Free Devil's Keep by Phillip Finch Page A

water pitcher, put the plate of food on the table, and took away the dirty dish with the leftover scraps of sardines and rice.
    “Talk to me!” Marivic said. “What’s going on? Say
anything
.”
    They left and locked the door behind them without acknowledging her presence, without even once meeting her eyes. Moments later they went into Junior’s room and performed the same small tasks. Marivic couldn’t see what was happening, but she recognized the sounds, the scraping of the dishes, the
thunk
of an empty chamber pot on the floor.
    “Don’t waste your breath,” Junior said when they were gone, his door locked shut. “They have nothing to say. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
    They ate in silence. Marivic ate until she was full, then pushed the plate away and sat on the cot.
    A high-pitched trill drifted over the wall. It sounded at first like the call of a songbird. But Marivic knew that no bird sang the tune “My Heart Will Go On.”
    She said, “Junior! You have a flute? How?”
    The song stopped.
    He said, “No flute. It’s me. I am a whistler.”
    “Just you? Can’t be.”
    “Yes,” he said. “It’s me. Name a song. I know them all.”
    She thought for a moment. One of her favorite songs was a Tagalog ballad by Freddie Aguilar, the Filipino folksinger. “Anak” was the name of the song: “Child.” It had a lilting melody that soared and dipped—almost impossible to whistle, she imagined. She decided to test him.
    “ ‘Anak,’ ” she said.
    Seconds later, the first bar wafted in over the wall. Perfect tempo, perfect pitch.
    She squealed with delight.
    The melody stopped and he said, “Marivic, are you all right?”
    “Yes, yes, don’t stop!”
    He picked up right where he had left off.
    They passed the evening that way, Marivic throwing the names of songs over the wall, and Junior sending back a beautifully rendered melody. After a while the lights went out in the rooms. Junior and Marivic chatted for a while, until Junior got sleepy and said good night.
    Then silence from the other side of the wall.
    Marivic couldn’t sleep. She lay awake in the darkness, watching the fan turn above her. She tried to imagine what lay beyond the walls. That afternoon she had noticed indirect sunlight coming in over the top of one wall. She knew that wall must face outside.
    If she could somehow climb up, she might be able to peer over the top of the wall, through the wire-mesh grille that ran along the top.
    Was it possible?
    The walls were several feet higher than in an ordinary room. Standing on the chair wouldn’t get her close. Even standing on the table wouldn’t get her high enough. But the chair on the table…
    She moved the table into the corner formed by the outside walls, then placed the chair on the table. She climbed up on the table, then carefully onto the chair, balancing against the wall as she stepped up. The top of the wall was now at forehead height.She placed both hands on the lip of the wall and stretched up on the tips of her toes.
    Now she could just see over the top. Through the wire grille, she looked down on a moonlit hillside that fell down to the ocean. A path led from this building, through a stand of trees. About halfway down the hill was a broad clearing. The path skirted this clearing and ran down to a dock.
    A white speedboat was tied up there, bobbing in the water. She could hear the wash of waves against rocks, the swish of palm fronds in the wind.
    At first she didn’t see anyone. The path down to the dock was clear, and she got a wild urge to escape. Only the grille stood between her and freedom. If she pushed it out, she could climb over the wall, run down to the boat, drive it far away.
    She grasped the grille and shook it. The grille didn’t move. She pulled and tugged at the grille. It didn’t budge. She looked closer and saw that heavy screws secured the base of the grille to the top of the wall. It wasn’t going anywhere.
    The urge faded.
Crazy,
she thought.