...

He tells us that there is no glass in a small window of the cell and the temperatures are getting lower. ‘Limitations’ on food, water, bathing and visits. This is how those who refuse to admit to crimes they haven’t committed are treated. The least agreeable are treated the worst. Nothing new or shocking in it I suppose, when you think about how things are done in Russia, but this doesn’t make it any easier. Not for me anyway, when I see someone I care about in such a state.

I awkwardly reach for his hand; he takes it. Against my warm skin his hand is freezing cold. I can’t find the right thing to say or do.
‘It’ll be….’, damn that’s even worse than ‘how are you’.

Attorney gets up.
‘I’ll be back in a few’. Kind man. A. moves closer to me.
‘How is your project going?’
I ignore this question and look right into his eyes. They are still soft and gentle.
Every word gets stuck in my throat. I just keep stroking his hand with my thumb. I know I will have to go soon and I still haven’t said something really important, except I don’t know what it is. And crying is definitely not an option. I also don’t know when I might see him again. My mind tries to race but falls on its numb legs. So, there is silence and it feels natural and more organic then talk.

We hug briefly before I go. As much as we both try to make it warm embrace, it ends up being hurried and clumsy, as we both try to overcome the pain and the fear of the unknown.