THE PATH

New Zealand Listener, Volume 15, Issue 381, 11 October 1946, Page 29

THE PATH

i| Written for "The Listener" i}

by

R.

HUTCHINS

HE first few days he’d been getting used to the routine. And now he had learned it. He knew exactly what would happen, Each. day, it was.the same from the time the: first bell woke him in the mofnirig, or when he found himself "awake in the cold’ Blue shadows of gafly dawn. Lying ‘on the stiff canvas sheet, feeling the hard small sticks of straw pressing into the mould of his body, on the hammock, he could see the whitewashed ceiling and upper walls becoming faintly visible around the.deep-, set ahd barred cell window. -He. conld. image exactly the things, he.would «do in the: coming. day-the--getting ° dressed in the white moleskin ».tfousérs,. the drab#itchy grey flannel’ shirt, and the, tweed’ coat, grey-green with ages. om. Then the unlocking’ hell thé heavy dull red iron door as ‘the tint bowls of porridge .and fried thash , were "passed in. The first meal eatén, the cold whitewashed: cube. Phen ‘the. olding,.. of the sulphury blapkets for the morning inspection: And-et-Jast: the release fromthe cell into then noisy wings» and cone ‘of thes ‘for the ~day’s © wor ‘wenty-seven cells: to clean, Beirig a ‘Hoiisemaid * 3. twenty-seven crimes were being. éd-no twenty--eight! setsof tin bowls to collect, twenty-seven knives and for and enathél"mtgs and senamel plates to wash in a bucket of hi t ‘water with’ a little ‘eloth wrapped on the. "end of ja stick, " Twerity*seven, tables to wipe. , Twenty-seven. dusty stone ier: to sweep, » and* any ne aig coe Butts to pick ° up.» Evefi ise ga a clean | and wipes; "The. od He» ge exactly whatthe day’s ‘work, was." . 5 ‘ Pia: 27 Jy + Lae) : Bur. to-day, first | week-end in prison. ‘The routine was different. Less work to do-they’ clean their own stinking damp’ pans to-day. The cleaners got out into the big yard as soon as the cells were swept and the dishes washed. The big yard! That was the life! Room to walk, plenty of stinny © places to sit and talk, plenty of sky and ‘clouds; blue and white’ over the gréy © stories and slate roof, To-day the big yard! He had seen it through the gates in the-horth wing as he~carriéd the ' buéket of hot water along that way for his' work in the north ‘extension. And now he was lined up with the others in a restless group as the screw checked them off before opening that big barfed gate iftto the ‘yard. Tony, the cleaner working on the row of cells above his, was’ beside him. He had done a month’ already ‘and’ knew his way’ atound. "You stick ‘with me and you'll get that fig al-right-this horse will come in sure." | Tony liked a ‘bet, ¢vén if it was with someone élse’s tobacco-ration. He‘d sit all Saturday under the loudspeaker that filled the big yard with music and raceresults from the tocal radio station. Tobacco was. the currency. You’ could use it to get extra: butter, cheese, syrup, » or milk, Or you could use it on; the’ horses.

"O.K.,. Tony," he said, "Only if you do do it, save me a coupla rolls from yours, will’ ya? A week without a drag is a long time. Will ya?" "Sure." Tony was always sure like that. Specially when it came to horses and pakapoo banks.

The screw grunted the moving ordef. The hob-nail boots scraped and clashed along the stone floor. The big gates swung, open and they passed through of to%the’ steps. And down into the big yard. *. ail \ ae x ¥ * [t was square in shape, between the North and East wings, with high wallis,on the two outer sides. Most of. it Was an octagonal asphalt. area, from which paths led out like spokes into the gtass corners. Seats, just like park benches, were spaced evenly around the hard octagon. | A -water tap, growing. abruptly out of the asphalt, dripped on to a wet patch near the centre. At the far corner where the outer walls joined, the dull shine of the guard’s rifle marked his position in thé shadowy stone cage that overlooked the’yard. About ten feet in and running parallel to both the outside’ walls was the high barbed wire erected after the "Kelly gang" successfully blew a hole with smuggled gelignit® through the eastern wall. The new stones and concréte-work marked the place in the monotonous pattern of the wall. It was far too early for the race results. So Tony pointed out some of the more interesting characters to him. "See that young bloke over on the steps rolling a smoke? Well, he’s a lifer -did a woman in down south-and that ohne next to him? He’s doing four years for that ‘Post-office blow-out last year. You remember that guy who got his for

going the Nazi way? There he is walking over there-he always walks fast like that. Jeez, I'd hate to be him, eh?" * % * HE lifers, the bash-artists, the canopeners, the sexos, the con-men; the burglars, the drunken drivers, deserting seamen, and petty thieves-the whole lot. All around him in the big yardall looking much alike in the white trousers and gtey coats. All this side of thé law, some bad, some better, all in the big walking, talking, sitting and smoking. Lodking at the lifers you couldn’t tell them apart frorti the others unless you were told. Yet murder was a helluva lot different from ratting a shop in Newmarket. But it didn’t show in their faces. No, they all looked just like prisoners-men prisoners. But how did

they feel about those years to come? Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five — Jesus! Twenty-five years doing the same thing day after day-walking the same short walks from that same small cell, seeing the same stones, the same gate, the same steel bars, hearing that ceaseless jangling of keys-all the same thing day after day after day! (continued on" next page)

SHORT STORY (continued from previous page) And thinking all the time of the outside. The outside would be there to keep you restless — it would change, things would happen on the outside you wouldn’t know about... Thousands of things would happen on the outside you wouldn’t know about. Shut away from the outside for twenty-five years, from the taunting changing outside. That’s the worst. If only in here would change too-if only inside would change, that would be different, that would be like living. That’d be like the outside. But maybe it does change? Yeah, maybe it does at that. Jesus, I’d hope so-if I was a lifer I'd hope like hell it would. "You think they all look alike, eh?" said Tony. "Well, you'll léarn, boy, Some are good jokers, see-and some deserve to be here. But you steer clear for a while-just nose around so they get to know you. And you'll learn ’em all. Yep, you'll find out who’s a -bastard and who isn’t soon enough." __ % % .7 ONY was busy with the gang under the loudspeaker. The pattern of the morning’s activities was becoming more evident. Groups developed. Groups for talking mostly. Some sat and talked about their crimes, their future crimes. Some about their plans after they got out. Some talked about others. But

mostly they were in groups. A new man doesn’t have a group. .So he walked around, getting used to the shape of the yard, noticing little things like the shape of the iron fittings on the seats, the cracks in the asphalt paths, the way the strong brown volcanic earth showed through where the grass had been worn down by sitting and walking. He discovered that by standing back against the East Wing steps you could see over the North wall the roofs. of near-by houses and the moving tops of trams on the hill not far away. This was good. You could see the outside and the movement. There were people in those trams going home to lunch, or maybe to the movies, or to football or to the races, or to see their girl-friends. It was good to know there were people there doing the things he had done. He had been one of those people, just like them until -well, until-God damn it! What's the use! He wasn’t out there now-no longer a people out there-no, you dope, you’re here, in the big yard, with these. others. You’re doing time, like everyone else in here. You’re going to stay here for a while. This will be your home, your football ground, your race-track, your movietheatre and your wife’s bedroom all in one. So walk, and get used to it. % * * E wandered again aimlessly around the yard among the groups until he wanted to sit down, or lie down on the

grass and just let the sun warm through his back. Being alone and knowing he must find his own.small zone of privacy to sprawl in, he walked over to the outer corner, under the dull shining rifle in the guard cage. No groups here. It was sunny. It was clear. The grass was good, not worn like the other corners. So relax, you dope-this is just jail and worrying isn’t going to get you out of it. He took off his coat. The sun warmed through the shirt. Shaking the folds out of his coat, he threw it on the grass to lie on it. As he stooped he saw that one of the sleeves had fallen across a piece of grey stone. Pulling away the coarse cloth he saw that the stone was set in the ground and was partly covered by brown volcanic dust and grass-roots. Beside it was another, then another and another — all square grey stones about eighteen inches square set in the grass in a line, in a neat stone path, leading from where he knelt, across. the grass, under the barbed wire and on right up to the outer wall. He stood up and ‘looked. What a crazy idea-a path leading back into that thick wall. One, two, three-there were ten stones leading to that big grey wall. Ten grey stones in that crazy path. What a crazy ideaand in a jail too, what a hell of a crazy idea! But what — Jesus!. They were headstones! Ten grey headstones, each with a single capital letter carved into their ugly faces.

He was looking down a path that had been built up by the years. The hideous precision of the stones-had started from the big wall and stretched out to plunge into his sickened guts. Sweeping the coat from the grass he hurried blindly back to the group under the loudspeaker, trembling and cursing out the fear and pity of those square grey stones. Tony said, "Still want to win that fig?" He said it again: Then he added, "You got the gripes? Didn’t I tell you that porridge last night was doped. with the salts? Didn’t I? Sure?"