Page:The Jail, Experiences in 1916.pdf/74

 Budi was talking Italian with Declich—the Italian of Istria which sounded entirely strange to me. Hedrich was from Zwittau; he had been a barber in Vienna and did not understand Czech. He gave me an account of his history. He had been an officer's servant and had reached Belgrade with his master. There his master had taken a few carpets as souvenirs. Hedrich a few spoons—not silver ones, just ordinary spoons. His master had been remanded, Hedrich was in jail. But he was satisfied there, and did not long for freedom. He did shaving and hair-cutting for the superintendents, the warders and the prisoners; he was comfortable, wanted nothing—except that things should remain as they were.

Supper was over. Papa Declich cleared away and removed all the remains. Hedrich distributed cigars. They were his fees for shaving.

Again I had the impression of a waiting-room at a provincial railway station. People passed to and fro, smoked, talked, whistled, but still the train did not come.

"The days are long here, each one like an ocean. And dull, infinitely dull. On the other hand, you will see how short the weeks and months are" explained Dušek. Papa Declich remarked—this was his only German sentence—that the first two years here were the worst and then life became easier—well, there was something in that. "Yes, if a man gets used to it" continued Dušek. "I feel now as if I had never been free and as if I never shall be so again. I came here from jail at Prague—ah, it was different there; visits, sufficient food, and I was at home. Here before I got into the way of everything… In those awful days this Istrian peasant became my friend. It was difficult to carry on a conversation, but we understood each other. In winter—the winter here is dreadful, darkness the whole day, frost, a regular frost—we sat wrapped up in