Soon four convicts came into the room; one, a gangster, with a broken nose, and beady, black eyes, asked me: "Where is the stiff?" As in prison language "stiff" is also the name used for newspapers, I looked at him foolishly and answered that I had none. He added in explanation: "I mean the guy that croaked last night."
Neither the keeper nor the convicts relished the post-prandial funeral.... Death had come so suddenly and informally, and had left his victim in the enemy's camp, to be carried to the morgue, and later to be buried on a convict's island without benefit of clergy.
IV
Before the old thief died the old trusty had gone, and I had to take his place. I did so only with great reluctance, and with many misgivings as to my peace of mind and body.
I had noticed how the convicts nagged and harassed the old trusty with insults and petty, malicious persecutions to revenge themselves for his greed and his authoritative, arrogant manner towards them.
I realized that life might be made unbearable for me, and that I might be forced to go downstairs to the cells before I had completed my cure.
When the old trusty received fruit he had sold it promptly to the convicts for money. He asked five cents for an apple, ten cents for an orange, so much for tobacco or for a pipe, another price for suspenders, handkerchiefs, or whatever he might have to sell or barter.
After his release the Italian consumptive said that he had got only half portions of his special food that had been sent in for him, as the trusty cut the portions in half in order to sell the remainder to others.
I unconsciously sensed that the only successful method of taming the ferocious, revengeful natures of the convicts was by kindness and patience; by treating them as friends in misfortune, and not as enemies or inferiors.
When I received tobacco or fruit I divided it among the men who seldom if ever had any visits or mail; the magazines were distributed among them and later were carried downstairs from cell to cell, until the whole prison had read them. To my intense surprise, English, German, Italian—even "high brow" magazines like the Mercure de France and La Revue were eagerly demanded and read by some of these strangely intellectual convicts.