Help, I Am Being Held Prisoner

48

THE WARDEN WAS behind his desk, and Father Flynn was once again standing to one side. Stoon remained back by the door in his usual position, where he could comment on the proceedings by shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Warden Gadmore said, “Kiint, I’m sorry to have to say that absolutely nothing has happened since I took you off privileges.”

“I know that, Warden,” I said.

“This business with the communion hosts,” he said, “goes beyond a prank or a practical joke, you know. To a Roman Catholic, it’s a very serious thing.”

“I know that, sir,” I said. “Some of Father Flynn’s boys have been trying to impress that on me.”

“I hope you listened to them,” Father Flynn said.

“It’s hard to listen to fists,” I said.

The warden raised a hand. “Let’s not get off the subject,” he said. “The point is, this business of mocking religion is very serious, and Father Flynn wanted more action than a simple loss of privileges.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Father Flynn,” the warden said, “wrote to his Monsignor, who telephoned the Governor, who telephoned me.” “Yes, sir,” I said. For the first time I was getting hints that maybe Warden Gadmore didn’t like Father Flynn all that much, but his personal feelings toward the priest weren’t going to do me any good at all. It had gone beyond that, I could see it already.

“I wanted you to know,” the warden said, “that indictments are being drawn up against you. You’ll be appearing before the Monequois County grand jury sometime in the next month. The Governor’s feeling is that a trial will produce a definitive truth and end all this uncertainty.” “Yes, sir,” I said.

“Unfortunately,” the warden said, “that means the whole truth will have to come out, Kiint.”

“Sir?”

“Your former activities against your fellow inmates,” he said.

My practical jokes. “They’ll find out?”

“There’s no way to avoid it.”

Father Flynn, eyes flashing, said, “Find out what?” “All in good time, Father,” the warden said, and to me he said, “I wanted you to be forewarned. If you can possibly mend your fences, I think you should get to it.” “Yes, sir,” I said. In despair, I looked past him, out at the garden, now a flashing panorama of spring colors. If only Andy could see that, I thought, trying to distract myself from contemplation of the mess I was in. All those flowers out there, sheets and trails and-

“Hee hee,” I said.

They both looked at me. Father Flynn frowned very heavily. Warden Gadmore said, “What was that, Kiint?” “Hee hee,” I said again. “Ho ho. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha-”

“What’s the matter with you, man?” The warden was rising out of his chair, Father Flynn was staring at me in astonished disapproval, and Stoon was moving up from the rear. “Have you gone-”

“Look!” I shouted. “Look out there!” And I pointed at the garden. “Butler did it!” I yelled. “Butler did it!”

Oh, that garden! Oh, my, oh, my, that garden!

HELP spelled out in lavender-blue sweet William amid banks of white pansies.

I in a line of white English daisies, and AM in pink azaleas, both surrounded by a swath of golden alyssum. BEING in yellow tulips set off by white rock-cress. HELD in orange cowslip on a sheet of mountain pinks. PRISONER in a riot of blue pansies, Virginia bluebells, blue iris and blue forget-me-nots on a mat of white dusty- miller.

“He knew!” I yelled. “When you threw Peter Corse out he knew he was next, he told me so himself!”

They were all over by the window, staring out-even Stoon. I shouted at their uncomprehending backs, too relieved to do anything but go on yelling. “It was the style of the man!” I yelled. “The irony, the reversal! He wanted help because he wasn't being held prisoner, and he knew there wasn’t any help, and this is what he did!”

They turned slowly to face me. The warden looked stunned. “It wasn’t you, Kiint,” he said. “It wasn’t you all along.”