Whispers had followed him in the prison lane, hushed, behind the railings.
- "It's an old man …"
- "No troubles…"
- "They say he killed a whole family…"
- "Long ago…"
- "Do you believe it?"
The guards were pretending not to hear a word. It was not any more the same guards who had seen the prisoner come in after his condemnation.
How long, already?
Fifteen years, sixteen years? Maybe more.
The old man was no troubles. Never. He did not say a thing, worked hard, did not get involved in others' business.
An old chap who had certainly paid off his debt to society, now.
He deserved to go out and die in his home town, like a free man.
They gave him his hat, his coat. An old prisoner was entitled to a little of dignity.
He greeted respectfully the guard who – a little puzzled - opened the prison heavy gate.
Certainly this quiet grandfather was not the inmate they released this day, but rather a visitor…
He raised a hand to protect his face when the winter sun wrapped him.
The hot beams on his wrinkled skin did not seem those of the sun when he walked in the prison courtyard.
He smiled.
He was free.
At last.
