John Matthews - Ascension Day

‘Once you were down in the boiler room, what happened then?’ Jac wanted more detail on the assault, not only for the impact of what they’d done to Rodriguez to sink home with Haveling — but because it was something difficult to lie about in minute, graphic detail.

As Rodriguez related the events, Jac could practically see him wince with the memory of each blow landing, the shadows in his eyes mirroring his fear in those desperate moments.

‘And if Lawrence Durrant hadn’t arrived when he did, what do you believe would have happened to you?’ Jac asked.

‘I believe they’da killed me — in fact, I’m sure that was their aim all along.’

Jac purposely left silence as breathing space to Rodriguez’ closing comment, then leant closer to the microphone. ‘Thank you, Mr Rodriguez. That concludes this part of the interview.’ He fired a tight grimace towards the glass screen as he flicked off the red light. Hopefully it was enough to convince Haveling — especially with the coded note intended for Marmont that Jac had shown him.

The atmosphere in the interview room immediately eased with the red light off, both of them knowing that they were no longer being monitored, and as Jac’s eyes fell again to the books, Rodriguez was there before him, explaining.

‘If you look at the letter at the front, written by Larry eight years ago at the time of his appeal, then at the margin notes made in the books — you’ll see what I’m gettin’ at.’

Jac scanned the letter, then started flicking through the first pages of The Catcher in the Rye . It took a moment for Jac to realize what the notes were before confirming with Rodriguez.

‘These are Larry Durrant’s notes in the margin?’ Jac rapidly flicked through the rest of the book. Some pages had no margin notes at all, some only one or two small entries — but in almost half the book the notes were extensive, often almost filling the available margin space. ‘All of these suggested changes and corrections?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. He’s been editin’ Catcher in the Rye , for Christ’s sake. A fuckin’ ‘merican classic.’ Rodriguez picked up the other two books and quickly fanned their pages towards Jac. ‘And the same with Steinbeck and Dostoyevski. And going from that…’ Rodriguez tapped the letter, then pointed back to the books… ‘to that — you’ll get some handle on just how much Larry Durrant has progressed while he’s been in here. And on top we got all his good work an’ contributions with the prison magazine.’ Rodriguez pulled out one of the magazines and held it up. ‘That’s why he’s worthwhile fightin’ for. Why he’s now a worthwhile citizen that shouldn’t be allowed to die.’ Rodriguez shook his head. ‘He just ain’t the same Larry Durrant he was when he first came in here.’

Jac looked again at the letter. Even though it was fairly basic and simple, with two or three spelling errors, it didn’t smack of total illiteracy — although Jac took Rodriguez’ point. There was a Grand Canyon gap between the letter and Durrant’s editing notes and articles. A remarkable journey that could hopefully impress the State Governor as to Durrant’s worthiness — if they got that far.

‘Thanks for this. And believe me I’ll put it all to good use to try and tip Governor Candaret’s hand — but right now that’s not the problem.’ Jac grimaced tightly. ‘The immediate hurdle is not whether we can convince the State not to execute Durrant — but whether or not he wants to live. Because he tells me flat out that he doesn’t want to. He’s tired, had enough, and doesn’t even want me to put in a clemency plea on his behalf. He wants to die. His “Ascension Day”, he calls it.’

‘Oh, that .’ From Rodriguez’ tone, it wasn’t clear whether ‘that’ referred to Durrant’s admission of wanting to die, or his religion.

‘He’s shared this with you before? His wanting to die?’

‘Yeah, a couple of times.’ Rodriguez shrugged. ‘But yer know — we all go through that in here from time to time. So down and weary of it all that we just want “out”. And if we can’t actually get out — then that becomes the alternative.’ Rodriguez shook his head. ‘But when it came t’ the crunch — possible clemency on one hand and execution the other — I didn’t think he’d actually go t’rough with it. That’s sad to know. Sad and bad.’ Rodriguez looked down morosely for a second, all the verve suddenly gone from his eyes. ‘You tried pushin’ him? Didn’t just take it first-off that’s what he wanted?’

‘Yes, tried everything. Even that he needed to hang around to watch your back. That you wouldn’t last long in here without him.’

‘Nice to know that tactic was so effective.’ Rodriguez smiled briefly. ‘You know, on occasion when he got down and brought this subject up ‘bout wantin’ to die — I’d josh him, how could he? And miss out on all my good jokes over the next ten years? Even jus’ making fun of Tally Shavell and takin’ him down a notch or two was surely worth the ticket price of those extra years. And after that sly laugh of his, he’d pat me on the shoulder and say that I’d already brightened his days ‘nough for a hundred years. He’d never forget me.’ Rodriguez shook his head. ‘ Never forget me . I should have caught on then that he was more serious ‘bout it than I thought.’

Jac realized then that the association between them, at least from Rodriguez to Durrant, had been mostly jocular and bantering, with Rodriguez constantly trying to lift Durrant’s mood whenever he was gloomy or down. It might have felt out of place for Rodriguez to suddenly step out of that mould and get serious, start probing Durrant whether he really wanted to die, or what had made him feel that way? Perhaps Rodriguez too, to keep his own psyche upbeat, wouldn’t have wanted to hear the answers.

‘That’s the main reason I’m here now, Mr Rodriguez — apart from hearing your account of what happened that night in the boiler room with Shavell. To find out if there’s anything you can think of that might convince Larry Durrant to want to continue living. Anything ?’

Rodriguez looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. Dealin’ out his innermost thoughts and secrets where he might not want it — that’s not what me and him are all ‘bout. He’s a very private guy. And, I mean, if he’s already made his mind up — maybe we should respect that.’ Rodriguez met Jac’s eyes steadily for a second before casting them to one side, some darker shadows settling into them. ‘Larry was in here five years ‘fore I even got here, you know. And if things ain’t bad ‘nough here now — Libreville was a much more brutal, unforgivin’ place then. The highest inmate murder rate of any prison nationwide. God knows what those years might have done to him — in here, man, yer know.’ Rodriguez tapped his chest with his fist, then pointed to the books, forcing a smile. ‘Also, it ain’t as if he’s the easiest guy to sway. Now he’s got to the point of thinkin’ he knows better than Salinger and Steinbeck — what the hell difference do you think you or I are gonna make?’

Jac looked down, conceding the point. He’d found much the same with Durrant, defiant and immovable. In their last meeting, he’d seen only one small chink of possible weakness.

‘Durrant’s son, Joshua?’ Jac asked. ‘What can you tell me about their association? When I mentioned the boy — it seemed to be the only thing to create some doubt in Durrant’s mind. If only for a moment.’

Rodriguez looked even more uneasy. He raised a sharp eyebrow. ‘Larry’s family? Oooooh no. Definite no-go area. Larry guards them more jealously than any other secrets he might hold. I wouldn’ dream of — ’