Olivas awoke to find himself in a damp lightless world, the taste of mould crumbling from the walls making the air itself a dusty soup that clung to the cooks lungs. He had no idea how long he had been here. Time had lost all meaning, mixed with the acrid air to become nothing more than broken grains floating around his shackled body; the ooze occasionally lit for a fraction by a flare of light as a metal hatch screamed open and in the phosphorus glow a pail of water would slide across the floor spilling its contents over its sides. Then the light was gone in a deafening ring as the hatch slammed shut that tore at his ear drum.
His jailers(whoever they were?) did not utter a word and Olivas obliged them in this, not letting out as much as a cry or a scream, this was a universe only inhabited by silence. Surrounded by frozen stone walls, the stench of piss and faeces former tenants Olivas did not wonder on his fate, for he was sure they would soon come for him. He would be stood up against a wall, maybe with other men and then he would be dead. He felt no particular feeling about this end, no sense of injustice or anger, that had all burnt out the day of the fire, all he felt now was an aching, a tiredness, to sleep forever did not seem to him an unhappy ending. After all was not this the ending for all of us?
His fate however was in the tiny hands of another man.
The Generalissimo still enraged by the humiliation he had felt that day, as he had stood there the only guest without a plate of food as everyone had watched the restaurant explode into fire. He wanted Olivas to feel that same humiliation, that same ridicule. The Generalissimo had pondered grotesque unmentionable forms of torture but decide against this, the last thing he wanted was for this cook, this traitor to become a martyr, a revolutionary hero of the farmers.
He had considered a firing squad but there was no humiliation in execution, though he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to be the one to squeeze the trigger. At a loss the Generalissimo banged his head again and again against the hard wood of his desk, when an idea came to him. unbeknownst to the Generalissimo this very idea would give birth to the third and final life of Olivas Ancho Limonez the III
Generalissimo Baratoppolipo unable to contain his excitement over the devilish punishment he had devised for the cook; ran from his office as fast as his little legs could carry him, his platformed boots echoing around the halls of his palatial residence, he raced down the stairs and along the subterranean tunnel that led from his seat of government to the enormous sprawling prison.
The diminutive despot had assumed his plan to force Olivas into labour as the prison cook would be without doubt the ultimate humiliation for such a famous chef;
forced to cater in a windowless kitchen to the utter lowest of society would surely break the cooks very soul.
Olivas was sat amid the darkness and stench as he heard voices for the first time since his incarceration, they were muffled, muted their words inaudible to him but he could sense confusion in the tone. Then the hatch, metal grinding upon rusted coils heaved open and the fluorescent light burst into the cell until it covered his legs making them look like ghostly white apparitions unattached to a torso. Then came a gurgling sound of water being pushed rapidly through a tight funnel, a thick hose was shoved into the hatch and powerful jets of icy water bit and lashed at Olivas's like the jaws of wild pampas dogs, his skin itched and burned. At last the pressure dropped and the rubber body became limp, no longer writhing and leaping around the cell like a possessed python but there motionless as the last of the water dribbled from its mouth.
Another howl of metal came this time deeper and more light crept through until the door was pulled fully open leaving Olivas wet skin shivering in a bright otherworldly light.
Two large men stepped forward and grasped the cook by either arm and dragged the stumbling Olivas down a grey passageway, turning left at the end, he was led into a small room where lay a pair of blue overalls. The guards pulled these over his legs and then cut the binds that had held his arms together. As he put his arms through the sleeves the material felt rough as they it rubbed on his sore skin.
Dressed he was marched by his jailers into yet another room, this one was very brightly lit and it took a minute for Olivas's eyes to get used to the sharp light. There in front of him was a large well appointed yet cold steel kitchen. The guards pushed him towards the range and with a growl told he had exactly two hours to prepare lunch for the eighty other inmates.
At first the cook just stood there utterly bewildered by this new turn of events, slowly his legs still weak he made his way over to a table that bulged with the fruits of the fertile Rio Grandean earth. He handled each piece of fruit, each vegetable, holding it to his cheek then rolling it up and down his face until he could feel the outside world touch him. He breathed in its perfume and felt the salt from his tears sting his lips.
Then he got to work seasoning each dish he prepared by crying into the pot, occasionally wiping his eyes to avoid any danger of over seasoning. With each stir of the wooden spoon, each chop of the knife his body seemed to repair itself until two hours later a glowing Olivas was carrying trays laden with roasted meats, vegetables and a lightly spiced rice around a sparse white walled canteen.
He was shocked when he noticed who his fellow inmates were, as he had leant down at the first table tray in hand he realised the man he was serving was "Old Barazoglio" the famous poet from the coastal town of Labacantaro. Next to him were a group of young intellectuals and political agitators who hung on every word and phrase of the poet like manna from Santa Socrates. Barazoglia thanked Olivas with a nod so gracious it could only have come from such a writerly head. At the next table was Signor Bassone the famous tango singer, who thanked him for the food with a short and beautiful cantato that garnered great applause from the six men at the end of table. Olivas recognised them instantly and blushed with shyness to be in their presence there as large as life in front of him was half of the famous Rio Grande´team. The captain Aromga got to his feet and the whole dining room stood in response, Olivas looked around to see a room full of poets, singers, craftsmen, workers, mandolin players rise to their feet, this was the restaurant he had always dreamed of he clasped his hands together in joy. Applause broke out then came the shouts of the Rio Grand´players "viva Rio Grande´viva Olivas Ancho Limonez the III" even the guards could not contain themselves and for the rest of the day the prison revelled in a fiesta like atmosphere.
Legend has it that for the five years that followed anyone in search of a truly heavenly meal would have done well to make themselves as an enemy of the state and get thrown in gaol. Olivas being a man of shrewd nature always saved his greatest culinary creations for the guards, who in turn returned the favour by allowing the Generalissimo to think his jail and torture chambers were a hell of anguish and great suffering. The truth was the only happy place in Rio Grande´during Baratopolippo's tyrannical rule was unbeknownst to him, his prison.
Whether this is a myth or not there is even a story about a visiting senator from Nuevo America who, so disgusted by the pompous food served at the Generalissimo's palace that during a state dinner he leapt to his feet to announce he was in fact a spy.
He was led out of the ballroom and promptly flung into the jail for 4 years before being deported.
On his return to Nuevo America his wife waiting at the airport to be reunited with him, let out a sigh when she saw him, the senator had gained 45 kilos during his incarceration.
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