Endgame by James Frey

Author:James Frey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-02-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

Boone

From the outside, Taganka Prison is actually beautiful, at least what I can see of it in the predawn darkness through falling snow. It’s an imposing brick structure, with high walls, towers, and barred windows. I know terrible things happen inside, but as Yuri and I approach one of the side doors, I feel as if we’re entering a castle.

“Talk little,” Yuri reminds me as he inserts a key into the lock of the door. “Your accent is not so good. Perhaps you act simple, yes?”

I nod. At the moment, all I want is to get inside. I’m supposed to be a prisoner, and Yuri has dressed me as one. I’m wearing pants and a thin shirt underneath a tattered old coat. No socks, and a pair of old shoes with holes in the soles. When the wind blows, I feel as if I’m back inside the flooded chamber underneath the New Museum.

“I will have to be rough with you,” Yuri says. “I apologize. It is necessary.”

With the door open, he pushes me through, yelling at me in Russian to hurry up. I know this is for the benefit of anyone who might be inside, so I play my part, stumbling in and trying to look frightened. But the only one there is an old woman who is washing the floor with a mop, and she doesn’t even look at us as Yuri takes me by the arm and leads me down a hallway.

As he predicted, the prison is mostly quiet. But there is some activity. As we move deeper into the building, a handful of guards appears. They glance at me and say a few words to Yuri. Nobody asks who I am or why I am there. I imagine they’ve seen so many people come in that they no longer care. Prisoners are just more bodies to manage, not people with names or stories of their own.

I see some of these prisoners as I’m marched up a flight of stairs and down more hallways. They are crowded into cells. Most are asleep, but some are up. They gaze out with little more interest than the guards showed, maybe sizing me up, maybe looking to see if I’m someone they know. None speak to me or to Yuri, and I avoid their eyes, trying to be as unmemorable as possible. The smell is the worst, a combination of harsh soap and unwashed bodies. I suspect the soap is used more for the floors than for the prisoners, as I see more women like the one downstairs, all of them tiny and hunched over, pushing puddles of dirty water around as if it will help.

Eventually, we stop in front of a cell and Yuri takes out his ring of keys. A door is unlocked and slid open. Yuri whispers in my ear, “Do it soon, before the shift change.” Then I’m inside, and the door is slammed shut.

The cell is small, no more than eight feet across. Bunk beds are pushed against one wall, and there is a small window high on the far wall.

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