out,” the man said, chuckling.
“He kicks you?”
“Hell yes, he kicks me. Dean’s old school. But he won’t kick a man unless that man’s disappointed him.”
“Fair enough,” Feldman said.
“A guy has to bug out once in a while, though,” the man said. “Dean knows that.”
“It’s human nature,” Feldman said.
“I don’t care how hard a worker a man is,” the man said. “There’s more to life than scrubbing floors.” He stood up. “Let me go get my rinse water.” He disappeared and Feldman lay down again on the cot.
“Our detail picks up the supplies for all the other crews.” Feldman looked around. The man was rubbing the bars of Feldman’s cell with a cloth.
“It’s treated,” he explained, showing Feldman a dark purple-stained cloth. “It’s yellow in the tube. Ferr-all . It turns that color on the cloth. It’s a chemical. I seen Dean use it on his pistol barrel once. He let me borrow it to try on the bars.”
Feldman winced at the odor.
“It stands to reason. They got the same base. It works too. Look at that. He showed Feldman the bar he had been working on. The dark iron bristled with light. “I wanted you to see that because you work in the canteen.”
“You know that?”
“Sure. You’re Feldman. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Lurie.”
He pushed his hand and wrist through the bar, and Feldman shook it. “It’s my forearms,” Lurie said apologetically, “they’re too big. I can’t get them all the way through. It’s from scrubbing.”
Feldman released Lurie’s big, clean hand.
“Excuse the stink,” the man said. “It’s this stuff, the Ferr-all. I don’t mind it, but I guess you’ve got to get used to it.” Feldman smelled his hand. It smelled ferrous, dense, like the odor of pistol barrels. The bars had such an odor too, of pistol barrels, spears, chains, the blades of knives.
“It’s too expensive for the state to buy for the inmates. They just get it for the guards. The men use it for their armor. I was the one first found out it works on bars. I told Dean, and he took it up with Requisitions. I’m glad I ran into you. If you stocked it in the canteen the men would buy it and do their cells. You see how it shined up this bar? And it wouldn’t take that much effort. Three, four times a year tops, that’s all it takes. It makes a difference.”
“I don’t have the authority,” Feldman said.
“ I know that,” Lurie said. “But you could talk to the men. You’re in a position. If enough guys wanted it, the warden would stock it.” He put his face close to the bars and lowered his voice. “You know what would happen if a few guys started treating their bars? Pretty soon it would become mandatory. For the uniformity. That’s what happens ,” he whispered. “They’d make it a rule.” Feldman sat down on his cot. “Some of these soreheads would grouse. Sure. What the hell? Cons. But it makes a difference.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Feldman said.
“It’s all I ask,” the man said. “Here, as long as I started, let me do the rest of these. Then I’ll slip the tube through and you can do the bars over the window.”
Lurie rubbed the bars. They gleamed. They stank. It smelled like a munitions dump, a metal butcher shop. “I was telling you,” he said as he worked, “we pick up the supplies for all the crews. In ’57, during that railroad strike when the trains weren’t rolling, it was a pigpen around here. There was even a comment in the paper: ‘It isn’t a pen, it’s a pigpen.’ That was printed right in the paper. Well, there weren’t any supplies. After a while we were trying to keep this place clean just with water. There wasn’t any antiseptic, nothing. (And your cons are dirtier than your Honest Johns anyway. It’s not just the way they live, it’s the way they are.) The infirmary was filling up. Well, Dean picked me and another guy, and we drove seventy-five miles into Melbourne to pick up some
“He kicks you?”
“Hell yes, he kicks me. Dean’s old school. But he won’t kick a man unless that man’s disappointed him.”
“Fair enough,” Feldman said.
“A guy has to bug out once in a while, though,” the man said. “Dean knows that.”
“It’s human nature,” Feldman said.
“I don’t care how hard a worker a man is,” the man said. “There’s more to life than scrubbing floors.” He stood up. “Let me go get my rinse water.” He disappeared and Feldman lay down again on the cot.
“Our detail picks up the supplies for all the other crews.” Feldman looked around. The man was rubbing the bars of Feldman’s cell with a cloth.
“It’s treated,” he explained, showing Feldman a dark purple-stained cloth. “It’s yellow in the tube. Ferr-all . It turns that color on the cloth. It’s a chemical. I seen Dean use it on his pistol barrel once. He let me borrow it to try on the bars.”
Feldman winced at the odor.
“It stands to reason. They got the same base. It works too. Look at that. He showed Feldman the bar he had been working on. The dark iron bristled with light. “I wanted you to see that because you work in the canteen.”
“You know that?”
“Sure. You’re Feldman. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Lurie.”
He pushed his hand and wrist through the bar, and Feldman shook it. “It’s my forearms,” Lurie said apologetically, “they’re too big. I can’t get them all the way through. It’s from scrubbing.”
Feldman released Lurie’s big, clean hand.
“Excuse the stink,” the man said. “It’s this stuff, the Ferr-all. I don’t mind it, but I guess you’ve got to get used to it.” Feldman smelled his hand. It smelled ferrous, dense, like the odor of pistol barrels. The bars had such an odor too, of pistol barrels, spears, chains, the blades of knives.
“It’s too expensive for the state to buy for the inmates. They just get it for the guards. The men use it for their armor. I was the one first found out it works on bars. I told Dean, and he took it up with Requisitions. I’m glad I ran into you. If you stocked it in the canteen the men would buy it and do their cells. You see how it shined up this bar? And it wouldn’t take that much effort. Three, four times a year tops, that’s all it takes. It makes a difference.”
“I don’t have the authority,” Feldman said.
“ I know that,” Lurie said. “But you could talk to the men. You’re in a position. If enough guys wanted it, the warden would stock it.” He put his face close to the bars and lowered his voice. “You know what would happen if a few guys started treating their bars? Pretty soon it would become mandatory. For the uniformity. That’s what happens ,” he whispered. “They’d make it a rule.” Feldman sat down on his cot. “Some of these soreheads would grouse. Sure. What the hell? Cons. But it makes a difference.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Feldman said.
“It’s all I ask,” the man said. “Here, as long as I started, let me do the rest of these. Then I’ll slip the tube through and you can do the bars over the window.”
Lurie rubbed the bars. They gleamed. They stank. It smelled like a munitions dump, a metal butcher shop. “I was telling you,” he said as he worked, “we pick up the supplies for all the crews. In ’57, during that railroad strike when the trains weren’t rolling, it was a pigpen around here. There was even a comment in the paper: ‘It isn’t a pen, it’s a pigpen.’ That was printed right in the paper. Well, there weren’t any supplies. After a while we were trying to keep this place clean just with water. There wasn’t any antiseptic, nothing. (And your cons are dirtier than your Honest Johns anyway. It’s not just the way they live, it’s the way they are.) The infirmary was filling up. Well, Dean picked me and another guy, and we drove seventy-five miles into Melbourne to pick up some
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