Mockingbird

the ones in the basement of the library in New York.

I could not make out the words at first; they were faded and covered with dirt. And the hallway was dark. But when I got up close and looked carefully I made them out: EAST WING LIBRARY.

I almost jumped at the word “Library.” I just stood there, staring at the sign, and felt my heart pounding.

And then I tried the doors and found that they were locked. I pulled and pushed and tried to twist the knobs, but I could not make anything budge. It was horrible.

I became overwhelmed with anger and beat my fists against the door. But it did not move and I only hurt myself.

I slipped out of the building after I heard the guards return and go into one of the storage rooms.

I must get inside that library! I must have books again. If I cannot read and learn and have things that are worth thinking about, I would rather immolate myself than go on living.

Synthetic gasoline is used in the harvesting machines. I know that I could get some and burn myself.

I will stop writing now and watch TV.

DAY ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO

For eleven days I have been despondent. In the afternoons I have not bothered to go to look at the ocean when I get to the end of my row, and I have not tried to write in the evenings. My mind is as blank as I can make it while I work—I concentrate only on the thick, rancid smell of the Protein 4 plants.

The guards say nothing, but I still hate them. It is all I really feel. Their thick, slow bodies and their slack faces are like the synthetic, rubbery plants I feed. They are—the phrase is from Intolerance— an abomination in my sight.

If I take four or five sopors it is not unpleasant to watch TV. My TV wall is a good one, and it always works.

My body no longer hurts. It is strong now, and my muscles are firm and hard. I am suntanned, and my eyes are clear. There are tough calluses on my hands and on the soles of my feet, and I work well and have not been beaten again. But the sadness in my heart has come back. It has come to me slowly, a day at a time, and I am more despairing than during my first days in prison. Ev-erything seems hopeless.

Days pass, sometimes, without my thinking of Mary Lou. Hopeless.

DAY ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-THREE

I have seen where the synthetic gasoline is kept. It is in the computer shed at the edge of the field.

All prisoners have electronic cigarette lighters, for smoking marijuana.

DAY ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SIX

Last night Belasco came to my cell again, and at first I did not want to see him. When I found the door to my cell was unlocked I became nervous. I did not want to leave, and I did not want anyone coming in.

But he walked in anyway and said, “Good to see you, Bentley.”

I just looked at the floor at my feet. My TV was off, and I had been sitting like that for hours, on the edge of my bed.

He was silent for a while and I heard him seat himself in my chair, but I still did not look up. I did not feel that I could even raise my head.

Finally he spoke again, softly. “I seen you in the fields the last few days, Bentley. You been looking like a robot.” His voice was sympathetic, soothing.

I made myself speak. “I suppose so,” I said.

We were quiet again. Then he said, “I know how it is, Bentley. You get to thinking about dying. Like they do in the cities, with gas and a lighter. Or here we got the ocean. I seen guys go out all the way. Hell, I used to think about it myself: just swim as far as I can and not look back…”

I looked up at him. “You felt like that?” I was astonished. “You seem so strong.”

He laughed wryly and I looked up toward his face. “Shit,” he said, “I’m like everybody else. This kind of living ain’t much better than being dead.” He laughed again, shaking his head from side to side. “And it ain’t much better on the outside, to tell the truth. No real work to do, except the same kind of crap you do in here. At the Worker Dormitories they told us, ‘Labor fulfills.’ Horseshit.” He took a joint from his pocket and lit it. “I was stealing credit cards the first blue after I graduated. Been in prison half my life. Wanted to die the first two or three stretches, but I didn’t. Nowadays I got my cats, and I sneak around a little…” Then he interrupted himself. “Hey!” he said. “You want to have Biff?”

I stared at him. “For my own… pet?”

“Sure. Why not? I got four more. Pain in the ass to find food for sometimes, though. But I can teach you how.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d like that. I’d like to have a cat.”

“We can go get her now,” he said.

And I found myself leaving my cell easily. As we went out the unlocked door I turned to Belasco and said, “I feel better.”

He slapped me lightly on the back. “What are friends for?” he said.

I stood there a moment, not knowing what to say. And then, almost without thinking of the gesture, I reached out and put my hand on his forearm. And I thought of something. “There’s a building I want to get in. Do you think it might be unlocked?”

He grinned at me. “That’s more like it,” he said. And then, “Let’s go see.”

We left the building. It was simple and there were no guards in sight.

We got into the deserted building with no trouble, but inside it was too dark to see, and we stumbled over boxes in the hallways. Then I heard Belasco say, “Sometimes these old places have a switch on the wall,” and I heard him fumbling, heard him trip and curse, and then there was a click and a big overhead light came on in the hallway. For a moment I was frightened that the guards might see the light, but then I remembered the boarded-up windows and was relieved.

But when I found the library door it was still locked! I was tense enough already, and I could have screamed.

Belasco looked at me. “Is that where you want to go?”

I said, “Yes.” Without even asking me what I wanted to get in the room for, he began to examine the lock. It was of a kind I had never seen before, and didn’t even appear to be electronic.

Belasco whistled quietly. “Wow!” he said. “This bastard is old.” He began feeling in his pockets until he found his prison-issued lighter. Then he put it on the floor and stamped on it two or three times with his heel, until it was broken. He reached down, picked up the mess of wires and glass and plastic, and, after studying it a moment, pulled out a piece of stiff wire about as long as my thumb. I watched him silently, having no idea what he was doing this for.

He bent to the lock on the door carefully, placed the end of his wire into a slot in it, and began probing around. Every now and then a little clicking sound came from inside the lock somewhere. He cursed a couple of times, quietly, and continued. And then, just as I was about to ask him what he was trying to do, there was a softer sound inside the lock and Belasco grinned, took the doorknob in his hand, and opened the door!

It was dark inside, but Belasco found a switch on the wall again and two somewhat dim overhead lights