Help, I Am Being Held Prisoner

38

THAT SATURDAY Andy Butler left. The day before was a very emotional experience for everybody, and especially for Andy. The cooks prepared a special meal for him, and the mess hall that evening turned into a kind of testimonial dinner on Andy’s behalf. It was a mark of his universal esteem that all eight of the tunnel insiders stayed in prison to attend that dinner.

Although silence-or at the most a kind of semi-whispered conversation-was the order of the day in the mess hall under normal circumstances, the rules were abrogated this time sufficiently to allow particular inmates to stand up and make acclamatory speeches, which tended to make up in enthusiasm what they may have generally lacked in polish.

Then I abruptly found that I too was making a speech. I had been sitting near Andy, watching him smile, watching him blink back tears and swallow down the emotions welling up within him, and at a moment when a speaker had finished and the applause had died down without anyone immediately leaping to his feet damned if I didn’t leap to my feet. “Gentlemen,” I said, and as the faces turned eagerly, happily toward me, I stopped dead.

What the hell was I doing? I’d been ready to Confess All. I’d been just about to tell them the entire truth about my past as a practical joker, and how Andy’s good example, his ability to get along with all the people around him, had cured me. Good Christ, talk about sealing your own death warrant!

They were all watching me, hundreds of faces staring up, waiting. I had to say something, I realized that, but it wasn’t going to be the thing that had driven me to my feet, not by a long shot. “Uhh,” I said, “I don’t really have much to say.” Well, that’s beautiful, I thought. “It’s just, uh, that Andy and I have been cellmates for almost three months now, and I want to say he’s the finest man I ever lived with.”

Christ. The whole place cracked up; gales of laughter bounced off the gray walls. I stood there for a few seconds, but they weren’t going to quiet down so I could say anything more, and in any event I couldn’t think of anything rational that I could add. So finally I just sat down again, and after a while somebody else got up, and then somebody else, and gradually I began to feel that my contribution was maybe going to be forgotten after all.

At the end Andy got to his feet. He thanked everybody, he told us he was choked up with emotion, and he said he’d never forget us. “I can only hope the people on the outside are as good as you fellows,” he said.

He glanced my way just once, and I saw a twinkle in his eye, and I thought, Don’t do it, Andy, don’t make a joke, I don’t think I could stand it. I winced, bracing myself for it, but the moment passed, he said nothing, and at the finish he was given a standing ovation and a round of “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow.”

The next day, just before he left, he told me he’d thought of one or two comments he might make at that juncture, but that when he’d seen my stricken expression he’d decided to let it ride. “A joke wouldn’t have been worth it,” he said. “Not the way you were going to feel. And I didn’t want them razzing you for a couple months later on.”

Another lesson for me. “Thanks, Andy,” I said. “You really are a prince.”

He laughed, and we shook hands. “Don’t let problems worry you, Harry,” he said. “They’ll work themselves out pretty soon. Just hang in there.”

Hang in there. Two days from now, I thought, I’m going to rob a bank. “I’ll do my best, Andy,” I said. “Good luck.” “Good luck to you, too, Harry.”