Getting whipped was bad, the following days were worse. I canīt really explain, but it wasnīt just my skin that was tattered, I felt sort of tattered inside too and the painkillers just cut the edge off. I just kept lying down, no clothes, just a sheet for cover. I asked for tranquilizers to get some sleep, but despite them I woke up all the time. Nurse put on disinfectant which stung like acid but she didnīt dress my backside. She said everything looked fine and told me to stop whimpering because I only got what I deserved. _f_u_c_k_ing bitch. She had no _f_u_c_k_ing clue whatsoever to what I was going through. I didnīt cry, though. I felt like it a couple of times, but it passed. On and off I thought about mr Jackson _f_u_c_k_ing Jenni. I didnīt want to believe it, but I figured him capable of doing that and more, I just couldnīt see the point of it. I still hated the _f_u_c_k_er. I avoided remembering the good heīd actually done to me. It complicated the whole matter and I wanted things to be simple right then.
The next morning, nurse said I had to get up some. I said I couldnīt. She called for a screw and mr Morales came and got me up on my feet. I felt strange standing up, weak and unreal, and hardly dared to move, but finally I shuffled myself around the cell, very sore and stiff like an oldtimer. I asked nurse if I really had to go back to work on Monday, and she heartily said that weīd see about that Sunday evening.
Friday evening, mr Jackson came to see me. I turned my face to the wall.
"Still pissed off, TJ?" He sat down on the bunk. "Youīre lucky Iīm in a good mood right now. Youīre acting very disrespectfully, you know."
I forced myself to turn my head back. He was right and he also had he power to make my life even worse if he wanted to. I had to play my part in this _f_u_c_k_ing stupid game, and play it well, too.
"I apologize for acting disrespectfully, sir," I said, keeping my eyes closed, though, not meaning one _f_u_c_k_ing syllable of it.
"Iīve come to give you your assignment. The letter to mr Davenport. Youīre going to write it tonight. Iīll stay here until youīre done."
"Sir, I canīt stand up", I said.
"Nurse said you could. You canīt lie there for ever, pitying yourself. Come on, get up."
I knew I had to. It took a while to get up with the help of nurse and mr Morales. I was afraid mr Jackson would get it done more quickly, so I very politely asked him to get out of my way and then eased my poor body out of bed. It was gruesome, but at last I got up, sweating and shivering, black dots dancing in front of my eyes. I got a grip on the high writing desk and moved over to it. I didnīt like standing there naked with him looking at me.
"Sir, I donīt know what to write", I said through my teeth.
"Youīll come up with something, TJ. You always do. Bet youīre feeling very grateful to him for putting you through this." I didnīt have to look at him to know he was smiling, the asshole. He lay down on the bunk, then lit a cig. I started writing, practically hanging over the desk, feeling weak and near fainting all the time..
"You did quite well Wednesday morning", he said. "What did you learn from it?"
"To avoid getting up there again, sir", I said, thinking just get the hell out of here, you _f_u_c_k_ing rapist.
"But you are, TJ. You still have 100 to go. Iīm making that your new assignment, reflecting on what you found out about yourself on the frame. Five pages will do, and youīll have it ready on Tuesday. Got it?"
"Yes sir", I said. I had no real choice anyway. I looked back down on the sheet. Dear Mr Davenport. Thank you for correcting me on my bad behaviour, sir. I wonīt make the same mistakes again. _d_a_m_n_ right I wouldnīt. Next time Iīd vanish in thin smoke and never come back. I could go abroad for a couple of years. There had to be some period of limitation for my sentence. Maybe I could get pardoned if I managed to straighten out my life. Thatīs where I remembered mr Jackson telling me I didnīt stand a chance on my own, once I was out of Crowmill. He didnīt know _s_h_i_t_ about me. Then I thought: yes, he does. He knows me better than I know myself, the _f_u_c_k_ing freaky mother_f_u_c_k_er. I sighed heavily, pushing those thoughts aside, returning to the _f_u_c_k_ing thank-you letter. Thank you for inflicting disgrace and pain on me, old fart. Thanks for making me hate your guts. Thank you for putting me through hell and realizing thereīs no _f_u_c_k_ing point to it whatsoever.
"TJ, speed up that writing. One or even half a page will do. Iīm not spending the _f_u_c_k_ing night with you."
"Yes sir, I will." I tried to think of something appropriate to jot down, but nothing came to my mind. I was sweating again, constantly aware of mr Jacksonīs presence, still dizzy. Then I put the pen to the paper and took a deep breath. Iīm beginning to understand the purpose of the hard discipline youīre putting me through, sir, and I hope that in the end of my stay here Iīve been able to make the most out of it. Yeah, and pigs can fly, too. Iīm very sorry for causing all this trouble. Please accept my apology for what Iīve done, sir. Yours sincerely, Thomas Jennings. A. k.a. TJ the Unforgiven.
"Writing a novel, TJ?"
"Sir, Iīm finished."
"Hand it over here."
I did. He kept lying there, reading, and I held on to the desk, knees shaking and cold clammy sweat covering my body. Another minute and I would pass out right there. At least he could let me lie down while he read.
Then Mr Jackson shook his head, chuckling. I knew he would.
"Youīre priceless, TJ", he said. "How much of this is true?"
"All of it, sir", I said, avoiding looking at him.
"Donīt underestimate him. You conned him once, he wonīt buy it a second time."
"Please tell me what to write then, sir" I said and my voice seemed to come from somewhere near the ceiling. I bent over the desk again, pressing my hands against my forehead, but kept feeling dizzier all the time.
"Come on, TJ, lie down." He moved out of my way and I slumped down on the bunk, moving that fast making me nauseous. "Youīre probably right for once, you know. You couldnīt put it another way. Iīm expecting a bit more from you, though."
"I know that, sir." I had to open my eyes, everything was spinning around. I fixed my gaze on the door, telling myself it was all in my head.
"Well then, see you on Tuesday. Take care." He pulled the sheet over me, and I just nodded and said thank you, sir. Then he turned the knob. Waiting for someone to let him out he glanced back at me:
"Youīve probably figured out by now that the things I said about that Jenni girl werenīt true. The stats were all in her letters. You had to focus, you know, and it did the trick, didnīt it?"
At first I wasnīt sure heīd actually said it. I was very tired and kind of absentminded, and when I had my breakdown I learned that itīs possible to hear things that donīt exist and be convinced theyīre for real. Then I felt a huge relief.
"Sir, would you please repeat that?"
He did, a faint smile on his face.
"You didnīt actually believe I went all that way to _f_u_c_k_ your bitch, TJ? Sheīs not that special. You donīt think so, either."
"No sir, youīre right on that." I smiled a bit, too. The clever s. o.b. "Sir, thank you for helping me out. Thanks for preparing me. Iīm sorry I screwed up. I wish Iīd have made it all the way, sir."
"Few do, TJ, thatīs not the essence of it, either. You did allright. By the way, mr Simkin was there. He didnīt make it all the way. He left in the middle of the third set and I didnīt see him returning." Then the door opened and he stepped out. "Gīnight, TJ. Get some sleep."
"Good night, mr Jackson, sir," I said.