Falconer+-+John+Cheever

Falconer 72
cross. They were not allowed to speak in the shower, but the
stranger, soaping his left shoulder, spread out his palm so that
Farragut could read there, written in indelible ink: “Meet me
later.” When they had dressed they met at the door. “You the
professor?” the stranger asked. “I’m 734–508–32,” said Farragut.
He was that green. “Well, I’m Jody,” said the stranger brightly,
“and I know you’re Farragut but so long as you ain’t homosexual I
don’t care what your name is. Come on with me. I’ll show you my
hideout.” Farragut followed him across the grounds to an
abandoned water tower. They climbed up a rusty ladder to a
wooden catwalk where there was a mattress, a butt can and some
old magazines. “Everybody’s got to have a hideout,” said Jody.
“This is mine. The view is what they call the Millionaire’s View.
Next to the death house, this is the best place for seeing it.”
Farragut saw, over the roofs of the old cellblocks and the walls, a
two-mile stretch of river with cliffs and mountains on the western
shore. He had seen or glimpsed the view before at the foot of the
prison street, but this was the most commanding sight he had
been given of the world beyond the wall and he was deeply moved.
“Sit down, sit down,” his friend said, “sit down and I’ll tell you
about my past. I ain’t like most of the dudes, who won’t tell you
nothing. Everybody knows that Freddy, the Mad Dog Killer, iced
six men, but you ask him, he’ll tell you he’s in for stealing flowers
from some park. He ain’t kidding. He means it. He really believes
it. But when I have a buddy I tell him everything if he wants to
hear it. I talk a lot, but I listen a lot too. I’m a very good listener.
But my past is really my past. I don’t have no future at all. I don’t
see the parole board for twelve years. What I do around here don’t
matter much, but I like to stay out of the hole. I know there ain’t
no medical evidence for brain damage, but after you hit yourself
about fourteen times you get silly. Once I banged myself seven
times. There wasn’t nothing more to come out, but I went on
banging myself. I couldn’t stop. I was going crazy. That ain’t
healthy. Anyhow, I was indicted on fifty-three counts. I had a