The Room (5 page)

He didnt know what he was thinking, if anything, but he could feel something moving around inside him. He could feel his arms and legs getting tingly. He wished ta krist theyd hurry up and lock his door. Theyre always right on your ass making sure you dont go this way, or look that way, and now they take their own sweet time about closing his door. What in the hell is taking them so long. The goddamn thing should be locked by now. For krists
sake. How fucking long do you have to sit around waiting for some dumb sonofabitch to lock your door. The meal was over hours ago for krists sake. If the sonofabitch was locked and you wanted it open they damn sure would keep it locked. But now, all of a sudden, they wont lock the sonofabitch. Anything to break your balls, the
rotten
motherfuckers, his fists and jaw clenched, getting tighter and tighter. Krist, no matter
what
you ask them to do they wont do it. Doesnt make a
fucking
bit of difference what it is, they wont do it if – the door clanged shut.

He stared at it for a moment,

then swung his right arm around and smashed the pillow. He growled as he grabbed it with his left hand and pounded it with his right again and again and again and again then put both his hands around its throat and squeezed and twisted as his voice growled in his throat and his stomach knotted. Then he flung it against the wall and leaped after it and punched it back to the bed and pinned it with his left hand around its throat against the mattress and pounded and pounded the face into a pulp then raised it above his head and slammed it against the wall and punched it against another wall but his fists kept sinking into his pillow, meeting no resistance, so he pinned it again to the mattress and pounded and pounded hearing his fist thud and thud and thud over and over and over again and again into his pillow.

Then he stopped and looked at it with disgust and flipped it to the other end of the bed with the back of his hand. He was panting, but his stomach and chest were loosening. The bastards. The rotten, fucking bastards. His breathing slowed and he reached down and grabbed his pillow, jammed it into a ball and stuck it behind his head and stretched out on the bed. He let his eyes close when they wanted to and then he put his arm over his eyes. He squirmed his head into his balled pillow, while the deepening gray soothed his eyes. He rested.

He was sitting in the courtroom with Stacey Lowry. He was well-dressed and confident. When his case was called he followed his
attorney to the counsel table. He stood erect and calm as the charges were read, pleaded not guilty, then sat and listened as the preliminary hearing proceeded. The opening formalities flowed smoothly and quickly. When the prosecution finished questioning the first witness, one of the arresting officers, Stacey Lowry rose and walked halfway to the witness stand. He only questioned the officer for a few minutes, his voice smooth and moderate at all times. When the witness had been dismissed he addressed the court and asked for a dismissal of the charges, citing the State v Rubens (1958; 173,20.5). The motion was granted and he followed his attorney from the courtroom.

They were joined by Donald Preston in the corridor and they shook each others hand. Preston put his arm around his shoulder and asked him how it felt to be free. Frankly, its a little bit bewildering. It all happened so fast. Its hard to believe its all over.

They sat at a rear table in a quiet and dignified restaurant. It was a small room off the main dining room and the walls were oak paneled. The linen was white and sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows. He was naturally excited, yet had no trouble retaining his composure. When their cocktails were served they toasted their success and their forthcoming campaign. He smiled and said he would drink to that and they all laughed. Then Preston congratulated him on his courage, and his responsive smile was filled with humility.

As they sat in Prestons impressive office he tinkled the ice in his drink from time to time. He felt completely at ease and energetically discussed the forthcoming campaign. He was most anxious to hear their plans and to offer his suggestions. Now that the legal formalities were over his mind was formulating ideas with concrete clarity.

As I mentioned previously, one of my reporters, one of the best, was at the hearing and is writing a report of it. When he is finished he will come up here and interview you. It wont be too long, just long enough to enable him to give our readers your thoughts and reactions. The actual reportage will appear in tomorrows paper and the interview will be in the Sunday Supplement.
As I say, it wont be too long, just 2 or 3 pages. You see, we do not want to hit the public with everything at once. If we do they will tire of it too quickly (he nodded in agreement) and we will lose their enthusiasm. In between there will be a statement by me – a manifesto if you will – explaining the campaign and its purpose. This naturally will be followed up at least 2 or 3 times a week with something new, and hard-hitting, on the subject. In that way it will always be before the publics eye.

And, in the interim, I will be writing articles for the law journal and making as many addresses as possible to civic and professional organizations.

That sounds very good. Really marvelous. There is one thing, however, that I would very much like to mention. He paused for a second, then leaned forward in his chair. I think we should make this campaign against all forms of authoritative despotism. What I mean is, there are all forms of abuses of authority – police, politicians, unions, bankers, schools, prisons – and god knows how many others. Also, it seems to me, if you continue a campaign too long people will become immune to it, but with the proper lapse of time between them – and when other news is scarce – you can always go into another aspect of the campaign and expose any one of the authoritative evils in the world.

It was obvious from the manner in which they agreed with him that they not only appreciated his suggestion, but were aware of the fact that it was not offered because of any personal vindictiveness.

The reporter sat across from him, the microphone for the portable tape recorder between them.

Q
. First, let me ask you how it feels to be free once more?

A
. Fine (smiling) just fine. And I cannot thank Messrs. Preston and Lowry enough for helping me.

Q
.  Just how did you manage to get in touch with them?

A
.  Well (leaning back in his chair slightly, a thoughtful look on his face, not wanting to be too mysterious, but wanting the reporter to understand that this was a serious question, and not one to be answered without due deliberation. When he noticed, by the expression on his face, that the interviewer was aware that he was not just acting a part, but that this was an extremely serious and delicate question, he leaned forward) I am afraid I cannot go into detail as to how I was able to get in touch with these gentlemen. However, I can say that I did manage to get in contact with the paper and that is how Messrs. Preston and Lowry became involved.

Q
.  What, exactly, made you feel it was necessary to contact the paper?

A
.  Because I was unjustly arrested and detained. Actually, as Mr Lowry proved today, I was not only unjustly arrested, but illegally.

Q
.  Why didnt you contact a lawyer or a friend?

A
.  Well, you see, I do not know anyone in this city. I decided to spend the summer driving around the country and I had just gotten here the day I was arrested. I had gotten in late that morning after driving all night, and checked into the first hotel I noticed. I realize, now, that it is far from the best in town, but I was too tired to look around so I simply stopped at the first one I saw. I washed, had something to eat, then slept. When I awakened I dressed and decided to walk around until I found a good restaurant. When I did I had a leisurely meal, then went to a late movie. When I got out I decided to see what the city looked like at night. I walked along the streets looking – you know, more or less like a tourist I guess – and because I slept during the day I was not tired and was unaware of the time. Eventually I became conscious of the fact that I was almost the only one walking the streets. I was a little surprised to find myself almost alone, except for an occasional person passing by – as I said, I had more or less lost track of time – but I continued to stroll along at a leisurely pace. Then I realized that I did not know exactly where I was so I started looking at street signs and trying to orient myself with some sort of landmark.

Q
.  In other words you had strayed from a familiar part of the city to one that was unfamiliar?

A
.  Precisely. I did not know where my hotel was with respect to where I was at that particular moment. I was standing on a street corner looking around and trying to figure out which way I should go when a patrol car stopped in front of me and the next thing I knew I was arrested.

Q
.  What were the charges?

A
.  Suspicion. I do not know of what, but they said I was acting suspiciously. I tried to explain, and even showed them my drivers license and other identification, but they still locked me up.

He was 12, or maybe 13. He and 2 friends were shooting crap under a light in the park. It was a cool evening and they were completely involved in the game and in keeping their hands warm. There was 2¢ on the ground and he was shooting for a point. As he was reaching for the dice someone yelled, cop, and they ran. He grabbed for the 2¢ and before he could get up and start running a cop came out of the bushes behind him and hit him across the reaching hand with his club. He ran, never knowing what the cop looked like. Not even feeling the pain until an hour later. The cop didnt pursue them and a block away he met his friends and they walked the few blocks home together. They asked him about his hand. He said it was all right, but it was starting to burn. When he had been home in the warmth of the house for a while, the pain started to increase. He was afraid to tell his parents as they would want to know why he had been hit and he was afraid to tell them what he had been doing. In the middle of the night the pain became acute. He moaned in his sleep and his mother came into his room to wake him and ask what was wrong. He told her he had fallen while playing a game and had hurt his hand. Early the next morning they went to the hospital and the hand was x-rayed. Three bones were so sharply broken it looked like a razor cut. He had been hit so hard there wasn’t a trace of splintering. The break didnt even need to be set or put in a cast. It was that clean a break. A small roll of gauze was put in his palm and the hand was wrapped. It was that simple.

In retrospect I guess it is difficult to understand. Perhaps I was naive, but at first I did not take them seriously. I mean I was annoyed, naturally, but I never believed for a moment that they would actually take me to a police station –
in handcuffs
.

Q
. What happened then?

A
. Well, to be perfectly honest, it is a haze of confusion until I was locked in that room. All I can remember is sitting in one room for hours, then another, and another and being fingerprinted and having any picture taken and being asked endless questions. I was in a state of utter and complete confusion. It all seemed so unreal somehow.

Q
. Were you subjected to any form of physical punishment?

A
. Well, in a way that is hard to answer. What I mean is they did not beat me or actually threaten to – that is verbally – but the way some of them walk around and look at you, as if you are some kind of animal or something and they would like nothing better than to get you alone in a locked room …… well, under those conditions you always feel threatened. But to be more specific, no, I was never actually threatened with bodily harm.

The pain in his hand started to subside after it had been wrapped, but he was afraid to tell his mother that it felt better. When they had been home from the hospital a short time she asked what had happened. I dont know. We were just playing and I hit it and it broke I guess. But how could you have hit it so hard, son. I told you, I dont know. All I know is that we were playing and it hit something. Nobody did it. It just happened. But I didnt ask you if anyone hit you, I only – yeah, yeah, I know. But thats what you were thinking. That somebody hit me because I did something. But I – jesus krist mom, cant you leave me alone. It hurts bad enough without you bugging me about it.

Q
. Were you subjected to any other kind of duress?

A
. Yes. Most definitely. In addition to the hostility of their looks – perhaps sadism is a better word – there are many other ways in which a man can be humiliated. Or should I say subjected to inhuman punishment?

Q
. What, specifically, do you mean?

A
. Well … let me put it this way. After I was finally booked, sent upstairs to be interviewed by the medical department – if thats the proper phrase – and x-rayed, they sent me to the – what is their phrase again … o yes, the t.b. suspect ward.

Q
. Why there?

A
. I am not really certain. They said I had a spot on my lung. I told them that I had a slight touch of pleurisy many years previously and that it was just a scar from it. But they said they had to check it out. So I literally shrugged. I had no idea I was going to be put in solitary.