Evelyn Waugh - Decline and Fall

'I have not yet thought out the other stages of your treatment, said Sir Wilfred, 'but you can see that individual attention is being paid to your reclamation. It may cause you some gratification to realize that, thanks to my report, you may in time become a case of scientific interest throughout the world. Sir Wilfred Lucas‑Dockery's treatment of Case R. may haply become a precedent for generations yet unborn. That is something to lift you above the soul‑destroying monotony of routine, is it not?

Paul was led away.

'The men in the kitchen have lodged a complaint that they cannot work with C.2.9, said the Chief Warder. 'They say he has an infectious skin disease all over his hands.

'I can't be worried with things like that, said the Governor irritably. 'I am trying to decide upon Case R.'s ‑ I mean D.4.12's ‑ third stage of reclamation.

Case R. of the Lucas‑Dockery experiments began on the new régime that afternoon.

'Come out, said the warder, unlocking his cell, 'and bring your 'at.

The parade ground, empty of its revolving squads, looked particularly desolate.

'Stand there and don't move till I come back, said the warder.

Presently he returned with a little bony figure in prison dress.

'This 'ere's your pal, he said, 'this 'ere's the path you've got to walk on. Neither of you is to touch the other or any part of 'is clothing. Nothing is to be passed from one to the other. You are to keep at a distance of one yard and talk of 'istory, philosophy, or kindred subjects. When I rings the bell you stops talking, see? Your pace is to be neither quicker nor slower than average walking‑pace. Them's the Governor's instructions, and Gawd 'elp yer if yer does anything wrong. Now walk.

'This is a silly dodge, said the little man. 'I've been in six prisons, and I never seen nothing to touch it. Most irregular. You doesn't know where you are these days. This blinking prison is going to the dogs. Look at the Chaplain. Wears a wig!

'Are you here for long? asked Paul politely.

'Not this time. They couldn't get a proper charge against me. "Six months for loitering with intent." They'd been watching me for weeks, but I wasn't going to let them have a chance this time. Now six months is a very decent little sentence, if you take my meaning. One picks up with old friends, and you like it all the more when you comes out. I never minds six months. What's more, I'm known here, so I always gets made "landing cleaner". I expect you've seen me hand often enough coming round with the grub. The warders know me, see, so they always keeps the job open for me if they hears I'm coming back. If you're nice to 'em the first two or three times you're 'ere, they'll probably do the same for you.

'Is it a very good job?

'Well, not as jobs go, but it's a nice start. The best job of all is Reception‑cleaner. One doesn't get that for years, unless you've special recommendations. You see, you has all the people coming in fresh from outside, and you hears all the news and gets tobacco sometimes and racing tips. Did you see the cleaner when you came in? Know who he is?

'Yes, said Paul, 'as a matter of fact, I do. He's called Philbrick.

'No, no, old man, you've got the wrong chap. I mean a big stout man. Talks a lot about hotels and restaurants.

'Yes, that's the man I mean.

'Why, don't you know who that is? That's the Governor's brother: Sir Solomon Lucas‑Dockery. Told me so hisself. 'Ere for arson. Burnt a castle in Wales. You can see he's a toff.

Some days later Paul entered on another phase of his reclamation. When he came into the prison‑square for his afternoon exercise he found that his companion's place had been taken by a burly man of formidable aspect. He had red hair and beard, and red‑rimmed eyes, and vast red hands which twirled convulsively at his sides. He turned his ox‑like eyes on Paul and gave a slight snarl of welcome.

'Your new pal, said the warder. 'Get on with it.

'How do you do? said Paul politely. 'Are you here for long?

'Life, said the other. 'But it doesn't matter much. I look daily for the Second Coming.

They marched on in silence.

'Do you think that this a good plan of the Governor's? asked Paul.

'Yes, said his companion. They walked on in silence, once round, twice round, three times round.

'Talk, you two, shouted the warder. 'That's your instructions. Talk.

'It makes a change, said the big man.

'What are you here for? asked Paul. 'You don't mind my asking, do you?

'It's all in the Bible, said the big man. 'You should read about it there. Figuratively, you know, he added. 'It wouldn't be plain to you, I don't suppose, not like it is to me.

'It's not an easy book to understand, is it?

'It's not understanding that's needed. It's vision. Do you ever have visions?

'No, I'm afraid I don't.

'Nor does the Chaplain. He's no Christian. It was a vision brought me here, an angel clothed in flame, with a crown of flame on his head, crying "Kill and spare not. The Kingdom is at hand." Would you like to hear about it? I'll tell you. I'm a carpenter by profession, or at least I was, you understand. He spoke with a curious blend of cockney and Biblical English. 'Not a joiner ‑ a cabinet-maker. Well, one day I was just sweeping out the shop before shutting up when the angel of the Lord came in. I didn't know who it was at first. "Just in time," I said. "What can I do for you?" Then I noticed that all about him there was a red flame and a circle of flame over his head, same as I've been telling you. Then he told me how the Lord had numbered His elect and the day of tribulation was at hand. "Kill and spare not," he says. I'd not been sleeping well for some time before this. I'd been worrying about my soul and whether I was saved. Well, all that night I thought of what the angel had told me. I didn't see his meaning, not at first, same as you wouldn't. Then it all came to me in a flash. Unworthy that I am, I am the Lord's appointed, said the carpenter. 'I am the sword of Israel; I am the lion of the Lord's elect.

'And did you kill anybody? asked Paul.

'Unworthy that I am, I smote the Philistine; in the name of the Lord of hosts, I struck off his head. It was for a sign of Israel. And now I am gone into captivity, and the mirth is turned into weeping, but the Lord shall deliver me in His appointed time. Woe unto the Philistine in that day! woe unto the uncircumcised! It were better that a stone were hanged about his neck and he were cast into the depths of the sea.

The warder rang his bell. 'Inside, you two! he shouted.

'Any complaints? asked the Governor on his rounds.

'Yes, sir, said Paul.

The Governor looked at him intently. 'Are you the man I put under special treatment?

'Yes, sir.

'Then it's ridiculous to complain. What is it?

'I have reason to believe that the man I have to take exercise with is a dangerous lunatic.

'Complaints by one prisoner about another can only be considered when substantiated by the evidence of a warder or of two other prisoners, said the Chief Warder.

'Quite right, said the Governor. 'I never heard a more ridiculous complaint. All crime is a form of insanity. I myself chose the prisoner with whom you exercise. I chose him for his peculiar suitability. Let me hear no more on this subject, please.

That afternoon Paul spent another disquieting half-hour on the square.

'I've had another vision, said the mystical homicide. 'But I don't yet know quite what it portends. No doubt I shall be told.

'Was it a very beautiful vision? asked Paul.

'No words can describe the splendour of it. It was all crimson and wet like blood. I saw the whole prison as if it were carved of ruby, hard and glittering, and the warders and the prisoners creeping in and out like little red ladybirds. And then as I watched all the ruby became soft and wet, like a great sponge soaked in wine, and it was dripping and melting into a great lake of scarlet. Then I woke up. I don't know the meaning of it yet, but I feel that the hand of the Lord is hanging over this prison. D'you ever feel like that, as though it were built in the jaws of a beast? I sometimes dream of a great red tunnel like the throat of a beast and men running down it, sometimes one by one and sometimes in great crowds, running town the throat of the beast, and the breath of the beast is like the blast of a furnace. D'you ever feel like that?