Read Online Orpheus Lost by Janette Turner Hospital - Free Book Online Page B

Waltham is my guess. So is Bonbec a new subdivision? Or is it some sort of private bunker? One of those empty warehouses taken over by rogue security corporations, as some bloggers claim?”
    He was studying a photograph in the binder. Perhaps it was taken in her bedroom, perhaps the room of her lover. Because of the darkness, there were green shadows at the pillowy edges, but the curves of flesh were like cream.
    “The only Bonbec I actually know of is in the Conciergerie in Paris,” she said. “Not a helpful association.”
    “On the contrary.”
    She stared at him. “Bonbec is the tower where they tortured people to make them talk.”
    “Correct.”
    “You intend a connection?”
    Silence.
    “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, “though I can’t think of anything sicker. D’you know what bonbec means? The word itself?”
    He had imagined her often in tangled sheets, as in the photographs. He had imagined her with various lovers, himself included. He had watched her, sometimes, from behind the azalea bushes, cavorting on the Hamilton veranda. He had seen boys tearing at her clothes.
    “ Bonbec means ‘good beak’,” she told him. “That is, a beak that sings well, a mouth that won’t shut up under torture.”
    “Yes.” He looked up from the photographs. “You are sweating,” he noted. Mentally, he put a checkmark in his own column on the switch-flow scoreboard.
    “That excites you,” she observed, fascinated. She was watching him closely.
    One: one, he thought.
    Switch-flow was a switchback ride, and because it was never simple, the thrill was high. Switch-flow took focus; it took concentration; it took skill. It was like whitewater rafting. A player could drown.
    “You have beads of perspiration on your upper lip,” she said. “Of course, the ski mask itself must make you sweat, but I’d say there was also some excitation involved.”
    He said vehemently: “Freedom and safety have a price tag.” He would have preferred calm. He would have preferred ironic disdain. He would have preferred not to have sounded so furious. “That’s the meaning of Bonbec. Bonbec is where traitors were induced to confess before they undermined the public good.”
    “ Induced to confess. That’s one way of describing torture.”
    “I take it that the rash of recent incidents and civilian deaths don’t bother you.”
    “They horrify me.”
    “But you don’t believe atrocities require strong measures.”
    “I do believe atrocities require strong measures.”
    “That’s what we’re engaged in at Bonbec. Taking strong preventative measures.”
    “Strong measures are one thing. Torture is quite another. If I were you, I wouldn’t call an interrogation room Bonbec. That’s pretty sick. Not to mention bad PR for democracy and civil rights.”
    “There are people who put themselves outside the pale. You’ve been brought to Bonbec for good reason.”
    “I see,” she said, shaken. “And of course mistakes are never made.”
    “No one is brought in without substantial cause. Interrogation determines what comes next.”
    “I see.” She put her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her interlaced hands. She flexed her fingers so that her fingernails and the backs of her digits touched her cheeks. She took in a long deep breath and released it slowly. She studied his eyes. She nodded with the air of a puzzle solved mournfully. “You like making people afraid.” Her body relaxed. “That’s what this is about.”
    “It is about national security,” he said.
    “Oh right. I forgot.”
    It was the dismissiveness which got to him. He thumped his fist on the table. “Why aren’t you scared?”
    Her eyebrows shot upwards. “What have I got to be scared about here ? I’m scared of suicide bombers, but I don’t know the slightest thing about the Park Street incident, so I know this is all a big mistake.” She frowned. “But of course I’ve been assuming all this is legitimate and therefore