‘Not necessarily,’ said Savatori. ‘Come and see me the day before I’m due to be discharged.’
‘But by then it will be too late.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Savatori, without explanation. ‘Meanwhile, study every page of this very carefully.’ He handed Harry a heavy, leather-bound tome that rarely left the library.
Harry sat on the top bunk and opened the cover of the 273-page prison handbook. Before he’d reached page 6, he began to make notes. Long before he’d started reading the book a second time, a plan had begun to form in his mind.
He knew his timing would be critical, and both acts would have to be rehearsed, particularly as he would be on stage when the curtain went up. He accepted that he couldn’t go ahead with his plan until after Savatori had been released, even though a new deputy librarian had already been appointed.
When Harry carried out a dress rehearsal in the privacy of their cell, Quinn told him that he was not only paranoid, but crazy, because, he assured him, his second performance would be in solitary.
The warden made his monthly rounds of each block on a Monday morning, so Harry knew that he’d have to wait for three weeks after Savatori had been discharged, before he would reappear on A block. Swanson always took the same route, and prisoners knew that if they valued their skin, they disappeared out of sight the moment he came into view.
When Swanson stepped on to the top floor of A block that Monday morning, Harry was waiting to greet him, mop in hand. Hessler slipped in behind the warden, and waved his truncheon to indicate that if Bradshaw valued his life, he should step aside. Harry didn’t budge, leaving the warden with no choice but to stop in his tracks.
‘Good morning, warden,’ said Harry, as if they bumped into each other regularly.
Swanson was surprised to come face-to-face with a prisoner on his rounds, and even more surprised when one spoke to him. He looked more closely at Harry. ‘Bradshaw, isn’t it?’
‘You have a good memory, sir.’
‘I also remember your interest in literature. I was surprised when you turned down the job as deputy librarian.’
‘I was never offered the job,’ said Harry. ‘If I had been, I would have accepted it with alacrity,’ he added, which clearly took the warden by surprise.
Turning to Hessler, Swanson said, ‘You told me Bradshaw didn’t want the job.’
Harry jumped in before Hessler could reply. ‘Probably my fault, sir. I didn’t realize I had to apply for the position.’
‘I see,’ said the warden. ‘Well, that would explain it. And I can tell you, Bradshaw, that the new man doesn’t know the difference between Plato and Pluto.’ Harry burst out laughing. Hessler remained tight-lipped.
‘A good analogy, sir,’ said Harry as the warden attempted to move on. But Harry hadn’t finished. He thought Hessler would explode when he removed an envelope from his jacket and handed it to the warden.
‘What’s this?’ Swanson asked suspiciously.
‘An official request to address the board when they make their quarterly visit to the prison next Tuesday, which is my prerogative under statute thirty-two of the penal code. I’ve sent a copy of the request to my lawyer, Mr Sefton Jelks.’ For the first time, the warden looked anxious. Hessler could barely contain himself.
‘Will you be making a complaint?’ asked the warden cautiously.
Harry stared directly at Hessler before replying, ‘Under statute one-one-six, it is my right not to disclose to any member of the prison staff why I wish to address the board, as I’m sure you’re aware, warden.’
‘Yes, of course, Bradshaw,’ said the warden, sounding flustered.
‘But it is my intention, among other things, to inform the board of the importance you place on including literature and religion as part of our daily lives.’ Harry stood aside to allow the warden to continue on his way.
‘Thank you, Bradshaw,’ he said. ‘That’s good of you.’
‘I’ll be seeing you later, Bradshaw,’ hissed Hessler under his breath.
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ said Harry, loud enough for Mr Swanson to hear.
Harry’s confrontation with the warden was the main topic of conversation among the prisoners in the dinner queue, and when Quinn returned from the kitchen later that evening, he warned Harry that the rumour on the block was that once lights were out, Hessler was likely to kill him.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Harry calmly. ‘You see, the problem with being a bully is that on the flipside of that particular coin, you’ll find the imprint of a coward.’
Quinn didn’t look convinced.
Harry didn’t have long to wait to prove his point, because within moments of lights out, the cell door swung open and Hessler strolled in, swinging his truncheon.