They had been waiting for more than an hour when the Secretary entered the room with several documents in his hands. His deep, labored breathing revealed the excess weight carried by his huge belly. After explaining the final agreement to those present, he heard comments from all perspectives. And after minutes of tense expectation, he announced the name of Don Luis Vega as Coordinator for the new program.
The choice was not a surprise. This name had been strongly touted in recent days as the prospective candidate to lead the project. His proximity and loyalty to the Franco regime were determining factors in his selection. Nevertheless, these very qualities generated a certain amount of hostility in this, most liberal, Ministry group.
Indignant at what was ensuing, one of those present demanded to know, on just what psychological studies the approval had been based for such an insane project. He also wanted access to up-to-date feasibility studies which would show how success of the project would be guaranteed.
“The fact that Don Luis Vega is the person selected makes no difference to me. It was anticipated and now I’m not going to act surprised. But if we embark on a pioneer project without weighing the negative consequences that could give rise to a hypothetical failure that seems an unnecessary risk to me. The bibliography is scant, if not non-existent. In final results of studies in other countries, they talk about progress in studies of the human mind but don’t show graphs reflecting successes or failures. Those are data which intentionally hide the results.”
“Can you tell me why Spain is going to be different from the rest of the European countries?”
“Because in Spain conditions are different,” explained the Secretary. “Our country exports the best minds. They only need the right resources to be able to develop their knowledge without leaving the country.”
“Do we have those resources? On what are we basing the certainty that it will be a success?” asked another of the attendees.
“Very simple,” the Secretary spoke again. “The specialists consulted think the same as Mr. Vega. They believe that in most of our correctional centers there are young people who fulfill a certain psychological profile and that in many cases, they develop a psychiatric condition known as schizophrenia. Not all, of course. Statistically we are talking about one or two cases per rehabilitation center. That is sufficient to affect disciplinary control and to contaminate the minds of other internees. Those minds, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t give rise to any kind of conflict. We can verify that schizophrenia is a pathology detected many years ago but diagnosed only recently.”
“I yield the floor to Mr. Vega so that he can present a brief introduction about this mental condition which we all know little about.”
“Thank you,” responded Vega, rising from his seat with his eyes locked on the attendees. “The word schizophrenia comes from classic Greek and means something like ‘divided mind, broken.’ It is a psychiatric diagnosis in persons with a list of chronic, grave mental disorders.” His throat was dry and he sipped a bit of water. “The first cases of schizophrenia were known by the name ‘Dementia praecox’ and were diagnosed in the mid-nineteenth century. Up until then psychiatry had evolved very little and it hasn’t been until now, mid twentieth century, that we have been able to say that we are prepared to treat this kind of inmate and achieve a stable quality of life for them. I am proud to say that Spain is one of the pioneer countries in these investigations. We have worked successfully in this field for many years.
The young folks who suffer from this condition over time develop a double personality The environment surrounding them acts like a Petri dish to cultivate the symptoms and accelerate the emergence of pathologies which are aggravated immensely if these individuals ingest alcohol or any kind of drugs. What seems to be demonstrated by the evidence is that, in the rehabilitation centers with the most conflict, the brains of these young folks tend to more quickly develop the agression instinct.”
“Thanks to Mr. Vega for his magnificent presentation on schizophrenia. And now I will briefly explain the agreement we have reached,” intervened the Secretary again.
“The program we have developed will be used exclusively for the problematic inmates who present symptoms with these characteristics. They will be transferred singly and gradually to other sites which have a history of the fewest fights between the members. The more separated they are from their current environment the better probability of success in the applied therapy. They will have to adapt themselves to a new environment, to new companions, different discipline, etc. Such an abrupt change is not easy for anyone, much less for them, because they will lose the leadership positions they had up to now, and in many cases they will feel vulnerable. This social isolation will cause the disappearance to a great degree, of the agressiveness they acumulated at their original institution.”
“In his constant effort to show Europe a modern Spain, the Generalisimo has shown great interest in this project. The latest terrorist attacks by the ETS and GRAPO haven’t helped our political image at all, especially when the corrupt socialist press invades our territory. Communist countries confuse freedom of expression with lies and insults. These constant blasphemies accusing us of torture produce a damaging effect on our foreign affairs. Any civilized country crushes its own terrorists while they look at us with a magnifying glass. The Generalisimo wants to demonstrate that in Spanish prisons there is no torture and that we also do not treat delinquent youth as terrorists. The re-integration of common criminals is another model of therapy used in the more developed countries and in Spain we have adopted that as well.”
“The Generalisimo is aware of these new experiments?” asked one of them, incredulous. “With his state of mind and advanced age, I don’t think he can understand these psychological studies.”
“Of course he is,” answered the Secretary proudly. “His vision is for a modern Spain at the level of any European country. He hopes it will turn out to be totally successful to show the world that in Spain we place a priority on the reintegration of youth and we spare no effort in applying the most advanced, costly methods to make it so. The sixties are behind us now and the next decade coming up will be decisive for the integration of Spain into Europe. Nevertheless, we must not delay beginning this program because there is great interest in Madrid in being the pioneer in demonstrating its effectiveness. In Barcelona we are just as capable, or more so, than they are. We need to put it into practice in the shortest time possible so no one gets ahead of us.”
“With everything that is happening in North Morocco I don’t think there is enough time to objectively analyse the process we want to initiate.” commented one of the members of the liberal group.
“You are mistaken,” the Secretary reproached him. “Because I don’t see any relationship between our foreign relations and the internal affairs of Cataluna. Nevertheless, I’ll clarify to you and all those present that the Morocco issue is under the control of our glorious Legion and is a matter strictly limited to the central government, while the structure that we are developing will depend completely on Cataluna. They will analyze the results, that’s all.”
“Under what conditions will the transfers be carried out?” asked the Governor’s Secretary, who, up to now, had remained silent.
“We can’t forget that we are dealing with minors who are dangerous, and from what I hear now, possibly mentally ill. Besides, the law requires a minimum of two police as escort. Will there be official vehicles?”
“They will travel in ordinary taxis, without guards. We don’t want to cause alarm in the community. Even the press must ignore this novel program. We are aware of the risks and we asume the responsibility. Also I am sure that the majority of those present are against experimenting with new psychological therapies on our internees. This is not an experiment! We are not using them like laboratory rats. I repeat, they are therapies used successfully in other countries. You may accuse me of being repetitive but I don’t care. I want to make it perfectly clear that this is not an experiment. For this reason it has been decided to carry out one transfer only and depending on the result, we will act on it in the future. Spain and Cataluna, as pioneers, must join the approaching technological and economic development. The analysts believe that from here to the eighties, growth in Europe will be tremendous and this country can’t remain on the sidelines.
“What driver in the country would volunteer to drive an individual with these characteristics?” asked another with an sardonic smile. “A policeman? Will there be security patrols?”
“None of that. I already said there will be no security. That is one of the basic principles of this therapy. A taxi driver with a specific profile has been selected for this trip. The selection has not been easy. I need to remind you that if any misfortune should occur during this trip, which is very unlikely, this project never existed and under no circumstances will it be spoken of again. There are many countries who fail in their experiments and hide the data. Why can’t we act and run the same risks they do?”
“A few minutes ago you talked about success and little risk of failure and now you end up with the words “failure”, “risk” and the need to erase all traces of the affair if there is a failure.” said the warden of another correctional center. “Can you tell us with real facts, what is the percentage of a successful result of this therapy? We were talking about modernization and now this decision seems to me to be a regression...all this about hiding information seems to me like the forties.”
“I detect an attitude in your words,” responded Don Luis Vega. “Are you so upset that your institution was not selected?”
“I’ll not hear any crosstalk!” shouted the Secretary, upset. “The success rate is calculated at ninety percent.... Not bad odds,” he said with satisfaction. “After the first trip, all the centers will have the means to carry one out. And with that I’ll call the meeting to a close.”
Back at the corrections office, Don Luis Vega dropped into his seat to calm his nerves after such a long, tiring trip. He had advocated strongly in favor of this novel project and his professional image was on the block. The office desk was more piled up than ever. Papers of all sizes and in different places, unknown photos mixed with files of future inmates, unfiled orders, a striking ash tray of gray marble piled with half-consumed cigarettes, two expired lottery tickets, several newspapers from different regions and, in the center of all this disorder, a pretty, gold frame with the photo of his wife and his two children. A few minutes before, he had called them to advise not to wait dinner on him. The night seemed restless and, as it was his habit, he would not leave the building until all the inmates were in bed. No rule obligated him to do that but in some way he saw himself as these creatures’ protector and he tried to resolve any problem relating to them before leaving.
Although the heat was not stifling he unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie. He immediately felt an intense relief, perhaps because the tension which had accumulated in the last few hours had lessened. His wife always complained about his predisposition to new experiments. She thought he should just adapt to society’s established norms. And if an inmate had robbed, or had attempted murder, he should be severely punished. He would be a very dangerous individual. She didn’t understand anything about rehabilitation, or anything like it, of course. Much less, absurd theories which consider environmental factors important in the development of the individual. She thought that the thief was born a thief, and the murderer develops a criminal instinct, and all the rest are sweet-talkers created by a society of consumerism which no longer knows how to create. “My father was never late to dinner.” She reproached him frequently. “If an inmate caused problems, he would isolate him in solitary for the night, or all day if necessary, and that was the end of the problems.”
“He had the same job you do and he always had free time for his family while it looks like yours are the damned inmates.” He just listened and resigned himself. He had an elevated concept of duty and would never leave the institution without first verifying that everything was progressing normally.
Styles change with the times. In the time of his father-in-law, being an inmate meant having no rights, not even human ones. These days they were treated like human beings and certain basic principles were respected simply for having been born.
After calling softly, the guard opened the door of the office without waiting for permission to tell him everything was ready.
“Did I give you permission to enter?” shouted the warden angrily.
“Sorry sir, other times...” the guard showed his bewilderment.
“I’m not always going to have the same degree of patience. What do you want?”
“You can come down whenever you are ready.”
“Are they all ready?”
“Yes sir.”
“Fine, I’ll be right along. Next time call before entering! Even respect is lacking in this institution.”
He didn’t make them wait. Briefly and discreetly he looked at his reflection in a wide mirror with a fine frame of embossed tin hanging on the opposite wall and left the room unhurriedly after grabbing a green felt bag he had placed a few days before in a drawer of his desk.
Escorted by two corpulent guards, he arrived at the spacious, hardly ventilated dining room. It had been over a year that he had sent in a remodeling budget to his superiors, not only for this area but also for other sections of the building which needed urgent repairs. To this day he had not received any response. Don Luis Vega seemed more nervous than usual. His eyes were fixed especially on a small group of inmates that never acknowledged his presence.
In strategic places were some old pulpits which, in their day, had been constructed by the inmates themselves and which were very useful to the guards in times of conflict. The proposed budget included their removal to avoid similarities with a penitentiary.
On this occasion he took advantage of the most central one to carry out the drawing.
The warden placed the felt bag in sight of everyone and moved the balls around flamboyantly to show there would be no tricks that it would be strictly chance that decided the luck of one of them. Soon the inmates observed that his face transformed into a palid, astere mask. The group demonstrated their impatience to know the number already drawn by repeatedly drumming the table. That number resisted being pronounced out loud. He swallowed saliva before speaking.
“The lucky inmate is...number twenty three, which, according to the list corresponds to El Manitas,” he said with trembling voice.
A few seconds of chilling silence invaded the room. Nobody could believe what they had just heard, much less the one named. The guards, disconcerted, looked at the warden, who maintained a titanic staring match with the lucky one. Apparently unhappy with the results of the drawing, Don Luis Vega left the room quickly. Without wasting time, to prevent formation of small groups, the guards formed the inmates into a line, two by two, to march to their cells.
At midnight, with the pealing bells of a nearby church, and as cautiously as possible so as not to make the least bit of noise, El Manitas got up from his cot to use the bathroom. Seconds later he was followed by Probie, Telephone, and Prophet. Any time an important matter or something worth discussing emerged, the four would meet in one of the showers- the only place where they felt free of guards and informants. After verifying that all was in order and nobody else had got up, they shut the door to the bathroom to have a smoke that Probie kept for these occasions. Although Manitas was pleased at the unexpected vacation, his face showed extreme worry, a little sadness perhaps, because if he had imagined such a possibility it would have given him time to plan to escape during the trip.
“What do you think about it?” he asked his companions. “Doesn’t it seem a little strange that it came to me?”
“Strange? Somebody had to be lucky and you have had that kind of luck you fucker.” answered Probie. “You had the same chance as us.”
“Damian is right,” commented Prophet. He always referred to Manitas by his proper name. “It’s very suspicious. If he had just changed the ball he wouldn’t have come up. I think this guy is taking us for fools. This drawing was manipulated for some unknown reason. They have some interest in Damian going on vacation.”
“When are you going to figure out that the warden is a wimp? I’m sure he’s home washing dishes while his wife is doing the neighbor.”
They all laughed at Telephone’s malicious commentary. After a few minutes of exchanging opinions over the results of the drawing Probie stood to use his sharp knife to remove a tile from the wall. That is where he kept his “chocolate” because perhaps it was the only hiding place not known by Batman.
“I need a hypo buddies. I’ve got up to three pounds for whoever can get it for me,” he proposed.
“Save your wad cuz Manitas is going to need it,” Telephone told him.
“In my rack I’ve got two big ones,” responded Prophet. “And don’t feel down, if you’re thinking about escape we have forty eight hours to draw up a plan. Between us we can do it.”
“Nothing like that. Thirty six or maybe less,” added Manitas. “These folks are improvising on the trip so they can avoid contact with the outside. Yeah, like Prophet says, this is about a setup. They’ll put me on the road as soon as they can.”
“There is enough time,” answered Prophet again. “Surely Prophet has something to say about this issue.”
“It is possible,” he affirmed, without ceasing to manipulate the shower handles.”I found Arsenic some time ago and I’m sure he’ll know where Sent-Up landed. That is, if he hasn’t fallen victim to the cops and landed his bones in the big house. They’re both good friends and they are always in touch.”
“I would enjoy a month of vacation and then come back here,” said Prophet. “I don’t know why, but it seems to me that if you try to escape, the trip will end in tragedy. It’s crazy to risk your skin when you have so little time left to serve.”
“Don’t you ever see the positive side of things? You know what I’m saying buddy? Go to Hell! Fuck this jerk!” shouted Manitas angrily. “You always have to mess up happy moments. I’m going to the bunk.”
He immediately got up from the floor because he had called the meeting to an end. His mind was reeling with projects that could be carried out due to this unexpected vacation. Should he try to escape? During a whole month you never knew what might happen, nor the opportunities that might present themselves to cross the pond (1) without a risk. He was aware of his position as a rebellious and dangerous inmate.
(1)Pond: Cross the pond usually refers to crossing the Atlantic Ocean. Here it refers to crossing the Strait of Gibralter.
One couldn’t completely rule out the possibility of a well-camoflaged manuver to help him disappear, and when Prophet offered advice (for him, something infrequent) it was because his instinct told him that an attempt to escape would be unsuccessful. On many occasions he had saved his skin by listening to Prophet’s advice so he would keep Prophet’s words fresh in his mind. He had known him since childhood and his loyalty had never been questioned.
He admired in Prophet the ability to move any type of “merchandise” but didn’t know much about Telephone, not even the reason he was committed to the correctional institution. He did suspect that Telephone moved around as a go-between among gangs of petty thieves. He always knew the movements and routes of all the inmates that had coexisted with him.