Arbeit macht frei: - Fredrick Töben

During the morning I had heard other prisoners having showers –I think it
was Pete who must have spent half-an-hour under it. It is not the usual prison
model but has regular taps and not the press-kind that gives you a half-minute
flow of water before you have to press it again. I have my usual 1-minute
shower – something that prison life has taught me. I see no sense in standing
there, especially in community showers where there are up to six cubicles and
a row of men waiting their turn. That was the case at Mannheim where Klaus,
who was my age, delighted in standing in the recess facing the men waiting for
a shower and soaping his whole body ever so gently. No one ever took him
on, but his guitar playing was much appreciated by all.
After my minute was up, I pressed the intercom button and announced I
was ready. Within a brief moment officers arrive to unlock the shower
door. ‘You didn’t have a proper shower!’, one barks while the other two are
seething like dogs at the tether.
‘But …’.
‘Shut-up. If you don’t have a proper shower, we’ll scrub you down
properly!’.
The door slammed shut. I was going to respond but had no opportunity.
What about saving water, I mumbled to myself, ever thought of that? I
dutifully opened the taps again and just let the water pour out – let it run, let
it run, never mind that South Australia is one of the driest states in Australia
– let it run. I said nothing – a good and wise thing to do!
Counting the seconds in slow motion until I guessed 5 minutes, I press the
button again. The gang of three arrive and without a word take me to my
cell. I get on to the stone slab, cover myself in my smock and let my mind
wander.
The temptation to feel sorry for myself and to become angry at the judges
and others who have placed me in this situation began to hit me. But then I
snap out of this emotional self pity and think of the individuals who seek out
such solitude, who deliberately spend weeks, months, even a lifetime in a cell
as part of a religious calling – to be at one with their god. For that experience
some of these individuals pay money to monastic orders that specialise in
such extracurricular activity. Well, so much for our mental wellbeing. I close
my eyes and try to sleep. I must have dozed off when I snapped back to the
harsh reality of lying on the concrete slab that my body had now warmed. I
hear the boisterous banter and know it is time for me to get up and stand to
attention. I like this activity – to lie down, to get up. The door opens:
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