Rashi

Rashi looked again at her watch, which of course still wasn't on her wrist where it always always was. The sweat was pooling at the back of her knees and under her breasts. She could smell her skin going sour and her mouth was sticky with thirst. How long would she be held like this?! She looked again at her watch, which of course still wasn't there. With a powerful force of will, she didn't swear out loud, or contort her face, or even clench a fist. That was close. She'd nearly blown it. It brought her back to what was at stake. Very consciously she bought her awareness back to right here, right now. It was important that she not make any moves or sounds that whatever was recording from the other side of that mirror could pick up. She didn’t know what kind of equipment they had, but she knew from the trail transcripts she’d read that it was there, and was often a deciding factor in final decisions. If it ever got to trial. She’d worked so very hard to get here, she wasn’t going to screw it all up right at the last hurdle.

Taking a deep, slow breath, Rashi went to the cot. Gently and evenly, she let the breath out, then paused before taking another. She’d trained for this, she knew she’d get through if she stuck to the plan. This was not the time for fretting over details that were already in place or trying to push things along. The authorities would take their own time, that’s how authorities work. It’s not like this was some third-world cell with a putrid bucket in the corner. Actually it was almost exactly as it had been in the brochure except the blanket on the cot was grey, not navy blue. She was surprised to realise that it was cotton, that open waffle weave style, for some reason her mind had categorised it as a warm blanket. Why there was a blanket at all in this heat was the real mystery. Rashi thought it was a mystery she would ponder as the authorities took whatever time they needed to process her paperwork. After all, she thought, that was pretty reasonable. These things take time. She just wished that they’d left her with her guide book. She trusted that her belongings, her watch, luggage and passport would be returned to her in due course. Meanwhile, she decided, she was free to recuperate from the journey. It had been a very long trip.

Taking a deep, slow breath, Rashi relaxed on her cot in her silent, dim cell and deliberately went to sleep. Australia was worth the hassle to visit. She’d had to decide that a long time ago when she’d applied to her own country for clearance and diplomatic support. A week or two in Visitor Status Processing is a small sacrifice to make. Too late for doubts now.