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This bloke feels like having a bit of fun, thought Kassner. He’d heard about prisoners being made to crawl around on all fours. The guard took a step forward. Kassner was convinced he was facing either cruelty personified or someone’s compulsive urge to inflict humiliation on another, yet the face confronting him looked scarcely more menacing than a slave trader’s. He stepped backwards to keep his distance, tilting his trunk slightly forwards and lifting his left heel: if he speaks to me, I shan’t say anything, but if he tries to touch me, I’ll head-butt him in the stomach.
He waited, scarcely able to breathe, his entire body convulsed by his feverish efforts. He tried rapping again, at random now, making no attempt at coding whatsoever. Nothing. He hadn’t gone deaf: he could hear himself knocking and walking round, and he could still hear the confused rumble of all the goings-on in the prison above the persistent drone of the religious chanting going on in his head. The guards had opened a nearby door. Had they just caught the man who had been knocking on the wall or had they simply happened to order him outside his cell?
Then the inspection team’s surveyors and our own delegates eventually announced that all the tunnels had filled up with carbon monoxide, and the mine was slowly and methodically blocked up in front of our eyes...