A Game Called Loneliness: Incarcerated Tale

Rat.

A Game called Loneliness

The adventure started back in the year 2004. It was the year when misfortune struck, locking me up in a jail in the south of France. Back in the olden days, the landlady guillotine had managed to put fear in the locals’ hearts and souls throughout the whole of the land. And it was its evil blood-thirsty blade, that made roll off the heads of the whole royal family whose reign had been established under divine will and blessing, and together with them off came the heads of all those who shared their ideals of a new world.

Thus, on a spring day of that year the sun was tenderly caressing the whole of nature from above: its gentle touch stirring back to life’s bitter roots, whilst partaking in the green of the young pods… I was lying down with my eyes closed in the cold dark cell. I could only imagine the unspoken beauty of nature displayed at that time of the year. I was trying to take my day-nap within the four concrete walls solidly stuck in the iron-cast frame of the building, whose painful sighs I could always hear after midnight. It was grieving at the sight of the slow destruction that Rust was causing, to the delight of Damp, the old loyal hunch-man of suffering. In fact, everything around there seemed eager to satisfy Suffering, whose blue-lipped kiss sealed the tragic faith of all those who filled up that cursed place.

I was sleeping a half-sleep haunted by all sorts of thoughts and half-dreams: I could easily imagine, for instance, what it must feel like lying dead in a coffin because my cold unwelcoming cell was just that.

All of a sudden, a noise coming from nearby made me jump. I opened my eyes still blurred with nudging thoughts. I was gazing around trying to work out what it was, like a wild vulture narrowing down on its pray.

And fancy that as a sight: a rat, all tangled in a white silk thread, his ears shredded and full of old scars, standing on the table right next to my bed, starved to the bone. He was wearily and desperately munching at an old bread crust left forgotten in a corner of the table. I didn’t react in any way. I thought he was very brave since my presence didn’t bother him at all. I kept still, looking at him from one side, wondering how he got all the way up there and where he came from. He was holding the crust between his fore-paws, nibbling it fast. Hunger must have put in him the devil-dare.

We, people, do exactly the same when our bellies are empty: we try to fill them up quickly, no matter what. And that’s why sometimes we take mad risks carrying out downright mean things, without even considering the consequences.

I was trying to guess how old the Rat was. His scars spoke volumes about him: where and what he had been through. He most certainly had life experience in plenty, or at least enough of it since, on that spring day, he had the freedom to go anywhere he wanted, yet he chose to come looking for food in a prison cell. While watching him mesmerised, another noise, a familiar one this time, caught my ear. Two doves flew down and sat on the outside sill of my cell window. They were watching me closely, turning on me one eye at a time. Softly, as if not to wake me up, they were gurgling their nasal unmusical tune which I was looking forward to every day. It was their way of letting me know that they had arrived and were waiting for me to come around from my restless sleep, the slumber I was aimlessly wandering through every day, checking out the dark pits in search of the odd soothing dream that would have remained loyal to me. Yet, all of those dreams had departed from me because of the despicable place I found myself in. I was looking for a dream that would give me hope and keep me going when I woke up. A dream that would drop in my ear the whisper of endless freedom waiting for me outside, thus giving me the strength to revive my yearning feelings, long overdue to a touch of tender sunshine.

The doves were old friends of mine; by that time, they had become used to calling in and having some bread crumbs to eat every day after I woke up. I would often ask them:

What’s the colour of the freedom out there?

The doves would spread their wings wide to show me dark grey dirty feathers. They meant by that: dark grey was the colour of freedom.

But… how can that be? I’d ask surprised. Has all the water on earth gone dry? They’d fold their wings on their backs shaking their heads, only to whisper sadly:

No, it hasn’t gone dry. But we cannot get to crystal clear water any longer. The big vultures, protected by law (because they are on the verge of extinction, of course) have taken control of the waters. They only give it to whomever they want in exchange for nothing else than fresh tender dove meat. Do you want to talk about freedom? they said looking around fearful. Why do you think we keep visiting you? they asked me rhetorically.

They carried on answering their own question:

Paradoxically, we are more free here in the prison than we were outside it. We are wanted and respected in here, while outside we are continually under enemy surveillance, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if we found out that we are envied for being able to fly in and out of here. There is an old saying about those without many options in life: the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

Normally, I should have tended to the doves by that point, but I didn’t want to scare away my new guest, so I decided to lie in a little longer.

I turned my eyes to the rat. I couldn’t work out how he’d found his way into the cell. My first guess was that he sneaked in through the window bars. A few of the crumbs meant for the doves might have fallen off to the bottom of the concrete block. The rat would have taken the risk to climb all the way up the wall on the off-chance to put an end to his hunger; and once up there, he might have fallen inside.

I glanced again through the opening of the window. I could see the barbed wire – deadly and razor sharp – standing to attention and ready to fulfil its harmful mission: to pick up on anyone and anything trying to get in or, more importantly, out of there.

Still, the Rat somehow managed to get to my cell, I said to myself in wonder. His razor-sharp mind trained in scar-inflicting adventures must have hatched the master-plan.

I didn’t move a finger for fear that I might scare him off. I kept rolling my eyeballs for want of a better sight. He munched away happily, as if he had just discovered a magic mill or a wondrous oven that endlessly baked tasty bread.

After such a hearty meal, the Rat licked his little paws a few times and mumbled something under his breath, most likely giving thanks to The Almighty for that filling feast. He slowly came off the table, like a wise old man, to find shelter under my bed in the far right corner of the cell. He set himself there, determined to share the confined space with me. I left him settle in for a few days; it was important that he got used to his new lair. Over the following week, it took a lot of hard work and patience, but in the end I had trained him to eat his food out of the palm of my hand. He seemed to have accepted my gift of friendship.

After another week the Rat allowed me to pick him up. Happy to have gained his trust, I disentangled him from the white silk thread that impinged on his every move. I even gave him a steaming bath and a good scrub with my laundry soap; the only one I had available there. An army of fleas came running away from his grey fur-coat.

Our life together went on for a year and nine months. We shared the same narrow cell where the sun never shone. We also shared our food and our misery; I even managed to learn the rat’s language.

His company did me good and I was glad to know he was always around. However, I never entertained the idea of keeping him against his will for fear of my loneliness. Far from me! Quite the opposite: I often thought it was unjust that he took upon himself a life of punishment in confinement. On more than one occasion I picked him up and put him on the window sill, making him understand as best as I could, that he was free to go. He was free to go and enjoy the priceless gift of nature; freedom.

Even now I can see him in my mind, nuzzling up at the fresh air. He would then turn around, stand up on his hind legs and stretch out his fore-paws to be picked up.

He wouldn’t go, our friendship was becoming stronger every day. It did cross my mind that the poor Rat might have nowhere to go to, very much like many of us humans.

Or maybe it was the case of the wise old saying: you cannot turn back time. As sometimes the ugly face of the present may turn to dust the good old memories that you cherished in your heart and soul. And it is an awful thing to end up trapped with bitter regrets and remorse.

Anyway, my understanding of the loyal little creatur, was growing every day. I even came to understand the mission that rats have been given to fulfil in their lifetime on earth.

Days passed by, and like all good things that come to an end, the peace of mind that the Rat had provided for me was due to come to a brisk end. On a cold winter’s day in the early hours of morning, something sudden and unexpected took us all by surprise; as it usually happens to the residents of such places as prisons.

I was brutally made to get out of my bed, which had taken me ages to warm up that night. With my wrists and ankles tightly embraced by cold handcuffs, I was marched out of the concrete block like a ragged wild dog caught red-handed. Had written rules been followed and obeyed, then this wouldn’t have been the way to treat prisoners. I had done nothing against the prison’s code of conduct. Arguing about it, however, was a waste of time.

I went out into the prison courtyard and found myself amongst hundreds of other discontented prisoners. We all waited out in the cold for the day without being given any explanation.

The frost was biting; snowflakes were coming down. I was watching the dancing snowflakes imagining that up there, The Almighty was shaking them through the sieve of the skies, showering us all clean from sin. Later that evening we found out what had happened: a no-notice check was carried out throughout the prison. They’d found out that some prisoners were keeping forbidden objects in their cells. Like trained grey hounds that pick up the trail of their pray, the prison guards rummaged through everything. Suspiciously, they searched high and low, left, right and centre to find what they were looking for. According to their thinking, even the lidded toilets could be nestling a new species of highly evolved worms which, given a chance, would break free and adjust to any environments; taking risks, hoaxing and skimming in order to put themselves in charge of millions of deadly bacteria ready to attack on command (similar to the way of the world in our own society, controlled by cunning robbers defended by laws that they themselves make).

The cold made me numb all over. Stiff-frozen, I had lost track of time standing there. All I could think about was my friend, the Rat. I was eager to see how he was and share with him what I’d been through that day whilst we’d been apart from each other. Late that evening, when they finally allowed us access to our force-rented accommodation, I found that my cell was an up-side-down mess. It was as if thousands of thunder bolts had struck the place in anger. The bed had been moved away from the wall and the Rat’s dwelling had been turned into a bloody puddle. Blood droplets shivered, and slid along before they let go and disappeared in distress amongst the hay-straws; they were still hosting the bodily warmth of the little creature.

It dawned on me that a king-size boot had squashed him, as the big dirty footprint on the wall above was bearing witness. There was no trace of him, though. In my wayward search for him all over the cell, I felt like hurling myself against the door, wailing and wallowing! But despite my deep distress, I knew nobody would bother to hear or help.

The last thing I saw was a wide beastly grin, which caught my eye before the door slung closed with a deafening heavy thud. I looked again to where the Rat used to be; I was grieving on the inside, and staring vacantly on the outside. I re-played in my mind what had happened, and I wasn’t even there to defend him.

I didn’t know how long I had been in that state, but the next thing I could feel was a cold wind blowing its way into the cell through the window bars. I couldn’t help sensing it prying in, as if to suck in the last trace of bodily warmth left on the bloody straws by the Rat. I lied there still, unwilling to close the window. I thought that I might as well leave the wind to fool around freely, as I for one, had the sorrow of death in my soul. But what would I be if I inflicted the suffering of my personal tragedy on everybody else? For the world, as The Almighty made it, has a natural and uncanny way of redressing the balance; striking it right between Good and Evil, Light and Darkness, Beauty and Ugliness, Joy and Sorrow, Love and Hatred.

But what good is there to talk the talk, when you are unable to walk the walk? From that day on, a grieving melancholy and a sickening weariness of life started nestling in my soul. I didn’t touch food for a week; I didn’t leave my cell, either. I had no wish to see anyone, and for all that mattered, they were all to blame for my misfortune. All I could think about was The Almighty Creator and I kept asking Him: Have you forgotten me, Lord? Why have you forsaken me all alone between these cursed, iron-bared, merciless walls?

The walls of a prison feed on the days of the prisoners’ life. It ages their bodies and makes them go crazy before time.

I thought The Lord no longer cared about my crying, but I was wrong. One night, eight days later, my friend the old rat paid me a visit. He climbed up on the table taking his time like he usually would, as he did when we were friends. However, this time he was not interested in the bread crumbs. He was tangled up in the white silk thread like the first time I saw him, as if on purpose to get my sympathy. I picked him up quickly with an affectionate hug that would make us both warm and would send us into a good night’s sleep. Noticing my deep sorrow for losing him, the Rat whispered: What’s going on? This is not like you! Be strong my friend, you won’t be here forever. It is God’s plan to have you locked here, and it may be so to save you from a greater evil that could have come your way instead. Time comes and goes; you’ll eventually be set free and will go back to your loved ones. You’ll look back with hindsight and understand why you had to go through this. Your mission here and now is to keep going and stay in the white light, despite the darkness that surrounds you. Moreover, never forget that revolution brings about evolution. This might just be a blessing in disguise, but difficult to tell at first sight. Because every hindrance holds the promise of a step forward, and a curse can easily turn into a blessing. Similarly a blessing is likely to turn into a curse when taken the wrong way. Yet above all, your health is your wealth; life becomes joyless when you lack good health. Also, don’t put all your trust in simply what the eyes can see, as many things are happening beyond the realm of sight. You must sense the world around you with your mind, making good use of all the gifts that God gave you in His mercy. It is your mind that knows real freedom, for it alone reveals to us that good is not a fairy-tale, love is not deceptive folly and beauty is not just a flight of imagination. On the contrary, they make up the actual fabric of reality! They say it’s all in the mind: the secret gate-way opens in front of us giving us wings to fly to a land of no frontiers. Don’t let sin kill your dreams; don’t let go of your belief in ideals, even if right now they seem like hopeless fancies. God gave us soul, mind and body which together stand up for Life. The mind is a bridge between body and soul; it keeps the right balance of peace and harmony between the two. The body is a temple that hosts life whose core, like a precious flower, is the Soul. The mind guides us through life in an infinite Universe, allowing us to rejoice in the wonders that God gave us. When the body fails to achieve the longing of the soul, the mind can make up for it through the all-empowering imagination that helps you carry on. And so my dear friend, I say cast away this sorrow! Shake it off and screw it under your feet, never to pick it up again! Don’t let it gloom your glee and confidence like it has so far!

I was listening without moving a finger. I felt so disheartened.

My lack of reaction made the old Rat let out a heavy sigh. He asked me to put him back on the table and I did so quietly. He bent over slowly like an old man, picked up the pen, and offered it to me. Just as I was about to get hold of it, the noise of departing steps made us both jump. It was as if somebody going past the cell door had stopped for a moment to listen to what my friend had to say, and then continued on their way. The Rat’s head turned swiftly in the direction of the rustle: he was terrified. But all he could see was the trace of a shadow vanishing in the moonlight.

The pen dropped out of his hand: it was shaking with nerves. As it hit the floor, the noise woke me up.

It had all been a dream! I said to myself in despair after coming around a bit. Just then, a rustling noise coming from the table top drew my attention. It was ass if somebody was cleaning up, and I shuddered with joy. Maybe, through some sort of miracle, the Rat has come back! I thought trembling from head to toe with excitement.

I was thinking like a child, which surprised me. I suddenly stood up not even thinking twice about leaving my warm bed. But to my great disappointment, it was only the wind. I had forgotten the window was open and a cold wind began to shuffle through my diary on the table. Driven by a devouring curiosity, he wanted to find out about the secrets in my diary. Or maybe, who knows, somebody had sent him there to spy on me…

No! That can’t be! I thought to myself outraged. The wind can’t be corrupted: his only master is nature herself which makes him as free as can be. On those grounds alone, he will never come to depend on its surroundings like we do.

But what was