B The Cell

My cell is about ten metres long by four metres wide. I have only
established this by pacing slowly around it, feeling my way along the
damp, crumbling walls, as the darkness prevents me from seeing my world
clearly. The only light in here comes
from the bottom of the cell door, where there is a narrow gap between
the door and the uneven floor. I use this light like a miser.

My life now consists of being alone in this cell, with the sole
exception of the times when the guards enter to feed and beat me.

I think I have been here for about three months now but it is difficult
to be exactly
sure.

I am cold, hungry and ill.

Still I am alive.

The silence flows around me like a black shroud.

I am sometimes guilty of chattering gibberish like a monkey.

I am trying to use my memory as if it were paper. I imagine a sheet of
paper and attempt to visualise words appearing on it. I think I am
improving but it is uphill work. I write on the memory paper and then
recite the words over and over, trying to learn them by heart. I have
written some poems and I am working on a novel.

I am also working on a memory piano. I try to imagine the keys being
played and the sounds and pitches the piano would make. It is a very
expensive one - a Steinway concert grand.

I am sometimes guilty of despair.

I wonder if I will die in this place.

Silence.

Darkness.

The worst time is night, or at least I assume it is night because my
beautiful light gradually fades away until it is gone and my world is
finally completely dark. I sometimes panic at this time and have
several times rushed madly around the cell banging against the walls
and shouting, before collapsing, weeping on the floor.

Now before the light goes completely I close my eyes and pretend it is
still there.

I have begun attending imaginary dinners, sometimes recreating
experiences from the
past and sometimes inventing them. I pass the time slowly by examining
in minute detail my memory of picking up a spoon and dipping it
carefully into a bowl of steaming soup, of raising a glass of red wine
up to the light to assess its colour, of cutting a piece of meat with
knife and fork and slowly raising it to my mouth. I also usually invite
some interesting company to join me at these affairs. Helena is always
there, and little Joseph my son. Sometimes I invite famous people as
well. The other
night we passed a very pleasant evening with Charles II, Madonna, and
Charlie
Parker, among others, although Im sorry to say Madonna flirted
outrageously with the King. I never return to the cell after these
congenial evenings for that would be too hard for me to bear. Instead I
usually go to my favourite place, my special house on the clifftops
above the deep blue of the Aegean, where Helena and Joseph wait forme.
Helena and I sleep there in our large, comfortable bed like spoons. I
can always remember the scent of basil which I associate strongly with
the house and garden.

Sadly I always wake up here in the cell.

Cell, cell, cell, bell, bell, bell, well, well, well.

Tell me a story about a beautiful girl called Arabia who falls in love
with her horse Diamond and she lives in a castle and I will wear out my
shoes by always scuffing them along on the dirty floor and I must not
forget to post my letters or I will be in trouble what shall we play,
where shall we stay I forgot my name I will call myself Robin and I
will live in Greenland in a house made of wood or should I say she once
had me.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVVVVVVVVVVVAAAAAAAAAAAABBBBBBBAAAANNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAA
????

Aleph - JAAAAAAAATTTATTTTTTTTTIIIIIITTTTAHHHHHAAAAKKKKKAAA ???

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
!!!

Silence.

Darkness.

What time is it ?

Time for exercise.

I am very strict with myself about exercise and I an building my
strength. My record is seventy-eight pushups and I'm shooting for one
hundred. I will become so strong that I will burst out of the cell like
a madman and crush the guards skulls together like eggshells. I will
escape, I will escape I will escape.

I will escape.

After my exercises I take a well earned rest on the floor.

Now what next ?

I will continue my discussions with Descartes and Spinoza. They both
seem to enjoy our talks although I recognise my limitations in
philosophy I am able to follow most of what they talk about. I invited
Leibniz as well but he was extremely rude in his reply and would not be
welcome at any of my occasions. I get quite angry just thinking about
it. Descartes said he is like that, rude to everybody and I shouldn't
really take it personally but Im sorry I do take it personally and I
don't see why people cant at least be civil, even if they don't care to
accept an invitation which is
offered in a spirit of friendship and good faith.

They are not coming today. I cant see them.

I will go to the beach instead. I always love the beach, the warm
sunshine, the blue of the sea and sky, the feel of the warm sand
between my toes. I will buy an ice cream cornet for myself and Joseph
and we will eat them sitting on the sand, gazing out to sea. I can see
a big ship out to sea, I wonder where it is going. Joseph and I play a
game where we make up a story about the ship, where it is going, and
the marvellous
cargo which is onboard. He laughs easily, a child's easy laughter,
everything is so funny and silly. Later we will have another swim but
for now we will just laze around on the sand making up silly
stories.

I can hear footsteps coming in the corridor outside. Someone is
coming, a
guard probably. I tense with fear and wait as I crouch by the wall .
The footsteps clump on ponderously I think he is passing by I don't
think
this is to do with me, probably just on some errand. I subside with
relief, just a guard doing the rounds, or something.

I am a man.

I am a father and a husband.

I am a good man.

I will survive.

I will get out of the cell.

I will endure everything and I will be reunited with my family and
exonerated.

Darkness

Silence

Shitsmell.

Before my arrest I was a teacher and a writer. It was my writing that
got me into

trouble, my.'treasonous' writing. Bloody sick morons. They can hardly
read, never mind determine the political content of a novel or an
article in the paper.

I was a liberal and I wanted peace. I fought for peace. Tell me again
how this is treason. I love my country.

I begin to fear my mind is going. They must let me out soon. These
conditions are inhuman one would not even keep a dog in this way. I
live like a rat. I am becoming a rat. My skin is turning into brown fur
and my nose elongating into a whiskery snout.

Darkness.

Silence.