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The Saturn Inmates... Part Two. “My gosh, old chap…You certainly have lost a lot of weight!” exclaimed Alex, seating himself across from me in the visiting room. I viewed the man seated opposite me with some disdain. It was he, Alex, who had involved me in the mad-cap scheme which ended up by me being arrested for drug-running and receiving a ten-year prison sentence. As much as I would like to enlighten you on this prior escapade, I fear if I were to dally on the subject, my hands, on their own volition, would reach out and encircle that scraggly neck of the person seated across from me. “You are right, Alex,” I said, trying hard to summon up some affability, “I have lost weight and I am slowly being poisoned by methane. While you, on the other hand, seem to have plumped-up, and have acquired new finery.” Alex blinked his watery blue eyes, flicking down, nonchalantly, at his new clothes, seeming not to sense the sarcasm my voice dripped. “You cannot imagine how pleased I was to receive your ‘Visiting Order’, old chap. I really thought I had lost your friendship over such a silly mistake.” I could not believe what this idiot was saying to me… Mistake! …Mistake! …A mistake which lands me in jail for ten years! You know when you are standing next to a most beautiful girl in the whole world and the smell of her scent intoxicates you, so you feel the strong urge to put your arms around such a sensuous female? Well, I felt this same sense of urgency, to reach out, though it was my hands which moved. So strong was the urge that I had to clasp my hands tightly and concentrate on keeping them on the table. “So how are you, old chap?” His voice seemed to enter through the swirl of mist which coloured my thoughts… I had him, his face going bluer as my fingers tightened around the wattle-red of his throat. “Old chap?” His insistent voice brought me back down to earth. “Alex,” I said, in a tone of permeated frost, “Do you not recall it was you who set me up on a blind date with a woman who was the brains behind a drug-running gang? … And that I would be mistaken as her accomplice-in-arms? … That I would be interned in this insalubrious establishment for some considerable time, simply because you would not help me by simply telling the truth.” Why, oh why, did I torment myself with the idea, that Alex would begin to grasp the extent of my anger was beyond my understanding. Did I honestly expect this person, seated opposite, to apologise, to fall in supplication, to kneel and beg forgiveness? “Oh, my dear chap…I know you are upset right now… But you will get over it, you have time.” said Alex, commiserating and giving my hand a pat. I reached out in haste, grasping both his hands in mine. I held on tightly, had my hands been allowed the freedom…His scrawny neck was so near… Time! I had loads of time! Ten years of time! “Easy, my friend. Take it easy.” consoled Alex, sensing that my tight grip was the need for comfort. I squeezed harder and was pleased to note the look of heart-felt hurt in his eyes was now real tears of intense pain as I crushed with all my might. Alex wrenched his hands away. “My word, Richard… You are so tense. Don’t they have masseurs here? You really need a massage, to relax that tension.” Alex’s words floated through to me and I sat back, now aware of the buzz of conversation which came from others in the visiting room. I put myself under urgent control. “Alex, I need your help.” It’s a strange experience, watching a man’s face go through the exaggeration of caution when help is requested. The bland smile slipped its mask and a cautionary cunning glazed the watery blue eyes. The mouth thinned itself into blue line, the mind flitting pages of warnings across the pale skin of the face. Alex leaned forward. “How can I help you Richard?” “I need money, Alex.” money! The word had electrified Alex, so that he straightened up, his face now a fearful mask of horror, like a fish that is caught, and now wriggles to escape. “money, Richard?” The words came out slow, cautionary, wary. I felt it was no need beating about the bush; I might as well go in for the kill… My hands trembled at the thought, my eyes, again, returning to the scraggy red neck. “I need a hundred pounds.” I said, lifting my eyes and now sitting on my hands. “A hundred pounds!” The scream strangulated itself out from Alex’s mouth so that the buzz of conversation stopped, as all eyes in the room turned towards us. “Shhhh…Keep it down, Alex.” I hushed, aware of the eyes of the guards who sat either end of the room. “What do you want a hundred pounds for… Why do you need money in here, there’s nothing to buy and you get everything you want in here.” came the strangulated staged whisper. I shook my head. It’s amazing what people on the outside think. I could easily tell them, money, in prisons, buys a celebrated lifestyle, as close to freedom as prison walls allows…And, to me, money buys me clean, fresh air and a cell all to myself. “Alex, I cannot begin to tell you what a hundred pounds will buy me. I will do anything you ask, I will be your unpaid cleaner, for the rest of my life, when I get out of here.” Alex softened, his face now in transfiguration as he became a Shylock, a Fagin. “Of course, Richard, I could not hold you to such an offer…But…” And here, Alex drew in his breath, keeping me there in a ball of appeal, my eyes in tears of begging. Of course, I knew he would dismiss my offer out of hand, that he would wait ten years, till I walked out free, to start my life of servitude. Personally; I knew that, when I got out, if I ever did; then Alex’s scraggy neck would be in my grasp…Oh, the precious thought… I sat tighter on my hands! Then… “Perhaps we can come to some agreement, Richard, old friend?” I managed a half smile of appreciation, that I should be even considered a deserving case, an old friend. “Anything, Alex.” I croaked, in sudden brightening. “Do you remember what fun we had, when writing that last book, ‘The Astromates’? Fun, you scraggy-necked fool, my mind screamed. “I remember it with great joy.” I replied “Well, you can help me write another book, this time from your prison cell…It will give you something to fill your time with…Just think…” Here Alex’s eyes reached heavenwards, as his mind raced shadows of ideas, the blaze in sudden light as the shadowy idea became a solid block of reality. “Richard, old comrade; I have a brilliant idea. I will give you the one hundred pounds if you work for me with a new book… What do you think?” The fact that this idiot thought, for one minute, I needed something to fill my time, just shows how his mind works. However… I would promise anything because, once I had the money to buy a cell to myself, I would not need this cheating buzzard any more and then I could tell him what to do with his ideas and where to shove the book! “Oh, thank you, Alex… You are a friend indeed. I can feel the excitement bubbling up in my heart…A new book… Of course, I will be delighted to help write it for you.” Alex smiled in soft charity, a Samaritan who has found another, in need of help on the road to Jericho. “Think nothing of it, dear friend.” said Alex, spreading his hands out in a goodwill gesture. Bloody right, you skinny git, my mind retorted… I will think nothing of it! “So…How am I going to give you the money, Richard? Do I just hand it to you?” “No, Alex. I will send you another Visiting Order and you can bring the money with you. It is all fixed up.” Alex did not argue, just a nod of acceptance, his mind in wander, already researching the new book. “That’s good, Richard…And when I come, we can discuss the new book.” I had joy in my heart, my life was in a luxurious state of high drama. Hulk, on hearing of my promise to give him the one hundred pounds, was true to his word. The very next day, I collected my assorted prison property, filling my pillow-case as one does with a duffel bag and, with a hearty goodbye to the farting, grating sound of Hulk, I took my leave of the ‘Gas-Chamber’. The fact that I had only moved into a cell one door down from my old ‘Residence of Smells’, did nothing to drown the anthem of euphoria which drummed in my mind. Here I was, free at last, in a cell; on my own with white walls and a soft, single, bed. On top of this luxury, Hulk had fixed it that I got a job in the prison kitchen, a real honey of a job… “And when you dish up the grub, Dimballs, make sure you give me double helpings of cabbage!” The only point of depression came from Hulk’s last words. “Dimballs.” he had said… “If your friend does not arrive with my money, then my farts will be the sweetest smell you will ever get… Because if I don’t get my money, I will ram your long nose up my rear end and blow your brains out!” It’s funny how time changes things, isn’t it? I mean, a week ago, I wanted to get Alex’s scrawny neck between my fingers and just squeeze. But time is a healer, and I simply needed the smug git, as he well knew! Visiting time for the prison inmate is a ritual of ‘Spruce’. There is no-one more ‘Spruced-Up’ than the inmate who is about to receive a prison visit from the ‘Outside’. The ritual starts about three hours before the visit, the teeth-cleaning, the shaving, the nail-clipping and hair-brushing, the examination of vital organs and chew on raw yeast, purloined from the kitchen. It is explained by those in the know, that raw yeast is an excellent property for rejuvenating the memory chords, so that females seen in the visiting room would have their every statistic imprinted on the brain, for a later private and imagined inspection, though I also believe this imagined expectancy is yet to be proved, although the psychology is beyond doubt! Oh, lucky is the inmate who is greeted, on arrival, by a luscious woman who dances seductively in with arms extended. It seemed to me that those inmates, who joined me in a shuffling grey-uniformed step into the visiting room, were each greeted with sweet, scented, kisses. Me…? I was met by a dishevelled cardie-clad man, grey wispy hair and watery blue eyes which blinked a weak welcome. “Hallo, old chap.” said Alex, seating himself across from me. “I see the old cardie has extracted itself from your wardrobe, Alex. What happened to the new clothes you wore last time we met?” “Alas, dear boy…I have fallen on hard times once again. The financial cross we all bear is of a harder wood when it comes to me.” Now, I know this crafty old codger, I have known him over a lifetime, since pre-school-days. I know his every move… I knew, for instance, as soon as Alex felt another was going to try to extract any form of wealth from him, his first instinct would be to don the most ill-fitting, beggarly, clothes he could find! This was his financial armour, his suit of financial defence. I mean, would you ask a for financial assistance? …Of course not! The thing is, Alex knew that I was aware of all his ploys, his ‘Social Security Suit’, he knew it, but his self-belief in the character he portrayed was so strong, it mattered little what I knew, it was how he felt, sad-eyed and penniless. I really did not care to think about, or discuss, Alex’s ‘Outside’ interests. “Let’s get down to business, shall we, Alex?” “Most certainly, dear boy. So…How are you fixed? Did the Hulk fix things for you?” “As you can tell from my manner, Alex, I am in the finest of health. I have a lovely little cell to myself and the consideration and care of an outsized gorilla who now has informed all and sundry, he is my best friend.” (If any sarcasm had accidentally dripped into my voice, I must mention here, it was unintended.) My eyes drifted across the room, not even straying to the sight of plump thigh-flesh, which was on offer from a wife or girlfriend. It’s a strange fact in prison on visiting days. A man might have a beautiful wife or ‘Bed-Buddy’ visit him, yet there he sits, his mouth moving as the yeast floods his memory cubicle with exciting import, his eyes seeking the flash of thigh, the quick flirt of breast, as viewed through solid clothing. It mattered little how ugly or old the female, the new intake was a mental picture to excite the brain later in the evening. But…I digress. My eyes moved across, to centre on the large and brutish figure of Hulk, who sat, heavily engaged in conversation with a younger version of himself, whom I assumed was Hulk’s . There was the same ugliness, the same broken nose and close-set eyes beneath beetling brows. I shuddered my eyes away, returning to Alex, whose mouth had been talking, though the words had been lost in the hum-drum of voice-noises around me. I centred my mind to attention, to hear Alex conclude… “You know, dear boy, it is costing me a tidy sum. I trust it will all be worth my while…I’m relying on you, you know.” The hum of excited voices, which conveyed all scraps of information across the busy visiting room, drowned out the mindful expletives which screamed from me. It was costing him money! Humungus Christus… It was costing me TIME! Before I could begin to start my rant, this excitable need I had to vent my anger on this maniac opposite me, the ‘Clinking-Clank’ of a tea-trolley drew near, being pushed by a dwarf of a man who seemed to be using the trolley as a form of ‘Walking-Frame’. His face, a wrinkled walnut of lined exposure showed no emotion as he lifted a plate from the trolley and placed it on the table. On the plate sat a large and unappetising rock-cake. “My name’s Nobby Cracker.”, said the walnut face, though his lips did not seem to move. Alex, ever hungry and with no thought of caution, picked up the cake and sunk his teeth into the crusty slab. With a shout of pain, Alex pulled the cake from his mouth and thumped it back on the plate. “Its rock hard!” he exclaimed, holding his mouth as his tongue explored the teeth for any damage. “Aint to eat.” said the walnut. Then, in continuation, Nobby explained… “Open the cake and shove the money in. Hurry up, I aint got all day… Hulk’s waiting.” The rock cake was a money-box, left to get stale, then hollowed out, so that money could be placed in secret and moved on. Alex placed the tightly folded notes into the hollow and placed the top of the cake back, before putting the money-box back on the plate. “You don’t want the cake?” said Nobby Cracker loudly, and, putting the plate back on the trolley, began to limp his small frame across the room, towards Hulk. I watched the ugly, younger, monstrosity pick up the cake and, extracting the money, count it and, nodding at the watching Hulk, put the notes in his pocket. Alex’s eyes also followed the trail of his money, his face seeming grey as he saw it disappear into the pocket of ‘Hulk-Junior’. I watched as Hulk spoke to Junior, then turn, to point me out. Hulk’s offspring followed the big finger, the bloodshot eyes picking me out then, strangely, waved over at me and winked. I returned a weak smile and, (Horror of horrors!)… The ‘ of Hulk’ lifted a large hand and blew me a kiss. What could I do? Again, I smiled weakly in return and half-waved a salute. The watching Hulk gave me a ‘Thumb’s-Up’, his brutish face somehow softened into a near-human look of kindness, before lifting his rear and erupting the most hideous sound, followed by a stench, that had the supervising officers quickly donning small white masks, covering their faces before ringing the bell, to end the visiting session. Those, who were used to the ‘Fart-Arsed’ routine, made a quick exit. I sat, watching Alex who, open to the stench which began to invade our part of the atmosphere, sniffed first, his nose twitching, then his whole expression souring into a pained grimace, his eyes filling with water. Ripping out a handkerchief, clasping it to his face, Alex stumbled out of the room, reaching out like blind man making his way to the toilet. “Send me a ‘Visiting Order’, so we can discuss the new book”… The words jumbled their way through the greening gloom. I smiled. The stench had no effect on me; I was immune to the vileness. “Get stuffed!” I shouted to the retreating back as Alex ran for the open air, the door clanging shut behind him. There is no way I would send a ‘Visiting Order’ to Alex. I had his money, bought myself free from Hulk and had an easy job in the kitchen. I had no need of Alex any more. |
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I wonder is it all going to be that simple for Richard, me don't think so, I smell a big fat rat. I hope I'm proven wrong, time alone will tell, and poor Richard has plenty of that. That Alex fella really takes the biscuit, he has the cheek to call it a little mistake. Easy for him to say when he is not the one doing a ten year stretch behind bars.   Great read as always Ron 
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