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.The police refused again.Oneof the officers, a tall, lanky cop, recognised a leverage point if ever he saw one.He spread theguilt on thick.`Your poor sick mum.How could you do this to your poor sick mum? We're going to have totake her to Melbourne for questioning, maybe even to charge her, arrest her, take her to jail.You make me sick.I feel sorry for a mother having a son like you who is going to cause her allthis trouble.'From that moment on, the tall officer took every opportunity to talk about Anthrax's `poorsick mum'.He wouldn't let up.Not that he probably knew the first thing about scleroderma, thecreeping fatal disease which affected her.Anthrax often thought about the pain his mother wasin as the disease worked its way from her extremities to her internal organs.Sclerodermatoughened the skin on the fingers and feet, but made them overly sensitive, particularly tochanges in weather.It typically affected women native to hot climates who moved to colderenvironments.Anthrax's mobile rang.His mother.It had to be.The police wouldn't let him answer it.The tall officer picked up the call, then turned to the stocky cop and said in a mocking Indianaccent, `It is some woman with an Indian accent'.Anthrax felt like jumping out of his chair andgrabbing the phone.He felt like doing some other things too, things that would haveundoubtedly landed him in prison then and there.The stocky cop nodded to the tall one, who handed the mobile to Anthrax.At first, he couldn't make sense of what his mother was saying.She was a terrified mess.Anthrax tried to calm her down.Then she tried to comfort him.`Don't worry.It will be all right,' she said it, over and over.No matter what Anthrax said, sherepeated that phrase, like a chant.In trying to console him, she was actually calming herself.Anthrax listened to her trying to impose order on the chaos around her.He could hear noises inthe background and he guessed it was the police rummaging through her home.Suddenly, shesaid she had to go and hung up.Anthrax handed the phone back to the police and sat with his head in his hands.What awretched situation.He couldn't believe this was happening to him.How could the policeseriously consider taking his mother to Melbourne for questioning? True, he phreaked from herhome office phone, but she had no idea how to hack or phreak.As for charging his mother,that would just about kill her.In her mental and physical condition, she would simply collapse,maybe never to get up again.He didn't have many options.One of the cops was sealing up his mobile phone in a clearplastic bag and labelling it.It was physically impossible for him to call a lawyer, since the policewouldn't let him use the mobile or go to a pay phone.They harangued him about coming toMelbourne for a police interview.`It is your best interest to cooperate,' one of the cops told him.`It would be in your bestinterest to come with us now.'Anthrax pondered that line for a moment, considered how ludicrous it sounded coming froma cop.Such a bald-faced lie told so matter-of-factly.It would have been humorous if thesituation with his mother hadn't been so awful.He agreed to an interview with the police, but itwould have to be done on another day.The cops wanted to search his car.Anthrax didn't like it, but there was nothing incriminatingin the car anyway.As he walked outside in the winter morning, one of the cops looked down atAnthrax's feet, which were bare in accordance with the Muslim custom of removing shoes in thehouse.The cop asked if he was cold. The other cop answered for Anthrax.`No.The fungus keeps them warm.'Anthrax swallowed his anger.He was used to racism, and plenty of it, especially from cops.But this was over the top.In the town where he attended uni, everyone thought he was Aboriginal.There were onlytwo races in that country town--white and Aboriginal.Indian, Pakistani, Malay, Burmese, SriLankan--it didn't matter [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.The police refused again.Oneof the officers, a tall, lanky cop, recognised a leverage point if ever he saw one.He spread theguilt on thick.`Your poor sick mum.How could you do this to your poor sick mum? We're going to have totake her to Melbourne for questioning, maybe even to charge her, arrest her, take her to jail.You make me sick.I feel sorry for a mother having a son like you who is going to cause her allthis trouble.'From that moment on, the tall officer took every opportunity to talk about Anthrax's `poorsick mum'.He wouldn't let up.Not that he probably knew the first thing about scleroderma, thecreeping fatal disease which affected her.Anthrax often thought about the pain his mother wasin as the disease worked its way from her extremities to her internal organs.Sclerodermatoughened the skin on the fingers and feet, but made them overly sensitive, particularly tochanges in weather.It typically affected women native to hot climates who moved to colderenvironments.Anthrax's mobile rang.His mother.It had to be.The police wouldn't let him answer it.The tall officer picked up the call, then turned to the stocky cop and said in a mocking Indianaccent, `It is some woman with an Indian accent'.Anthrax felt like jumping out of his chair andgrabbing the phone.He felt like doing some other things too, things that would haveundoubtedly landed him in prison then and there.The stocky cop nodded to the tall one, who handed the mobile to Anthrax.At first, he couldn't make sense of what his mother was saying.She was a terrified mess.Anthrax tried to calm her down.Then she tried to comfort him.`Don't worry.It will be all right,' she said it, over and over.No matter what Anthrax said, sherepeated that phrase, like a chant.In trying to console him, she was actually calming herself.Anthrax listened to her trying to impose order on the chaos around her.He could hear noises inthe background and he guessed it was the police rummaging through her home.Suddenly, shesaid she had to go and hung up.Anthrax handed the phone back to the police and sat with his head in his hands.What awretched situation.He couldn't believe this was happening to him.How could the policeseriously consider taking his mother to Melbourne for questioning? True, he phreaked from herhome office phone, but she had no idea how to hack or phreak.As for charging his mother,that would just about kill her.In her mental and physical condition, she would simply collapse,maybe never to get up again.He didn't have many options.One of the cops was sealing up his mobile phone in a clearplastic bag and labelling it.It was physically impossible for him to call a lawyer, since the policewouldn't let him use the mobile or go to a pay phone.They harangued him about coming toMelbourne for a police interview.`It is your best interest to cooperate,' one of the cops told him.`It would be in your bestinterest to come with us now.'Anthrax pondered that line for a moment, considered how ludicrous it sounded coming froma cop.Such a bald-faced lie told so matter-of-factly.It would have been humorous if thesituation with his mother hadn't been so awful.He agreed to an interview with the police, but itwould have to be done on another day.The cops wanted to search his car.Anthrax didn't like it, but there was nothing incriminatingin the car anyway.As he walked outside in the winter morning, one of the cops looked down atAnthrax's feet, which were bare in accordance with the Muslim custom of removing shoes in thehouse.The cop asked if he was cold. The other cop answered for Anthrax.`No.The fungus keeps them warm.'Anthrax swallowed his anger.He was used to racism, and plenty of it, especially from cops.But this was over the top.In the town where he attended uni, everyone thought he was Aboriginal.There were onlytwo races in that country town--white and Aboriginal.Indian, Pakistani, Malay, Burmese, SriLankan--it didn't matter [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]