In the prison ward I was moved like a child by the sight of a litter of
kittens playing on a convict's bed. He made them little paper balls, and
they would chase them all over the bed-spread, and cling to its edges
with their claws. Then he would turn them over, stroke them, kiss them
and cuddle them to his heart. More than once, when he is put back to
work and sits tired and depressed on his bench, he will dream of the
quiet hours he spent alone with the little animals, and of the softness
of their fur on his rough hands and the warmth of their little bodies
against his breast. I believe, though, that the rules forbid this kind
of recreation and that probably he had them through the kindness of the
sister in charge.
But here, as well as elsewhere, rules have their exceptions, for, in the
first place, the distinction of caste does not disappear (equality being
a lie, even in the penitentiary). Delicately scented locks sometimes
show beneath the numbered caps, just as the sleeve of the red blouse
often reveals a cuff surrounding a well-kept hand. Moreover, special
favours are shown toward certain professions, certain men. How have they
been able, in spite of the law and the jealousy of their fellow-prisoners,
to attain this eccentric position which makes them almost amateur
convicts, and keep it without anybody trying to wrest it from them? At
the entrance to the workshop, where boats are built, you will find a
dentist's table filled with instruments.
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