The Prisoner (1979) (4 page)

I
don’t talk like this all the time,’ she said when he’d brought in the service.

‘I didn’t imagine you did.’

‘It’s…I don’t know, like giving up cigarettes. There’s a tension, it crawls right up and gets inside you and fills you with a kind of evil energy. Do they have grass here, do you know?’ She cocked her head and watched him with a half-amused curiosity.

‘No I don’t. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-five.’ There was something appealing and pathetic in her eyes. ‘I saw some kids making a film around town. I imagine they’d know if anyone would.’

‘Your reason for being here?’

‘I don’t know’—she leaned her head to one side and looked at him again—‘if there is a reason for my being here. But what happened was this: I was hitching by plane from Los Angeles to New York. Dylan is giving a free concert at Woodstock.’

‘Hitch-hiking by plane?’

‘It’s something I learned when I was married. My husband was a very successful insurance broker and so we were given a lot of credit cards. Anyway, one day he came home and said he couldn’t stand it any more at the office, that the way we were living was sick and that we had to go out and find out more about life and ourselves. We used our cards and went around the country. We were with the Poor People’s March in Washington when the troops came in and levelled their shacks. We used to sit outside in the evenings and look through the smog, rolling dope and talking. After a while, we split up. He just dropped out of sight, and since he wouldn’t go back to work, there was no way they could collect their money. I was in Florida so I went to the airport and after a while this gay cat took me to his mansion in the Bahamas.’ She shivered. ‘I’m talking too much. I better drink some of this tea. Delicious. God, I’d like some grass. Got to come back down to reality. This place is too much.’

‘You were in Los Angeles—’

‘Yeah, and this spade cat, he came up and said I looked like I was going to New York to see Dylan and he had a plane and he’d like some company to keep him awake. He was loaded—a TV star, I think—and he was going there to give acid away. Just for the vibes, you know?’

He stared back at her.

‘So I got in his plane, and we went up, and I began to get sleepy, and he said, relax, go to sleep, he’d wake me up after a while. I did and I woke up here.’

‘Remarkable.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘It’s no less likely than my story.’

‘Say.’ She looked around. ‘Your place is groovier than mine. I mean, I haven’t got a stereo. And that’s a good one.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why is that?’

‘I asked.’

‘And they gave it to you.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How did
you
get here, anyway?’

‘I had a job, a job in…security.’

‘You were a spy?’

‘Something like that.’

She smiled wistfully. ‘I’ve known rock stars and dope dealers, but never a spy.’

‘I resigned.’

‘Why?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘I can see that.’

‘It was my refusal that brought me here. It’s a rather bizarre detention camp, as far as I can make out.’

‘A detention camp?’

‘For a certain kind of person. Men and women for whom their government has the highest regard, but who possess information which is thought too delicate to risk in the world at large.’

‘But surely, not all of these people…’

‘Not all of them. Some, as far as I have been able to determine, are what they seem.’

‘And of course some aren’t either, but are the watchers.’

‘Apparently.’

‘Then what am I doing here?’

‘Exactly what I was wondering.’

D
o you come here often at this hour?’

‘Yes. Quite often.’

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it.’

‘Yes, very.’

They stood, not quite touching, watching the steam rise from the ocean, a rose mist above bronze metallic waves. Dawn had turned the western sky ivory, and the morning breeze, chill and damp, blew up, tugging at their clothing. A few grey birds wheeled across the sky, levelled and shot past in a great beating of wings.

She turned to him. ‘People here don’t trust each other very much.’

He started to speak.

‘Oh, I see the reasons. But…people can’t live like that. It isn’t good for them. They become hostile and remote, willing to do anything. Their lives and other people’s lives become valueless and meaningless. I can see that it’s even happening to you.’

A bird cried.

‘You don’t like that, do you? But it’s true. You’re like a boxer out of training—I knew a boxer once, lived with him in New Orleans. You’re not fit. You’re restless and uneasy, out of your element Do you really think you could have retired?’

‘Yes.’

‘Some people
are
like that. They can relax as hard as they work. Not me, though. I wish I could.’

He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared down at her.

‘I’ve got to get out of here, you know.’ Her voice was sharper, desperate. ‘This place is no good for me. No good for anyone.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Don’t—’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard all this many times before.’

‘And yet, you don’t look like one of them. I can tell a lot from a man’s face. And you don’t look like one of the sheep, either. I don’t understand you or the Admiral. I would have thought either one of you would have escaped by now.’

‘It’s harder than it looks.’

‘Is it? I thought it might be. But you do want to escape, don’t you?’

‘I will escape.’

‘You sound so positive. When?’

‘I don’t know. When the right time comes.’

‘And when will that be?’

He shrugged again.

‘Hey, there! Number Six.’

They turned.

It was the blond, gangling Number Five Sixty-nine.

‘Number Five Sixty-nine,’ he said, ‘Number Seven. Number Seven, Number Five Sixty-nine.’

‘Hello, Number Seven.’ He looked up. ‘Number Two’s really out to get you.’

‘How flattering.’

‘No, mate, I’m serious. Me sister, Number Seventy-three, she’s ’is secretary, and she’s heard. He give orders you was to be picked up and brought to trial.’

‘On what charge?’

‘Search me. But I do know this: Me and my mates, we been thinking. This being called Numbers, that’s for the straights. Get me—the establishment. Names is where it’s at. And we been watching you. You don’t put up with much. You don’t take no bull—pardon me, miss.’

‘You know where I can get some grass?’ she said.

‘Oh, wow, yeah, sure. See me later, we’re growing some up just east of town.’ He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. ‘Like I was saying, you don’t put up with too much, and well…we dig that, get me? We think you’re okay. If we can help you we will. But from now on, we’re gonna be more like you. You know, independent.’

‘Far out.’ She smiled.

‘Well…I gotta be on my way, Number Twenty-four wants to see me. In some kind of trouble, I think. A nice bloke, but careless. Good day.’ He went back up the slope and walked away.

‘You seem to be quite popular.’

‘In demand, at any rate.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Have breakfast. Care to join me?’

‘Oh yes. This looks interesting. What will they do to you, do you think?’

‘I don’t.’

They mounted the steps to the restaurant terrace and went in to the steamy warmth of the dining room. He drew out a chair.

The corners of her mouth quirked. ‘Are all British men so polite?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t give a lot away, do you?’

Before he could answer, she was looking out the window.

Number One Twenty-seven appeared beside them, producing a pad from the pocket of her uniform and staring down at the table. Suddenly she turned and looked straight at him. ‘Oh, Number Six. It’s all right. Really it’s all right. I forgive you. I do. I understand now. Can’t we just be friends and forget it?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course we can.’ He smiled.

‘Good.’ She seemed satisfied. ‘Now, your order?’

He lifted a brow. Number 7 bit her lip. ‘Coffee? You do have coffee, don’t you?’

‘Oh, yes, Miss. Though we don’t get so much of a demand for it.’

‘Good. Coffee and a roll.’

‘What kind of roll?’

‘Any kind. It doesn’t matter. Choose one yourself.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No.’

‘And you, Number Six.’

‘Steak and eggs.’

‘I didn’t know Englishmen ate steak and eggs.’

‘I picked it up in America, Number Seven.’

‘Aught to drink?’

‘Tea, please.’

She went away.

‘What was all that about?’

‘One of the less creditable episodes of my life.’

‘You’d rather not talk about it?’

‘No.’

She turned and stared out a window. ‘Look.’ She pointed.

A group of women, mostly in their forties, were marching across the green, looking angry and carrying placards. At the distance it was impossible to read the legends.

Her eyes met his. ‘You know, I don’t understand this place. Look over there.’

A television camera stared at them from high on the far wall.

‘They know where we are and what we are doing and what we are saying. Your place, my place, all the houses I’ve been in, and every street corner, all have cameras and speakers. And yet, they’re looking for you, and they haven’t come to get you. Why is that?’

Number 127 returned just then and they ate.

Afterwards they went up the street towards her house.

‘It’s incredible, really, to think that this place exists. In the outside world, you’d never imagine it, not in a million years. Oh, some crackpot type who really believes in a “they” might. The kind who get their kicks seeing vast conspiracies behind every setback and pigmentation of skin. The kind of guy who watches
The Fugitive
and
The Invaders
and
The F.B.I.
But no one else would really take such a place seriously. And yet, being here, it all seems so inevitable. Insane, but inevitable.’

‘Yes, I had that impression myself.’

‘I mean, they never leave you alone and they never make sense, but they control you completely, and you never asked to be controlled or to be part of their system, but here you are, and there’s no way to resist or to escape. The Establishment’s Establishment, in a way. Disneyland with J. Edgar Hoover at the helm.’

They rounded a corner and the mob of women was before them.

They stood gathered around the bookstore window in an angry snarl of conversation. One of the placards turned full on:

VILLAGERS FOR DECENT LITERATURE

BAN SMUT!!

PORTNOY’S COMPLAINT MUST GO!!

One of the women detached herself from the mass and came towards them.

It was Number 105, wearing her drab brown coat. Her face was pale and her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

‘Entschuldigen Sie, Nummer Sechs.
No—’ she caught her breath. ‘I will the English speak. I must, Number Six. I must speak with you.’

‘I was just going,’ Number 7 said.

‘Is. Please. Is not necessary.’ The old woman stopped and clasped her hands. ‘Not necessary.’

‘No, really.’ She put on her glasses.

‘Be seeing you,’ he said.

‘I hope so.’ She pushed through the women and went into the bookstore.

‘Oh, Number Six, I’ve wanted to talk with you for long.’

‘I called out to you this morning.’

‘And I didn’t hear! How stupid. I’m so upset. Please, you seem like a kind man, a…modern man. I don’t like to ask—’

‘That’s all right. Let’s go this way. It’s quieter.’

The sun came out from behind a cloud and suddenly the day was dazzling white.

‘I don’t know what to do, myself. I’m only a woman from the old country.’

‘What country?’

‘And these times, they’re different. Things are not what they were in my youth. They say it is progress and change. Maybe so, I don’t know these things. But the way I was raised was good enough for my
mutter
and
grossmutter
and it has been good enough for me. It’s these children I don’t understand. Do you?’

‘In what way?’

‘It’s my daughter, Number Six. My
liebling.
She’s…she’s gone off and…She’s…’ The old woman began to cry.

‘In trouble?’

‘Ja.
Exactly so. She has gotten herself with child.’

‘She has?’

‘Yes. It’s that awful Number Twenty-four. I told her not to hang around with him. Trash, that’s what he is. Him and that bunch he hangs around with. They don’t work, they don’t go to school, they just hang around and think up trouble. The devil makes work for idle hands. Many’s the time I’ve told her that. There’s the devil in that boy, I said. If only she’d listened.’

They reached his walk.

‘Won’t you come in?’

‘Danke. Nein.
It wouldn’t be right. But what am I going to do? You’re a man of the world. You’ve seen much of life. Tell me. Am I wrong? Is this not so much of a sin anymore? What is happening?’

‘Is he going to marry her?’

‘Him? That good for nothing! Never. I’m sure of it. If he’d been any good, it would never have happened in the first place. Only, tell me, God, what am I going to do?’

‘Have you consulted his parents?’

‘No. Should I? Tell me what you think.’

He looked into her worn, peasant face. ‘Number One Oh five, I think that’s exactly what you should do.’

‘Danke. Danke,
Number Six.’ She nodded to herself and went off down the lane.

He opened the door.

‘Number Six?’

There were five of them standing just inside the door. They all wore uniforms. And they all carried guns.

‘You are under arrest. Come with us.’

O
n what charge?’

‘A complaint has been brought against you.’

‘By whom?’

‘By a party who considers himself aggrieved.’

‘In what way?’

‘It is not my place to know.’

‘Whose place is it?’

‘Those whose place it is to know such things.’

‘And when will I be advised of the nature of this charge?’

‘At the proper time.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘When it is deemed necessary.’

‘And who will decide it is necessary?’

‘The proper authorities.’

‘Just who are these “proper authorities”?’

‘Those who have been duly constituted.’

‘And who constituted them?’

‘The people.’

‘Which people?’

‘The people of this village. Now, you will come with me. There will be no further arguments.’

They went out into the rain.