African 1 - The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay

Author:Bryce Courtenay [Courtenay, Bryce]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
ISBN: 9780143004554
Published: 2006-06-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

WE were reasonably safe for the month after the piano stool incident as the inspector of prisons was due to arrive and Lieutenant Borman had the job of seeing that the place was spic and span, with fresh whitewash everywhere you looked. Much to Doc’s annoyance, even the rocks bordering his cactus garden were whitewashed. He was prepared to accept whisky bottles outlining his paths, but that was because he didn’t want to disrupt the stones any more than he felt it was necessary. He hadn’t bordered his prison garden with stones, it had simply been done as a matter of course. In a prison everything has to be contained, confined to its allotted space. Lining the stones up nose to nose was bad enough, but painting them white was an insult against nature. Fresh gravel was brought into the inner courtyard together with several truck loads of finely crushed iron pyrites and mica with which a letter “B” was formed in the center. The dark sheen from the mica and pyrites mix made the large letter shimmer against the almost white gravel. The “B,” of course, stood for “Barberton.” This was the lieutenant’s idea, and he spent hours supervising the old lags sweeping and raking until it was perfect. I must hand it to him, it did look very nice. Gert said the kommandant was particularly pleased and Borman was up to his eyeballs in his good books.

The prison corridors smelled of polish and the cells of Jeyes Fluid disinfectant. Window ledges were painted prison blue and everywhere you went smelled of new paint. But it was done early so the smell would have gone by the time the brigadier arrived.

New canvas uniforms were issued to the old lags, to be worn only during the visit. This was because they were doing all the painting and cleaning and their old patched and worn uniforms had paint on them and would give the game away. The kommandant wanted the brigadier to think that everything was normal and that he could have popped in any old time and found things just the same. After the inspection, the lags handed back their new uniforms and wore their old patched and worn clothes until they finally fell apart.

Captain Smit had arranged the usual boxing exhibition and for weeks the kommandant spent most of his mornings, as he did before every inspection, practicing his pistol shooting on the pistol range behind the warders’ mess.

The rapidly approaching VE day was a matter of concern to the kommandant. If it arrived before the brigadier’s visit, the truly cultural part of the program would disappear with the release of Doc. He had tried to elicit a promise from Doc that should this occur, he would return to the prison and play for the inspector. But Doc had not spent over four years in prison for nothing, and he had learned the rules of prison life where everything is in return for something else. The Goldfields News

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