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My
knees
came
unhinged
and
I
fell
heavily
onto
them
,
tearing
out
the
seat
of
my
pajama
pants
when
I
spread
my
legs
to
keep
from
losing
my
balance
and
going
face-first
into
a
puddle
of
my
own
piss
.
I
still
might
have
gone
over
if
I
had
n't
grabbed
one
of
the
woodpile
logs
with
my
left
hand
.
All
that
,
though
,
could
have
been
going
on
in
Australia
,
or
even
on
another
planet
.
All
I
was
concerned
with
was
the
pain
that
had
set
me
on
fire
;
my
lower
belly
was
burning
,
and
my
penis
--
an
organ
which
had
gone
mostly
forgotten
by
me
except
when
providing
me
the
most
intense
physical
pleasure
a
man
can
experience
--
now
felt
as
if
it
were
melting
;
I
expected
to
look
down
and
see
blood
gushing
from
its
tip
,
but
it
appeared
to
be
a
perfectly
ordinary
stream
of
urine
.
I
hung
onto
the
woodpile
with
one
hand
and
put
the
other
across
my
mouth
,
concentrating
on
keeping
my
mouth
shut
.
I
did
not
want
to
frighten
my
wife
awake
with
a
scream
.
It
seemed
that
I
went
on
pissing
forever
,
but
at
last
the
stream
dried
up
.
By
then
the
pain
had
sunk
deep
into
my
stomach
and
my
testicles
,
biting
like
rusty
teeth
.
For
a
long
while
--
it
might
have
been
as
long
as
a
minute
--
I
was
physically
incapable
of
getting
up
.
At
last
the
pain
began
to
abate
,
and
I
struggled
to
my
feet
.
I
looked
at
my
urine
,
already
soaking
into
the
ground
,
and
wondered
if
any
sane
God
could
make
a
world
where
such
a
little
bit
of
dampness
could
come
at
the
cost
of
such
horrendous
pain
.
I
would
call
in
sick
,
I
thought
,
and
go
see
Dr.
Sadler
after
all
.
I
did
n't
want
the
stink
and
the
queasiness
of
Dr.
Sadler
's
sulfa
tablets
,
but
anything
would
be
better
than
kneeling
beside
the
woodpile
,
trying
not
to
scream
while
my
prick
was
reporting
that
it
had
apparently
been
doused
with
coal-oil
and
set
afire
.
Then
,
as
I
was
swallowing
aspirin
in
our
kitchen
and
listening
to
Jan
snore
lightly
in
the
other
room
,
I
remembered
that
today
was
the
day
William
Wharton
was
scheduled
on
the
block
,
and
that
Brutal
would
n't
be
there
--
the
roster
had
him
over
on
the
other
side
of
the
prison
,
helping
to
move
the
rest
of
the
library
and
some
leftover
infirmary
equipment
to
the
new
building
.
One
thing
I
did
n't
feel
right
about
in
spite
of
my
pain
was
leaving
Wharton
to
Dean
and
Harry
.
They
were
good
men
,
but
Curtis
Anderson
's
report
had
suggested
that
William
Wharton
was
exceptionally
bad
news
.
This
man
just
does
n't
care
,
he
had
written
,
underlining
for
emphasis
.
By
then
the
pain
had
abated
some
,
and
I
could
think
.
The
best
idea
,
it
seemed
to
me
,
was
to
leave
for
the
prison
early
.
I
could
get
there
at
six
,
which
was
the
time
Warden
Moores
usually
came
in
.
He
could
get
Brutus
Howell
reassigned
to
E
Block
long
enough
for
Wharton
's
reception
,
and
I
'd
make
my
long-overdue
trip
to
the
doctor
.
Cold
Mountain
was
actually
on
my
way
.
Twice
on
the
twenty-mile
ride
to
the
Penitentiary
that
sudden
need
to
urinate
overcame
me
.
Both
times
I
was
able
to
pull
over
and
take
care
of
the
problem
without
embarrassing
myself
(
for
one
thing
,
traffic
on
country
roads
at
such
an
hour
was
all
but
nonexistent
)
.
Neither
of
these
two
voidings
was
as
painful
as
the
one
that
had
taken
me
off
my
feet
on
the
way
to
the
privy
,
but
both
times
I
had
to
clutch
the
passenger-side
doorhandle
of
my
little
Ford
coupe
to
hold
myself
up
,
and
I
could
feel
sweat
running
down
my
hot
face
.
I
was
sick
,
all
right
,
good
and
sick
.
I
made
it
,
though
,
drove
in
through
the
south
gate
,
parked
in
my
usual
place
,
and
went
right
up
to
see
the
warden
.
It
was
going
on
six
o'clock
by
then
.
Miss
Hannah
's
office
was
empty
--
she
would
n't
be
in
until
the
relatively
civilized
hour
of
seven
--
but
the
light
was
on
in
Moores
's
office
;
I
could
see
it
through
the
pebbled
glass
.
I
gave
a
perfunctory
knock
and
opened
the
door
.
Moores
looked
up
,
startled
to
see
anyone
at
that
unusual
hour
,
and
I
would
have
given
a
great
deal
not
to
have
been
the
one
to
see
him
in
that
condition
,
with
his
face
naked
and
unguarded
.
His
white
hair
,
usually
so
neatly
combed
,
was
sticking
up
in
tufts
and
tangles
;
his
hands
were
in
it
,
yanking
and
pulling
,
when
I
walked
in
.
His
eyes
were
raw
,
the
skin
beneath
them
puffy
and
swollen
.
His
palsy
was
the
worst
I
had
ever
seen
it
;
he
looked
like
a
man
who
had
just
come
inside
after
a
long
walk
on
a
terribly
cold
night
.
"
Hal
,
I
'm
sorry
,
I
'll
come
back
--
"
I
began
.
