Purgatory Read online

  DAY 51 - FRIDAY 7 SEPTEMBER 2001

  5.39 am

  I have now been a resident of Wayland for a month, and Sergio will return to Colombia in a couple of weeks’ time. So with a bit of luck he’ll be deported around the same time as I’m being transferred to a D-cat. But will I also be in possession of an emerald?

  9.00 am

  Gym. Friday is special needs group, and my four new friends Alex, Robbie, Les and Paul shake hands with me as they come through the gate. Again all four display different talents during the training session. Les can now complete 1,650 metres on the rowing machine in ten minutes, but can only manage one mile an hour on the treadmill, whereas Paul can do five miles an hour on the running machine, but can’t catch a ball. Robbie can catch anything, but hates all the machines, so only does weight training.

  The instructors rightly tell us to play to their strengths, which results in much clapping and laughter, along with a huge sense of achievement.

  Jimmy handles them better than anyone. He remembers all their names (over twenty came this morning) and they feel he’s a real friend. He’d make a great PE teacher, but I have a feeling that once he’s released the lure of easy money may be more attractive. He says he’ll never deal in drugs again, but I wonder.

  6.00 pm

  Exercise. Cancelled because it’s raining.

  7.00 pm

  Sergio calls his brother in Bogota, but the line is engaged.

  7.05 pm

  Sergio comes to my cell and continues his tutorial on the history of Colombia. The political system is not unlike that of the United States with a president, vice-president, Senate and Congress. However, there are two big differences: the president and vice-president have to come from different parties, one conservative, one liberal - Colombia’s idea of democracy - whereas in truth the president has all the power. The other big difference is that even a senator requires four bodyguards. Sergio tells me that one presidential candidate had forty bodyguards when he delivered a speech in Bogota, and was still assassinated.

  7.20 pm

  Sergio tries his brother again. Still engaged.

  7.23 pm

  Sergio continues his lecture, explaining that the violence in his country makes it necessary for any presidential candidate to have an accommodation with the guerrillas or the Mafia or the army, or all three. We sometimes forget how fortunate we are in Britain. Our politicians only have to deal with the trade unions, the CBI - and Messrs Paxman and Humphreys.

  7.35 pm

  Sergio tries his brother again. Still engaged.

  7.40 pm

  According to Sergio, the civil service remains the only untainted profession. Although his brother is an adviser to several ministers, he doesn’t need a bodyguard because it is accepted that he will never take a bribe from either the Mafia, the guerrillas or the army. The countryside, he assures me, is beautiful and the beaches that face both the Pacific and the Atlantic rival any that can be found in America or Europe. And as for the women…

  DAY 52 - SATURDAY 8 SEPTEMBER 2001

  6.01 am

  Since the age of twenty-six, I’ve been lucky enough to organize my own life, so having to follow the same routine day in and day out, weekends included, is enough to make one go stark raving bonkers. If I weren’t writing this diary, and Sergio didn’t exist, they would have had to put me in a straitjacket long before now and cart me off to the nearest asylum.

  9.00 am

  Gym. I put myself through a tough workout, and what makes it even tougher is that I’m surrounded by prisoners a third of my age. At the end of the session I climb onto the scales, to find I’ve put on a pound in the last week. I’ll have to cut down on my chocolate intake. One of the many disadvantages of being locked up in a cell for hour upon hour is that sometimes you eat simply because there is nothing else to do (this is one of the reasons prisoners experiment with drugs, and addicts need a regular fix). In future I must show more self-control. If I don’t buy it, I can’t eat it.

  Between each exercise, ten minutes on the treadmill, the rower and the bicycle, I walk a complete circuit of the gym to get my breath back. By now I know most of the prisoners and the workouts they do, and usually acknowledge or encourage them as I stroll by. As I pass Jimmy he flexes his muscles, and describes himself as a gay icon; I’m seen by the other inmates as the geriatric icon.

  Today I spot a six-foot-three West Indian of about twenty stone who’s lifting massive weights on his own, so I stop to watch him.

  ‘What are you fuckin’ staring at?’ he demands, once he’s put the weights down.

  Just watching,’ I reply.

  Then fuck off. I know you talk to everyone else, but you don’t fuckin’ talk to me.’ I can’t stop laughing, which doesn’t seem to please him and has the officers on edge. ‘Do you want your fuckin’ head knocked off?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t think so, Ellis.’ He looks surprised that I know his name. ‘Not if you’re hoping to be out of here in two weeks’ time.’ He looks even more surprised that I know when he’s due to be released. He grunts, turns his back on me and lifts 210 kilos. In prison, what you know is every bit as important as who you know.

  2.00 pm

  As I cross the corridor to join Darren in his cell for a game of backgammon, I spot Sergio on the phone. He’s holding a stack of PS2 phonecards in his left hand; by now he must have traded everything he owns. Lately, his cell looks as if the bailiffs have paid a visit.

  After three games, I return to my cell in possession of another Mars bar. If I am going to lose weight, I’m going to have to start losing at backgammon. I glance to my left to see Sergio furiously beckoning me.

  ‘I need another phonecard’ he says desperately. I remove the one I always carry in the back pocket of my jeans and hand it over. He smiles. I return to my cell, sit at my desk and wait, sensing a board meeting is imminent.

  2.34 pm

  Sergio walks in, pushes the door to (if anyone enters your cell, officer or inmate, it’s against regulations to lock yourself in) and turns on the TV - a sign that means he doesn’t want to be overheard. He takes his usual place on the end of the bed, as befits the managing director. He opens his A4 pad.

  ‘The stone takes off,’ he checks his watch, ‘in a couple of hours.’ He can’t resist a huge grin as he keeps me waiting. I nod. If I were to speak, it would only hold up the inevitable repetition of the entire conversation he and his brother have just held. And who can blame him? However, I’ll skip the next forty minutes and give you a precis of what has caused such a big grin.

  Sergio’s brother has in fact completed all the paperwork and booked the tiny package onto a Lufthansa flight that leaves Bogota for Heathrow via Frankfurt in two hours’ time (10.30 am in Bogota, 4.30 pm at Wayland). He has faxed all the relevant details to my office in London, so they’ll know when and where to pick up the gem. Sergio pauses at this point and waits for some well-earned praise. He goes on to confirm that the emerald has come from the Muzo mining district, famous for the quality of its stones. It’s 3.3 carats, and cost $9,000 (mountain price). Now all we can do is wait until I find out what value is placed on the emerald by my gemmologist. Sergio looks up from his notes, and adds that his brother would like confirmation that the fax has arrived in my office.

  ‘Right now,’ I ask, ‘or when you’ve completed your report?’ because I can see that he’s only about halfway through the pages that are covered in his neat Spanish hand. He considers this for a moment, and then says, ‘No, I’ll finish first.

  The second piece of news,’ continues Sergio, turning another page, unable to suppress an even broader grin, ‘is that Liana’ - his former school friend - ‘has tracked down four Boteros in private hands. In private hands,’ he repeats with considerable emphasis. ‘And they could be for sale. She will send the details to your office some time next week.’ He checks his diary. That will give you twelve days to evaluate them. Evaluate,’ he repeats. Is that the correct word?’ I nod, impressed. ‘