(SA) You Can't Pray With One Hand

Tonight's story by Denver Morgan is entitled, You Can't Pray With One Hand. I don't think our English friend will be giving us any more trouble. Ooh!

Greg said. Did I forget? My dear, your voice, my friend. Oh, you... You'll excuse me. I'm not opening my eyes. I... After 30 days in solitary... I need some little time to adjust. It was bad.

It was bad. Every third day, Deepavara came in and beat me up. And this place, hate can be a good thing. It keeps you alive. Hey, help me up. Help me up to my bankrollo.

Hey, stay there. It's good. That's better. I hope this afternoon's ration here. Drink, huh? What's the news? Since I've been away.

What news is there in prison? Men come in. Not the gold mat, there's no news. Solitary gives one plenty of time to think. We've been here five years now, five years, and a French prison island in the middle of the Pacific.

We've forgotten when. We know nothing. No letters, no newspapers, no radio. What's going on in the outside world? Do you realize? It's 1955. We're the living dead. Why torture yourself? We are real for life, except it.

Criminals must pay their debt. Criminal? Criminal? I was a professional assassin in the pay of my government. My only mistake was to shoot the wrong French official. So what did my masters do? Those experts in compromise?

Heh, they turned me over to the French. And here I am. We have been over it a thousand times. I thought about you too. I didn't think you were a criminal. You nearly killed an unfaithful wife.

You did the world a service. That's what I thought when I did it. How stupid. I had been unfaithful myself many years. Because she stepped up a blind once, I became her judge, jury and executioner five years ago.