SELENA ENTERPRISES, Toronto, Canada. All rights reserved
The novel first published in the magazine THE NEWS OF THE NEW WORLD, North Carolina, USA, 2001/2002
Reprinted with permission
The insolvent microbiologists left the hotel through a back door. After they walked a couple of blocks at a good clip, Jack stopped, put his bag on the ground and said:
"Where are we going now? I"m worn out. Let"s take a taxi."
"Taxi is a good idea. You know, esquire, I didn"t read newspapers for a while. Maybe because of this shameful fact I"m not aware that Canada has already built communism in an isolated town and taxi service in Smallton is free."
Commandante turned his pockets inside out and Jack saw that they were virgin clean.
"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Adjutant. "But where is our money?"
Nick made a gesture showing that money flew away like migratory birds seeking the warm countries.
"Do you want to say that yesterday we spent half a thousand dollars in the bloody restaurant?!"
Jack still could not believe it and waited clarification from Nick.
"And what did you think?" Commandate asked, starting to hum a merry Gypsy tune and dance in front of Nick. "Does it ring any bell?"
That rang a bell. Jack started to remember how he ordered the most expensive champagne he could find on the menu to please Natasha, how he threw crumpled bills on the golden tray when the band was bringing it to the table after the performance was finished, how he kissed all members of the band asking them to sing one more song "exclusively for the most beautiful woman he ever met." He remembered a basket of car trunk size full of flowers and a pail with caviar Nick bought when they were leaving the restaurant.
"Don"t be frustrated, my friend," Commandante said. "Learn to treat money as crap. Always remember the law of smart being number five: money is dung, today - a lot, tomorrow - none. Or vice versa. Give me an honest answer: did you enjoy this night?"
The Adjutant blushed. He lowered his eyes and nodded.
"This is the only thing that really matters! Learn to treat every day of your life as if it was your last day on this insane globe. Most people work their guts out trying to save every penny and postpone their lives. They think: the best days are ahead. Wrong! Ahead there is nothing but old age, a bunch of ailments and a bunch of greedy relatives scratching each others" eyes out after you kick the bucket in order to get a bigger share of money you"ve been saving for your entire life in a freaking bank! Yesterday it was probably the greatest night in your life. The night you"ll never repeat again. Does it cost a damn five hundred dollars?"
Jack sighed and asked:
"But what do we do now? I"m back on the old track. No card, no money, no place to live. The good news is that we avoided jail after this bloody professor fell on our heads like an avalanche in the Rockies."
Nick smiled.
"You"re an apt student. My lectures didn"t go down the drain. At least you managed to find something positive in this situation. You know, esquire, a few seconds ago you said a magic word that probably now is the only solution for us."
Jack stared at Commandante.
"Here is a simple logical problem for you. Given: two respectable gentlemen are temporarily out of money, but they still would like to live in comfort and luxury. Hint: there is only one place in this country that gives an opportunity to enjoy a free stay in the comfort of the Grand Hotel. The answer: luckily there is a place like this in the suburbs of Smallton and we go to this place right away. And this place is?"
Nick looked at his friend waiting to hear an answer. But Jack winked his whitish eyelashes and looked at his companion quizzically.
"This place is a prison!" Commandante concluded and saw how Jack"s eyes widened with horror.
In a couple of hours, two well-dressed gentlemen approached the gate of a nice country estate.
"When do we reach this damn jail?" one of them asked, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "It"s so hot in this suit. And I"m hungry."
"Here we are," the other answered and pointed to a sign "GREEN ACRES: The Lost Sheep Guest House" above the gate.
"What?" Adjutant asked, refusing to believe his eyes. "You"re saying that this is a prison, are you? I thought it was a country residence for the Prime Minister. Or at least an elite golf course."
Jack looked at the well-landscaped property with an immaculate emerald-green lawn, a bunch of nice cottages boasting excellent architectural taste, a soccer field ready, if need be, to welcome the World Olympic games, a huge indoor pool with extensive use of stained glass and asked:
"Are you kidding me?"
Suddenly the gate opened and a stout man in a brand new uniform too tight for his strapping body stepped outside.
"Gentlemen, are you the representatives of the international human-rights organization A Proud Prisoner?"
"Yes," Commandante confirmed. "We are PP executive officers. I am Nicholas Van Leebrook, an executive inspector- in-charge. And this is my colleague, Dr. Jack Lee Vanbrook, a senior inspector-consultant. His classical thesis The Influence of Global Warming on Early Crime Warning has been translated into 215 foreign languages including 52 native dialects in Canada."
The warden looked at sweaty, tired Jack with great respect and introduced himself:
"The warden George Bull. I have been called regarding your visit, so I"m expecting you. Where is your car, gentlemen?"
Very right name for a warden, Nick decided and thought: Really, and where is our car?
He coughed to win some time and said:
"When we inspect the pens we usually come without a car. It gives us an opportunity to match the psychological and physical state of a criminal better. Your patients - and we treat the prisoners as medical patients who require maximum care and compassion - typically don"t use Cadillacs to get here. Right? So we try to do our best to get into the skin of your patients so we can look at your facility through their eyes and understand their problems and needs better."
"Very wise approach," Mr. Bull agreed and added: "In our facility the prisoners are treated better than patients in any hospital. I hope you will have every opportunity to come to this conclusion yourself. Actually, I don"t like the word "prisoner." We call our convicts "guests" or "parishioners". In Green Acres we treat our parishioners as lost sheep in the cruel world of wolves of prey around. Our main task to heal their innocent souls hurt by a guilty society that pushed them on to the criminal path. That"s why we call our facility the "Lost Sheep Guest House.""
"What a generous approach!" the engineer of human souls exclaimed. "To take care of human souls is my avocation too!"
"I love the definition of your patients as parishioners," he added and thought: Actually we all are the parishioners of a huge lunatic asylum called human civilization. Why would the murderers and rapists be an exception?
"I believe such a tolerant, equitable nation as ours should show an example to the rest of the world and erase the disgraceful word "prisoner" from its language," Nick continued. "After we finish our inspection, I will submit to my friend in the House of Commons the draft of a bill banning use of the word "prisoner" from all official papers."
The warden blushed as he was complimented by the inspector"s appreciation of his humble contribution to the penitentiary system and he invited his honorable guests inside.
"What do we start from?" he asked, taking a pad from his pocket.
"First we"d like to dwell in a standard cell for a few days. We need some time to assess whether the accommodation standards in your facility meet the level of living your guests deserve, and whether those standards will be acknowledged as satisfactory by the international community."
"You can stay as long as it"s required to do your job," the warden replied. "What type of cell would you prefer: private or semi-private?"
"I believe I"ll need to arrange working meetings with my friend every day, so we"d like to stay together."
"That means semi-private," the warden said and wrote it down in the pad. "Our guests also have a choice of a cell with a view of sunset or sunrise."
"Doctor, what do your prefer?" Commandante asked. "A refreshing sunrise or tranquil sunset view?"
Jack could not utter a word. He was still shocked and could not believe that he was in a real prison and that these two people were not playing tricks on him.
"We used to work late," Nick answered instead of his companion. "So we used to get up late too. Sunset view will do better."
"What about beds?" their host asked. "Typically, there are twins, but at our guests" request we can put in double or even Queen size beds."
"Twins are okay," Commandante replied generously. "We don"t want anything beyond standard."
"That was simple," the warden said, and led the companions to a log cottage with a stylish roof made of German pink tile . "Let me show you your cell."
When they entered a spacious room with a color TV set, a set of armchairs, a coffee table, fridge and two cozy beds, Nick said:
"Looks very good. Neat, clean and comfortable. But I don"t see any bars on the window."
"We don"t install bars on windows. Our psychologists recommended that we not do so. It may cause a psychological trauma and adversely affect prisoners" health."
"A very human approach!" Nick exclaimed. "We will mark this as a very positive feature in our final report."
After the inspectors unpacked their bags, the warden took them to the prison cafeteria. The lunch was excellent: a good choice of meat, fish, fresh vegetables and fruit, delicious desserts and variety of juices. The executive inspector remarked that it would be very human if once a month prisoners would get something original to diversify their diet: a soup from shark fins in turtle shell or bird"s milk. The warden did not get the joke about bird"s milk and seriously put the inspector"s request in his pad.
After lunch, Commandante sat in a comfortable chair in their cell, switched on satellite TV, lit a cigarette and asked:
"What do you think, inspector? Who will get more severe psychological trauma: a criminal seeing bars on his window or his crippled victim seeing their absence in this maximum security - maximum comfort guest house?"
"I think the most severe mental trauma will be to a taxpayer seeing his tax dollar at work," Adjutant answered. It looked like he was really impressed by his first acquaintance with a prison.
Jack opened a fridge to check whether there was any cold beer. Unfortunately, there was not, so senior inspector could help himself only with pure juice made from exotic New Guinea fruits.
"How long do we stay here?" he asked, showing with his fingers that juice was two thumbs up.
Commandante smiled and answered:
"Probably, for the rest of our life. Why not? Why do we need to waste our countable, irreversible days chasing this bloody mysterious pot? What do we need that money for? To turn it into a nice accommodation, beautiful scenery, fresh air, tasty meals and pretty women. We have already got all this here for free. Three days a month each prisoner, sorry, parishioner can bring his wife or a girl-friend here. Tomorrow I"ll tell our zealous bull that it"s scientifically proven by Dr. Lee Vanbrook in his thesis that this privilege has to be extended to three days a week, otherwise poor parishioners can get a severe trauma of the prostate gland plus edema of both testicles. So you can bring your stunning Tash here and enjoy comfortable prison life till the end of your days."
Remembering his wonderful night adventure, Jack blushed and said.
"I"m serious. What is the plan?"
"The plan is to have a short nap for six hundred minutes at least. I hope the beds in this nice calaboose are as comfortable as the rest of the furniture. I had a tough wrestling tournament this morning. The microbe vivisection genius gave up only after a fifth liter of champagne. I wonder where this university professor learned to drink like a cargo ship sailor. So I"m totally beat. Let"s zonk out and pick up a new candidate tomorrow. Now, inspector, it"s your turn to name an owner of the dream plant. Don"t miss this time."
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