than ever. He told Mauro to have a quick smoke before they entered. ‘I’m quitting Inti’, Mauro said. ‘Of course, my dear friend, we all are’, Mauro looked estranged, triumphant in a certain respect that he was had finally served some purpose in his world of craziness. He was expecting something to reappear as a beautiful memory in the banks of his mind. Somehow in his state of emphatic psychosis, he thought of escaping being reincarnated as the Mauro that once existed in Chile during the revolution. Maybe it was a sign that he existed. But one thing he could not refute was his undying kinship with this universal character who he had met through, some would say, fate, others would say coincidence however you want to put it he was here now in this fateful moment trying to doing something righteous for this man. He could almost see through the blanketed mist that his mind had procured as a side effect of insanity, in which he had been embroiled, but the curtain was slowly lifting to an unkind perceptibility, and impressionability, that had been his Achilles heel along, he knew now that sounds were impressions, and images were the psyche talking to us from the depths of shadows. ‘Let’s go she’s probably peacefully resting’, Inti said to Mauro. Mauro and Inti entered the waiting room of the hospital and ran to the desk of the receptionist. ‘Can you direct me to were Paloma is please, it’s urgent’, Inti asked prudently, but emphatically. The woman was middle-eastern with a thick Persian accent, ‘Yes I can, she’s in wing 10 of the infirmary’. The word infirmary made Inti shiver, remembering the prison’s walls, grey with no vibrancy, meshed into the brains of the prisoners of this infirmary, like a concentration camp for the ill, and criminally insane. She was with these people all along like it was water and bread that she ate, every day. Inti could not help feeling guilty as he walked the breadth of the infirmary corridors, patting Mauro on the back, and sulking at the zenith of their plan to re-establish this young temptress into the roots of her life, once again. Inti quickly clicked back into some degree of accordance with his mind, like as if he had been seeing double all along. Mauro pointed at the wing that was at the other end of the long corridor, were Inti’s lover laid, traumatised, in the arms of momentary solitude. Mauro was distinguishably, and noticeably weary, like sleep had left his mind. He was an insomniac of the living, with no regret except solitude, and the cradle of society’s untamed decadence. They walked a further stretch of corridor until they arrived at the room. The paramedics were packing up their stuff to leave their duty which was fulfilled for the time being, however now Inti and Mauro’s duty was still to be completed. Mauro gave Inti the go ahead, signalling with his finger’s that the coast was clear. Inti, stepped past one of the nurses he recognised to be a socialist who had previously been immersed in the Latin American milieu, when he first came to England in the 1970s. She had long silky black hair, with curls at the bottom. ‘Camilla, do you work here’, the woman was surprised to say the least to see this old man with his French beret. ‘Inti is that really you’, she looked at him admiringly, then gave him a hug. ‘Yes my old friend, how are you, it’s been too long’, Inti exclaimed then kissed her cheek. ‘And Paloma, still here, o que’, she asked with a forgiving look. ‘I still have to tell her I’m sorry, we left on harsh words, for that political argument that we encountered as young people in the forefront of the struggle, are you still immersed’, Camilla asked Inti. Camilla’s face in Inti’s eyes had aged, but her freckles were still vivacious. ‘Listen don’t worry, if you want to apologize pay your debt now we need you, I can’t explain, but Paloma is here’, Inti exclaimed emphatically. Mauro was alert for any guard that was coming down the wing. ‘Inti we have to do this now or never’, Mauro looked at Inti with no comprise in his unforgiving look for what they had done to Paloma, his friend who he hardly knew. ‘Come to the room
where she is’, Mauro and Inti finally entered Paloma’s room, unveiling the curtain that was stiff on the pole, and needed exertion and strength to be pulled. Mauro saw at the other end, through the corner of his eye that another guard who appeared to be institutionalised was talking to a nurse. ‘There here already’, Mauro said under his breath. Now Inti, was emphatically, in a heightened state of frenzy detaching the wires from Paloma’s body and forehead. ‘Inti we have to hurry’, Mauro spoke at Inti with a sense of urgency. ‘Shit she’s still unconscious’, Inti remarked to himself. Camilla was stood there in a state of incomprehension. But she did not speak, only helped Inti to detach the wires. Now Inti was trying desperately to wake Paloma from her dormant state, like a volcano with the underlying contradiction at the heart of their dilemma. ‘Paloma, wake up please, this is my fault’, Inti was subdued by a feeling of immortal regret he had put her here in the arms of danger. Maybe they would punish, torturing her soul, for what they had done, Inti thought. He heard the footsteps approaching; Inti was now almost convinced his time with Paloma was up. Suddenly Paloma took deep a breath like she had woken from death. ‘She’s with us quick, we need you now’, Inti said to Camilla. Immediately she reacted, but at that moment the guards approached the curtain. The sound of a high pitched beeping noise like the pulse of someones heart failing was heard through the corridors. The guards were disrupted in their path, and suddenly about three nurses rushed to the aid of the room were the noise was emanating. The guards entered the room were an old man was asleep peacefully, the machine that registers heart beats was erratically moving up and down. Camilla was stood opposite the machine, with her hand resting on the machine. ‘I’m sorry about this we often find the machines begin to malfunction, my fault entirely’. The guards looked eager to find Paloma, and asked Camilla were Paloma was. Camilla denied ever seeing her, nodding at the questions, but in the back of her mind wishing Inti and his friends a swift escape. The guards began searching the ward, and soon there was a police line of tape restricting loved ones to see their relatives.
In Camden Paloma, Inti and Mauro were drinking coffee in a Turkish café. Inti had bought Paloma sunglasses to disengage attention from her; he had also given her his beret to protect her head from the rain that was pouring. They had taken refuge in this café, and were celebrating their victory. Paloma looked traumatised even though you couldn’t see her eyes. Her jaw had been fractured, and she had bruises on her arms. Inti proposed to take her to a doctor, after the whole incident had blown over and the mist of trouble was clear. ‘Bastards, they did this’ Inti spat at the infirmaries guardians who were supposedly responsible for looking after the vulnerable people of the ward. Inti and Paloma finished cups of coffee.