I might get you taken on there.’

‘Hold your tongue, Kufalt,’ said the warder. ‘It’s always you category three men that give trouble.’

‘I didn’t speak, sir, I was only breathing hard.’

‘You’d better hold your tongue or I’ll report you.’

‘All my things are with the storeman. All immaculate, silk-lined tails and patent shoes. Hey, I wonder what it’ll feel like after five years!’

‘Oh, let that ape of a warder gibber if he wants to. I know something that’ll keep him quiet. He had me make a shopping bag and a hammock for him.’

‘There’s only one thing I’m anxious about . . . How long have you been in? Three months? Tell me, do the women still wear such short skirts? I heard they were wearing long ones again . . . ’

‘Can’t prove it, eh? I’ll just say to the governor: you’ll find a double mesh in the fourth row of the net bag, and he’ll be for it.’

‘Well, thank God. So you can see their thighs when they sit down? And bare flesh when they’re bicycling?’

‘Step out, Kufalt, I don’t know what’s up with you today. Do you want to spend your last days in solitary? Get over to the wall—that’s our reserved box for category three gents.’

Kufalt went, and stood alone. Those in the circle jeered at him as they passed: ‘What about category three now! Grafters! Wireless and all, eh? Proud of your three stripes, aren’t you? Bum-suckers!’

‘You can all . . . ’ he began, and then he thought: ‘Hundred marks. Fine. Now I’ll have at least four hundred marks, and if Werner Pause writes today and sends me some money . . . ’ ‘Hey, Warder Steinitz, how much is a third-class ticket to Hamburg?’

‘Are you talking to me? Hold your tongue, or I’ll have you put in solitary.’

‘Oh, please not, sir! Well, I should have plenty of time today to make you another shopping bag.’

‘Insolent, eh? I’ll clip you with these keys if you aren’t careful.’

‘I really should have time for it today, sir. And the pound of margarine you promised me for the hammock hasn’t turned up.’

‘You young scab! Trying a little blackmail on your last day, are you? Sneaky little rat—oh well, get back into line, why should I bother about you any more. Five paces’ distance—and keep your mouth shut, Kufalt.’

‘Very well, sir, I won’t say a word.’

It is May; the sky is blue beyond the wall, and above it the chestnuts are in flower. The circular yard round which the prisoners are marching has been planted with swedes, which are just coming up—a patch of meagre yellowish green against the melancholy bleak background of cinders, dusty earth and cement.

They walk in a circle and whisper. They walk in a circle and whisper. They walk in a circle and whisper.

V

Back in his cell, Willi Kufalt collapsed. That was what always happened. When he was with other people he prattled on and threw his weight about, and posed as the old experienced lag who could never be fooled; but alone with himself, he was very much alone, and grew timid and despondent.

‘I shouldn’t have acted like that to Warder Steinitz,’ he thought.