# The Jail/Chapter XXVII

XXVII.
And again a new arrival in number 60.
A reddish little man,—reddish eyes, reddish hair, reddish face, reddish beard, reddish suit,—entered without a greeting, strolled through the room, sat down at the table, and as if he were at home, took out a tin of sardines and a slice of bread from the box and began to eat.
Dr. Povich-Rosetti sat down with him to hear what he had to tell. The little man talked slowly as if he were weighing very word, he talked softly as if he were expounding great secrets, and when he had finished eating, he looked around at the piles of straw mattresses, discovered an unoccupied heap, swung himself ​on to it, lay down on his back, folded his hands under his head and went to sleep.
The doctor acquainted me with the result of his enquiry. An Englishman, a real Englishman. He had lived at Mödling for the last eighteen years. When the German naval victory over Admiral Jellicoe had recently been celebrated by hanging out flags, he had pulled down one of these flags at Mödling and trampled on it in his anger,—he said it was not a victory but a defeat of the Germans, the Germans had wanted to break through, but had been driven back again, and so it was no victory. And it was for having trampled upon the flag that he was with us. The doctor had arranged to take English lessons with him, he himself would be one of his pupils, and was there anybody else who wanted to join in?
Mr. Fels came forward.
The Englishman slept and slept. The doctor was impatient,—he wanted to begin at once. He woke the Englishman, offered him a cigarette; the Englishman took it, thrust it into his breast-pocket and went on sleeping.
"We'll let him sleep" remarked Mr. Fels "these Englishmen are all more or less without manners."
We took our turn at walking, talked, whistled,—the Englishman slept.
Papa Declich received a card from the Rossau barracks. From Dušek. Dušek asked whether under my bed, that once was his, there was any sign of his winter boots. Papa Declich studied the card, and suddenly gave an artful smile.
"What is it?"
​Papa Declich did the composition, I wrote. That we had searched the whole room and enquired of all the gentlemen who were in it, but there was no sign of the boots. Only Hedrich and the sergeant had left our room, but they had not taken them away. Everything was as of old, and everybody sent him their greetings.
Papa smiled at his statesman-like communication.
(Later, when I met Dušek at liberty, he assured me that he was concerned only to get a sign of life from us. He was allowed to write from there only once a month, and then he used to write only home—the enquiry for the boots had been at once granted him as a special case).
The Englishman had concluded his slumbers. He jumped down from the straw mattress, opened his box and again began to eat.
The doctor prepared some paper, sharpened a pencil, walked about and waited. The Englishman ate slowly, chewed with deliberation, and clearly had a lot of time to spare.
At last they began. The doctor superintended the instruction, asked questions, and pointed to the table, bench, straw mattresses, knife, floor, ceiling. The Englishman answered in a hesitant and quiet manner. Was he reflecting? Could he not remember? The doctor, an Italian, soon got excited and began to shout. The Englishman let nothing disturb his heedless composure.
Mr. Fels came away, sat down with me and said that the man had no method, that he had probably forgotten a good deal, and that it was a pity to waste time with him. He invited Mr. Goldenstein to a game of wolves and sheep.
The Englishman was already climbing back again on to the straw mattresses, lay down on his back and slept. The doctor sat down with the players,—he was quite agitated and excited from his lesson,—Mr. Fels again pointed out to him that the Englishman ​had no method, but the doctor took the view that it would come in time.
Warder Sponner came and asked who wanted to have his things fumigated. Papa Declich and Karl took their blankets and went.
Warder Sponner called for me to go to the Street of the Tigers.
I did not go gladly, I did not feel well, and the sun and the people in the streets were repugnant to me. "But they will say unto thee: Gird thyself, and thou wilt gird thyself; and they will say unto thee; thou shalt go, and thou wilt go" as it says in Holy Writ, or words to that effect.
A defence-corps man in front, a defence-corps man behind, I between them,—so we went through the objectionable street.
In the Tigergasse, number 11, on the third storey, was the well-known room. Dr. Frank was sitting there with Dr. Šámal. We exchanged hearty greetings with this man of gold,—so he was still a free man and had not forgotten . . .
"How are you?"
"Friend, as might be expected in jail."
"And are you well?" and my friend gave a searching glance at my face.
No, I will not lie to him . . . "I am not, as you see".
"And he refuses to go to the doctor" intervened Dr. Frank reproachfully.
"I don't want your doctors. I don't want anything from you whatever" I answered him with irritation.
"Perhaps, though, you ought—" suggested Dr. Šámal.
"Don't let's speak about it; it's a pity to waste our time, we have only the officially prescribed allowance."
"Come, come" said Dr. Frank nettled.
​"I watch the theatre of humanity. I am locked up with murderers, thieves and robbers, who regard me as a colleague; I observe them, listen to them, and I warrant you that this worthy authority here, with all his apparatus, will never obtain as much information from them as I possess—"
"I admit that" said Frank smiling, and he displayed the gold strips in his fine teeth.
"To give you at least some specimens" I continued, "the king of Magyar pickpockets, a man who has murdered his wife and mother-in-law, a man who has stolen motor-car wheels—"
"This will make a book" remarked Dr. Šámal.
"And I shall cut a pretty figure in it" smiled Frank.
"Well,—according to your deserts."
"And to whom would you dedicate it?" asked Šámal.
"Possibly to the worthy authority here. He has deserved well of me. For two months he has supplied me with lodgings, illumination all night, heating, estimable society,—just because of four small poems."
"I think there were other reasons" remarked Dr. Šámal, "and influence from above, and very powerful hands—"
Frank smiled mysteriously.
"Whichever it may be,—here I am, and the immediate Government organ which I am holding on to, and which is holding on to me, is the worthy authority here. By the way, I have drawn up a neat and skilful scheme for a court-martial,—would you like to hear it? May I tell it?"
Frank smiled and nodded.
"Well then, a man is walking along the street, or is sitting in his office (my case),—suddenly a detective comes up and informs him that he is arrested. Why? The examining superintendent will ​let him know that, he is told. Good. And the examining superintendent informs him that the proceedings have been taken at the instance of the military commander; the man, it appears, has stolen St. Stephen's Tower. The man, of course, denies this. The superintendent enters it in his report and remarks: Your affair is very simple, a matter of a few days; we will look into your statements, on Friday or Saturday,—today is Tuesday,—we will have you called and will proceed to examine your case on its merits. You will then engage a defending counsel,—here the man protests; he does not understand the need for a defending counsel in so obvious an affair, the superintendent then wonders how it is possible not to want a defending counsel when St. Stephen's Tower is concerned,—well, so they part. The man waits; Saturday comes,—nothing, the next Saturday again nothing, the third Saturday nothing either, and the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth,—still nothing. Finally he is summoned to have his case investigated on his merits, and the authorities inform him that it has been ascertained by the enquiries of a commission and by the testimony of several credible witnesses, that St. Stephen's Tower is still in its place,—(the man's eyes sparkle),—you did not steal it,—(the man stands up gratefully),—but we cannot discharge you: there exists a well-founded suspicion that you wanted to sell the harbour of Cattaro to the Japanese. And so you are kept in prison, and will be kept there until—".
Frank turned red in the face and took out his watch.
A defence-corps man in front, a defenceworps man behind, I between them and in a good humour. Let him know that I know.
​"Is it any good?" I asked Declich.
"Until somebody brings in something else to us again" he remarked philosphically.