In their tank, labeled by Gilmore The Stinking Dungeon, they had a cracked porcelain toilet, now nicotine yellow in color. You flushed it by pressing a button on the wall. But in order to get enough leverage, you had to grab on to the side of the shower, and lean for two full minutes on the button. Only that way could you build sufficient pressure.
Then, once the waters started, you had to hold the toilet plunger to the base of the bowl until the level came up to the rim, That was the only way to have enough liquid to force a load down. All the while, a leak would be oozing around the seal at the bottom. The Open-Pit Sulfur Mine, they called it.
One afternoon, needing fuel for coffee water, they tore down the cardboard sign that gave instructions on how to flush the pot, and Gary replaced it with words of his own, written with a Magic Marker on the wall.
Important Notice !!!
To Flush this Chitter
You keep Butt on Bowl
Press Button Firmly with Tongue
Good Luck Motherfucker
Then he fell in love with the Magic Marker. "After I'm gone, they'll really think a nut was in here," he said, and on all the walls, he wrote, "WALL," wrote "CEILING" on the ceiling, "TABLE" on the table, "BENCH" on the bench, "CHOWER" in the shower. Then he numbered each bunk "BUNK ONE," "BUNK TWO." Finally he printed on Gibbs's face and his own: "FOREHEAD," "NOSE," "CHEEK," "CHIN."
When the jailer arrived to serve the evening meal, he asked "Vy you do thees?" He was a wetback named Luis. Thickest accent, "Vy you do thees?" "Oh," said Gilmore, "they told me to get ready for Court."
They looked forward to getting the wetback. One time Gary asked to phone his lawyer, and since Luis never wanted to stir ass for a prisoner, he said, "Geelmore, ees thees important?"
"Yeah," said Gary, "it's a matter of life and death." They howled. Old Luis just stomped away.
Now, the trustee who did the haircutting was afraid to be in the cell with Gary. So Gary asked Gibbs to do the job. Gibbs told him, "Never in my life," but Gary said he was a master barber, and would give the instructions step by step.
Luis brought them a big pair of scissors. The propped up a sheet of polished aluminum to make a mirror, and Gary would run his hand through his hair and stop with the amount he wanted cut off above his closed fingers. It took about an hour. Gibbs was real cautious. When they were done, however, Gary asked Luis if they could use the electric clippers. "No," said the guard, "no outlet." He wasn't about to go to the trouble of running an extension cord. Gary threw the scissors as hard as he could at the tray slot where Luis was standing. It hit the steel door and shattered into pieces. Luis said, "You zon of a beech, Geelmore." Gary started toward the bars. "What did you say?" he asked, The Mexican took off for the front office.
About an hour later, he came back with a deputy and a plastic Zip-Lok bag. Luis handed it through the window and told Gary, "Put broke pieces een sack." Gary did it. He had cooled down quite a bit.
"I've probably blown Nicole's visits," he said, "that's all that really has any meaning to me." Gibbs said, "Wait until six when Big Jake comes on." "They can put me in the hole," Gary said, "just so long as they don't stop me from seeing Nicole."
When Big Jake came over, he was laughing. "You scared Luis so bad with them scissors," he said, "that he shit tacos clear out to the front desk."
Big Jake and Gary got along. He and Alex Hunt were the only jailers Gary had respect for. Because they had no fear. Shortly after Gary came to the prison, a couple of big dudes in the main tank tried to jump Jake and pull an escape. Jake beat them halfway to death.
One good-looking, well-built Swede from Montana. He was confident, all right. There was an order put out by Captain Cahoon that when Nicole came to visit Gary, a call was to be put in for a patrol car. That way a couple of extra cops would be around the jail.
Every guard did this but Jake and Alex. Neither of them needed extra help.
Now Gary explained in a real sincere tone of voice what had happened.
He told Big Jake he was in the wrong for losing his temper.
Went on to say he would accept his punishment, but hoped they wouldn't take away his visiting privileges. Big Jake said it was up to Captain Cahoon, but he would talk to him personally. Maybe replacing the broken scissors would be sufficient. Gibbs spoke up. "If that's what it takes to mend things," he said, "use some money from my account."
"Gibbs," asked Gilmore, "have you ever heard of Ralph Waldo Emerson?"
"No."
"He was a writer, and he made a statement you and me live by. Emerson said, 'Life is not so short that there is not always time for courtesy.' "
They put in a big fellow with them. He was an ex-paratrooper about six-three, 250 pounds, named Bart Powers. He had walloped a kid in the main tank that morning.
When Powers entered the cell, his first words were "Which one of you guys is Gilmore?" It popped out so loud and so tough that Gibbs thought Powers had come to sell a Wolf ticket. He got off his bunk immediately, and went over to the toilet in order to get behind him.
Gary's eyes lifted from the letter he was writing, and he said real cool, "I'm Gilmore. Why do you want to know?"
It could have been hypnosis. Gary must have given him a dose of psychic powers. Gibbs could see Bart Powers lose his peace of mind.
In a meek tone, Bart said, "The guys in the main tank said to tell you 'Hi.' " It was all Gibbs could do to keep from snickering. Powers said "Hi" like a kid in school.
The new arrival stayed good. Kept to himself, read a book, made no trouble. Gibbs could see Gary getting agitated, however. There had been a deal talked about with Big Jake to bring Nicole in for a night. Jake had seen a saddle he wanted to buy. It would probably cost $100, but Gibbs thought he might be able to get the sum together. The deal was still very much in the unmade stage, but they had been thinking on it. Now, the presence of Powers would kill it.
Luis came by, and said through the bars, "Pow-ass, vy you heet a choovenile? He vuz just a keed, Pow-ass." Then he left.
Gilmore and Gibbs cracked up. They started to look at Powers and then they would laugh. "He vuz just a keed, Pow-ass," they would say, "just a keed." Then they would laugh again. Bart Powers looked like he hated it. Only he wasn't about to speak up, Gibbs noticed.
Powers had no cigarettes, so Gibbs flipped him a pack. "You don't owe me nothing," said Gibbs. "You could never pay me back, therefore I'm giving it to you."
"You've met a generous man," said Gilmore, looking Powers over, and added, "That's a nice-looking shirt you're wearing."
"Thanks," said Powers.
"I'd like to buy it," said Gary.
"It's the only shirt I got."
"Well, man," said Gary, "I'm going to trial soon, you see, and man, I want to appear in Court in proper attire, you know."
"I couldn't sell this shirt, why, it's a gift from my girl friend."
"I'll give you mucho cigarettes for it," said Gary. There was a nod from Gibbs. It would be Gibbs's carton.
"The shirt's all I got," said Powers.
"Give back the pack I just threw you," said Gibbs. Powers did.
Quickly.
"He vuz just a keed," said Gilmore.
They roared in Powers' face.
That evening, Gary said, "Nothing personal, but this cell is too crowded for three. I think it's in your best interest, Powers, to tell the man you can't get along in here." Gary looked as serious as a heart attack. "Tell him if he don't move you out tonight, I'll kill you."
Powers started yelling for Big Jake. "Nothing personal," Gary whispered.
"Oh, you want out?" said Big Jake. "Ready to go to Isolation? What's the matter, Powers? Can't smack these two around, huh? Can't say, 'Go back to your bunk 'cause I'm tired of looking at your face'? They don't play around, do they?" He nodded at Gilmore and Gibbs. "All right, I'll move you to the hole, Powers. Gary, here, has two murder charges. He don't need no more."
"Just get me out," said Powers. "Just put me in the hole."
After the transfer, Big Jake said, "I'd like to bring him here some night, and have you guys work on him. We can't do it, and he could sure use it."
Gibbs knew Gary didn't want to say no. It would hurt future negotiations for getting Nicole into his cell. Still, Gary said, "I won't, Jake. Powers is a prisoner like me. I can't work for you guys."
"Well," said Big Jake, "that's cool."
Next morning, they took Gary over to the nuthouse for a psychiatric, and he came back late for lunch. Big Jake gave him a Ding-Dong extra from the kitchen consisting of a double sandwich and a couple of pickles, plus a piece of fresh fruit. Gary said, "Hey, I really appreciate that."
Big Jake said, "Don't bother, Gary, it's not mine to do you a real favor."
They got playful that afternoon. A nothing-to-lose kind of mood.
Some pats of butter were left from Gibbs's midday meal, and they decided to flip the stuff through the bars. The idea was to see who could make the biggest splotch on the corridor wall.
Luis came back to investigate the laughter. "Geelmore and Geebs," he said, "you mees meal!" He got two trustees to clean up, and Geelmore and Geebs laughed so hard they got stomach cramps.
"Luis," said Gary, "is a tad bit retarded."
No dinner was served that evening. Around eight-thirty Luis came back with a pot of coffee looking like he felt a little sorry for them.
Gary asked, "Luis, are you married?"
The guard nodded.
"Do you have any naked pictures of your wife?"
Luis was shocked. "No," he answered.
"Well," said Gary, "do you want to buy some?"
It took a couple of seconds. Then Luis shouted, "Geelmore, Geebs, I tired of your chit!" He slammed the door in the corridor.
Goddamn, thought Gibbs, that wetback is the only toy we got.
Chapter 25
INSANITY
Would he, at least, testify for Gary in the Mitigation Hearing, Snyder and Esplin asked.
Yes, said Woods, he could find his way clear to doing that. But, he warned, with the best will in the world, what could he offer in good professional conscience that the District Attorney would not be able to reduce?
They did not ask him if he liked Gary, and if they had, he might not have replied, but the answer he could have given was, Yes, I think I do like Gary. I may even like him a little more than I want to.
Woods felt he understood a few of Gilmore's obsessions. Getting up in the middle of the trestle and racing the train or standing on the railing of the top tier in prison were impulses familiar to Woods. He sometimes believed he had gone into psychiatry so one hand could keep a grip on the other.
Hell, if Gilmore were a free man, Woods might have taken him on a rock climb. That is, he might have, if he were still doing it.
Woods felt again the swoop of his last long fall on an ice face. That had ended climbing. The guy with him had almost been killed in a crevasse. So Woods knew the depression that came when you ceased making crazy bets. He also knew the logic to making them in the first place. No psychic reward might be so powerful as winning a dare with yourself.
If you were really scared, and went through it, and came out on the other side intact, then it was hard not to believe for a little while that you were on the side of the gods. It felt as if you could do no wrong. Time slowed. You were no longer doing it. For good or ill, it was doing it. You had entered the logic of that other scheme where death and life had as many relations as Yin and Yang.
That was the identification Woods felt. Gilmore had also felt compelled to take a chance with his life. Gilmore had been keeping in touch with something it was indispensable to be in touch with.
Woods knew all about that, and it depressed him. Looking back on the times he had seen Gilmore at the hospital, he felt uneasy at the reserve he had maintained between them, even felt shame that he had never had a real conversation with the man.
After a while, he did get Gilmore to talk a little about the murders, but it was no help. Gilmore seemed genuinely perplexed over his behavior. Kept going back to his feeling of being under water.
"Lot of strange things," he would say. "You know, it was inevitable."
This vagueness impressed Woods as pretty straight, a convict trying to convince you he was insane would give more of a picture show. Instead, Gilmore gave the impression of a man who was quiet, thoughtful, cornered, and living simultaneously in many places.
On the other hand, Gilmore had been in seclusion all the way.
That had been altogether against Woods's ideas of treatment, for it cut off interaction with the other patients. They had a new brand of therapy to offer at this hospital and he was all for giving Gilmore some of it. The prison authorities, however, had only agreed to transfer Gilmore from County Jail for these two- and three-day visits if he were kept in lockup all the way. So there you were. A man who had spent nearly all of his last twelve years locked up every night in a cell the size of a bathroom, was still being locked up.
In addition, they had all been concerned, himself included, that no error be made with the guy, so they kept seeing him in pairs.
Later, he heard Gilmore had said, "One thing I have against Woods is that he never talks to me alone." Yes, Woods thought, I really kept my distance.
Of course, he knew why. Becoming a psychiatrist had left Woods in a funny place, philosophically speaking. He did not like to stir his doubts. His own contradictions, once set moving, had a lot of momentum. Woods hadn't had, after all, the kind of upbringing that tended to land you in the psychiatric establishment.
Woods's father had been a hell of a football player in college, and tried to raise his son to be more of the same. Woods grew up on a ranch, but his father made sure there was a football around, and he was one son who spent his boyhood running out for passes. As soon as his hands were large enough, he was pulling them in over his shoulder. When he got through high school, there was an athletic scholarship at the University of Wyoming.
At Wyoming, the real talent seemed to be imported from the East. Woods got the idea that just as the greatest potatoes grew indigenously in Idaho, so football players came naturally from Pennsylvania and Ohio. Woods had always thought he was pretty good and pretty big and pretty crazy until those eastern football players came in from the mill towns. Six of those Polacks, Bohunks, and Italians shared the same girl all freshman year. It wasn't that they couldn't have others, it was that they liked keeping it in the family. It was better that way. One of those monsters, right out of the middle of defensive line, got so tired one night of being turned down by a new date that he proceeded to urinate on her.
Another night, with a lot of snow on the ground, a group of them took off in two cars for a ride through the mountains. A bottle of booze for each car. On the way back, in a snowstorm, the lead vehicle came around a curve, went into a skid, and smashed into a snow bound Chevy by the side of the road. There were only two football players in the first collision, and they jumped out into the middle of the highway. Woods, in the second car, following at high speed, came around the same turn and went into the ditch to avoid hitting them. The two from the first car and the three in the second got together and lifted Woods's car onto the road again. That felt so good that the fellows from the first car now ripped their license plates off, and pushed the vehicle over the mountain and into the ravine. It struck on rocks with the great noise of thunder, and made soft deep sounds like the wind when it plowed through deep snow. They watched with the awe attending large events.
Of course the car they had smacked into was a mess. So they decided to roll it down the highway. Woods tried to talk them out of that. Right in the middle, he could not get over the fact that he, with his own big reputation to maintain, was being the peacemaker.
He failed. They set that wreck rolling. A police car coming up the grade just avoided a head-on collision. Some rich alumnus settled the cost. One did not lose five talented sophomores for too little.
Woods nev
er starred. After a while he was too scared. You could get maimed out there. The coach he liked moved on, and the new coach disapproved of the hours Woods had to give to pre-med labs.
Told him to switch to Phys. Ed. Woods didn't. He never starred.
Nonetheless, he didn't have any illusions about the scope of the problem. There were two kinds of human beings on earth and maybe he had been placed to know both kinds. The civilized had their small self-destructive habits and their controlled paranoia, but they could live in a civilized world. You could tinker with them on the couch. It was the uncivilized who caused the discomfort in psychiatric circles.
Woods had long suspected the best-kept secret in psychiatric circles was that nobody understood psychopaths, and few had any notion of psychotics. "Look," he would sometimes be tempted to tell a colleague, "the psychotic thinks he's in contact with spirits from other worlds. He believes he is prey to the spirits of the dead. He's in terror. By his understanding, he lives in a field of evil forces.
"The psychopath," Woods would tell them, "inhabits the same place. It is just that he feels stronger. The psychopath sees himself as a potent force in that field of forces. Sometimes he even believes he can go to war against them, and win. So if he really loses, he is close to collapse, and can be as ghost ridden as a psychotic."
For a moment, Woods wondered if that was the way to build a bridge from the psychopathic to the insane.
But he always came back to the difficulty. The speech was of no legal use to Snyder and Esplin. You could not appear in court with spirits from other worlds.
The Executioner's Song Page 39
