Joe looked down.
"I reckon all you sons of bitches down here," said the Director, "think I'm a hateful bastard. I
wonder if you know. I've made an effort -- Lord knows, I've made an effort -- to be a hateful bastard.
But I wonder if you sons of bitches know why. I wonder if you know how much I hate your kind. I
wonder if you know I wasn't always this way. Did you ever wonder what I did before the war?"
Joe didn't answer, but looked up at the man in the shiny leather coat, who was still smoking,
and who returned Joe's gaze.
"Probably you don't care," continued the Director, "and I won't bore our guests with it now. But
I'll tell you this: I was not a hateful bastard before the war. I was the soul of Christian charity before the
war. I thought no ill of any man, nor of his color, nor creed, nor lack thereof. I did and thought as we
were all supposed to do and think. To have a country."
"A country," said Joe.
The Director stood violently at Joe's words, and for a moment looked as if he would take him
down to the box and beat him himself. But instead he turned away. "This man," the Director said,
"represents the Commonwealth north of the river. As part of an agreement between our governments,
he is facilitating exchange of persons held B.C.H., with an eye to establishing citizenships. You have
been selected, Joe Bosley. You are leaving here. Now. Have you anything to say before you are
remanded to this man's custody?"
Joe looked at the man in the leather coat again and said "What's his name?"
The man smirked at Joe and said "My name's Carter."
*
*
*