The Hill (21 page)

Harris knew exactly what the R.S.M. meant. “Yes, sir.”

“And notify the Medical Officer that he’s wanted at the Commandant’s office at 10.30 hours. Seems Stevens didn’t die of sun-stroke. He was murdered in cold blood.”

‘Playing silly buggers, are we?’ thought Harris. ‘I’m back in the fold again am I? Well, I’ll have a little game with you, Bert.’ “Is that right, sir?” he said with an innocent grin.

“Yes, Staff. Tell him to be sure to be there. His professional reputation’s at stake.”

“Our M.O. sir?” Harris said. “I won’t wear that. It’s well known he can make the lame walk, the blind see and the maimed run over the hill.”

A howl of laughter from all the prisoners and Burton was up and down the line again yelling at them.

The R.S.M. waited until order was restored, then looked at Harris again. “What else can he do, Staff?”

“Ride a bicycle on the sea, no hands,” grinned Harris, “and turn water into wine.”

Another yell of laughter from the prisoners and the R.S.M. gestured to Burton to leave them alone.

“Can he raise the dead, Staff?”

“No, sir,” grinned Harris. “He can’t raise them. But he can lower them.”

The prisoners roared with laughter again and the R.S.M. watched them with a smile on his face.

“Staff. I’ve got your vocation placed now. You should have been a music hall comic.”

“Thank you, sir. Permission to organize a smoking concert for the prisoners.”

The R.S.M. joined in the laughter this time and shouted above the noise. “You’ve organized too bloody many already, Charlie. Think I don’t know.”

A wag shouted out from the line of prisoners. “Got a light, sir,” and this was greeted with another yell of laughter. “No, lad,” called back the R.S.M. as he walked towards the line of prisoners, “But I’ve got a pack to put on your back if I catch you smoking.” This remark was greeted with more good-humoured laughter and the R.S.M. halted in front of Bartlett and McGrath. “Stand by for a call, you two, you may be needed though I doubt it. Come on, Harris.” He walked away followed by Harris and when he reached the cells corridor he turned to Harris with a grin. “Trying to get at me, eh, Charlie?”

“Me, sir?” Harris grinned back at him.

“You’re useless on discipline but in other ways you’re useful.”

“What does that mean, sir?”

“Maybe that cancels out the talk we had a while back.”

“So I’m still Senior Staff, sir?”

“I’m giving you another chance, Harris.”

“And Williams?”

“Is still on Cell 8.”

“Sir,” protested Harris, “don’t you think ... ”

“I know what I’m doing.” The R.S.M. halted and glared at Tom who was working like mad sweeping the floor. “What the hell are you still doing hanging around here?”

“Sir. Giving the corridor another going over.”

“Are you,” said the R.S.M., still glaring at Tom, “wearing out Government brooms on useless tasks, eh?”

“Like to keep busy, sir,” said Tom. “Helps to beat the clock.”

“There’s a better way.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed Tom. “When I leave, I’ll stay clear of these places.”

“See you do.” The R.S.M. walked on then stopped and looked at Tom. “How long’s your sentence?”

“Life, sir.”

The R.S.M. took a long and interested look at Tom now and remembered him. “You don’t look as if you’ll live to enjoy it,” he said pleasantly and walked on.

Tom glared after him and muttered to himself. “Put his old Gran over the hill if she pinched sixpence.” He called out, but not very loud, “Watch it or I’ll do you over.” He moved smartly into a cell when he saw Roberts followed by Williams double towards him. Roberts ran into Cell 8 and swore when he saw the state of the cell. He turned and faced the door and watched Williams stroll in. Williams kicked a pack out of his way. “The R.S.M.’s only got to see this bloody mess. I’ll have you over the hill for this.”

“Did you do it?” Roberts asked.

“No. Another Staff here must think you’re a bloody useless lot. So you had a word with Bokumbo, did you?”

“What are we talking about?”

“You know. You put him up to it.”

“No, you did.”

“Roberts, do you think you’re going to get away with it?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“Want to know what the outcome will be? There’ll be a Court of Enquiry and I’ll be exonerated.”

“Williams, I’m counting on having a few Government officials poking their noses around this dump before I’m finished.”

Williams moved further into the cell. “Now let me tell you something. If you flap that big trap of yours in front of the Commandant and he decides to pass the can you’ll be in no fit state to give evidence.”

“I’ll manage to get there.”

“You’ll be so punch drunk they won’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Roberts leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “You’re getting nervous, aren’t you, Williams.”

“You’re the nervous one. It’s on your records. You dirty bloody coward.”

“Like to prove it, Williams?”

Williams looked at Roberts from head to toe and smiled. “You want me, don’t you. You fancy your chances.”

“You make a move and I’ll drop you.”

Williams moved to the door and looked up and down the corridor. “Not a bad idea. Just you and me, eh?” Roberts crouched ready, his fists clenched and Williams grinned at him. “Bit impatient, ain’t you?” He nodded along the corridor. “There’s a solitary at the end of the corridor. A padded cell it is. This used to be a loony bin before the Army took it over. Did you know that?”

“It still is,” Roberts said.

“Yeah, since you joined us. Fancy a padded cell? I’ll lock us in.” Williams grinned again. “Just us two.”

“Let’s get started.” Roberts walked out of the cell and along the corridor and Williams followed him. At the end of the corridor Williams paused outside the solitary and grinned at Roberts. “Wait here.” He walked to a door marked Staff Room and opened it and said, “Got the solitary keys,” and a voice answered, “yes,” and Roberts had a glimpse of two Staffs drinking tea before the door closed.

Roberts looked at the solitary cell then peered into the spy hole. There was no window in the cell but a bright light guarded by a heavy iron cage was placed dead centre in the very high ceiling. The floor was thick grey rubber and the walls were padded and covered with grey rubber. Roberts turned as he heard footsteps behind him and saw Williams holding up a bunch of keys.

“Get in there,” said Williams and pushed him.

Roberts walked into the cell and waited, not taking his eyes off Williams for a second. Then he saw two grinning Staffs join Williams and all three walked towards the cell and Roberts cursed himself under his breath and made a rush for the cell door, but too late. The Staffs blocked the way so Roberts backed away to the far wall and waited.

Williams shut the cell door and took off his cap and tossed it into the corner of the cell and the other two screws did the same. “Me first.” Williams made a sudden dive at Roberts but Roberts smashed him in the face and sent him reeling back. One of the screws hiding behind the protection of his arms, walked into Roberts, taking most of the blows on his arms and shoulders, and flattened him against the wall, the second screw moved in and grabbed one of Roberts’s arms and the two screws swung Roberts away from the wall by holding him by his arms. Roberts got one arm free and hit a screw and sent him staggering away and then butted the other in the face with his head.

Then all three were on him aiming blows and kicks. Roberts hit out blindly but most of his blows missed and he reeled from one wall to the next, and the blood from his broken nose and badly cut mouth made breathing difficult. He fell to his knees and curled up as they started kicking him then he was pulled up by his arms and turned towards Williams, and Williams moved in and measured him and punched him in the guts and Roberts’s knees buckled and he leaned forward and Williams hit him again and again and Roberts started shouting.

A mixture of fear and rage, and as he shouted he splashed blood over Williams and moved forwards, his rage giving him added strength and he pulled the screws along with him and got Williams pressed against the wall and butted him on the side of his face with his head before the screws pulled him away, and as Roberts was being pulled back Williams slammed his boot on Roberts’s ankle and Roberts let out a scream of pain and bent double as Williams pounded blows into his stomach and ribs, and when Williams stopped punching the screws released Roberts and he fell on his knees and then on to his face, then toppled over to his side and lay still.

Williams stood looking down at him rubbing his knuckles, a fixed grin on his face.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The prisoners finished breakfast. Porridge, bread, margarine and a pint of tea, and cleaned their dixies in the sand bucket. Then Bokumbo moved to the cell door and watched Tom, who was still sweeping the cell corridor, and called out to him. “Tom. Have you seen Roberts?”

Tom looked up and down the corridor before moving over to speak to Bokumbo. “The new screw took him for a walk.”

“Where, man?”

Tom winked. “To a lonely cell, you know.”

Bokumbo craned his neck to look down the corridor.

“I’ve seen this coming,” McGrath said.

Bokumbo was still glaring down the corridor and said, half to himself, “O.K. Williams. O.K.”

“Mack,” said Tom.

“Aw, beat it.” McGrath looked away.

“That lad’s gonner be in a bad way when he comes back, Mac.”

“Shut your mouth.” Bokumbo tried to grab Tom through the bars but Tom skipped back.

“What’s up, Jacko? All I’m saying is he’ll be needing a smoke when he comes back. They all need a smoke, that’s the first thing they ask for when they come back.”

“That’s damn clever of you to work that out,” snarled Bokumbo.

“O.K. O.K. If you’re well supplied.” Tom moved away.

Bartlett ran to the cell door. “Well supplied. Who you kidding?”

“Make up your minds now.” Tom moved nearer to the door.

“We’re on the floor and that’s a fact,” McGrath said.

“Well.” Tom scratched his chin and looked both ways along the corridor. “I’ve had a few contributions for them two darkies that’s gonna be shot for being a bit too friendly with those nurses, remember?”

“So what?” McGrath said.

“Well, seeing this lad Williams is bending one of us — ”

Bokumbo looked at Tom in disgust, spat on the floor and walked away.

“Dirty black bastard,” said Tom. “You can’t house train them.”

“You’ve got some weed to spare, eh Tom?” McGrath enquired.

“If them two black boys wasn’t being shot,” said Tom, “I wouldn’t give them a smoke. Piss in the comers if you’d let them.”

“Have you any weed, Tom?”

“All nig-nogs are the same, Mack. Dead bloody ignorant.”

“He’s got nothing,” said Bartlett.

“That so? There’s some good fellers here. Not all like you.”

“That’s big-hearted of you, Tom. Pass some over.” McGrath pushed his hand through the bars.

“Not all,” Tom said. “Not at all. If we can’t help a fella in distress now.”

“O.K. O.K. Pass the snout over,” Bartlett said.

“I mean ter say,” said Tom squinting down the corridor, “any of us could be in that plight.”

“Aye. That’s true,” McGrath agreed.

“Quick before one of the screws ... ” Bartlett pushed his hand through the bars.

“Any of you could. The way you’re carrying on.”

“You can forego the lecture,” McGrath snapped.

“O.K.,” said Tom. “But the next time I ask for a bit of help for the distressed, I hope you’ll be a bit more co-operative.”

McGrath nodded. “I get the point.”

“Shut up gassing and pass the snout over,” said Bartlett.

“Well,” Tom said. “It’s a good cause so put me down for a tin of fifty Players.”

“Eh?” said McGrath.

“And a box of Corona Corona cigars,” Tom cackled.

McGrath and Bartlett in their rage tried to pull the cell door off its hinges.

“I’ll do you over,” snarled Bartlett.

“You jail rat,” shouted McGrath, “wait till I get my spanners on you.”

“It’s for a good cause.” Tom tottered away spluttering with laughter.

Bokumbo leaned against the wall shaking with laughter. McGrath turned on him. “And what the hell are you laughing at?”

“And think of your benefactor as you smoke them,” yelled Tom from some distance down the corridor.

Bokumbo laughed even louder.

“It’s a big joke, ain’t it, Jacko,” yelled Bartlett. “A big joke.”

Bokumbo stood up and looked at Bartlett and still laughing he nodded his head.

“Then give over about it,” said McGrath. “I wouldna say I’ve all the time in the world for Roberts but to laugh at the plight he’s in.”

Bokumbo looked at McGrath and stopped laughing. “So you’re worried about Roberts? Man, now, that is something to laugh about.”

“Don’t you start.”

“If Roberts dropped dead you wouldn’t give a damn.”

“I said I’ve little time for him, Bokumbo, but I wouldn’t laugh at the thought of him being done over by Williams.”

“That’s big of you, Mack, now you listen. Two men are being shot and you and Monty have been killing yourselves laughing.”

“Are you making comparisons?”

“That is so. I am making comparisons.”

“Then don’t.”

Bokumbo said very quietly, “Tell me why.”

“Because the fellers being shot are just two dirty bloody animals.”

“Easy ... careful what you say, Mack.”

McGrath glared at Bokumbo. “Just give me the chance to be one of the firing squad.”

“Don’t hold nothing back, Mack. Come on, say it. Say what you mean.”

“And I’d want to know it was me had the bullet up the spout.”

Bokumbo was still holding himself in but his voice had thickened. “I’m waiting for you to say it, man.”

Both moved restlessly up and down at opposite ends of the cell.

“You compare Roberts with them?” Mack shouted.

“I’m waiting for you to say it, Mack.”

“Aw, you two,” said Bartlett, “come off it. We don’t want no trouble.”

“The kind of dirty animal that would rape a woman,” snarled McGrath.

“What kind? You describe to me what kind.”

“Mack,” pleaded Bartlett, “don’t start a fight. We’ll be all bleeding day on that hill if you start a fight now and we’ve got a date with the Commandant.”

McGrath stood still then gave this a moment’s thought and calmed down a little. But he hadn’t finished with Bokumbo yet. “You want to get one thing straight,” he said.

“Tell me,” said Bokumbo.

“The crime is rape.”

“Rape. Sure.” Bokumbo nodded his head. “That’s so bad that two men have to be shot for it.”

“Two innocent girls. But we know how your bloody mind works.”

“Two white girls.” Bokumbo glared at McGrath. “That is the crime. White girls raped by black men.”

“Stop it you two, will yer?” Bartlett looked scared.

“Aye,” said McGrath. “That’s a crime to my way of thinking.”

“Sure, Mack, sure. But say they’d been black girls raped by white men, would you care? Would you, hell! That would be a laugh.”

“You’d let them two darkies loose on the streets again, I suppose.”

“No, Mack. I’d give them the same punishment you’d give a white man.”

“Och. You carry a chip on your shoulder.”

“That’s true,” agreed Bokumbo, “and people like you helped to put it there.”

Both calmed down a little and the tension eased.

“Come on,” said Bartlett. “Let’s clean up this dump before Williams gets back.”

“He no wants to start on me,” said McGrath, folding his blankets. “He might come unstuck.”

Bartlett stopped work and looked at McGrath with an irritating grin. “Why you gonna stop ’im in his tracks?”

“Think I couldn’t?” McGrath stepped back and critically examined his blankets then knelt down again and smoothed out a few wrinkles with his hand.

Bartlett’s grin broadened and he winked at Bokumbo as he placed his spare pair of boots with their highly polished soles pointing upwards, on his ground sheet, then stepped back and examined them.

“Think I couldn’t?” enquired McGrath again, standing up as he looked at Bartlett.

“Give it a rest, Mack.”

“Aye. Give it a rest.” McGrath nodded his head. “You’ve no the manhood to fight for justice.”

“Listen to ’im,” laughed Bartlett. “Talking about justice.”

“You’ve no mother and father, is that right. Monty?”

“So what, me old mate?”

“All I’m saying is that you got dumped in a home as a wee baby. That means even your mother didna want you and no doubt your father was a hit-and-run driver.”

Bartlett knelt down and pounded his pack until it was a perfect square then glanced up at McGrath and laughed. “I know I’m a bastard.”

“Aye, you’ve had a raw deal.”

“‘Ere,” laughed Bartlett. “They used ter give us flag waving sessions at the ’Ome and the Guv’nor give us talks about the old Empire and King and country and all that cobblers. It killed us. Fancy trying to teach love and honour thy country to a shower of bastards.” He laughed until the tears spilled out of his eyes. Then McGrath and Bokumbo joined in and they all laughed until they choked. “Give over,” McGrath gasped finally. “Give over, you wee comic bastard. We’ve work to do.” They worked on in silence for a time then Bartlett said, “Ere, Roberts is gonna need a smoke. I’ve still got a couple.”

“Aye. Need a hospital bed I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Might learn ’im to keep his big trap shut eh, Mack?”

“Maybe and maybe not.” McGrath stood up again and nodded his head, well satisfied that his kit would pass inspection. “He’s far round the bend that one.”

“Yeah,” Bartlett agreed. “The trick cyclist would get bags a joy outta him.”

“Maybe this time Williams won’t get away with it,” said Bokumbo as he gave his mess tins a final polish.

“A prisoner’s word against a screw’s,” jeered Bartlett. “Give over.”

“A man can beat them.” Bokumbo carefully placed his mess tins on his ground sheet.

“ ’Ere he goes again,” Bartlett laughed.

“A man, I said. Do not get confused, Monty.”

“Yeah. I know who you mean. Jacko Bokumbo. The white man’s bloody burden.”

“A few more trips on that hill and you’ll be screaming for mercy, Jacko,” said McGrath. “So stop blowing.”

“That hill is pleasure,” said Bokumbo. “A man can get laughs on that hill. He can say to himself, God damn you, Staff. You will never beat me. I am a man and you won’t crack me. On that hill you can show them that you’re a man.”

Bartlett looked at Bokumbo and decided that he was going raving mad. Here’s another one, he groaned inwardly. Here’s another going round the bend.

Bokumbo straightened up. “But standing to attention in front of Staff.” He marched down the cell and stamped to attention facing McGrath. “Smelling your own stinking sweat and listening to insults. You, black boy! You nigger! A man must not take that and still call himself a man.”

McGrath looked at Bokumbo’s stern glistening black face and in his embarrassment he wanted to laugh out loud. Instead he nodded his head as if to indicate that he was in complete agreement with Bokumbo. ‘Had his chips,’ he thought. ‘He’s going pure daft, this one. They’re all going. I’m the only one still in my right mind.’

Bokumbo was totally unaware of McGrath. He stared through him and thought. ‘I’m right, I speak the truth. I can take the hill. I can take the punishment. I have proved that I am a man. Then why do I take the insults? All my life I have taken insults and smiled. Why? No more. I will take no more insults. If this war has taught me anything, it’s taught me that I am as good as the next man, no better and no worse but as good as a white man.’

Suddenly he felt very angry. ‘Always you come back to that, Jacko. To the bloody white man. Why do you make these damn comparisons? To hell with the white man. You are as good as any black man and a good black man is as good as any white man and that is God’s own truth.’ But as he thought this he still wandered uneasily what he would do the next time his manhood was challenged.

“Another one going round the bend,” Bartlett raved. “Look at ’im doing ’is bleeding drills in the cell now.”

“When you’re in uniform,” said McGrath, “you jump to orders and you take insults.”

“These spick and span Staff,” Bokumbo spat out the words, “these Brylcream soldiers insult the king by their actions.”

“O.K.,” said McGrath. “It’s too tough for you.”

“The insults are too tough.”

“I’d like to see you up front one of these fine days.”

“I’ve been up front, Mack.”

“The day you see me up there, mate,” said Bartlett, “you’ll know the war’s over.”

“Aye. If I ever see you up there I’ll shoot you.”

Williams, standing in the corridor, rattled his keys against the bars of the cell door and the prisoners stopped talking and looked at Williams as he unlocked the cell door. There was a pause before the prisoners heard faltering footsteps and then Roberts hobbled into the cell.

He leaned against the wall and his face screwed up with pain as he placed his left foot on the floor then hobbled a few paces holding on to the wall until he reached his bed space. He sat down very carefully and turned his bruised and battered face towards the prisoners then closed his eyes and sat leaning forward, holding his stomach with his hands.