The Wicked Go to Hell Read Free

lay down on his stomach on the remaining bed. He stretched his arms along the sides of his body andkept his head buried in the evil-smelling mattress. It stank of sweat and dirt. It was acrid, pervasive, but not so very unpleasant when you got used to it… The trick was getting used to it.
    “Mine’s Hal,” he said after a while.
    His voice was muffled, barely audible.
    “Let’s leave it at that. No need for introductions,” he added. “It’ll come down to first names soon enough anyway, so we might as well make a start now.”
    Frank said:
    “Thanks. And same goes for me.”
    The mute had not shown any reaction. He was still curled up on his bed watching his new cellmates with an air of resignation.
    He was a small man, thin and sallow, with grey hair, a large raven’s-beak nose and thick tufts for eyebrows.
    Slowly, Hal heaved himself onto one elbow and winked at him. He felt as abandoned as a dead body.
    “Anyhow,” he said aloud, “we’ll feel drained today, but tomorrow we’ll start getting used to it…”
    Frank gave a start.
    “Used to what?”
    His companion waved one hand vaguely.
    “You know… everything! To jail… to the whole deal… I’ll get used to you and you’ll get used to me… Isn’t life just grand?”
    “That’s news to me…”
    “What’s news to you?… The idea of getting used to me?”
    “You bet!” said Frank venomously. “Also the idea that life is just grand. There’s days when I look up and see that life’s got a face that’s as friendly as a toad!”
    He pointed to the mute man.
    “There, that’s what your precious life looks like, you moron!”
    Instead of getting angry, Hal smiled. The mute made an effort to understand because he’d seen that they were talking about him. But he couldn’t work out these new men. They weren’t the usual run of jailbirds.
    “This your first time inside?” asked Hal.
    “What’s it to you?”
    “Oh, nothing, nothing at all.”
    “So why ask?”
    “You know, talking without saying anything is another of those habits you got to get into. Take the weather. You can’t count on the weather to keep the conversation going. The weather! Boy, the weather has played a big part in my life. And that’s a fact. I was a truck driver… But now…”
    He stretched and gave a moan of pleasure.
    “…I’ve got the weather off my back now. Come rain or shine, I don’t give a damn! Not a damn! Not a single damn!”
    He’d shouted loud enough to strain his voice box. Frank watched him out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t feel threatened, just curious.
    Tears were streaming down Hal’s battered cheeks.
    He hiccuped and said:
    “Say, can you believe that at this very moment there are guys out there tapping their barometers or listening to the weather forecast on the radio?”
    Frank got up and walked a few paces to the cell door. His hands gripped the bars hungrily as he looked out.
    The corridor was empty. He could hear other prisoners whispering to each other.
    “Nope,” he said. “There’s nothing out there! Out there don’t exist any more! All there is now is bars… That’s God’s truth… Bars have sprung up all round me like a forest of iron! And I’m alone! All alone!…”
    He leant his head against the bars.
    “All alone?” murmured Hal diffidently. “What about me, then?”
    “Oh, you…”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “You don’t matter.”
    “Thanks a million!”
    “What difference does it make to me that you’re here, eh? Maybe you think I’m interested in your case?”
    He took three paces, which brought him to the foot of his cellmate’s makeshift bed.
    He stared at Hal’s face, which was puffy from the beating he’d been given. Hal had a shock of thick, brown hair, light-coloured eyes, more grey than blue, and vigorous features.
    “Anyway, you’ve got an ugly mug!” he added.
    It was Hal’s turn to scrutinize his cellmate. Through the tears misting his eyes, he made out his mean