Phoenix Resurrected

by Oliver T Spedding

  The Child Detention Centre abutted the back of the main administration building of the prison and a three meter high concrete wall topped with razor wire separated it from the main prison. The fence enclosing the Detention Centre was a single wire mesh fence three meters high and separated the property from a large field where a number of horses could be seen grazing.

  The building was a long low structure built of beige face brick with a corrugated iron roof painted silver. Neatly trimmed lawns surrounded the building with a total absence of shrubbery. The walls of the building were punctuated at intervals of about three meters by narrow barred windows that served the cells inside. Next to this building stood a huge structure made of a steel framework covered with dark green galvanized cladding which I later learnt was the detention centre's workshop.

  After I had undergone the elaborate and thorough entrance procedure, a uniformed warder, Sergeant Pretorius, led me through a double security gate to the quartermaster's store where I was provided with a blanket, a pillow and toiletries. Juvenile prisoners were not required to wear a prison uniform and were allowed to wear their own civilian clothes.

  From the stores I followed Sergeant Pretorius down a long corridor with steel security doors fronting the cells at regular intervals on both sides. Boys of all ages stared at me through the bars of the security gates as I passed. The walls of the passageway were painted a dull beige and the dark green concrete floor had been so highly polished that I could see my reflection in it.

  Pretorius stopped at cell number thirty three, a whitewashed room three meters wide and about six meters in depth. A single steel bed had been bolted to the wall and a dark green steel locker stood behind it. At the far end was a porcelain toilet bowl without a seat. A fluorescent strip light was fastened in the centre of the ceiling.

  "This is where you'll be staying until you reach the age of twenty one." Pretorius told me. "The authorities have decided that, as you have shown a tendency towards violence, you should be allocated a single cell as you could possibly be a danger to the other inmates. A bell will sound every morning at five o'clock. You will get up, make your bed and, after the rest of the inmates have finished their ablutions, you will be escorted to the showers. Once you have dressed, you will wait in your cell for your breakfast to be brought to you. You will remain isolated from the other inmates for at least the first month of your stay here, while you are carefully assessed to determine whether or not you can mix with the other inmates.

  "You will however, be allowed out into the open area in front of the complex while the other inmates are busy with the tasks allocated to them. I advise you to use this time to exercise and meditate on your past and amend your attitude towards authority."

  ***

  Although I had harboured a profound anger towards other people for as long as I could remember, I had always managed to keep it under control. Since my arrest though, I had developed a more aggressive attitude, especially towards any type of authority. All my life I'd been subjected to rigid rules and demands and in most instances I had been powerless to oppose them. Now though, I was determined to fight for what I believed were my rights. My hatred for my fellow men and their attempts to control me consumed me and I began to grow more and more vindictive, determined to hurt those who I believed had hurt me.

  On the first day that I was allowed to wander around the grounds in front of the Detention Centre building, I carefully studied the surrounding fence for any weakness that would allow me to escape. To my disappointment I couldn't see any flaw that I could exploit. I continued to stroll around the precinct and eventually sat down on one of the concrete benches scattered about the area.

  As I sat in the sun I began to understand the philosophy behind the principle of isolation. It was to give those who were subjected to this practice the opportunity to contemplate their predicament and hopefully realize that opposition was not an option. It was also possible that the authorities hoped that the imposed isolation would also lead to those being isolated seeing the error of their ways and attempting to correct this.

  I also suspected that I would be subjected to psychiatric evaluations and guidance on how to correct my erroneous understanding of how the world functioned and so become a productive member of society. But to my mind this was the wrong approach. It wasn't me that had to change; it was the world around me that needed to change. I had been wronged during my entire life and unless this changed, I knew that would continue to defy the world. How could I possibly forgive the world for what it had done to me? It had ruined me and for this it had to compensate me.

  During the first month of my incarceration in the Withaven Detention Centre I spent most of my time in my cell or in the grounds in front of the Centre's administration building. I fumed at the predicament that the world had forced me into and became angrier by the day. I began to plan how I would exact revenge on the world around me whenever I could. I also fought against any form of authority and spent long spells isolated in my cell because of my defiance of the rules.

  As horses had been a major part of my recent life due to my interest in horse racing, I began to take notice of the horses grazing in the adjacent field. They seemed so content and at ease; moving lazily about the huge paddock searching for suitable grass to graze on. I began to envy these contented animals and the untroubled lives that they led. Why couldn't I experience the same kind of life instead of constantly being harassed and dominated? I shook my head in disgust.

  Each time the warder who had been assigned to watch me whistled and waved for me to return to the main building I would cast a last envious glance at the placid animals in the field before walking slowly back to my cell.

  ***

  "Gilmore, your attitude towards authority is going to make life increasingly difficult for yourself." Sergeant Pretorius said. "You've been here at the Centre for over a month now and I can assure you that your attempts to defy us will backfire and you'll be the one to suffer. We will continue to do our jobs just as we've been doing for years. Your behaviour doesn't affect us. It only affects you. It's in your own interests to change your attitude."

  I stared at the man behind the desk. Tall and thin with a heavy brown moustache and almost completely bald, he glared at me from behind his rimless glasses.

  "It's not me that needs to change." I said. "It's the world around me that should change. I've been abused, punished and ignored for all my life. The world needs to look at me as a human being. All my life I've been a victim; forced to obey unfair rules, cheated and humiliated. How am I supposed to change? Become subservient and docile?"

  "The world reacts to your behaviour." Pretorius said. "Just like you react to its behaviour. Change your behaviour and your world will change. But I can see that you don't accept what I'm telling you, so you will have to take responsibility for the way you're treated. You may go."

  I glared at the warder, turned and left his office. As I walked back to my cell I tried to subdue my anger. The people here at the Centre were supposed to be helping me but, as far as I was concerned, they were being counter-productive and hindering any progress that I should be making.

  A warder escorted me back to my cell, let me in and then locked the door. A short while later the Centre's receptionist, Misses Walsh, appeared at the door. A warder opened it.

  "There's a call from a Miss Cindy Bedford requesting that she visit you this Friday." Misses Walsh said. "What shall I tell her?"

  I felt the anger rise in my chest. After having betrayed me Cindy probably wanted to come to the Centre and gloat at my situation.

  "I've no interest in seeing Miss Bedford." I told the receptionist. "If she tries to make another appointment please tell her that I never want to see her again."

  The warder locked the door and I sat down on my bunk. I began to think about Cindy and gradually it dawned on me that she had been using me all along. Although she had at first turned down my offer to come and live with me in my aunt's house I now realized that it would
have been too obvious that she was using me if she had immediately agreed. Her father had played right into her hands by assaulting her as it had given her a good excuse to accept my offer. And I'd fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

  The fact that Cindy had insisted on paying me rent also meant nothing. She had been paying her father rent so now she would be paying it to me. And it wasn't really rent; it probably only just covered half of her living expenses. The house was fully paid for so there were no rental costs.

  The fact that Cindy had come to my parent's funeral as well as my aunt's funeral had surprised me but now I realized that it was all part of her plan to get cheap accommodation when she left home.

  On top of all this her readiness to help me rob the Whitesides and Mister Bogdanovic showed that she knew that she could very possibly escape punishment by betraying me if we were ever caught. And she had done just that.

  I began to wonder what she would tell the judge at our sentencing. She'd probably say that I had forced her to be my accomplice and that she had been too scared to refuse in case I assaulted her.

  I berated myself for being such a sucker. It was all so obvious now. The scheming little bitch! And now she wanted to visit me so that she could laugh in my face at my gullibility! Well, I wouldn't ever give her a chance to do that. If I never saw her again, I would be happy.

  ***

  The days turned into weeks and still the psychiatrists and doctors tried to turn me into a docile creature that would obey their every command. I fought against the drugs that they gave me and ignored their advice on how to fit in with the world. I didn't realize though that the psychotropic drugs were a long-term treatment that worked so subtly that I wouldn't notice any change in myself for some time. What I did notice was that I was becoming less agitated and more relaxed physically. Mentally though, I still had the urge to take revenge on all the people who had, and were still, hurting me.

  I could see that Sergeant Pretorius was becoming more and more impatient with my lack of response to the treatment being administered to me and I revelled in his frustration. I was still not allowed to mix with the inmates and spent most of my time either in my cell or in the open grounds in front of the administration building.

  One morning I was escorted to the visitor's cubicles without being told who was there to meet me. I was furious to see Misses Phillips waiting there and completely ignored her and she eventually left, shaking her head sadly and urging me to change my attitude. I left the visitor's cubicle with my escort, pleased at the way I had handled the meeting. It was very unlikely that Misses Phillips would bother me again.

  When I reached my cell the warder assigned to escort me to the open ground in front of the office block was waiting for me. I nodded to him and walked towards the exit. As I stepped out into the sunlight I glanced towards the horse paddock. One horse was grazing only a short distance from the fence separating the two properties. Slowly I walked to the fence and stood watching the animal.

  The horse was a white stallion and obviously very old but what surprised me was that a large number of scars were clearly visible on its body and head. There was no doubt that during its life it had been very badly treated. I glanced at the other horses and I quickly saw that they too were elderly. This was obviously a sanctuary for old horses that had come to the end of their working lives.

  The stallion must have sensed my presence at the fence. It raised its head slowly and stared at me, still chewing the grass it had been grazing. One of its eyes must have been damaged during its life as the socket had been stitched closed by a veterinary surgeon. The remaining eye was cloudy from age.

  After studying me for a few minutes the old stallion began to walk towards me, its single eye watching me intently. This surprised me as I had expected the animal to move away from me, considering how cruelly it had been treated during its life.

  The old horse moved right up to the fence in front of me, so close that I could hear its breathing. It stared at me with its rheumy eye but even through the misty film I could see placidness in its expression.

  Very slowly I pushed my hand through a gap in the wire mesh fence, half expecting the stallion to either attempt to bite me or shy away. To my amazement the old horse gently nuzzled my hand. As I stared at the animal I was shocked to feel tears trickling down my cheeks. Gently I stroked the stallion's cheek and I felt him tenderly press the side of his head against my hand.

  I was astounded that this animal, that had been so harshly treated by humans during its life, could still show such affection to a human being and I realized that this was the reason why I was crying. Although I had been badly treated during my life, this animal had endured far more than I had, and yet it showed no malice or distrust. In fact, it displayed a love that surpassed anything that I could imagine and I felt myself reflecting this love back to the old stallion. I felt a wave of shame roll over me as I compared my abuse to that of this animal and the way I had been reacting to it in the past.

  The stallion and I stood in silence for some time, a deep sense of solidarity flowing between us. Never in my life had I experienced the emotions that coursed through my body during this time. I was badly frightened by what I was experiencing and, before I could stop myself, I hurriedly withdrew my hand and walked away.

  ***

  Although the warder who had been watching me must have seen me crying he said nothing as he escorted me back to my cell. I entered the small room and he closed and locked the door. I sat down on my bunk completely drained, physically and emotionally. At first I felt ashamed and angered by my display of emotion but I quickly realized that what I had experienced was what I had been fighting against for my entire life. The emotional feelings that I'd felt while in the presence of the stallion had been frighteningly reassuring though, and I began to wonder if Sergeant Pretorius had been right when he told me that I needed to change my outlook before the world would change its attitude towards me.

  I had read somewhere that the past lives in us but that we don't have to live in the past. The past could never be changed but it didn't have to dominate the present or the future. This had been shown to me so clearly by the old stallion. He didn't hold a grudge against people because someone had hurt him. He accepted what had happened and continued with his life. The fact that he had approached me, a human being, and nuzzled my hand affectionately was ample proof of this.

  I felt myself relaxing as the fear and anxiety that I had been experiencing slowly dissipated. Pretorius had said that the world reacts to our behaviour and, the more I thought about this in connection to my past, the more obvious this became. This revelation was frightening to me though. How could I change so drastically after all the years that I'd fought against the world?

  I thought of Cindy and how I had always shown indifference towards her, even when we made love. And then the reason for my behaviour dawned on me. I was scared that showing my true self would be used by others to ridicule and belittle me just as I had been ridiculed and belittled when I was much younger. What worried me also was whether I could bring myself to trust people. My father and mother had betrayed me throughout my life with them. And Cindy had also betrayed me. Wouldn't other people also do this?

  The following day I hurried out of the Centre to the open area hoping desperately that the horse would be at the fence. At the same time this feeling of anticipation frightened me. What was happening to me? How could a horse possibly affect my feelings? Was a going mad?

  The feeling of relief when I saw the stallion patiently waiting where we had met the previous day was just as frightening. Why was this animal having such a profound effect on me? I stopped and stared at the placid creature on the other side of the fence. Hesitantly I moved closer, drawn forward by some unidentifiable force. I reached the fence and slowly pushed my hand through the mesh. The stallion must have sensed my trepidation. His rheumy eye gazed at me placidly and very gently he rubbed the side of his face against my hand. The feeling of acceptance that coursed
through me was hard to believe. How could an animal create such feelings in me?

  The stallion kept his cheek against my hand for a few minutes longer and then slowly turned and walked away. I wanted to call him back but I was too emotional and didn't know how to do this. I spent the rest of the morning sitting on a bench and trying to understand what was happening to me.

  That night I hardly slept. I was felt very lonely and frightened; two emotions that were very alien to me. The only emotions that I'd experience in the past were anger and frustration and I had no idea of how to cope with these new feelings.

  The following morning I hurried out of administration building and stopped. The horse wasn't there. I blinked my eyes in astonishment. This couldn't be. The animal had to be waiting patiently for me.

  "What's the problem?" the warder escorting me asked.

  "I was expecting to see that old horse at the fence." I stammered.

  "I think the horse died." the man said. "I saw a truck in the paddock this morning and the men were loading a dead horse onto it. It was probably that old horse."

  I was devastated, unable to comprehend that I would never see my new friend again. A deep sense of loss fell over me like a shroud.

  "I don’t feel well." I said. "I want to go back to my cell."

  "Okay." the warder said, looking at me curiously. "Let's go."

  ***

  The sense of loss that I felt on hearing that the horse was dead frightened me deeply. I had never experienced this emotion before and I had no idea of how to cope with it. The stallion had had an astonishing effect on me and opened up a host of emotions that I had never experienced before. I was completely out of my depth and had no idea who I could turn to for help.