Men in Prison by Victor Serge

Author:Victor Serge [Serge, Victor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PM Press
Published: 2014-11-05T06:00:00+00:00

6 “A crazy plank, escorted by black sea-horses …” The line is from Rimbaud’s “Bateau ivre” (Drunken Boat) from which Serge also took his chapter heading. (Tr.)

FOURTEEN

Arrival

WE PASSED THROUGH A SERIES OF THRESHOLDS IN THE NIGHT. THE BUILDings were huge squares against the glittering, deep-blue sky above. A wardroom; some sleepy-eyed s.o.b.’s who looked at us with insolent nonchalance; a man in a silver-braided képi—bovine, crimson-faced, massive; képi over one ear, breath winy, a ring of keys jangling against his pants leg.

“This way!”

Unchained at last, amazed at the freedom of our limbs, the sudden lightness of our bodies (droplets of joy mounting in our veins; how good to be able to move your wrists freely!), we are led through a poorly lit alleyway under the dazzling sky. We penetrate another ring of walls, then a gloomy hall where the air is bad. There we lose each other, surrounded by a single man armed with keys who comes and goes, stands us in front of numbered doors like wax figures, terrified, under the glimmer of his dark lantern shining on our faces …

“Enter!”

I enter. Where? I don’t know. Into absolute darkness. It might be into the void.

The door closes behind me; the guard’s steps fade away below, outside on the pavement. Total darkness. Standing still, I try to make out my hands, held up a few inches from my eyes. Impossible. I stretch them out, my fingers moving cautiously like tentacles. I move forward slowly, feeling my way through the shadows (and still that feeling of joy flowing through my veins in tiny droplets, vivid and warm; the joy of moving without hindrance). The absurd memory of that dazzlement sticks in my mind: It was beautiful, after all, that starry sky! Ah! here’s the wall; follow it. It is clean, without any inscriptions. Four walls, by Jove, those well-known four walls … They are practically old friends, those four murderous walls. Nothing else. I was hoping for a bench.

Let’s get comfortable. I make a pillow out of my rolled-up vest and my crushed hat artfully draped over my shoes (what use to me now are these castoffs from the civilized world?). Stretched out full-length on the waxed floor, I dream.

I have no idea of what will come. The lawyers whom I questioned about my sentence exasperated me to death with their evasive answers. They don’t give a damn, by God! Once a client ends up here, he is no longer a client.

I saw the dawn rise: A dull gray filled the cell imperceptibly, banishing the darkness; then a pale glow. Slowly, this became light. No idea of the time. Having dressed, I waited for a long while, pacing along the walls as if from habit. Sixteen paces. Seventeen if you turn around without hurrying. Why hurry?

The day began well. The three of us—the passengers of the drunken boxcar—found ourselves together again in a magnificent triangular courtyard …

“Terrific,” said Horel.

And the little homicidal peasant smiled a broad, broad smile.

There were at least

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