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EPILOGUE

Incredibly, most of the time he was upbeat and optimistic; he played tennis, listened to music, and loved to cook whenever a rare visitor brought in some ingredients. ‘I make good food, believe me,’ he once told me, before cooking a delicious steak and pasta lunch.

As in his trafficking days of taking audacious risks, he was still a reckless rule-breaker in jail. ‘I’m a troublemaker. I’ve been moved 56 times in here. I’ve been in every cell. They even put me in the kitchen,’ he boasted, laughing.

Despite Marco’s bravado, fear and loneliness were inescapable. American big-wave surfer Gabriel recalled an awkward conversation when Marco called to say goodbye on the eve of his release from Kerobokan jail.

He started off saying, ‘Hey, whoa . . . you’re getting released.’ I’m like, ‘Yeah.’ He was happy for me, but then he broke down, he lost it. I was on the phone going, ‘What do I do? What do I say?’ I couldn’t speak to him; I didn’t have a thing I could say . . . what could I tell him? I was going home. So I didn’t say anything, he went silent and then he hung up. He didn’t say goodbye.
— Gabriel

The reality of Marco’s desperate situation swarmed around him. Most of his fellow inmates were on life or death sentences. His compatriot Rodrigo Gularte was failing to cope with the drawn out, torturous wait for execution. He spent most of his time in the Christian church praying, crying and confused.

The other Brazilian here, Rodrigo, get crazy. He’s always talking to himself; he doesn’t change his clothes anymore. But there is nothing I can do. He reads the Bible, goes to church.

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