I stood there on the dock that had been cut from limestone. A wind blew off the ocean and I breathed deeply to see if I could detect even the slightest molecule of the fruit of paradise. As I suspected, the place was devoid of hope.
Back in the Well-Built City, while I awaited trial in my jail cell, I had used up my prodigious reserves of self-pity, crying and discussing aloud with myself how I had been wronged and how it had led me to a state of ignorance in which I had wronged others. Now I was washed up on the shores of hell with no will left—'a blob of flesh,' as I would so aptly have put it in my previous life.
I waited for ten minutes and still no one came to take me to my cell. For a moment, I entertained the idea of trying to escape but then realized that there was nowhere to go. The waters surrounding the island—I had been told by one of the guards who had brought me—were teeming with shark and kraken, and the uninhabited parts of Doralice were home to a ravenous breed of wild dog. Both possible fates seemed more appealing than the mines, but along with my loss of self had come a sense of fatalism that eschewed action.
At that moment, I heard footsteps approaching along the dock. I looked up and saw a man with shoulder-length white hair, wearing an old military coat, the left breast covered with medals and pins. He drew closer and my first inclination was to apply the Physiognomy to him. I fought that urge and simply saw a face of folds and pouches, the eyes sunken, the nose a testament to voluminous drinking. Although he carried a drawn saber in his left hand, he did not seem at all threatening. Instead, there was a certain weariness about him.
He smiled as he approached and offered his hand to shake, but then realized I was handcuffed and said, 'Good thinking.' He sheathed his sword and told me to turn around. I did as he said. Then he approached behind me, and I could feel that he was releasing my wrists.
'Good enough,' he said as he pocketed the key and cuffs.
By the way he spoke, I did not think he would mind my turning back around. When I stood looking at him, he put his hand up and we shook.
'Corporal Matters,' he said. 'I am the corporal of the night watch.'
I nodded.
'You are Cley,' he said. 'I suppose you can see now what a lot of rubbish that Physiognomy nonsense is?' He waited for a reply, but I remained silent. 'Welcome to Doralice,' he said with a tired laugh. 'Follow me.' He brandished his sword, and I followed him off the dock. We took a sandy path that led us through a thicket of stunted pine trees which reminded me of the Beyond.
'Excuse the sword,' he called back to me over his shoulder, 'but every once in a while one of those execrable wild dogs will be waiting for me here in the dark. Don't worry—I've gashed my share. Besides, they are usually at the other end of the island this time of year.'
We continued on, clearing the pines, and then wound through a maze of enormous dunes. Beyond that, we came to a white beach where the ocean broke. We kept to the shore for about a mile and then walked up the beach, through another maze of dunes, at the center of which was a large, dilapidated inn.
'The Harrow House,' he said, pointing.
I stood beside him and looked up at the ornate architecture in varying stages of decay.
'You know the expression 'Harrow's hindquarters'?' he asked, smiling.
I nodded.
'This was built by that Harrow,' he said. 'I could never quite figure out what that saying meant. Anyway, he built this inn here years ago, hoping that the island would attract visitors from the City. No one ever came, and Harrow swam out to sea one afternoon and was drowned or was eaten or something.'
'This is the prison?' I asked.
The corporal pointed to his head and said, 'This is the prison.'
'Is this where I am to stay?' I asked.
'Yes. I bet you were expecting much worse,' he said. 'Sorry to say, at this juncture, we have no other prisoners. You can choose any room you like, though. In the morning before dawn—for one of your punishments is that you should never again see sunlight—my brother, the corporal of the day watch, will be here to roust you out of sleep and drag you off to the mine, where you will work till sundown. Is that clear?'
I nodded.
'You will meet Silencio. He is the caretaker of the inn. There is a well-stocked bar on the back porch, and he loves to play at being a bartender,' said the corporal.
'Thank you,' I said.
'Remember something, Cley. My brother is not so accommodating as I am. The night watch is sleep; the day watch is death.' Then he smiled and waved to me, heading off through the maze of dunes.
I stumbled through the dark inn, across the main barroom, and then up a flight of stairs where I thought the living quarters might be. On the second floor there was a long hall lined with doors. Halfway down that shadowy corridor, I could see that one of the doors was open and that a soft light shone forth.
It was room number 7. I stepped inside and saw that it had been newly cleaned. The linen on the bed was uncreased and the curtains were spotless. There wasn't one grain of sand on the polished wooden floor. The light came from a gas lamp, whose light could be lowered or brightened or extinguished by turning a key like knob.
There was a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a closet of moderate size. Next to the closet was a small bathroom that, instead of a door, had a curtain that could be pulled across. Inside hung a mirror over the sink that was too large for my liking, but the walls were painted a soothing sea green. I lay on the bed and pushed off my boots.
The two windows had been left open, and the white lace curtains billowed. I could hear and smell the ocean cutting through everything. The salt air had sunk into me and turned me to lead. My eyes closed and I lay there for a second or two, grappling with the future.
A minute later it seemed, I felt a stick come down across my back. Someone kicked me in the rear end. There were hands on me, pushing me onto the wooden floor. It was completely dark and outside I heard birds screeching.
'Wear only your underwear,' roared an angry voice. 'You have two minutes in which to be out in front.'
I was groggy and aching from the beating I had gotten, but I rose to my feet, stripped off my clothes, and followed him. On the bottom step, I stumbled and fell against my tormentor's back. He turned to push me off him and struck me with his stick.
'Get off me, you shit,' he screamed.
He let the screen door slam in my face on the way out. I came to stand before him on the path that led through the dunes. Hugging myself against the early morning chill, I peered through the darkness and saw the face of the corporal of the day watch. With the exception that he had long dark hair, he was the image of the corporal of the night watch. He wore the same coat with the same pins and medals, but his face was atwitch with red anger and fear.
'Get down on the ground,' he said.
I did.
'Draw me a circle in the sand,' he said.
I did.
He hit me with his stick. 'A bigger circle,' he shouted.
I drew a bigger one.
Then he crouched down in front of me and showed me a pair of dice he held in his right hand. I think they were red with white spots. He put his fist around them and brought them up to his mouth to blow on. Once this was accomplished, he shook them and threw them into the circle I had drawn. The white dots of a three and a four glowed in the dark.
'Seven pounds,' he said, sweeping the dice up in his hand and standing.
I got up.
'You'll be digging seven pounds today,' he repeated.
I nodded.
'All right, walk forward with your hands on your head,' he called from behind me. I did as he said, and before I had gone one step I could feel the tip of his saber resting against my spine.
We walked a different route through the dunes, and within a half mile, over loose sand, mosquitoes biting my arms and legs, we came to the entrance of the mine.
A sick yellow light shone out from the timbered shaft, making visible the fumes that drifted up. I gagged several times at the smell. It was overwhelmingly corrupt.
'Breathe deeply,' yelled Corporal Matters of the day watch. 'You will become this stench in a matter of weeks.' He paused for a moment. 'I will issue you a pickax and a shovel. You will also be given a bag to carry your sulphur to the surface, one gourd of putrid water, and three moist cremat disks.' He walked off into the shadows and soon returned with those items.
I put the shovel and axe over my shoulder and took the string of the gourd and the brown-wrapped package of food with my opposite hand to show the corporal that I understood.
'There are a few things that my prisoners need to know,' he said, pacing back and forth in front of me.
I wondered if the Corporals Matters were really twins or just the same twisted fellow switching wigs. The similarities were unnerving.
'My first dictum,' he shouted. 'Every miner must dig his own hole. This means that you must find a barren piece of rock and create your own tunnel. You will be requested to chisel your name over your tunnel after you have been with us for six months. Your remains, whatever they may be, will be interred in your tunnel, proceeding your demise. You are your tunnel. Do you understand?'
I nodded.
'My second dictum is: the mine is the mind,' he said, then suddenly reached out with the stick and whacked me in the shoulder. 'Say it,' he yelled. 'Say it.'
'The mine is the mind,' I said in a near whisper.
'Say it again,' he yelled and I did.
Then he stepped up to within an inch of my face, breathing his alcoholic breath on me. 'The mine is my mind,' he said. 'While you work, you are in my mind, tunneling through my head and I see you always. My mind is always killing you as you dig through it. Dig hard. I will teach you a zest for the battle.'
I nodded again and waited for my next order. He came at me, brandishing the stick and reaching for his saber. * To work, you idiot,' he bellowed. 'Seven pounds
