Steven, the English teacher by thadeusz

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My name is Steven Vernon and I am now 28 years old.

My parents are poor farmers who wanted the best for their only son. I went to a village school where my teachers pushed me and, with the agreement of my parents, these teachers helped me to get a scholarship which enabled me to be a full student in an excellent highschool. There, other teachers, admiring my skills, helped me to get a scholarship to study English in College.

It was English Literature and Education because that’s what I wanted but I could not get a scholarship to go to graduate school as I had hoped to do ! I missed graduate school because my parents were too poor and I despised them for that. I started to hate all poor people.

Eventually, I graduated from college and got a diploma enabling me to become a teacher in highschool. I was also writing poems which, according to one of my professors, were good poetry. Until then, all my expenses had been paid by scholarships created by rich people. I thus depended on their generosity and that’s one more reason why I hated poor people.

When I graduated, I had a nice pompadour haircut with hair carefully rolled so that one does not see the exact length. Every morning, I woke up early in order to take care of my hair. It took me a lot of time. At that moment of my life, I did not want to speak to my poor parents anymore, simply because they were poor: according to me they smelled misery. In fact, I despised all poor people.

One of my professors, in fact he was my advisor, told me that I had all the qualities to become a good school teacher. He was ready to make an initial appointment for me, but I told him that I did not want to teach the beauties of English literature to poor kids.

Finally, my advisor told me that he had found an institution, adapted to my real needs. With my agreement, he made an appointment and gave me the address, time and date.

I went there, walking since I had no car, and was astonished because it smelled like a poor street. The building, corresponding to the address I had, was enclosed by high walls, probably as protection for the students.

At the exact time of my appointment, a small van arrived and seven young men, about my age or slightly older, came out of it. There were men in uniform helping these new pupils to enter the building.

I stepped forward, saying that I had an appointment, and one of the men in uniform let me enter the courtyard. It was a small courtyard, more a sort of passage leading to a building of which all windows were provided with bars. The new pupils entered this building and some of them had their heads bent down. I followed them and asked to speak to the headmaster. The guard to whom I had spoken started to laugh and replied:
"The headmaster ? He is the Director of this municipal prison."
I replied:
"In that case, I am not where I should be. Please, excuse me."
I turned around and tried to get out but this man in uniform pushed me literally inside saying:
"We know that story, prisoner. Behave, now that you have been sentenced and get your prison uniform."
It is then only that I realized that I was really in a bad situation. The place I had entered was not a school but the municipal prison. The men in uniform were guards and they had thus brought inside a bunch of 7 new prisoners. I realized that I had made a dreadful mistake and that the address I had was incorrect, so I immediately decided to go out and to call my adviser.

I could not do what I tried to do. The guard standing next to me told me:
"Today, you are our 8th new prisoner and you already want to quit. No way ! I am going to help you stay where you belong."
He rapidly placed handcuffs on my wrists and warned me: "One more attempt to escape and I put shackles on your ankles."

I decided to provisionally stop resisting this big guy. I was forced to go through the complete intake process. They took all my clothes and personal belongings away and left me naked in the intake center. Guards gave me a pile of things: a prison uniform consisting of white rough undies. I also received green denim trousers without a belt nor a fly, only an elastic band and only one pocket on the right leg. The uniform also included a vest of the same colour and material, but without any pocket, a green round prison cover and plain tennis shoes but no socks. They pushed me then forcibly while I was still naked inside a little cabin where I was "cleaned" with cold water from a big hose and disinfected with a powder leaving a nasty smell. When I came out of the cabin, I was told to dress in that uniform. I tried to object, but they took off the handcuffs and coerced me to put on this uniform. I kept objecting, so one guard got hold of me while two others placed me by force in their stupid uniform. That’s when I noticed that there was a white label on the place where a left breast pocket should have been placed. On that white label, there was a black number on it: 87.203 and I assumed that this was my "prisoner number". The same number and label was also placed where my right hip pocket should have been.

Finally they gave me everything I might need for my bed: a grey blanket, a pillow and one pillow cover. They added to that one single bath towel only.

The guards wanted me to follow the others to the barber and finally I could object saying that I was not a prisoner, I was a teacher and I had never been sentenced. I added:
"You have forced me to don your stupid and dirty uniform, but I am not going to stay here. Let me speak immediately with the prison director."
That was, for the guards, too much of a rebellious attitude. One of them put the handcuffs immediately on my wrists.

A man, whom I identified rapidly as the chief guard, pushed me into the barber chair with all my stuff on my knees and started to give me himself an "induction cut". As I tried to escape, he called two other guards who held me, each holding one of my arms. I was forced to remain immobile while the chief guard reduced my great Pompadour to nothing. He used clippers with a #1 guard which he showed me in a threatening and theatrical way. He first made a big and neat path from the center of my front to the back of my head. He continued shaving me, first on the left and then on the right, alternately. He was making fun of me while he kept pushing and turning and pulling briskly my head. He pushed my head on my left shoulder and started to shave the right side, then he did the same with the left side. He then pushed my head back on my left shoulder and went on with his shaving on the right side. He kept doing this while the guards were laughing. Finally, he finished by shaving the top and the back of my head. After that he cleaned everything around my ears with a smaller clipper.

At the end of this ridiculizing process he took a little mirror and told me:
"Look at your new head. I gave you a simple buzzcut, but not a really short one. Now at least you look like a man. Now you look clean, young jailbird. Go to your cell."
But I refused to move and I claimed that this was what I called "a dreadful judicial error". Moreover I warned the chief guard that I was going to sue him for destroying my pompadour, since I needed it to get a job.

I kept shouting that I was going to sue the chief guard and that I was also going to sue the whole set of guards for forcing me to wear, even if it was only for a few minutes, what I called "this dreadful and lousy green uniform."

The Chief Guard decided to send me to the "cooler", a special isolation cell. I had to keep my handcuffs, but on top of that I received nice ankle shackles and a chain around my waist. The handcuffs and the shackles were linked to this chain by another short chain. There was another, very short, chain attached to the handcuffs and serving as leash: one of the guards kept pulling me using this shorter chain. It was very unpleasant and despite my shouting, there was nothing I could do.

The guards took me then to an infamous isolation cell imposed by the chief guard. There I discovered that I had only a plank to sleep on, no cover and no pillow. The window was reduced to a hole in the wall, provided with bars, and there was a small vertical hole in a corner, hole serving as a toilet. I was brutally shoved inside and a big metal door was closed noisily in my back.

Everything was uncomfortable. The shackles made every step painful, so I finally chose to sit on the concrete floor. The uniform was scratchy and I had the impression that this thick cloth had been starched because it was rather stiff. In fact I had later the opportunity to realize that the uniform was stiff and uncomfortable because the green fabric used to make it had been chosen among the thickest available ones in order to make it resistant and long lasting despite the bad treatment most prisoners reserved for their uniform.

I spent 3 full days in that small cell, sometimes dreaming of better times while sitting or lying on the floor, sometimes trying to sleep on my plank despite my multiple chains or thinking about my revenge as soon as I would finally be brought in front of the Director of this sadistic institution.

After three days, during which I received only dry bread and cold water, three times a day, I was taken out of this cell. I had to keep all my chains. I was told to march towards the director’s office, something I had been asking for since the beginning, but which was now physically painful because of the shackles. A guard was still holding my small "leash".

When I finally arrived in front of the prison director, this man started by telling me:
"What’s your name, 87.203 ? Your file has not been transmitted to me."
"I am Steven Vernon, a College graduate, and I am an English teacher."
"An English teacher ? And why were you sent to my prison, 87.203 ?"
That’s when I told him my whole story. I added that I was going to sue him and his chief guard for mistreatment.
The director reacted as follows:
"Listen, 87.203, I admit that you have not been sentenced by a court. You don’t have to serve time for that reason. But you entered my prison under false pretenses, creating a problem. For that I give you 6 months Administrative Detention Time."
"You cannot do that, Director, and in any case you made me lose a good opportunity to get an excellent job."
"In that case, 87.203, I add 6 months Administrative Detention Time to those you already got. You get these 6 additional months for your very bad behaviour during the inprocessing booking."
"You cannot do that to me."
"Of course I can, and I can give you more if I want."
I was completely lost but I understood that being in a prison and in a prisoner’s uniform, I had no possibility to change things. I hoped that I would be allowed to phone or write to my advisor and that he would arrange things for me.

That’s when the Director, adding insult to injury, told me:
"You had a thick Pompadour haircut when you arrived here, 87.203 ?"
"Yes !" was my purposely short and impolite answer.
"In that case, as of now you will be shorn to the woods every week after a cold shower, in order to make a man of you, 87.203. You will then be able to say that your stay with us has made a man of you."

The director finally mentioned that I would have to work for my food, lodging and clothing. Everyday I would have to work in the prison kitchen. He also added that if I kept protesting or misbehaving, he would send me to the hard labour section, with an adapted uniform and permanent shackles. He also added that if I kept creating trouble just as I did at the start, I would be sent to the high security section.

The chief guard, who had been present during this interview, led me out of the Director’s office and back to the booking room. He took all my chains off, except the handcuffs. He of course kept the short chain attached to the handcuffs in order to be able to use this pseudo "leash" to pull me back into the barber’s room.

For the second time, I was seated on the barber’s chair. I didn't even try to protest anymore. The chief guard told the barber that the Director had decided that I should be shorn to the woods. The barber, who behaved as a vile brute, started the same process as before, but this time without any guard. To add insult to injury, this uniformed man completed the operation by shaving my head using an old fashioned razor, but no foam: only water! It hurt a lot. When he was done, he told me:
"Now, you better put your prison hat on your head, 87.203. Otherwise you might get a cold."
All the guards around started to laugh. The guard leading me told me to obey the barber’s order, stupidly I obeyed this order and I saw for the first time that my prison hat had also my number printed in black on a white label. I felt very bad. The chief guard instructed another guard to lead me to my permanent cell, and this guard got hold of "my" leash to pull me, more than he led me, through several passages. Eventually, we reached a big hall full of light. In that hall, there were 12 open doors on the ground floor, the same number on the only higher floor and four metallic tables in the center. Each table had six metallic chairs attached to it.

I behaved more calmly and accepted without any difficulty to go to my permanent cell, cell number 7 on the ground floor. What else could I have done ? On the way, the guard who was with me explained "the rules of the house". I learned that my bed had to be perfectly made, "like a good soldier’s bed", immediately after a siren called for reveil at 05:30 am. Immediately after that I had to wash and dress for the day and stand next to my bed, in the position of attention, waiting for the first daily inspection (there were five inspections a day). Immediately after that (these words came often in my guard’s speech), I had to rush to the kitchen in order to start working there. Luckily I also learned that I would have a few hours free time during the afternoon "if I behaved well". I was also told that whenever I had to speak to a guard, the chief guard or the Director, I had to take the position of attention, then take my hat off and put it in my only pocket, my leg pocket, and then address this person using appropriate terms which were mentioned for me.

I landed in a cell for two prisoners. My co-detainee was a young guy, aged 17 and named Gary. He had been tried as an adult and sentenced to 2 years prison after a daylight robbery. He had already served 5 months but was not able to contact his family because he did not know how to read and write, and the telephone privilege had been denied to him during his first 6 months.

I inquired about the telephone and learned that since I was a "new detainee", I was also denied this privilege. So, during the last hours of my first day in a regular cell, I asked to be allowed to write to my adviser. I got the required "letter" authorization and the necessary paper and pencil (ink was forbidden for detainees). I sat at one of the tables made available for us, prisoners, in the hall connecting our group of cells. Detainees usually used these tables to play games during their "free time". There, in my green uniform and with my hat on my head, I described my situation to my advisor. I gave this letter, open, to a guard who told me that a censor would read it and that I would not receive an answer before a full week.

Gary looked at me with great interest and asked if I could write a letter for him in order to remain in contact with his parents. I told him that I would do it during our next "free time" period: we would then have access to these tables and I would sit and write under his dictation.

A long and loud ringing resonated, Gary told me that this was the evening siren and that we had to hurry up to our cell, hat on our head, and stand in the position of attention in front of our bed for the evening inspection. A guard came, checked who was in the cell and who was supposed to be there: everything was OK since prisoner 87.005 (Gary) and prisoner 87.203 (me) were standing there, silently and in the correct position. The guard closed the cell door and locked it from outside noisily. He then opened a little trap in the door and looking at me, he simply said: "I keep an eye on you, 87.203".

It was difficult for me to start sleeping: I really did not like the situation. Nor did I like sleeping in undies in the same small room as an unknown guy and on a hard bunk serving as bed. Finally I fell asleep and the next thing for me was the noise of the waking-up siren.

I stood up and copied Gary who got quickly washed and dressed. We took the same position as the previous evening, waiting for the morning inspection. A guard unlocked our cell door and checked who we were, simply by looking at our numbers: this made me feel very uncomfortable. I am not a number, but I knew that provisionally I was no longer "Steven Vernon, teacher". The guard looked at me and told me to rush immediately to the kitchen and "there, do as you are told."

I rushed as I had been told, not realizing fully that by doing so I was accepting completely my new status. In the kitchen the guard serving as cook told me:
"My boy, you have 5 minutes to eat your bread and drink your coffee."
Again, I did as I had been told and immediately after, obeying orders, I started to place food and beverages on a counter. The other detainees came and passed this counter, taking whatever they wanted: food was apparently not too bad in this prison, except for those who served it and had no time to eat, but working fast made me forget to complain. The nature of my job, the timing I had to respect if I did not want to go back to the isolation cell, all that made me suddenly docile, obedient and submissive. The very strict rules I had suddenly to apply were actually taming me without me realizing it. In any case, I stopped complaining.

When the detainees’ breakfast was finished, I had time to sit and eat as much as I wanted. A guard noticed that I had kept my hat and hurt me with his truncheon: I immediately stood up, took the position of attention and looked politely at the guard who told me:
"Hat off when you eat, filthy animal."
In no time, my hat disappeared in my pocket but I kept the position of attention until the guard told me:
"Sit down and eat, you stupid."
I decided, without making a single comment, that such comments were not good for the future behaviour of the prisoners. But that was not my problem, I simply chose to be obedient in order to avoid further problems.
I was then sitting with another prisoner: a certain Andrew who was here for an aggression on an old lady. We never sympathized but we had to work together.

After my breakfast I was left alone with the chief cook who gave me instructions for the washing-up of pots, pans, dishes (metallic dishes) and gobelets. Forks and knives were in plastic and were thrown away immediately.

As soon as I finished the washing-up, I wanted to go and rest a little bit, but the chief cook called me back: I had to clean the floor, which had to be "spotless" by his standard, and then to help him cook the noon meal. This implied peeling potatoes and some vegetables and helping as much as a poor intelectual like me could do !

Then came the noon meal rush, similar to the breakfast. When I was finally done with the noon washing-up and floor cleaning, including the eating hall, I was told by my "immediate chief", the cook, that I now had a two hour rest.

I immediately wanted to fulfill my promise. I searched for Gary and found him playing cards with older boys, and losing: they were obviously cheating. I simply and rather severely told him:
"If you want me to write your letter, it is now or never."
Gary raised his head from his cards and asked:
"Can’t I finish my game, Steven ?"
"No, you are losing anyway."
Gary raised his long boddy from his chair, left his cards on the table and came with me.

That’s when I tried to tell him for the first time that he was playing with cheaters and that this was not good for his health, and even worse for his money since despite official orders, they were playing for money.

I wrote his letter which he signed with a simple cross, telling me that he did not know his letters, and I told him to give it to one of the guards for the censor. Gary did what I told him to do and added that he admired me a lot since "I knew my letters". He even asked me if I would not accept teaching him how to do it. I was tired and I told him that I first wanted to rest before my evening duty.

My problem was that access to the cells was forbidden during the day, so I chose to sleep a bit on the table where I had written that letter for Gary. A guard interrupted me, hurting me solidly with a kind of truncheon he had on his belt:
"You cannot sleep here, and anyway you must go to the psychologist."
"I don’t need a psychologist. I need to get free."
"That’s why you must go to the psychologist. You must be evaluated. That’s the rule."
"Not now, I am too tired."
"In that case it will be back to the isolation cell."
I rose and went to the psychologist who asked lots of questions in order to evaluate all kinds of things about me, but he did not give me his results.

When I came back to the common room, Gary asked me:
"It is marvelous what you do with writing. Could you teach me to read and write ?"
"I could, I am a teacher, but I really don’t want to."

Then I left him and started my evening job in the kitchen.

At night, in our small cell, Gary thanked me once again. Then he suddenly asked:
"Why did you say that I was losing at cards ? In fact it was correct because when you left I played more and I lost much."
"You lost because they cheated and you didn’t notice it."
"How come you noticed ?"
"Because I’m educated."
"Could you explain to me ? Could you teach me how to recognize when people cheat ?"
"Not now, I am tired."
"So what can I do ?"
"Stop playing cards with people you don’t know."
"I have known them since I arrived here, that’s five months."
"That’s not enough: you are too young to recognize bad people at first sight."
There was a short silence and then … he went on:
"Could you teach me ?"
"Not now, I am tired and I must wake up early tomorrow."
"What can I do as long as you have not had enough time to explain to me ?"
"STOP PLAYING CARDS WITH PEOPLE YOU DON’T KNOW."
"I haven't known you for a long time, but I know that you are good."
"Why do you say that ?"
"Because you are educated and because you wrote a long letter for me. Moreover, you are honest."
"OK, I lost, but now I need to sleep. If you don’t let me sleep, I’ll never again read or write a letter for you."
It was my first day in prison, I was exhausted by a physical work I was not used to, and on top of it I had an admirer.

We spent the rest of the week more or less as it started, but there were minor changes. Everyday I got more and more used to the physical work that was required from me. It became easier and I did it well and faster. And most importantly, I was no longer as tired as before. On Gary’s side, there was a major change: he stopped playing cards, but was visibly bored and I expected a sad relapse.

A week exactly after my entrance in this dreadful prison world a guard took me, handcuffed, to the barber. This brute shaved once again my head where stubbles started to appear. Like the first time he did not use foam but only cold water and he hurt me, like the first time. I had come to accept this part of my strange fate, so I told him and I told the guard that I was ready now to accept this unjustified punishment and that there was thus no need to handcuff me anymore. The barber only said: "I have my orders" while the guard explained that it was a rule: whenever a prisoner was led to another part of the prison than his cell space, he had to be handcuffed. He added:
"Some situations also require shackles."

After that I was told to go and have a discussion with the psychologist who reviewed with me everything I had done since I arrived in the prison and the way I felt about it. I simply told him that I was doing my best, as I always do but that keeping me in prison was an injustice. I added:
"There is no reason to keep me here with these poor destitute boys, I am a College graduate."
The psychologist made no comment but kept notes.

Shortly after that, Gary and I received a letter each. I got an answer from my advisor while Gary received for the first time a real letter. My advisor simply said that he was sorry that I was now in prison. He added that there was nothing he could do since apparently my behaviour had been very unsatisfactory. He hoped that this stay in prison would be morally beneficial and that I would understand that poor people also deserve an education.

Gary asked me to read his letter for him since he did not know how to do it by himself. His mother had written a good letter saying that she was pleased he had found another prisoner to help him. She hoped that this new prisoner sharing his cell was a better person than the guy who had won all his money on cards previously. She added that she was no longer going to pay his card debts. She ended with kind words, similar to those my mother tried to use with me and I refused to hear.

Gary wanted to reply immediately, but we did not have the authorization, nor did we have the paper and pencil. It was already evening and we were in our cell, so I told him that we would take care of that the next day.

The next day, during my afternoon "rest hours", Gary came back and asked if I was ready to write a letter for him. I was tired, so I wanted to rest and I asked a guard to be allowed to rest on my bunk since I was working hard. The guard gave me the required authorization to sleep on my bunk for an hour or so before the evening work hours. I told Gary, rather nastily I admit:
"Why don’t you ask another prisoner, since you cannot write, stupid boy."
"Precisely because I have confidence in you and not in these card players. You know Steven, I didn’t touch a card since you told me not to. But if you don’t want to help, I’ll go back to the card players."
"OK, let me rest a bit and I’ll write that f***ing letter for you."
"It would be easier if you told me how to read and write."
"You didn’t learn at school ?"
"At home, nobody cared and at school, since I am stupid, they let me down."
"Well, you are not stupid since you think about it. It’s OK, I'll try to teach you."
"And write my letter today ?"
"Yea, after you let me sleep a bit."

I did exactly what I had promised: I wrote a letter to his mother. Since he insisted on learning to read and write, I asked a guard, politely, in the position of attention, if I could have the necessary book and paper to do that. The guard looked at me in my disgusting green uniform and simply replied: "NO !"
So I asked to be allowed to speak to the Director and the guard’s reaction was unexpected:
"Do you want to go to the isolation cell ? Stop with all these stupid requests."
I abandoned and told Gary that it was forbidden to do what he had asked for. He felt abandoned once more and told me so. I understood him: he was not stupid but had been misunderstood by those who should have cared for him when he was a young boy. I had compassion for Gary, but I also despised him for being a prisoner. In fact I felt much superior to all my co-detainees who were merely "criminals".

In order to avoid further punishments, I worked as well as I could: this was also a way to keep my mind busy, far from the smell of these stupid young prisoners. It also enabled me to forget during a few moments that I was one of these prisoners. I also felt humiliated by the stupid job I had to do, and also by these brutal and regular haircuts. I tried to protest and a guard told me that the only person able to change my situation was the Director. So, I asked to see him.
That’s when the guard asked me:
" Do you want him to give you more administrative detention time ?"
I realized that this was a serious possibility and I did not want to try: I knew now that all the guards had been informed that I was here only because of my lack of immediate obedience during the intake process. I chose to abandon my request, which would have been interesting: I would have been a sort of teacher. I simply went to the kitchen and started to do the job imposed on me as well as I could. In fact I was later told that as soon as I started to obey after this incident, I did very well on dishes and pots cleaning, on vegetable peeling and on floor scrubbing.

Every week, I went without hesitation to the barber who scrubbed my head in his way. It was still painful, but I got used to his brutal ways and he seemed to get used to the shape of my head: there were no cuts anymore.

Every week, I had to go to appointments with the prison psychologist. This psychologist did not advise me, he made me tell what I had done during the previous week. He asked me also to evaluate what I had done: was it good or bad and why. Slowly, he made me realize that I was always overreacting, brutal with people I considered as subordinates, impatient and that my decision to refuse to teach in a school for the underprivileged was a way to keep feeling constantly superior to my equals.

Eventually, I admitted more or less spontaneously that I was not better than the other prisoners and thus that I deserved to be in prison for my bad initial behaviour. After 4 months in this jail, working as a slave in the kitchen, I fully accepted that I was neither better nor worse than the other prisoners. I was certainly not superior except in knowledge, but not in the way to tell them how to get that knowledge.

I did not know that the Director had been made aware of everything I did. He had also received weekly reports from the psychologist describing my mood and the way I lived under duress, duress resulting from the constraints imposed on me by my prisoner’s life. Finally, a little bit after I had been a "well behaving prisoner", the Director called me into his office. I did not know why.

A guard led me there, handcuffed. He took the handcuffs off when we reached the Director’s door.
I entered his office, took off my prison hat to show him the respect he deserved as Director, and took the position of attention as I did for every cell inspection. He looked at me and finally spoke:
"87.203, are you still the rebellious guy who had to be calmed down with prison time?"
"Sir, I hope I learned my lesson. I work hard on the job you have told me to do. I have not been punished since that first day."
"87.203, do you still think that all the other prisoners are ‘poor destitute boys’ not worth your help. In other words, do you think that they are bad criminals while you are a superior College graduate?"
"No sir, I noticed that there is a lot of good in most of them. They simply were not as lucky as I was as far as education was concerned."
"So you don’t think anymore that sentencing you to twice 6 months was a bad thing?"
"Sir you know what you have to do with this prisoner and I try to make the best out of it."
"I heard that you helped your cellmate write and read letters, was there any payment for that?"
"No, Sir".
"Not even when your cell door was locked at night?"
At first I wondered trying to guess what the Director meant, suddenly I understood and despite my age, I started to blush and said:
"No sir, certainly not that. I simply did it because I felt I owed him that for all the education I had had."
"87.203, that tallies more or less with what the Psychologist and the Guards told me about you."
He looked at me for several minutes. I blushed even more, I was barely 22!
"87.203, I am convinced you are now an honest person, and respectful of other detainees. The prison librarian has served his time and has been set free. You can have his job, instead of your job in the kitchen. In exchange, you will continue helping young prisoners write letters. You will also teach reading and writing to those who ask for it. This does not reduce the time you owe to this prison, but as of now, you will only have normal head shaves and only when the barber considers that it is necessary."
I could not refrain from saying "Thank you sir. I will do what you order me to do."
"87.203, don’t forget to give proper instructions to your cellmate: he will replace you in the kitchen."
"I will do it, but he is only 17 sir and he wants to learn."
"Are you again disobeying my orders, 87.203 ?"
"No sir."
"Go now, and do as told. I have other projects for your cellmate."
I respectfully put on my prison hat, and turned towards the door in order to leave this office and start my new job. As soon as I was out of the Director’s office, I presented my hands automatically to let a guard place the handcuffs on my wrists. I hated it, but it was the rule as soon as we were out of our assigned space, which was now the case.

When I was back in our space, after the guard took off my handcuffs, I explained to Gary that he was, as of now, the kitchen helper. Luckily, a guard came and told him to go to the Director for his new job with another young detainee. So I realized that Gary would not be alone. It was time for Gary to get the handcuffs but that didn’t seem to annoy him. He was definitely not as educated and as good a man as I was.

The next day, I started my new job immediately after breakfast. The library was outside of our space, this implied that I had again to be handcuffed just to go there. I felt nervous and really wanted this time in prison to come to an end, not knowing what would come next: I would probably never be a teacher since I would be an ex-con when I left the prison.

I did my job as well as I could. I also did it as humbly as I was able to do it. Part of this job involved taking books on a little cart and bringing them in the different halls of the prison in order to lend them to the detainees. While doing so, I had to be handcuffed each time we moved from one hall to another, and there were four halls in that prison. A guard took the little chain attached to my handcuffs and pulled me as if I were a dog, and I obeyed now !

I also started to teach detainees who wanted it how to read and how to write. It was easier for me than for them since they had to come from their respective halls for the lessons while I remained cosy in "my" library. But it worked. The first to learn something was Gary and I was mighty proud when he started to write by himself a letter to his mother. Other detainees followed.

One day, Gary had received a letter from his mother and asked me to let him read it aloud to all the others. He did it easily and without too many mistakes. That day I was really happy for him. Others followed and did as well.

The situation with the barber had also changed a lot. I kept paying him a visit every week after my cold shower and disinfection. I was of course handcuffed but after a certain time the guard in charge of me did not keep the end of my leash in his hands. In the beginning the barber kept doing as he had done before, despite the announcement made by the Director and being tamed now, I did not react. The fourth time I payed him a visit he simply said:
"Prisoner 87.203, you seem calm now and also tamed. The Director gave me the permission to give you a better haircut. How do you feel about a plain buzzcut ?"
"Chief, if you think that this prisoner deserves this favour, who am I to say that I don’t want it ?"
"87.203, do you want it, yes or no ?"
"Chief, YES chief" was my brief but polite answer. It surprised all the guards in this barber room, me included, but it was really how I felt that I had to answer.

The barber did not say a word and started to work. He took a small set of clippers and took off the guard in order to shave a straight line just above my ears, all around my head. I did not move while he was doing that. He then took bigger clippers, again without guard, in order to shave everything below that line. He did it smoothly and not briskly as previously. He kept turning, pushing and pulling my head in all possible directions in order to easily clean my sides and my back, but he no longer hurt me. He also warned me every time he was going to provoke such a move, in order to kindly warn me about what he was going to do. Finally he said:
"I did not use any guard here, in order to let you be really clean without hurting you. I am not going to touch the top of your head: your stubbles are too small. I will keep an eye on them, but I will only start to shave them when I can use a number 3 guard. It will give you a nice and short buzz cut, my boy. I hope that you liked this."

In fact I really liked it: I used to go and visit him every week and I would have missed this visit if it had not been imposed on me. I realized that for the first time on that day. I also realized that the barber had taken lots of time compared to what he usually did, but he had done so without hurting me. He was not a brute after all !

None of the guards tried to pull me by the leash attached to my handcuffs as they usually did, so I tried to get out of the barber chair all by myself. But with the handcuffs, it was not easy. That’s when the barber shouted:
"Nobody is helping him. Is it still useful to put handcuffs on his wrists if things are like that ?"
One guard replied:
"I have orders to let this prisoner behave as much as possible all by himself."
That was the last time a guard held that stupid little leash attached to my handcuffs. Nevertheless this little chain and the handcuffs were useful: whenever they were imposed on me, they reminded me of the fact that I was a prisoner and that I had a task to perform, they reminded me of the fact that I had to remain humble and respectful of the other prisoners who wanted me to help them learn to read and write. These handcuffs, and this little leash reminded me that I was in no way superior to my pupils. They even helped me realize that I had only been lucky and that I had a sort of debt towards those who had not been equally lucky and who had landed in prison otherwise than I did.

At the end of the year, one day before my "Administrative Detention Time" was up, I was called in the Director’s office. This wise man spoke to me in those terms:
"Prisoner 87.203 you worked well as librarian. Your work as a teacher was also good. How much time do you need to teach a boy who wants to do it, to read all by himself ?"
"Sir, I think I would need 6 months."
"In that case, I would like to keep you here for at least 6 more months."
"As a prisoner, Sir ?" was my immediate question.
"Yes, I don’t need to pay a lot for that, my boy. I think I could even keep you for a full year."
"You cannot do that, Sir. During this year as a prisoner I worked hard and I think I was humble enough."
"That’s true. You made great lots of progress and this year in prison was useful for you. I should now let you go now as a free man. But yet I would like to keep you here as a librarian and as a teacher."
"Sir, tomorrow I will be free but I will be an ex-con. I don’t think I will easily find a job as a teacher. Good schools will not want me in their staff."
"87.203, I never sent to the authorities a notification of this administrative sentence to 12 months prison. In fact, these 12 months behind the bars were for your good. It was an idea, a great idea, of your advisor who considered you as intelligent but also as a conceited and arrogant person. You are thus not an ex-con and you are no longer conceited or arrogant.
"But, Sir, I missed several appointments for a job and I cannot afford being jobless."
"Steven," it was the first time the Director called me by my name and not by my number, "you worked so well with the underprivileged prisoners that I want to hire you as a permanent, free, librarian and teacher."
"Sir, I could accept if the pay is good enough."
"Steven, I have no money for that job, but I have two solutions. First I could keep you prisoner for many years. You would remain prisoner 87.203 and you would keep your chains."
"You cannot do that, Sir !"
"87.203, you are not out of this prison and I already told you that I could do it."
I looked at him indignantly and also powerless. I knew the Director had the required powers to keep me in jail for several years. But he continued.
"There is a second possibility. I could hire you as a special guard. You would of course have to wear a guard’s uniform, but you would not be required to function exactly as a guard would."
"Sir, that would be a bad signal for the detainees who would not have the same contact with me as before."
"Steven, what would be an acceptable solution for you ?"
"Sir, I don’t forget what this stay in prison has done for me. So, I could accept a guard’s pay and no more, provided that I would be treated like a prison psychologist. I would not wear a uniform and I would have the possibility to sleep out of the prison every day."
"I can live with that, but for me you will remain 87.203. We are now going to explain to the guards that you asked to be accepted here as a prisoner in order to learn how to behave with the detainees. You were never sent here because of a court decision. The idea was simply to let you try teaching in a prison."
I considered that this was a great idea. I signed a guard’s contract and I decided to keep my very short haircut.

Every week I join the prisoners for their cold shower and disinfection. I then ask my friend, the barber, to refresh my haircut. It shows the boys that I am a good man and it reminds me that if I had not been really lucky, I would have ended up being one of them.
The prisoners respect me and many try to learn with me, and not only reading and writing.
Gary ended up having also learned some maths, but most important he learned to learn by himself. He has an honest job as a shopkeeper.

Every weekend, I have a special session with the psychologist: we go to a bar and have some beers together.

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