I'm not saying it was Andy Dufresne, but I do k that he brought in five hundred when he came, and he was a er in the straight world- a man who understands better than the rest of us the ways in which can become power. And I k this: After the beating-the three broken ribs, the hemorrhaged eye, the sprained back and the dislocated hip-Bogs Diamond left Andy alone. In fact, after that he left everyone pretty much alone. He got to be like a high wind in the summertime, bluster and no bite. You could say, in fact, that he turned into a weak sister. That was the end of Bogs Diamond, a man who might eventuy have killed Andy if Andy hadn't taken steps to prevent it (if it was him who took the steps). But it wasn't the end of Andy's trouble with the sisters. T was a little hiatus, and then it began again, although not so hard nor so often. Jackals like easy prey, and t were easier pickings around than Andy Dufresne. He always fought them, that's what I remember. He k, I guess, that if you let them have at you even once, without fighting it, it got that much easier to let them have their way without fighting next time. So Andy would turn up with bruises on his face every once in a while, and t was the matter of the two broken fingers six or eight months after Diamond's beating. Oh yes-and sometime in late , the man landed in the infirmary with a broken cheekbone that was probably the result of someone swinging a nice chunk of pipe with the business-end wrapped in flannel. He always fought back, and as a result, he did his time in solitary. But don't think solitary was the hardship for Andy that it was for some men. He got along with himself. The sisters was something he adjusted himself to-and then, in , it stopped almost completely. That is a part of my story that I'll to in due time. In the f of , Andy met me one morning in the exercise yard and asked me if I could him half a dozen rock-blankets. What the hell are those? I asked. He told me that was just what rock hounds ced them; they were polishing cloths about the size of dishtowels. They were heavily padded, with a smooth side and a rough side-the smooth side like fine-grained sandpaper, the rough side almost as abrasive as indus steel wool (Andy also kept a box of that in his cell, although he didn't it from me-I imagine he kited it from the prison laundry). I told him I thought we could do business on those, and I ended up ting them from the very same rock-and-gem shop w I'd arranged to the rock-hammer. This time I charged Andy my usual ten per cent and not a penny more. I didn't see anything lethal or even dangerous in a dozen x squares of padded cloth. Rock-blankets, indeed. It was about five months later that Andy asked if I could him Rita Hayworth. That conversation took place in the auditorium, during a movie-show. adays we the movie-shows once or twice a week, but back then the shows were a monthly event. Usuy the movies we got had a mory uplifting message to them, and this one, The Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption Lost Weekend, was no different. The moral was that it's dangerous to drink. It was a moral we could take some comfort in. Andy maneuvered to next to me, and about halfway through the show he leaned a little cr and asked if I could him Rita Hayworth. I'll tell you the truth, it kind of tickled me. He was usuy cool, calm, and collected, but that night he was jumpy as hell, almost embarrassed, as if he was asking me to him a load of Trojans or one of those sheepskin-lined gads that are supposed to enhance your solitary pleasure, as the magazines put it. He seemed overcharged, a man on the verge of blowing his radiator. I can her, I said. No sweat, calm down. You want the big one or the little one? At that time Rita was my best girl (a few years before it had been Betty Grable) and she came in two sizes. For a buck you could the little Rita. For two-fifty you could have the big Rita, four feet high and woman. The big one, he said, not looking at me. I tell you, he was a hot sketch that night He was blushing just like a kid trying to into a kootch show with his big brother's draftcard. Can you do it? Take it easy, sure I can. Does a bear shit in the woods? The audience was applauding and catcing as the bugs came out of the ws to Ray Milland, who was having a bad case of the DT's. How ? A week. Maybe less. Okay. But he sounded disappointed, as if he had been hoping I had one stuffed down my pants right then. How much? I d him the wholesale . I could afford to give him this one at ; he'd been a good customer, what with his rock-hammer and his rock-blankets. Furthermore, he'd been a good boy-on more than one night when he was having his s with Bogs, Rooster, and the rest, I dered how long it would be before he used the rock-hammer to crack someone's head . Posters are a big part of my business, just behind the booze and cigarettes, usuy half a step ahead of the reefer. In the s the business exploded in every direction, with a lot of people wanting funky hang-ups like Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, that Easy Rider poster. But mostly it's girls; one pinup queen after another. A few days after I spoke to Ernie, a laundry driver I did business with back then brought in better than sixty posters, most of them Rita Hayworths. You may even remember the picture; I sure do. Rita is dressed-sort of- in a bathing suit, one hand behind her head, her eyes half cd, those full, sulky red lips parted. They ced it Rita Hayworth, but they might as well have ced it Woman in Heat. |
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They were on him. I guess the phrase gang-rape is one that doesn't change much from one generation to the next. That's what they did to him, those four sisters. They bent him over a gearbox and one of them held a Phillips screwdriver to his temple while they gave him the business. It rips you up some, but not bad-am I speaking from personal experience, you ask?-I wish I weren't. You bleed for a while. If you don't want some clown asking you if you just started your period, you wad up a bunch of toilet paper and keep it down the back of your underwear until it stops. The bleeding rey is like a menstrual flow; it keeps up for two, maybe three days, a slow trickle. Then it stops. No harm done, unless they've done something even more unnatural to you. No physical harm done-but rape is rape, and eventuy you have to look at your face in the mirror again and decide what to make of yourself. Andy went through that alone, the way he went through everything alone in those days. He must have come to the conclusion that others before him had come to, ly, that t are two ways to with the sisters: fight them and taken, or just taken. He decided to fight. When Bogs and two of his buddies came after him a week or so after the laundry incident (I heard ya got broke in, Bogs said, according to Ernie, who was around at the time), Andy slugged it out with them. He broke the nose of a fellow d Rooster MacBride, a heavy-gutted farmer who was in for beating his stepdaughter to death. Rooster died in , I'm happy to add. They took him, three of them. When it was done, Rooster and the other egg-it might have been Pete Verness, but I'm not completely sure-forced Andy down to his knees. Bogs Diamond stepped in front of him. He had a pearl-handled razor in those days with the words Diamond Pearl engraved on both sides of the grip. He ed it and said, I'm gonna my fly , mister man, and you're going to swow what I give you to swow. And when you done swowed mine, you're gonna swow Rooster's. I guess you done broke his nose and I think he ought to have something to pay for it Andy said, Anything of yours that you stick in my mouth, you're going to it. Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption Bogs looked at Andy like he was crazy, Ernie said. No, he told Andy, talking to him slowly, like Andy was a stupid kid. You didn't understand what I said. You do anything like that and I'll put eight inches of this steel into your ear. it? I understand what you said. I don't think you understand me. I'm going to bite whatever you stick into my mouth. You can put that razor in my brain, I guess, but you should k that a sudden brain injury causes the victim to simultaneously urinate, defecate... and bite down. He looked up at Bogs, smiling that little smile of his, old Ernie said, as if the three of them had been discussing stocks and bonds with him instead of throwing it to him just as hard as they could. Just as if he was wearing one of his three-piece ers suits instead of kneeling on a dirty broom-ct floor with his pants around his ankles and blood trickling down the insides of his thighs. In fact, he went on, I understand that the bite-reflex is sometimes so strong that the victim's jaws have to be pried with a crowbar or a jack handle. Bogs didn't put anything in Andy's mouth that night in late February of , and neither did Rooster MacBride, and so far as I k, no one else ever did, either. What the three of them did was to beat Andy within an inch of his , and four of them ended up doing a jolt in solitary. Andy and Rooster MacBride went by way of the infirmary. How many times did that particular crew have at him? I don't k. I think Rooster lost his taste fairly early on -being in nose-splints for a month can do that to a fellow -and Bogs Diamond left that summer, at once. That was a strange thing. Bogs was found in his cell, badly beaten, one morning in early June, when he didn't show up in the break nose-count He wouldn't say who had done it, or how they had gotten to him, but being in my business, I k that a screw can be bribed to do almost anything except a gun for an inmate. They didn't make big salaries then, and they don't . And in those days t was no electronic locking system, no cd-circuit TV, no master-switches which controlled whole areas of the prison. Back in , each cellblock had its own turnkey. A guard could have been bribed real easy to let someone-maybe two or three someones-into the block, and, yes, even into Diamond's cell. Of course a job like that would have a lot of . Not by outside standards, no. Prison economics are on a smer scale. When you've been in a while, a dollar bill in your hand looks like a twenty did outside. My guess is, that if Bogs was done, it someone a piece of change-fifteen bucks, well say, for the turnkey, and two or store apiece for each of the lump-up guys. |
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