The House of Numbers

by Jack Finney

  Another hour passed before the cell block stirred into further life. Then I heard first a cough, then from somewhere close by the quiet murmur of conversation. Water ran in a basin presently, more men coughed, and the murmur of voices grew in volume. I heard a toilet flush, heard a curse, heard an unidentifiable sound. The volume of quiet morning conversation swelled steadily now; far off down the block someone began singing. More water ran, men coughed and hawked and spat; some shouted, calling to other men. A shaft of sunlight slanted down into the block from a window somewhere, and presently Al's legs appeared over the edge of the bunk and he slid to the floor. He glanced at my bunk, his eyes met mine, and he nodded, and I nodded back.

  Waiting till Al finished dressing, I sat in my bunk, putting on my shoes and socks. When Al had dressed, then washed his face and hands and brushed his teeth — quickly — he moved to the front of the cell. I got up, put on my shirt and pants, then washed at the basin, brushing my teeth with a finger, using Arnie's toothpaste. I sat down on the bunk then, and presently — somewhere around seven o'clock — the locking bar rose, and Al immediately pushed open the cell door and was gone.

  I waited a moment or two, then went out, and following yesterday's route — the path familiar now — walked with the hundreds of other men in the block toward the mess hall again. I knew, I felt in my bones, that I was safe, that I'd made it; that I had done this incredible thing. I ate breakfast — hot cereal, toast, bacon, and coffee — at a table with three blue-denimed, blue-shirted strangers, and ate it with good appetite. I left with the others, remembering to carry my silverware and drop it into the bucket at the doorway. And then I walked the route, clear in my mind now, that I had taken the night before: through the great Yard, down the stairway, and past the old brick building to the industrial area. Only once — as I walked in through the gateway with a half dozen other inmates — did the fear spring up again. Two guards stood there, conversing casually, idly watching the incoming men, and the fear of challenge tightened my stomach. Then I was past them, walking toward the western wall of the furniture factory, exactly as Arnie had said would happen. There was no check now on whether a man should or should not be entering this area. When the work began — the wall gateway locked, each worker in his assigned place — anyone not belonging there would be instantly obvious to the supervising guards inside the buildings. Right now a check of identity cards wasn't needed.

  At the narrow aisle leading back into the pile of stacked crates, I stopped and idly leaned against it, my back covering the space. Immediately I felt a tap on my shoulder blade. "Benny," Arnie whispered, his mouth almost touching my neck, "everything okay? Things go all right?"

  I looked at the wall tower before speaking; two guards stood facing each other at the open window of the tower talking, ignoring the incoming stream of men below them. I turned my head as though glancing to one side, my cheek nearly touching the wall of stacked crates behind me. "Yes."

  "The guards okay?"

  Again I glanced at the wall. "Yeah."

  "All right. Keep an eye on them; and when there's a break in the guys coming along here, just step to one side and face south."

  I glanced to the left; five men, four of them together and talking, one alone a step or so behind them, were approaching from the corner of the factory. They drew abreast, passed me, then two more men appeared from around the corner. They approached, walked past; I glanced at the tower guard, saw the guard still talking to the other; then I looked at the factory corner once again, then stepped to one side, unblocking the space between the crates.

  Arnie stepped out, leaning immediately against the crates, his posture relaxed and casual; he grinned at me. Almost instantly another little knot of men appeared from around the building's corner, walking toward us. "Anything happen at all?" Arnie said, still grinning.

  The men passed us, one said, "Hi," and Arnie responded by lifting his chin slightly.

  "Yeah," I said, "a couple things," and then I told him what had happened in the mess hall last night; and I told him, keeping it short, all about Nova.

  Arnie shrugged when I finished. "I don't know this Nova personally," he said, "but I've heard of him; an old-timer left over from the old prison when it was maybe the worst in the country. And he hasn't changed with the times like the rest of them though he goes through the motions. Been here too long to fire, but they'll retire him the first day they can." Arnie shrugged, staring thoughtfully at nothing. "I'll say this for the guards here; they're all right, most of them. Practically all of them. Only one I had trouble with was the punk I hit, and he's just a fish, a new man; he'll straighten around if he wants to stay here." He grinned at me. "Of all the guards in the place, you had to pick Nova to move next door to. Forget about him, Ben." He put a hand on my shoulder momentarily. "If the other guard turned in a report about the cigarette, I'll hear about it this morning at the Captain's Court. And I'll get a little something for it, week's loss of privileges, maybe." He grinned again. "Which will be tough to take; I'll worry about it — all next week. Just forget it; it's nothing; you did good. How'd Al act?" I told him, then Arnie said, "I've got to go now. You all set?" I nodded. "Thanks, Benny," Arnie said then, looking into my eyes, his head nodding slowly. "It means something to have a brother; some day soon I'll have more to say about that. Tell Ruth I'll be seeing her." He didn't wait for my answer; his eyes lifted toward the tower, then he looked back at the building corner. "Now," he said quietly. "Step in." And I stepped into the narrow space and began walking, sideways, back into the pile, Arnie's back now covering the opening. "Okay?" he said quietly.

  "Okay," I said, and then the opening was clear again, Arnie gone.

  For half an hour I stood quietly, waiting till no more men passed the little opening. Then, moving carefully and very slowly, I untied my shoes, removed them, and placed them carefully in the crate where I'd lain before. Then, with absolute care, silently testing each handhold and foothold before shifting my weight, I climbed into the big box. There, sitting upright, I took off my shirt, made a pillow out of it, and lay down on my back, hands clasped over my stomach, knees raised. Almost immediately I fell asleep.

  I dozed, off and on, all morning. At noon, when the men left for lunch, I unwrapped one of the little wax-paper packages Arnie had left in the crate for me. The sandwich was dry and stale now, but the apple with it was good. I sipped from one of two little cardboard cream containers filled with water Arnie had left, then lay back once more. Again, during most of the afternoon, I dozed, enduring the heat of the afternoon sun. I knew it would be cooler outside the crate, but it would be foolish at this point to take even the least risk of being seen; so I just lay there.

  At four o'clock I heard the men streaming past again, and after a few minutes Arnie's voice. "You okay, Ben?"

  Lifting my head to the edge of the crate, I whispered harshly, "Yeah; fine. Good luck, Arnie." I heard no answer, and lay down again.

  The area quieted down quickly; I heard the last of the voices passing the crates and then the guards, talking on the wall. Once again there was the danger now I that the count would be off, and then this area along with all others would be immediately searched. And if that happened, I knew I would be immediately found, that this stack of crates would be one of the first and most obvious places to look for a hiding man. But now I was past worrying and did not believe it would happen. And presently the all-clear sounded, I heard the voices of the departing guards, and then the area lay silent. For supper, I ate the second sandwich and drank the rest of my water. Just before full dark, around nine-thirty, I gathered up the waxed paper, crushed the empty cream containers flat, and jammed them into my pockets. When it was full dark, I slept again, and a long time later, awakened, knowing from the chill and the quality of the air, that it was well past midnight.

  I stumbled getting out of the crate; my muscles were cramped and a leg gave way under me. One shoulder and the side of my shoe struck a crate, and the blow of the shoe made a sharp soun
d, loud and distinct in the silent night air. I waited then, standing between the crates, but nothing happened, and I could feel the prickling circulation returning to my legs. Presently I lifted my rope and hook from a corner of the box— there was nothing at all left in the crate now — and walked to the front of the edge of the stack and peered out.

  Nothing moved, no one war in sight, and I stepped out and turned right, walking toward the wall. At the back corner of the furniture factory I turned right into the narrow space between the rear of the factory and the wall towering over me. In the illumination from the wall lights, I looked at the earth around me; it seemed no different now than it had two nights before, and I grinned.

  There was no flashlight, no one approaching, and for the second time I swung the big padded hook back and forth, then heaved it up onto the wall underhanded. It struck, rattled, and I stood motionless, listening. Then again I tested the rope, hanging onto it, and lifting my feet from the ground. It held firm, and I lowered my feet, rested for a moment, then gripped the rope high, lifted my feet, and squirmed my way up, hand over hand, rapidly. This time, no weight at my back, I climbed more easily; and the strength was just beginning to drain from my arms when my hand touched the wall top, and I heaved myself up onto the wall and, lying flat on my belly, I quickly pulled the rope up after me.

  Again I rested, lying there listening; then presently I looped the rope around the base of a metal wall post and slid to the ground, yanking the rope after me. After glancing in each direction, I darted up the embankment, crossed the road, and began climbing the hill on the other side.

  Within a dozen steps I was in among the underbrush and out of all sight; then, walking slowly, I reached the hill's crest, then found my way down to the steel-mesh fence. I climbed it as before, then lay down in the waist-high weeds a few yards from the edge of the road to wait. Perhaps half an hour later, a car passed, but rapidly, not blinking its lights, and I didn't move. Another half hour, and now a car rounded the bend, and I knew it was Ruth and almost stood up. But I waited an instant, then saw the car lights blinking dim to bright, dim to bright, and Ruth drove slowly along, and I stood up and whistled. The car stopped, I ran out, yanked open the door, tossed my rope and hook to the floor, and slid onto the seat beside Ruth, closing but not slamming the door. The car started up immediately.

  After a moment, her eyes on the road, Ruth said, "You're all right, aren't you, Ben?"

  "Sure," I said. "I'm fine. Everything's okay, and I'm fine. So's Arnie." She didn't answer, and I turned to look at her, and in the light from the dashboard I saw she was crying. She glanced at me then, and smiled, her face happy, the tears running down, and I reached out and patted her shoulder.

  Within three minutes or less we reached highway 101, waited for the light to change, then Ruth turned north toward the U.S. 40 junction far ahead at Sacramento. After I'd told her all that had happened and answered all her questions, I climbed into the back seat and lay down under the car blanket. Ruth turned the radio on low, and pretty soon I went to sleep, the car moving steadily on through the night toward Sacramento, then the Sierra Nevadas, Donner Pass at the summit seven thousand feet up, and Reno on the other side.

  13

  Friday morning, dressing in my cell, I knew Ben had made it out of the industrial area last night; if he hadn't, they'd have come for me during the night. At unlock I walked out of the cell thinking, Last time, and I thought it all day at the factory and at noon leaving the mess hall.

  By four o'clock, quitting time, my hands were shaking, I was so scared and excited. This was the time, the next three or four minutes — and if they caught me now trying to escape they'd know why and throw me into an isolation cell under direct guard till Hafek arrived in the morning to point me out. Then it was the Row for certain.

  Outside the factory, I walked back along the east wall of the building, so scared it was hard to breathe; but I made myself saunter, looking casual and unhurried, toward the big wall at the rear of the area. I was directly under the eye of the wall guard in the corner tower under which I'd stood digging last night; but he wouldn't be giving me any special attention yet. I could be walking this way to meet a friend before we left the area for the cell blocks and the four-thirty count, or for any of a lot of other harmless reasons. For the moment I was simply one of several hundred men filling the industrial area at quitting time.

  I walked slowly, conserving the steps between me and the wall ahead, and I was getting nervous and worried, when suddenly I heard it — a shout, loud and prolonged from behind me, around the corner at the front of the factory out of my sight. It was repeated right away — "Yaay! Yuh-hoo!" — and I knew what was happening. Two twenty-year-olds were horsing around in front of the factory in a direct line of sight over the factory rooftop for the guard in the tower a few steps in front of me. Ben had brought a hundred and fifty dollars in fives and tens into the prison with him in his canvas sack; all he could get together. I'd offered it to the two kids this morning in the block; I had Al with me, and I gave him the money to hold, to pay over when they delivered. They knew him, and knew he would pay. They'd squawked about the price at first; they wanted a hundred each, and I didn't blame them. They knew they were creating a diversion for something; and that whatever I was up to, they'd be in for some tough questioning and punishment. But seventy-five for each of them was all I had, and they knew it, and finally took it. If they'd known what they were covering for — that they'd be in for a questioning about an attempted escape — they'd have told me to go to hell. But I didn't tell them, and they didn't waste time asking.

  Now they were earning their money. One of them shouted again and one of the two, I knew, was now standing on the other's shoulders, balanced precariously, stooped over holding the other's hair, grinning wildly and shouting at the top of his voice — apparently horsing around the way the young kids here do in spite of everything. The shout came again now — "Yaaay! Yuh-hoo!" — and I flicked my eyes upward.

  The guard in the wall tower, almost directly above me now, was staring off in the direction of the shout, and I took one more step, and now I was directly underneath the projecting bottom of the wall tower and out of the guard's sight. By the time he turned his attention from the skylarking prisoners, I was certain there would be no reason for him to wonder where I might have walked to in the meantime. I might have gone back into the factory for some reason or turned the corner ahead to the west. I glanced down the length of the wall toward the next tower now; I couldn't see the guard in that tower, but I felt pretty sure that he, too, would be staring at the prisoners and the gate bulls, who by this time would be ordering the two men to cut out the horseplay. There was no one else in sight of me; nearly all the prisoners in the area were moving toward the wall-gate, and the area back of the shops here was completely empty.

  This was the moment, and I took it. I stooped and shoved both hands, fingers working, into the dirt I'd dug last night, found the board edge where I'd expected, and lifted. Instantly sitting down hard, I shoved both legs into the opening. Then, holding the board open above me, I wriggled into the cavity, then let the board drop hard, and lay panting in the velvet-black darkness. It had taken me three or four seconds, no more, to literally disappear from the face of the earth, and I could only wonder what my hiding place looked like from outside. I could only hope that no sliver or edge of board showed above ground. But I felt that it must look all right; I hadn't opened the board any more than the few inches necessary to slip in, and it had dropped neatly back into place; I'd felt or heard no earth slide from its surface. In any case — I tried to smile — I'd soon know.

  I'm in a grave, I thought suddenly, and a panicky feeling that I was smothering swept through me. But I'd anticipated that, and I moved slowly, sliding my hands carefully through the air just above my chest, and after a moment my thumb bumped the end of the pipe just over my forehead. I moved myself up an inch or two, altering the position of my head until my mouth touched the end of the
pipe. I had to lift my head half an inch to reach it and, moving a hand slowly to the back of my neck, I bunched up the canvas sack there to form a sort of pillow, and now I lay comfortably, the pipe end in my mouth. I took a deep breath and blew hard; then did it again. Bending my knees, I moved down in the trench a little, put one eye to the end of the pipe, and through the tiny mesh eight inches above, I saw blue sky — the dust had blown clear, and I knew I could breath, and the panic subsided.

  In the sack under my head, my hand found the hard shape of the flashlight inside it, and I got it out, flicked it on, and as best I could looked at the shallow depression I was lying in. I could see the curve of blue shirt and its buttons down my chest, and beyond that the black tips of my shoes. Just above me, and extending on past my feet, I saw the pine undersurface of the plywood, very white in the beam of my light. I saw one hand lying on my chest, and just beside my mouth the blurred end of the pipe. Fitting my mouth over the pipe end again, I snapped off the flashlight and lay back in the darkness to wait.

  When I turned the light on again to glance at my watch, it was four thirty-eight, and I smiled. Just about now, give or take a few minutes, the control-room sergeant, phone at his ear, finger underlining a figuri on the master sheet lying on his desk, would be saying. "Recount!" into the phone. Then he'd hang up, glancing at the waiting men around him. "East block," he'd say shortly, "one man short," and probably someone would laugh to show he wasn't nervous, and say, "Who can't add straight this time?" And nobody'd answer or laugh. Except me — I grinned, lying there in the dark, breathing through my pipe.

  Four minutes had passed when I glanced at my watch again, then flicked off my light. The recount should be in now, the sergeant replacing his phone, to glance up at the waiting men. "East block recount," he'd say, ''still a man short. In the third tier. They're making a paddle count now; Cap's phoning the Warden. Let's go." And the men would look at each other and start to move out.