Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Mrs Harris took the small leather case, opened it and gasped. It was the pearl necklace with the gold beads and fine, detailed work, the pearl drop earrings to match.

‘I’m going to ask you to do something for me, and you must promise me to do it — it’s very important. I want you to bury the necklace with me, with me and Freedom. They told me I should have put it in his grave when he died, but what with one thing and another I just never got around to doing it. But it’s very important, it’s his talisman and it must lie with him. Promise me?’

Mrs Harris put the leather case on the bed and grabbed Evelyne’s hand. ‘I’ll not listen to that talk. You’re coming out, of course you are, and I’ll have you at my place while you get your strength back. Now, no more of this.’

Evelyne grasped the big, raw hand tightly, lifted it to her lips and kissed it. Then, as if even that had taken all her strength from her, she let her hands fall back on to the covers. ‘No more games, you know as well as I do that I’m going. Now don’t you start the tears, just listen to me. The bell will be ringing any time and there are a few things I want to say to you.’

Mrs Harris was sweating, her mouth dry, and she was trying so hard to stop herself crying that she wanted to go to the lavatory.

‘I want to be buried with him, you’ll make sure of that, won’t you? It’s all arranged and it’s all paid for. Mr Georgeson’s the man you ask for at the funeral parlour, he has everything ready for me. I don’t want flowers or anything like that, the money would be wasted. Once, a long time ago, when we were parted, he said that while I’d been away from him he’d been dying, little by little... Well, I know now what he meant. Since he’s been gone I’ve not had the will, somehow — not the strength I used to have — and I’m not going to fight any more. You see, I miss him so much, I just can’t go on without him. I’m not frightened, I’m going to be with him, where I should be. We weren’t like ordinary folk, we were closer, we were blood to blood.’

The bell rang, and Evelyne smiled so peacefully that Mrs Harris felt her heart break. She stood up and had to hold on to the bed to get her balance. ‘I’ll be here next Wednesday, lovey, and I’ll take care of your necklace, now I’d best be going.’

Evelyne looked like a young girl in her white nightgown, her long hair braided in plaits on each side of her head, her strange, dark, greenish eyes so large in her pinched face that it added to the childlike effect. Mrs Harris picked up her shopping bag to leave. She couldn’t even bring herself to kiss Evelyne, she knew she would break down and sob, so she bustled around and chatted about the bus she would more than likely miss.

‘Go on with you, and give my love to Dora. Don’t look back, don’t look back, it’s unlucky. Don’t look back...’ But when Mrs Harris reached the double doors leading into the corridor, she couldn’t help but turn. Evelyne had raised her skinny arms above her head, both hands waving goodbye, and she was smiling. She looked so happy, so at peace with the world. The tears rolled down Mrs Harris’ fat cheeks as she mouthed, ‘Goodbye, Evie, goodbye my love.’

‘Stubbs 4566, to the Governor’s office.’

Alex brushed his hair and Tom instructed him to ask for permission to wear his own togs, he didn’t want his ma seeing him in prison overalls at the hospital.

The Governor was sitting at his desk as Alex was led in by the screws.

‘Prisoner 4566, Stubbs, Alex, sir.’

The Governor looked up, removed his glasses and indicated a chair beside his desk. He waited until Alex had sat down before he carefully laid his glasses on the desk and gave a warning look to the two warders. He coughed, hesitating before he spoke. ‘I’m afraid, Stubbs, I have some very sad news for you — your mother died last night.’

Alex never moved a muscle, but he stared at the Governor as if he hadn’t heard.

‘I am deeply sorry, even more so as it took so long for permission to be granted for you to visit her, but these things cannot be helped. It is most unfortunate.’

Alex sprang over the desk and had the Governor by the throat before either of the guards could stop him. He was like a man possessed. The Governor screamed as he felt the air being squeezed out of his throat, and his head shook as though he were a rag doll. The guards couldn’t get Alex away, he was pressing his thumbs harder and harder into the Governor’s scrawny neck. One guard pulled at his hair and another kicked him in the groin as the alarm bell sounded.

Three more guards and half an hour later, Alex was handcuffed. With blood streaming from his head where he had been beaten he was led into solitary confinement. The Governor was rushed to hospital but was released the following day, and the whole prison was agog at what had happened. The number of guards Alex had taken out tripled and the stories so embroidered that his name was on everyone’s lips. He had eighteen stitches in his head, another twenty in his face and cheek, and his already broken nose was cracked again.

Alex smashed his fists against the wall until they bled. His bread and water were pushed through a hatch in the cell door, and even that he hurled at the walls. The Governor, when informed, remarked that if he carried on that way he would remain in solitary until he was controllable. ‘If he behaves like a wild animal, we shall treat him as one, and until he quietens down, leave him.’

In the fifth week a doctor was called in. He treated Alex’s hands, which were badly infected, and made notes that the man was deeply distressed. He prescribed sedatives and said the prisoner must be properly fed, force-fed if necessary. He requested an immediate visit from a psychiatrist.

The food was refused, and Dr Gordon was called in again. No psychiatrist had been to see Alex, who just sat very quietly in his own excrement, staring vacantly at the wall in a drugged, semi-catatonic state.

They should have been suspicious when Alex meekly held out his hands to be rebandaged. As Dr Gordon cut through the plasters, Alex punched him in the face and got hold of the scissors, held them at the doctor’s neck and demanded to be released. If he wasn’t, he would slit his throat. The warders stood by helplessly and Dr Gordon ordered them out of the cell, then still with his arm twisted behind his back but with no sign of fear he talked quietly to Alex. He asked Alex what he wanted. He would do his utmost to help, but what Alex was doing was an act of madness.

Alex wanted to go to his mother’s funeral. Time appeared to have stood still for him, he didn’t realize how long he had been in solitary confinement.

‘Alex, you know that’s not possible, now lad, you know that, why don’t you release me and I’ll do what I can? I give you my word, but what you are doing now will only add to your troubles.’

Alex stood at the open door of his cell, the screws in a row in front of him. He knew it was pointless, and he suddenly dropped his arm and threw the scissors aside. He turned to walk back into the cell and the screws moved, surrounding him as the doctor begged them to stay clear, even tried to physically pull them away from the prisoner. They threw Alex against his bed and out came the truncheons.

In a fury Dr Gordon went to the Governor, demanding that Alex be removed from solitary and treated.

‘There’s a war on, men are dying every minute of the day, and you want everything here to revolve around a prisoner who has blatantly and consistently fought the rules of this establishment? He’s only got himself to blame. If I allowed every man to behave as he has and get away with it, my position would be intolerable. We are overcrowded, understaffed — the man attacked me, for Chrissake, what do you expect me to do with him?’