9

That evening had a few more surprises in store for Kosef J. Finding himself within the prison compound, he headed bone-tired towards the main cell block, yearning for his oakum mattress and iron bed. He took the lift to his floor, walked past a snoring Fabius, who was meant to keep vigil right next to the lift, and headed, as inconspicuously as possible, to cell number 50.

The cell was locked.

Kosef J refrained from wondering why, refrained from thought and in fact refrained from any human reaction. He stayed pinned to his door, feeling defeated and paralysed with stupor. Then, after a good few minutes spent in this state of immersion and utter prostration, he very gently and without any noise lifted the spyhole shutter to check who was inside.

Inside, there was a man.

To be precise, there was a man other than him, Kosef J, and this man was in his cell.

‘Ahem,’ Kosef J reacted.

The man was sleeping on his back, with an utterly tranquil expression on his face. The cell had been cleaned, disinfected and the blankets changed.

Kosef J went over to Fabius and woke him up.

‘What, you haven’t left?’ the old guard asked, looking more harassed by sleep than surprised.

Kosef J lost his temper. Where could he possibly go? No one had told him yet where he was meant to go. The formalities unfolded very slowly. How could he know what to do, where to go and what to ask for? No one would tell him anything. Why would no one tell him anything? What did they hold against him? How long did they think that he’d bear this uncertainty? Did they know what was meant to happen to him that very night? Did anyone show any concern about him? No one. How could this be? What would have happened to him had he not bumped into the child by chance? He was lucky to come across the child and that stone pit of his that he was emptying, which made it possible for him to pass under the wall. Did Fabius know in his capacity as a prison guard that behind the kitchen there was a passage under the wall, a passage filled with nicely scented and sparkling pebbles that could be taken out and put back at will by anyone at any point? Well? What did Fabius as deputy chief guard have to say about this situation? Was the existence of an underwall passage a normal occurrence in a penitentiary?

Oh, no! Fabius let out a sigh.

Total havoc, this was the word Kosef J found himself obliged to use.

‘Hold on, this is pushing it,’ Fabius protested.

So here we are, there is a man in his cell, the cell he had been sleeping in almost forever. In the cell that had somehow grown part of him, had become his shell, the cell that he had gone to carry in his self, in his soul and on his back. And now there is a stranger, an unknown and random man in it. What entitles him to this? As long as he was still wearing prison clothes wasn’t he entitled to make use of his prison cell and the regular meal times and all other amenities? What was he meant to do now? What on earth?

‘I don’t know,’ Fabius said yawning, so all his facial bones made a cracking noise. Then, as if he’d given up, he said it again: ‘Don’t know.’

All the same, they both wanted to find a solution.

Being so tired, Kosef J would have been inclined to sleep in no matter which cell, had there been any available. But there were none. The guards’ own room would have been a little extreme, considering that he, Kosef J, was still wearing those clothes. Fabius would have been prepared to stay up all night chatting and playing dice, but Kosef J declared that he was far too tired and had an important appointment at the clothing-supply room the next day.

‘The dorm!’ Fabius jumped up, delighted with his idea. ‘If you like, I can let you sleep in the dormitory.’

Kosef J knew what this meant. It meant bunk beds squeezed in like drawers, imbued in a penetrating smell and crammed with people with an infernal snore who could even tread on you during the night.

‘No, thanks,’ Kosef J said.

He huddled on the chair that normally Franz Hoss would sit on. He owned up to being totally defeated. He was afraid and admitted that to Fabius. He, Kosef J, was finished. He couldn’t even track down a single clear thought in his brain, and he couldn’t pin down a single desire. Or aim. Or sense.

‘Be brave!’ Fabius moaned, verging on being emotional. Why now?

Well, everything had come to an end. Kosef J could cope no longer. He didn’t even need his clothes from the clothing-supply room.

‘Impossible,’ Fabius pleaded. ‘Your life is just beginning.’

‘I’m old,’ Kosef J said.

‘No, I’m the one that’s old,’ Fabius stressed.

Kosef J pointed out that he disagreed. Fabius also stated that he wasn’t in agreement with what Kosef J had said, but that he, Fabius, was an optimist and believed in the future, in truth and in happiness.

‘Bullshit,’ Kosef J reacted.

At this point Fabius had a violent reaction. How come that a trifle, something of no importance could so easily bring down the newly released Kosef J, someone who had been a model prisoner, with exemplary endurance?

‘Really?’ Kosef J asked, keen on the old guard’s opinion about himself.

Fabius vouched again that Kosef J had always been a strong and resilient man, without fail. A tenacious, tough and strong man. Nothing had been able to subdue him, nothing whatsoever. He, Fabius that is, was a great admirer of Kosef J, and had always admired him for this. He hadn’t come across many detainees with such an inner force and such gravitas, if he could put it this way.

‘How about when you were beating me up?’ Kosef J asked.

‘What do you mean?’ Fabius seemed puzzled.

‘How about then? Were you thinking this even then?’ Kosef J probed.

‘I was beating you, yes, but I also respected you,’ Fabius sighed.

‘You’d give me merciless beatings,’ Kosef J said, adding: ‘What were you thinking while battering me?’

Fabius began to slowly roll himself a cigarette, and this aided his concentration and ability to search for an answer. He wasn’t thinking of much, he had to admit that.

‘Still, was there anything?’ Kosef J insisted.

‘I was thinking about where I had to hit,’ Fabius blurted out while lighting his cigarette. Then, somewhat ashamed for having forgotten to offer one to Kosef J, too, he asked: ‘Would you like one?’

Kosef J swiftly lit the cigarette offered by the guard.

‘You were an expert,’ he mumbled.

‘What do you mean?’ the guard asked.

Kosef J explained what he meant. Fabius had possibly been the most callous of all prison guards. Sure enough, other guards would also beat prisoners up, in fact all would give beatings, but he, Fabius, had a kind of sophistication. Franz Hoss, for instance, was more likely to swear rather than batter. Fabius would be silent, and prepared his strikes carefully. His speciality was, as everyone was aware, to strike prisoners without warning. No one would hit harder and choose less unpredictable moments. And no other guard would draw on quite so much imagination to choose a specific part of the prisoner’s body onto which to deal a blow.

‘Is that so?’ Fabius asked fired up, hoping to hear more.

‘Everyone was frightened of you,’ Kosef J said.

‘Everyone, really?’ the guard hummed like a wise old man listening to a palpitating story.

‘For years and years on end,’ Kosef J added.

‘This is true,’ Fabius agreed. ‘Time flies frightfuly quickly.’

‘You’d normally hit us on the elbow or the shin,’ Kosef J carried on. After taking another drag on the cigarette, he looked the guard in the eye and asked: ‘Can you tell me why on earth you’d always hit us in the elbow or in the shins?’

‘No idea,’ Fabius said, somewhat lost. ‘I really wouldn’t know.’

‘You must have an idea,’ Kosef J insisted.

Fabius leant back against the wall with his chair. It looked as if he was thinking of a distant memory that only had importance to him.

‘You used to take particular pleasure in hitting us in the bones,’ Kosef J came to his rescue.

‘I may have done that,’ the guard nodded. ‘But there was a lot of unruliness.’

Kosef J turned the right side of his head towards the guard, brushed his hair aside and showed him a scarred wound behind the ear.

‘See? I got this from you.’

‘From me?’ Fabius asked, sounding apprehensive.

He stood up straightaway and started to carefully inspect the mark. Kosef J could feel the old guard’s fingers moving up and down his throat, behind his ears and on his hair. His fingers were soft and warm, pleasant to the touch. One could have said that he had the gift of calming and healing by sheer tactile contact.

‘Here?’ Fabius asked, his fingers slightly shaking.

‘There,’ Kosef J nodded.

‘Yes,’ the guard said, like someone who is searching for an answer in their own thoughts but cannot quite find it.

‘Do you know how much blood had poured out of that wound?’ Kosef J asked.

‘A lot,’ the guard replied swiftly.

‘It went on for days,’ Kosef J clarified.

Fabius sat back and carried on smoking, looking sad and somewhat dreamy.

‘One time you kicked me,’ Kosef J continued in a calm voice devoid of the slightest reproach.

‘I take your word,’ Fabius hastened to say, as if he was afraid that the former prisoner might undress to show his scars. He leant with the back of his neck against the wall and cast his glance onto the ceiling. This time he looked rather inspired and involved, waiting for the right time to come forward with a great piece of information.

Kosef J seemed taken down memory lane, too. He had no idea what made him start such a conversation. Yet certain uncalled-for details have simply taken over his memory. He hoped that Fabius didn’t feel too burdened or adversely affected by all these remembrances.

‘No, not at all,’ Fabius stated.

‘After all, you’d aged right in front of my eyes,’ Kosef J pointed out.

Fabius started to blow smoke rings towards the ceiling, as high up as he possibly could.

‘As time went by you gradually had enough and gave up,’ Kosef J continued.

Fabius asked him whether he could remember the last time he had been beaten up. Kosef J could remember it exactly: ten days ago. Fabius seemed taken by surprise. Ten days ago? Really? Yes, Kosef J replied in a decisive tone. To be fair, this wasn’t a proper beating. It was more like a blow. A blow that he, Fabius, had served him in the face while handing him the dinner tray. Fabius looked rather annoyed. He hadn’t asked about this. He had asked about the last beating. The last beating, Kosef J replied after a while in which he collected his thoughts, in the other sense of the word, well, he had to admit that the last proper beating had taken place two years ago.

‘I remember it well,’ the guard said, panting.

‘You do?’ Kosef J startled, blushing.

‘It was a Sunday, wasn’t it?’ the guard said, turning his emotion-laden rosy cheeks towards Kosef J.

‘A Sunday, yes,’ Kosef J confirmed.

‘After we returned from the garden,’ the guard said.

Kosef J couldn’t stifle his explosive enthusiasm for the old guard at the sight of such precision regarding their shared memories.

‘That’s right! That’s right indeed!’ he shouted.

‘I hit you real bad then,’ Fabius continued.

‘In the back of the neck, you hit me in the back of my neck.’

‘And teeth, right?’

‘Yes, teeth, too.’

‘Goodness gracious!’ Fabius cried out.

The two men stared at each other for a long while. The guard’s wrinkled face revealed nothing except for fulminating old age, layered with minor anxieties. Kosef J would have liked to hug Fabius for remembering so many details.

‘You hate me?’ Kosef J asked.

‘No,’ Fabius said. ‘I used to be afraid of you. That’s all.’

‘What?’ Kosef J cried out. ‘Afraid of me? Me personally?’

Fabius acknowledged without any embarrassment that he, Kosef J, used to make him apprehensive. All the prisoners used to make him terribly apprehensive in fact. This was why he would strike blows at them. Out of fear. Or to banish fear. Franz Hoss, his boss, was more indifferent as a type, he was rougher. For this reason he didn’t really hit people, since he wasn’t afraid. But he, Fabius, was terrorized by the prisoners in their hoards, by their sheer faces and gestures.

‘Can you see?’ Fabius asked, panting and almost beseeching him, due to the effort needed to explain all this. ‘I’ve lived with this terror day after day for years. I’d aged feeling terrorized. No mean feat, ay?’

Kosef J couldn’t believe his ears. So he said:

‘I can’t believe you, Mr Fabius. Honestly, I can’t.’

The guard stood up and started to pace around the room.

‘I was afraid, I really was,’ he murmured.

After all, what was his life about? Could he actually call what he had lived up till now a life? Being there, with all the prisoners, almost like them? Living and eating with them, sleeping right next to them, keeping watch over them in exasperation . . . Always afraid of them, every single second feeling a terrible and overwhelming fear. There were nights when fear tormented him to such an extent that he could barely catch a wink of sleep, he groaned, shivered, writhed and had nightmares while being basically half awake. He had the sensation as if all these people in their cells were snakes slithering towards him. Yes, he could feel how they, and that includes him, Kosef J, too, would dissolve and slip away under the doors and through the tiniest cracks on the prison walls. They would all flow towards him, towards Fabius, to snatch him, to devour him, and to make him be no longer. He lived with this fear and this agony for years. And he couldn’t get over this and restore his energies in any way other than by lashing out. Yet even by beating prisoners up, he didn’t achieve a great deal, because all this momentuous outburst and discharge only led to building up an even more intense state of horror. As he carried on beating, his conscience got more and more burdened despite his body managing to relax and those hellish shakes diminishing a little. Because he, Fabius, did have a conscience. Yes, he had.

‘You do believe me, Mr Kosef, don’t you?’ he begged him with tearful eyes and saliva drooling on his lips.

‘I do, Mr Fabius, of course I do,’ Kosef J replied.

He found some relief whenever he administered a beating. Within the spell of half a day, or at times even a whole night, he experienced himself as a new man, in charge of his own self, even touched by a certain sense of kindness . . . He, Kosef J, couldn’t forget an essential detail: namely, that in the majority of cases when they had to undertake hard labour it was Fabius who kept watch over them, and then, he, Fabius would never force the prisoners to stretch to superhuman efforts. From that point of view, deputy prison guard Fabius was the most tolerant guard possible. He never made a fuss about people not working enough or not completing their workload. He never rushed or battered them for not having finished a job. Sometimes he’d even allow them to smoke and thus prolong their breaks, something that no other guard would have been prepared to do.

‘Right, Mr Kosef, isn’t it?’ Fabius pleaded.

‘Right, of course it is,’ Kosef J confirmed.

After all, the beating he had administered to the prisoners was never fatal! And it wasn’t one of those to damage anyone’s health or make them unfit for work for who knows how long. He’d agree that it was a very painful beating, perhaps the most painful of all that were given, but only painful for the moment. Kosef J recalled that, didn’t he?

‘Of course!’ Kosef J confirmed.

So no one could claim that they had to lie in bed for very long in order to recover from the blows administered by him, Fabius. Some guards would break skulls and thoraxes, and tear out entire chunks of flesh. Had he, Fabius, ever done such a thing?

‘No, never,’ Kosef J acknowledged.

Not to mention that he wouldn’t beat people very often! Other guards would be up for this this much more frequently. However, he’d give beatings on particular days of the week. So he’d give beatings on a regular basis, that was very true, and the prisoners would be familiar with Fabius’s beating timetable. They’d know exactly on what days of the week or even at what times of the day, or, more than that, at what minute within the hour would Fabius be seized by those furies. Yes, the prisoners would know all this, and perhaps this was the reason why they felt so terrorized. To put it differently, they were most terrorized by the idea of having to await those particular moments, and by the fact that one of them had to bear the madness of that moment for sure. Perhaps this was much more unbearable than the beating itself.

‘Perhaps,’ Kosef J concurred.

Besides, he, Fabius, had never born a grudge towards anyone. Other guards would single out a prisoner for some reason and then carry on beating them over and over again for months and years. But he, Fabius, had never done such a thing. He’d always choose at random. He had never taken exception to anyone. When his moment of crisis beckoned and he felt the urge to beat someone at any cost, he’d make his choice on the basis of purely arbitrary criteria. Could this have troubled prisoners more than knowing for sure which one of them was to be on the receiving end of his beatings?

‘Yes, awful,’ Kosef J replied.

‘I’m sorry, really sorry,’ Fabius said.

‘Well, that’s that,’ Kosef J summed up.

‘And now?’ Kosef J asked.

‘Now, I don’t care,’ the guard replied.

Something had happened to him the last couple of years. He wasn’t really sure what that was. He had calmed down somewhat. Perhaps he had aged too much. The discomfort he had experienced in relation to the prisoners had transformed into a discomfort towards his own self. The fact that he had aged so quickly was grieving him. He hadn’t realized this at the beginning. But, in time, he had become aware of something odd that had turned his entire being upside down. He had noticed that the prisoners would endure the passage of time much better than him. People who should have already been old, or anyway, at least older than him, had been perfectly preserved and they were expecting to get out of prison and still live on. Meanwhile, he had grown old without having something to look forward to, which is why he had actually aged so quickly.

‘Don’t you find this absolutely awful?’ Fabius bemoaned.

‘Yeah,’ Kosef J nodded.

‘Now,’ Fabius said, ‘I’m at peace. I know that everything’s over.’

‘Not true,’ Kosef J replied in a deeply compassionate tone. ‘You have to do something.’

‘There’s nothing more for me to do,’ the guard stated.

‘This is unfair,’ Kosef J retorted.

‘Is it?’ Fabius glanced at Kosef J, in the hope of a revitalizing spark.

‘You have to take pleasure in simple things,’ Kosef J pointed out, delighted with his formulation. ‘Such as the sky, the grass, water.’

Fabius turned his gaze towards the wall, looking somewhat disappointed. Kosef J was about to catch his breath to dispense some advice but he had suddenly got stuck after uttering ‘sky’, ‘grass’ and ‘water’.

‘Goodness, what can I say to him, what else?’ Kosef J wondered. He had an utterly forlorn man in front of him and yet he couldn’t come up with anything else to say. ‘What could I do for him, what else could I do for him?’ he wondered.

NOTHING, the response came from somewhere far away. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

‘Did you say anything?’ the guard asked, still facing the wall.

‘Nothing, absolutely nothing,’ Kosef J replied falling asleep with his head on the table.