Benjamin was never sure where he was, only of where he wished to be. In the heat, sometimes, his sweat was mingled with tears. Did he deserve to be there? No, he wasn't like the others, with their hardened faces and their hollow laughs. He felt, still. He loved.
He had had a handkerchief, a lady's perfumed handkerchief with two locks of yellow hair tied up inside-one a woman's, one a child's. They had taken that away from him, though, before the sentence began. Why did they do that? That was cruel. They deserved to be here, slaving away. The wardens. The officers.
The judge.
All of them. They deserved to feel the pain he had felt, was feeling. They would, someday, when he was free.
It wasn't a question of whether or not Benjamin would escape, but when. He pondered, he planned, like a machine. One day. He would go home, with a different name, of course. None must know who he really was. His wife would know, would whisper it sometimes when they were alone. Benjamin. It would be like a prayer, a secret only the two of them knew. He tried to conjure up her voice in his mind-thank God, he could still remember-Benjamin Benjamin Benjamin I'm waiting for you...
I know, Lucy. I'm coming.
There was the idea that she had succumbed to the judge, of course, but he dismissed it from his mind the instant it entered. That his Lucy would fall to a man so corrupt with the knowledge that he, her Benjamin, lived? Never. She knew that he, poor silly blighter that he was, would be back someday. Maybe she would even keep his razors for him, would take them out to remember him, would show them to the baby. Johanna. Why, she must be five years old by now, beautiful and pale like her mother, her yellow hair might brush the floor. He had a funny feeling Lucy would never bring herself to cut it.
He saw his Lucy, dressed in black, standing at the window with a child. Searching for him, perhaps? Or merely staring at the birds. But she would be the first to see him, when he arrived, and would know that everything would be all right now. He was there, kissing her, hugging Johanna, and it could all go back to the way it was before...
"Oy. Barker! Back to work."
He could handle it. Because one day, it would be only a memory, the blackness obscured by a cheery yellow.
And in London, an empty bottle of arsenic gathered dust in the corner.