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The roof was right above his head. Without warning they dropped
him and stopped him abruptly before reaching the floor. I heard
his shoulders pop. He fainted.
I talked to the Inquisitor, keeping my hood on and my voice low.
He had never seen me before, but Salvador and I were very alike.
He argued with me. I had to find the way to make him leave.
“Cut his tongue. If he doesn’t wish to speak, he shall never speak
again,” the Inquisitor said to one of the torturers, who took out his
knife and went to obey the order.
“Señor Inquisitor,” I said, “how do you suppose he’ll ever confess
if you have his tongue cut out?”
“This man hasn’t talked in a year, Señor Guardian,” he said to me.
“We have been merciful and understanding. Haven’t I seen you
before?”
“I don’t recall having the pleasure, my son.” I said.
“I never forget a face,” the Inquisitor said, and then he went on to
tell me that I looked familiar. I asked his permission to convince
the prisoner to confess. I could see Salvador struggling to keep the
torturer from prying his mouth open. I threatened the Inquisitor.
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