A Last Embrace - Chapter 5

Frank meets the prison counsellor, and develops his relationship with Carl.

On Dr. Frank’s first day he had to go see the prison counsellor.

“So how are you finding it your first day, Frank?”

“It’s Doctor Frank.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Doctor Frank. Or Doctor Stein.”

“Well,” said the counsellor, “you’re not a doctor anymore, you know. You were struck off the medical register when you were convicted of murder. Standard procedure.”

“My appeal is still pending,” Frank pointed out.

“Yes. But while you’re in here, we’d like to help you adapt to the realities of your new situation. It can be difficult. I realize that. I’m here to help. So let’s stick with Frank, ok?”

This officious little jerk was really starting to piss Frank off. But he said nothing. You couldn’t win when you took on The Man face to face, Carl had already warned him about that.

“Now,” the counsellor continued, “I’d like you to tell me your impressions of this place. How have you been getting along?”

“It’s ok. The guys seem like a nice bunch.”

“Oh, really?”, the counsellor raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I’m glad to hear you’re settling in well. You see, sometimes people from your socio-economic class find it difficult. You’re among a group mostly comprising those of the lower socio-economic classes. Having to share a cell and everything, it’s probably not something you’re used to.”

“No, it’s not, but Carl seems like a decent guy. We’re getting along pretty good.”

“That’s excellent. I’m sure Carl is an excellent cellmate. You may not be sharing with him much longer, though. He may be moving to another part of the prison.”

Was he referring to death row?, Frank wondered.

“Another important thing,” the counsellor went on, “is to develop new pastimes. That’s very important for mental health. A fulfilling and productive way of passing your time in here. Do you have any special pastimes?”

“I plan to write a book about my experiences,” said Frank. “It will be at once a critique of the insanity of the legal system that has condemned me wrongly and a factual account of the highly unusual circumstances surrounding the case, that only I know of. All the other witnesses are dead.”

“They certainly are. But perhaps to relive these events is not the healthiest thing for one in your precarious mental state.”

Frank shrugged. He was going to write this book anyway, it had become the central focus of his life. “I hardly expect you to support my literary endeavours, as I don’t mind telling you that I will not flinch from exposing the absurdities and injustices of our legal system.”

 “Uh-huh,” said the counsellor distractedly. “Of course, anything you feel passionate about is beneficial. That’s what we tell all of our residents.”

 

Frank had to write with crayons. He wasn’t allowed to bring any sharp objects into the cell. It was nothing to do with him, apparently, but Carl wasn’t allowed in the vicinity of any potential weapon. Frank asked why, but that information was confidential. The new book was coming along really well. Frank had decided to write it in the third person. It somehow gave it more authority, seeing it there in the third person, even childishly scrawled in red crayon, gave Frank’ s experiences a new reality, and increased his sense of injustice. The law was unjust, and cruel fate was unjust, having given him a glimpse of paradise in his relations with Alice, and then snapping it from his grasp with her untimely death. Why did she have to die?, Frank asked with moist eyes. He imagined his happiness had Alice lived. They could have lived in the Mogles’ house. That was a beautiful house. It would have been so good. But Frank felt a dark cloud hung over him. He was destined never to be happy. He saw it now. Since birth, it had been his lot to walk the earth alone, with none to appreciate him. Except Carl, Carl seemed to appreciate him all right.

“Say, Doc, what you writing?”

“It’s my account of the momentous events of the last few weeks of my life. My affair with Alice, and all its consequences, that have finally led me here, to this godforsaken place, imprisoned for a crime I did not commit. A crime that did not exist!”

“So you were in love with this chick, huh?”

“She was the one woman I ever loved, and still do.”

“For real?”

“Yes.”

“So did you two get it together then?”

“Excuse me.”

“Come on, Doc, you know what I’m talking about.”

Frank paused awkwardly, not liking this question. “Our relationship went far beyond such manifestations. We approached one another on a deeper level, a spiritual level.”

“Damn!”, said Carl, “that’s some heavy s**t.” He was silent a while, then said: “So she was into you, too, right?”

Frank did not like the probing nature of these questions, but felt compelled to answer: “I have reason to believe her feelings for me were no less intense than mine for her.”

Carl was silent a while again, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He was evidently pondering on what he had been told by Frank. He seemed to receive Frank’s utterances with a reverence that Frank found generally quite gratifying, but on this subject he found unpleasant.

“What I don’t get,” said Carl at last, “is why if she loved you so much she wanted you to resuscitate the other dude.”

“Reanimate,” said Frank. Then he said brusquely: “I’m busy and I don’t have time for these foolish questions. When I am finished I will give you the book to read and you’ll have all the answers.”

“I’m not so good with reading, Doc.”

Frank just sighed and did not reply. He went on writing, unaccountably annoyed at his cellmate.