Mama's Boy Behind Bars

by David Goudreault

  It was a major deal for our section, but much less so in the real world. The media barely covered it, just a quick CBC item on safety in prisons, and on CTV a former inmate who had witnessed difficult living conditions. Global carried on broadcasting weight-loss contests for obese people between two episodes of Dr. Phil. A couple of short items in the newspaper. I was disappointed, I thought it would have made more noise. But I guess violence in prison is more common than a toothless whore. And Big Dick’s territory wasn’t exactly big news.

  I promised myself I’d make people talk about me in the future. For now, though, anonymity was useful. The people who needed to know knew. Word was getting around in the prison, and in other prisons too. If I was transferred, I would find the same notoriety somewhere else. My attack had turned out to be less prestigious than a murder by the book, but the initiative and the strength used would polish my reputation.

  I had my first confirmation of this when I bumped into Denis as the dinner trays were being collected. He gave me his first nod, up and down, a greeting. Finally some recognition! It’s not just the Scouts that earn their stripes if they work hard enough. But unlike a Scout, I’d never be abused again.

  I still had to sit with the commoners, sharing a table with Gilbert and Philippe. I was chewing the chunks of rubber they called chicken breast when Gilbert spoke to me. I have a message for you. He was nervous and whispering, his head inclined toward me, which produced the exact opposite effect from the one he intended. More alert than ever, the guards noticed, and Dany started heading straight over to us. Wait! We went back to our plates and our plastic cutlery, which seemed to have become permanent. The guard prowled around our table a few times to really show us that he knew there was something shady going down. But when you have a long sentence to serve, there’s not much else to do except be patient.

  Once the warden had gone away, Gilbert broke the silence and turned back toward me. Anxiously I waited for him to pass on a threat from Colossus, or tell me that Butterfly had woken up. Big Dick wants me to tell you your debt’s taken care of. I turned to look at Big Dick, who was ignoring me, and then toward Colossus, who was boring his evil eye into me. Well, well, well. I was all settled up. Who’s laughing now? Who’s laughing with a nice free tattoo on his skin? I took another mouthful of the chicken, which wasn’t so bad, after all. Gilbert finished the message: You’re not in debt to Colossus anymore, but you haven’t finished your contract… You’re still in debt to Big Dick! That certainly threw a plastic fork in the works.

  * * *

  A pig that isn’t fully grown is called a piglet. Tony the piglet must have failed the intelligence test for joining the police. It probably asked him to count to twenty. Whatever the exam asked, he obviously screwed up. Hence his pathetic job as guard. His muscles were up to the task, I admit, but he didn’t even come up to my brain’s ankle. Even if he had been my accomplice in the attack on Butterfly, I was going to set him straight on a few things.

  While all my associates were jostling to get out and take their daily puff of air, I hung back in the doorway. As soon as the coast was clear, I approached my rival. Our face-to-face chat might swerve into a faceoff. I was going to inform him that my woman was not polygamous.

  I can fee right through your little game, piglet!

  Tony smiled at me, intimidated.

  Laft Thurvday, onfe again, one time too many, you were beating a dead one!

  His smile faded. A dead what? You need to stop beating around the bush. Say what you mean!

  Prison’s a bad place to play the innocent. I faw you trying to fedufe Edith, with your little fmilev and your little mufflef, fo juft ftop it!

  He wasn’t just laughing anymore, he was honking with laughter. Hahaha! If you think I want to bang Edith, you’re even more out of it than I thought!

  His trick didn’t throw me. I’m not the one who’s going to be out of it, you’re the one who’s going to be out of it, little piggie! I have an awesome punch, just like Muhammad Ali.

  His voice turned vicious. I was expecting that: like all animals, men become aggressive when they are afraid. Don’t you threaten me, you little shit! I don’t give a fuck about your Edith, nor about you, so change your tone fast!

  The muscular right arm he was hitting my chest with didn’t impress me much. I don’t give a fuck about you either. But don’t forget that I have fome informaffion on you, you piglet!

  Leaving the door open, he moved to where we couldn’t be seen and pushed me up against the wall. Who the fuck do you think you are? You understand absolutely nothing about anything going on inside. You know nothing about me or about what I do. I’m going to give you a piece of advice: suck it up and don’t ever threaten me again. He’d understood the message. I had nothing to add.

  As he was grabbing me by the neck to push me out into the yard, I realized that he and I would end up duking it out. I hated him so much. He had a finger in too many pies and he was pissing in my sandbox. His entire being was crying out for a violent death.

  * * *

  In the yard everyone was going about their usual business, minus Butterfly and Timoune. Nobody dared touch my victim’s training bench. His weights were still on the bar. Only Louis-Honoré was strong enough to lift that much, but he was tucked away in a corner of the yard with his boss, dreaming up some scheme or other.

  In the other corner I found my doves. It’s wrong to use the expression “birdbrain.” These mourning doves remembered me, unlike my mother, that damn bitch I’d love forever. My little couple were waiting for me, along with a third, more nervous dove, which stood to one side. I chased away a nuthatch with the back of my hand and then watched my animals feeding themselves from the hollows of my palms. This time it was the male who perched on my wrist, sticking his dry feet on my forearm. It tickled, but I was happy he was there. One day soon, both of my winged lovers would climb onto my arms to eat out of my hands. The moment would come.

  I had to leave the last few crumbs on the ground and go back to my cell. Another search was starting—the prison wanted to keep the pressure on. The pressure was already too high. It was going to blow up in their faces, the jerks.

  * * *

  Our happiness reveals its fullest flavour only when confronted with other people’s jealousy. Fries are good, but they’re even better with ketchup. I liked it when Philippe questioned me about the plots underway, what I thought I might do with my new rank, what concrete benefits this new status had brought me. Well, ftraightaway I have the right to get tattoov without going through Coloffuf.

  He frowned. I don’t think so… Seriously, if you want me to work on your knight, you have to go through him.

  It’f not a knight, it’f a famurai, I ranted.

  He smiled. Yes, sorry, that’s what I meant. Anyway, it’s gonna be hard to get another machine in here. They took away a package of mine too. They don’t want me to have access to pens anymore…thanks to you! I’ll have to use a mixture of ash and oil, it’s not easy.

  I wasn’t impressed. I don’t have to go through Coloffuf, I’m a free avent, for one thing. And for a fecond thing, you meffed up my famurai, even the fucking polife thought it wav funny. Fo you owe me a tattoo, that’f all! I was getting carried away, he didn’t dare answer anymore. Fo maybe you’ll do me a tattoo tonight, for free. You fay you’re good at lettering, so you can do a tattoo on my forearm in nife gothic letterv.

  Philippe looked stunned and lost. It was almost endearing. He was scrambling for a way to deflect, evade, or otherwise avoid angering me while also not attracting Colossus’s ire. I can’t, I have to talk to him first.

  I thumped the mattress with my fist. No, I’m in Big Dick’f gang now, I have prefedenfe over Coloffuf!

  His face changed into a question mark. You have what?

  I sighed, full of condescension. I have prefedenfe, that meanv that I come before him, you ffould read more!


  He didn’t want to talk literature and just contented himself with warning me of his intentions. I’m gonna tell Colossus you forced me.

  I laughed. Fure, go ahead, that’ll give him a bone to gnaw on.

  Still perturbed, he got up to collect the pieces of the machine from their hiding places all over the cell.

  The most important thing for respect is being feared. It’s a guarantee. A good weapon is always more impressive than a good argument. If any old ass-licker could stop respecting you from one day to the next, you don’t have a foundation for building your empire. I wasn’t just some Sunday entrepreneur taking it one day at a time, I wanted to build big. It was essential to make him understand.

  While he was putting his machine together, I repeated a new chorus from my next album, my first. Fuck yeah! There’s a new motherfucker in town, fuckers. Fuck yeah! Don’t try to fuck me or I’ll fuck you hard as fuck, fuck yeah! It’s crazy how much better it sounds in English. But I’ll have to keep some French in so I’m eligible for grants.

  11

  Faithfulness

  Even though my hand had had a chance to do some pole dancing, I was still stressed that morning. The criminal hierarchy ladder has greased rungs. Aware that my position was still precarious, I was hemming and hawing about what attitude to take. Should I stand up to the black guys? Should I show clemency to Philippe? And above all, how could I supplant Denis and get close to the leader of my gang? As for Edith, could I be open about our relationship without putting her in danger or attracting her colleagues’ hostility?

  Social behaviour is complicated for human beings. I’ve always been rejected because I was kind and misunderstood, so I haven’t learned all the codes and customs. For my entire childhood, I moved between foster families and group homes, always shunted along before I could grow roots, so I always plateaued at first contact. When there was first contact. It’s pretty hard to improve your social skills alone in your corner.

  At least in a criminal milieu, people live as they die, with firm codes: money, the omertà, and the settling of accounts. That clarifies certain grey areas. Reputation’s important too, but precarious. On that point, I knew I was making progress. Any show of aggression wins you points. I could see that just from the way my cellmate looked at me.

  * * *

  The Sage had started looking at me differently. His gaze tunnelled into the depths of my soul and analyzed every feature of my face, before concluding: I just can’t fucking believe you did that. You jammed a pen in his head?

  Shhh, shhh. I ordered him in a whisper to talk less loudly. Dany, the warden on duty, was pretending to look through the cartoons section. I knew his ears were twitching to hear and he’d have taken malicious pleasure in seeing me go down. Obvioufly I can’t confirm anything, but you’re a librarian, furely you can read between the linev…

  The Sage nodded his head deferentially. It was a real shame he was going to die soon. I liked my librarian. Especially his way of looking at me, of taking the time to talk to me and find me interesting. What other people think about us is important, it determines how we think about ourselves.

  A pen in his fucking brain, I’ve seen everything now.

  Shhh… It wav juft the outfide of the pen, there wavn’t any ink left…

  Yeah, sure, that changes everything. Ha, you’re a real comedian!

  The guard was approaching, we had to change the subject fast.

  I asked him to recommend me an adventure book, but he wanted to drone on about his damn poetry again. I already know who Leonard Cohen iv, give it a reft! He was just some Montreal lyricist who found fame late in life. Now Bryan Adams and Gordon Lightfoot and all those singers just copy him. Back when he was reading his own songs, he didn’t even have any musicians to accompany him. Posthumous glory is only good for the heirs. The Sage pressed the point, swore to me that he was more than just a lyricist, that I absolutely had to read Wonderful Losers, his masterpiece. I took the book to make him happy.

  Poets are even lazier than prisoners. They don’t even fill a quarter of a page, it’s all a big fraud. I wanted some real reading, so I searched for myself. I took out The Secret for the fourth time. With the firm intention of finishing it. Then I found myself a fantasy novel about knights with dragons and magic, which is always good. The clue’s in the name: it’s fantastic.

  Before I left, with my books under my arm like a schoolgirl in uniform, with her sheer black stockings pulled up to her knees, showing some thigh under the hem of her green-and-navy-checked skirt, which concealed pristine cotton underwear…I heard the Sage call me. One day I’ll understand who you are, who you really are.

  The guard turned toward us, intrigued, waiting for my reply.

  I don’t think anyone will ever really know who I am, maybe not even myfelf. And I left without waiting, proud of myself, with the guard at my heels.

  * * *

  Colossus waltzed into my cell like he owned the place, or so I imagine, having never owned a place myself. When I saw him coming I hoped against hope he was coming to meet Philippe. But no. The moment of confrontation had arrived. I abandoned my scientific reading on the laws of attraction and got up to face him. The tension was high. Philippe vanished quicker than a bag of powder up Ozzy Osbourne’s nose. Colossus grabbed me by the forearm, staring at my new tattoo. I let him do it, wanting to figure out which side he was going to attack from.

  With his gravelly voice, he spelled out T-I-E-D-H. He lifted his head and, a smile twitching at the corners, asked me how long I’d been in love with Edith. The bastard, he was good. I’d been so sure that none of the idiots in the wing would manage to figure out my anagram. No idea what you’re talking about. I don’t give a fffit about Edith.

  His smile grew but his contempt didn’t change. He didn’t let go of my arm, and even grabbed my wrist harder. “What da fuck? You think I don’t clock what yo dilly?”

  I really should learn more slang, it would be trill handy for business conversations in prison.

  We have an agreement with your boss for the shit on your back, fucker, but from now on nothing goes ahead without my say-so, that’s the deal. Get it?

  Even though I was trembling, and his fingers digging into my skin were making me think of the great Christian martyrs, I didn’t let him intimidate me.

  Furely we can talk about thif man to man and have a—

  THWACK!

  He hit me with the back of his hand, getting a good smack to the jaw. I wanted to roll over on my bed and curl up, but he didn’t let my arm go and held me upright. Stop trying to fool me, you fucker. You’re not a man, you’re just a pawn, a fucking pawn, do you understand? We don’t want to see the po-po back here again, that’s the only thing stopping me from smashing your head in. You have nothing, I know, nothing to pay me and nothing to offer! I’m gonna negotiate with Denis, but don’t you ever ask my tattooer to do anything again. Don’t ever go over my head again!

  See, I knew we’d end up getting along, he just had to ask Denis, my immediate superior, to pay him, no need to make a big song and dance about it.

  That’f fine by me, Coloffus, fine by me!

  He gripped my arm one last time. It worked out okay because I’d already crossed my pain threshold. You don’t call me Colossus, asshole! You don’t call me anything, nothing at all, don’t ever speak to me!

  Nonetheless I told him to have a nice day and didn’t keep him.

  Black guys are good negotiators. That’s why they control the drug retail market and street whores. They’re good with people. Any day now they’ll be taking over the entire global economy!

  * * *

  My lawyer couldn’t get over my being involved in a second aggravated assault in less than a year. I pointed out that, unlike the crazy cat lady in Sherbrooke, Butterfly wasn’t dead. And that theoretically I wasn’t even responsible for the attack on Butterfly. He quickly brought me bac
k down to earth with a bump—no, make that a punch in the gut. The charges being brought against Timoune could easily be brought against me; not only did Timoune continue to insist that I was the only one responsible, but also—and here he spoke with emphasis—Carol might wake up. I burst out with a nervous laugh. Over time I’d forgotten that Butterfly’s real name was Carol. My laughter became forced, and then panicky. He might wake up?

  My lawyer had pressed the right button. Seeing the worry spread across my face, he merely sighed. Yep, that’s what I thought, you are mixed up in this shit, and now it’s deep shit. Not only might he wake up, but he’s stable and actually has more brain activity than they thought.

  I was stunned. Butterfly had brain activity? Remembering suddenly that he was my ally and was supposed to support me, the lawyer tried to be reassuring. There’s no sign of him waking up for now, he’s in a coma, but he’s out of mortal danger. Nobody has any idea what could happen.

  If he regained consciousness, my entire criminal career would be compromised. Even with a hole in his skull, that ass fucker was still threatening me!

  * * *

  It was turning out to be a total bad-news day. First the possibility of my lepidopteran returning to consciousness, as well as the torture of seeing Edith ignore me and cancel our meetings, and on top of that, new crazies were arriving in our wing. Nature abhors a vacuum, and we had plenty of nature red in tail and claw in our cell block. With the prison occupation rate approaching 140 per cent, I knew that the places freed up by Timoune and Butterfly would soon be filled, but it was still upsetting.