THE JAIL
summit of high mountains a man can hear the voice of Eternity, in deep forests is the speech of mysterious sorrows, from the surface of the waters of the ocean the unending speaks to him, in a plain he feels the delight of freedom—
Somewhere near by, an express train raced along and with a shrill whistle emitted clouds of steam—
That is not an express train, somebody has been ringing for a long time at the door of my house—
No, I am in jail—that is yesterday's bell—get up, get up.
The light was burning no longer. From several sides came the loud cry: "Auf! Auf!"
Several people gave loud and protracted yawns. Somebody was assuring his neighbour that he had not slept a wink. Somebody else was stretching himself so that his joints cracked audibly. A number lay quite quiet, as if it had been midnight.
"Gentlemen, get up, we will prepare for roll-call" ordered Dušek. He was commandant of No. 60 and responsible for the order there.
And he possessed authority, the last ones had now jumped up from the floor, Papa Declich with Hedrich; Hedrich again wore a cap on his shock of hair—the straw mattresses on our side were lifted up and placed as I had seen them the day before. Voronin had fetched his broom and was sweeping up, on the other side straw mattresses had also been removed from the floor, the tables and forms were arranged, and in a few minutes number 60 had assumed its daily aspect.
"Line up, line up. They're already in the next room", exclaimed Dušek from the door.
The occupants of number 60 formed two ranks in military style. Unkempt, half asleep, not fully dressed, with towels, soap and tum-
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