On Captivity: A Spanish Soldier's Experience in a Havana Prison, 1896-1898

Part III

III i the arrival of the new neighbors led to ill-natured rumblings among the old inhabitants because life was already materially impossible in that anthill, which was even smaller than number 57. the hammocks, fastened to long horizontal wooden supports, were crowded together; the men were piled up, and ten or twelve of them always had to sleep on the floor. it was not possible here, as in the other cell on the plaza, to lie down next to the wall because every spot was already taken. it was necessary to stretch out in the middle of the cell among the hammocks nearly level with the floor and run the risk of being squashed and dying if some wooden support collapsed. the heat was asphyxiating and i never experienced so much difficulty breathing . i would impose the penalty of living among the men—even if it were only for a week—on whoever consented to these conditions! no one took any notice of my arrival. When i went in i saw a large circle of twelve or fifteen prisoners grouped on the ground around a piece of old blanket that served as a card table. Everyone was looking attentively at the pack of cards that a dealer held in his hands. some of them were naked, and there was an old man who, out of modesty befitting his age, wore a protective, tightly bound, broad grass wrap around his loins. the man with the pack of cards was undoubtedly a very skillful card shark because the game was frequently interrupted in order to call him a cheat, a swindler, a loudmouth. he called them shameless wretches, hayseeds, dimwits, and other terms of similar distinction. after much discussion and no little exchange of insults, when their eyes were flashing, their hands trembling, and their teeth were growing long the better to bite with, a ridiculous figure approached them, lost in a very big shirt which hung on him, and offered this advice: . . . “peace be with you, gentlemen! let the man who doesn’t want to play ‘this way’ withdraw, for no one is forcing him to lose his money.” the sharpers grew silent. the dealer shuffled the cards and in a declamatory voice said, “Come close! Come close . . . ! let the mice come near because the cheese is here!” and the players said: “a real on the jack.” “t wo on the king.” “a peseta on the three.” “i put . . .” “Come on . . .” “you rascal, wretch, cheat . . . !” 136 / part iii “i object . . .” “the jack had to turn up . . . i was expecting it.” “he has stuck it to another card.” “and there’s no card unfavorable to him that he doesn’t skip over.” “pig! thief!” “this isn’t fair. return the money.” and the little man intervened calmly: “peace, gentlemen. Whoever does not want to play ‘like this’ may leave, for no one is forcing him to lose his money.” Who was the little man? amid the crew of ruffians he was the only genuine bravo in la Cabaña. he gave two proofs of his valor and no more were needed. if he entered a cell he became the boss immediately, and his authority, while it was all encompassing, was not at all harsh. the players paid him tribute money, and apart from this commerce, he had no faults ever since love began to dignify him . . . his father had died years ago in the prison at Ceuta; he came into this rascally world at the time when his mother was ruling over a house of sinners, and his sisters were sinning alongside his mother. at the age of seven he underwent his first two-week stint in the jail at Málaga. Jail and the underworld took him in from that time forward as their guest and star pupil. there was no rival, as time went by, who could compare with him in dexterity for pulling off a scam, and if it was a matter of a daring climb to commit robbery, there was no one like him for scampering up walls, hoisting himself over with ropes. he committed a lot of robberies and stabbed not a few men; but he did it face-to-face, with considerable pride—attacked, as he was at times, by two or more enemies. granted his concept of life, he could give lessons in points of honor to those whose wounded pride leads...