1.05 C-1-24

7:20 Wake

 Put bedding away, clean room, wash up.

 Prepare for inspection.

The Regulations and Morals tells me to clean the room up, so what do I do? I clean up, of course. No need to tempt fate anymore than I already have, is there?

I fold the auburn and olive striped futon in three and shove it into the corner near the toilet. Then, folding the blanket and sheets neatly, I place them squarely on top of the futon, smooth out the wrinkles. You could bounce a five-hundred-yen coin off of it.

I could be in the Marine Corps. Oh, if only I were in the Marines and not in this godforsaken place.

As I'm sweeping the cell with a ridiculously short broom—more suitable to whisking lent off a blazer than sweeping the floor--two guards walk past the small, barred window at the front of my cell.

A minute later, another incomprehensible order is barked over the squawk box. I consult the R&M:

7:30 Inspection

Sit, facing front window.

Give number when asked.

Number? What number?

My cell number, C-1-24, has been handwritten on the cover of the R&M.

That can’t be what they're talking about, can it?

A hand towel hanging on the edge of the washbasin also has "C-1-24" written on it with a black marker.

Maybe that is what they’re talking about. I must be C-1-24.

From the far end of the cellblock comes the murmur of guards. Not able to see diddlysquat, I press my face against the bars of the window to get a better hear-see.

“Cell Sixteen!” a guard calls out, his voice growing louder as he makes his way up the cellblock.

“Ho!”

“Cell Seventeen!”

“Eight-nine-eight.”

“Ho!”

"Cell Eighteen,"

No reply.

"Cell Eighteen!" the guard now yells.

I could be mistaken, but I think the inmate in Cell Eighteen just burped. Muted giggles rippling through the whole cellblock confirms the suspicion.

"Cell Number Eighteen!"

"FIVE-OH-SEVEN!" the inmate roars back.

More laughter.

Unruffled, the guard moves on to the next cell, calling out, "Cell Nineteen."

The number is screamed back, "EIGHT-SEVEN-THREE!!"

As the guards near my cell it starts to dawns on me that, one, my neighbors are such maladjusted and unpleasant bastards that you really can’t feel sorry for them being locked up, and, two, I don't know what my own number is after all.

No mistake about it, I am in cell C-1-24: Block C, First Floor, Cell 24. The number is written on the cover of the Regulations and Morals in my hands, the pillowcase, the towels, the . . .

“Cell Twenty!” the guard calls out, coming ever closer.

“Two-one-five!”

I pull the yellow basket out from under the desk and start rifling through the few papers I was allowed me to take in: the Guidelines for Americans Arrested in Japanfrom the Consulate, my lawyer's business card, a receipt for the personal belongings I was stripped of upon entering jail, and so on.

“Cell Twenty-three!”

“One-four-one!”

"Cell Twenty-four!" The guards are standing before my cell. I turn towards the window. It’s so low and narrow all I can see are the wisteria emblems on the guards' belt buckles.

"Your number!" he hollers.

"M-my number?"

"Yes, state your number!"

"I, uh . . . I, um, I don't . . . quite . . . know what it is."

"Six!”

“Sorry?”

“You're Number Six!"

"Number Six?"

You gotta be kidding. How come I only get one lousy digit when all the others have three?

"You're Number Six, okay? When we say, 'Cell Number Twenty-four,' you have to say, 'Number Six.' Got it?"

"Yeah, I've got it."

"Cell Number Twenty-four!" he bellows. This voice this guard has kills me.

"Number Six," I reply, lowering my head meekly.

And with a throaty "Ho!" from the other guard that I guess means hai, the two of them move on to the next cell.

Sure enough, a quick look at the receipt for my personal belongings shows a “Six” scribbled in the upper left-hand corner.

You’d think that a number like that would have been retired by now.  

"Cell number Twenty-five . . . “ the guard calls out, moving on to the next cell.

“Ho!”

“Cell number Twenty-six . . . “

“Ho!"

© Aonghas Crowe, 2010. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication of any kind.

注意：この作品はフィクションです。登場人物、団体等、実在のモノとは一切関係ありません。

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The first installment of No.6 can be found here.

No. 6 is now available on Kindle.