Page 175 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

a hot water pipe, and nothing else whatever. I looked round
the cell with a vague feeling that there was something miss-
ing. Then, with a shock of surprise, I realized what it was,
and exclaimed:
‘But I say, damn it, where are the beds?’
‘BEDS?’ said the other man, surprised. ‘There aren’t no
beds! What yer expect? This is one of them spikes where you
sleeps on the floor. Christ! Ain’t you got used to that yet?’
It appeared that no beds was quite a normal condition in
the spike. We rolled up our coats and put them against the
hot-water pipe, and made ourselves as comfortable as we
could. It grew foully stufiy, but it was not warm enough to
allow of our putting all the blankets underneath, so that we
could only use one to soften the floor. We lay a foot apart,
breathing into one another’s face, with our naked limbs
constantly touching, and rolling against one another when-
ever we fell asleep. One fidgeted from side to side, but it did
not do much good; whichever way one turned there would
be first a dull numb feeling, then a sharp ache as the hard-
ness of the floor wore through the blanket. One could sleep,
but not for more than ten minutes on end.
About midnight the other man began making homo-
sexual attempts upon me —a nasty experience in a locked,
pitch-dark cell. He was a feeble creature and I could man-
age him easily, but of course it was impossible to go to sleep
again. For the rest of the night we stayed awake, smoking
and talking. The man told me the story of his life—he was
a fitter, out of work for three years. He said that his wife
had promptly deserted him when he lost his job, and he had

1 Down and Out in Paris and London