Steve Toltz - A Fraction of the Whole

“No.”

“Then what do you want to see him for?”

“School project,” Terry said, giving me a surreptitious wink. Behind the gate a gust of wind blew the fog around, and for the first time we saw up close the prison that made a weekend magazine call our town “ Least Desirable Place to Live in New South Wales.” It didn’t look as much like a fortified castle as it did from the town. In fact, it was not one but four large red brick buildings of the same dimensions, as innocuous and ugly as our own school, and without the wire fence in the foreground, it appeared as ordinary as a government office block.

The guard leaned forward, pressing his head against the cold gate. “School project, eh? What subject?”

“Geography,” Terry said.

The guard scratched his head listlessly. I supposed the friction on his scalp started his brain like an outboard motor.

“All right, then.”

He unlocked the gate and it made a shuddering sound as it opened. I made a shuddering sound too as Terry and I walked into the prison compound.

“Follow the path until you reach the next station,” the guard said behind us.

We moved slowly. Two high wire fences ornamented with barbed wire lined the pathway on either side. Behind the fence to the right was a concrete yard where prisoners moved around, swiping at the fog lethargically. Their denim uniforms made them look like blue ghosts floating in a netherworld.

We reached the second guard station. “We’re here to see Harry West.”

The bearded guard had a sad, weary expression that told us he was underpaid, unappreciated, and hadn’t had a hug in over a decade. He plunged his hands into my pockets and rummaged around without so much as a how-do-you-do. His hands went into Terry’s pockets too. Terry giggled.

When the guard finished, he said, “All right, Jim, take them in.”

A man stepped out of the fog. Jim. We followed him inside the prison. The fog came inside too. It was everywhere, floating through the barred windows and crawling in thin trails along the narrow corridors. We were led through an open doorway into the visiting room.

“Wait in here.”

Other than a long table with chairs on either side, the room was bare. We sat down next to each other, expect that Harry West would take a chair on the opposite side, but I started to worry. What if he defied expectation and sat down beside us so we all sat staring at the wall?

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

Before Terry could answer, Harry West entered and stood glaring at us from the doorway. His nose looked like it had been squashed, then yanked, then squashed again. This was a face that had a story to tell, a story of fists. As he moved closer, I noted that like Terry (and as I used to), Harry had a terrible limp. He carried his leg like luggage. You know how some animals drag their anuses along the ground to mark it? Well, it seemed to me that Harry was onto the same trick, digging grooves in the dusty floor with that leg. Thankfully, he took a chair opposite, and when I got a front view of him, I realized that his was a terribly misshapen head, like an apple with a bite taken out of it.

“What can I do for you fellas?” he asked cheerily.

Terry took a long time to speak, but when he did he said, “Well, sir, me and my friends, we have this gang in town, and we’ve been doing a little breaking and entering, and some street fighting, although sometimes it’s in the bush, and uh…” He drifted off.

I said, “The gang are young. They’re inexperienced. They need guidance. They need to hear from someone who’s been in the game awhile. In a nutshell, they’re looking for a mentor.”

Harry sat for a while, thinking. He scratched his tattoo. It wouldn’t come off. He stood and walked to the window.

“Damned fog. Can’t see a thing. It’s a pretty shitty little town you got here, isn’t it? Still, I wouldn’t mind looking at it.”

Before we could say anything, Harry turned and smiled at us, revealing a mouth missing every second tooth.

“Anyone who says the young don’t have any initiative has his head up his own arse! You boys restore my faith! I’ve come across legions of up-and-comers over the decades, and none of them have ever asked me for advice. Not one. I never heard of anyone with the guts to say, ‘I want knowledge. Gimme some.’ No, those bastards out there, they’re loafers. They breeze through life taking orders. They know how to break a leg, sure! But you have to tell them which one. They know how to dig a grave too, but if you’re not standing over them, they’d dig it right in the middle of a city park, two blocks from the cop shop. Hell, they’d do it in broad daylight if you weren’t standing over them shouting, ‘Night, you idiots! Do it at night!’ They’re the worst kind of drones. And disloyal! Like you wouldn’t believe! How many of my former colleagues have visited me since I’ve been locked up in this miserable place? Not one! Not a letter! Not a word! And you should have seen them before they met me! They were stealing change out of the cups of beggars! I took them in, tried to show them the ropes. But they don’t want to know the ropes. They want to drink and gamble and lie all day with whores. An hour or two is enough, isn’t it? Hey, have you got guns?”

Terry shook his head. It looked like Harry was warming to his task; he’d had a lot bottled up. The stopper was out.

“Well, that there’s your first mission. Get guns! You need guns! You need lots of guns! And here’s your first lesson. Once you’ve got the guns, find hiding places all over town and stash them- in the back of pubs, up trees, down manholes, in mailboxes. Because if you’re embarking on a life of crime, you never know when your enemies are going to attack. You’re never going to be able to walk through life without glancing over your shoulder. Are you up for that? Your neck gets a lot of exercise, take it from me. Any place you go- the pub, the cinema, the bank, the dentist- as soon as you walk into a room, you better find a wall and stand with your back to it. Get ready. Be aware. Don’t let anyone get behind you, you hear me? Even when you’re getting a haircut: always make the barber do it from in front.”

Harry slammed his hands on the table and bore down on us.

“That’s the way of life for us boys. It would shake the foundations of common folk, but we have to be tough and prepared to live against the wall with our eyes blazing and our fingers twitching. After a while it becomes an unconscious act, you know. You develop a sixth sense. It’s true. Paranoia makes a man evolve. Bet they don’t teach you that in the classroom! Precognition, ESP, telepathy- we criminals have prophetic souls. We know what’s coming even before it happens. You have to. It’s a survival mechanism. Knives, bullets, fists, they come out of the woodwork. Everyone wants your name on a headstone, so on your toes, boys! It’s a cunt of a life! But there are rewards. You don’t want to be a regular Joe. You just have to look out a window and see. I’ll tell you what’s out there: a bunch of slaves in love with the freedom they think they have. But they’ve chained themselves to some job or another, or to a squad of rug rats. They’re prisoners too, only they don’t know it. And that’s what the criminal world is turning into. A routine! A grind! The whole ball of wax lacks spark! Imagination! Chaos! It’s sealed from the inside. It’s chained to the wheel. Nothing unexpected happens. That’s why, if you follow my advice, you’ll have an edge. They won’t be prepared for it. The smartest thing you can do is surprise them- that’s the ticket. Smarts, brawn, courage, bloodlust, greed: all fine, necessary characteristics. But imagination! That’s what the criminal world lacks! Just look at the staples: larceny, theft, breaking and entering, gambling, drugs, prostitution. You call that innovation?”