Help, I Am Being Held Prisoner

30

THE NEXT DAY WAS CHRISTMAS. I started it feeling such gloom and self-abasement that I just about had to reach up to tie my shoelaces.

And things did not get better. Christmas is a gloomy day in a prison anyway, so apart from having nothing to do and apart from feeling sorry for myself whenever I could pause in disliking myself, everywhere I turned I saw faces looking just as drawn and morose as I felt. Wonderful.

Then Bob Dombey came around in the afternoon with two Christmas presents for me. His wife Alice, the reader, whom I had not as yet met, was making Christmas dinner for the boys, which of course I wasn’t going to be able to attend, so Bob had smuggled in a piece of fruitcake for me. That made me feel both better and worse. Bob also had a present for me from Alice, and it turned out to be a copy of Mailer’s Armies of the Night. Holy Christ, the woman really was a reader I

So I spent a part of the day immersed in a writing style that combines the tortuousness of Henry James with the colloquialness of Rocky Graziano, until Max showed up with a message and a present, both from Marian. The message was that she’d be waiting for me when I got out of prison, which I suppose was a pretty funny line under the circumstances, and the present was another book; The Prison Diary of Ho Chi Minh. That was very funny, under the circumstances, and more fun to read than the other. But too short.

And the best was yet to come. As I was on my way to Christmas dinner in the mess hall-I’d already eaten Alice Dombey’s fruitcake, and was thus grimly aware of what I was missing-Phil joined me, walked along with me, and said, “You’re not getting off restriction until January fifth.”

“I know.”

“Listen, Harry, l hope you don’t mind, but we’re going ahead without you.”

All I could think about was Alice Dombey’s dinner. “Well, sure,” I said.

“We’ll still give you your piece,” he said, “just as though you were there.”

They were going to smuggle a whole dinner in? “You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“Don’t turn down a good deal, pal,” Phil said. “Nobody can afford to say no to maybe fifty, sixty grand.”

Fifty, sixty . . . The robbery! “Oh!” I said. “The bank!”

“Jesus Christ, keep your voice down!”

I ducked my head, and looked around the yard. “I thought you meant dinner,” I said.

“You what?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll hit the bank without me, huh?” “Next Thursday. Too bad you can’t be with us, but we don’t want to hold it off any more.”

“Gee, that’s tough,” I said. “I really wanted to be there.” “I know you did. But you’ll get your piece just the same, so don’t worry about it.”

“That’s really nice of you guys, Phil,” I said.

“Ah, what the hell. See you around, Harry.”

“See you around, Phil.”

Christmas dinner in the mess hall stunk. I smiled through every mouthful.