Free The Bunker Diary by Kevin Brooks Page B

round bars
observing
other men.’
    Russell looked at him. ‘I’m gay,
Mr Bird. Is that a problem?’
    ‘No … no, of course not. I
was just saying …’
    Fred let out a snort of laughter.
‘Jesus! You’re black
and
you’re bent?’
    It wasn’t the most subtle way of
putting it, and I was half-expecting Russell to lose his temper and storm off or
something, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. He just looked at Fred and smiled.
Fred smiled back at him. Then, without a word, Russell put his hand to his eye, lowered
his head, and dug around with his fingers. After a moment he looked up again and held
out his hand. Where his eye had been there was now just an empty socket, and in his hand
there was a smooth glass bauble.
    ‘Not only black and bent, my
friend,’ he said to Fred, ‘but one-eyed to boot.’
    Late evening.
    Mixed emotions.
    I like Russell. I like his calm, his
insight, his sadness. I like his humour. I like the way he accepts things. It gives us
balance. It gives
me
balance. I’m not sure why. It’s probably got
something to do with him being smart. He’s a very clever man, Russell. He knows
stuff. And I like that. I like it because I’m smart too, and we all like things
that remind us of ourselves. I’m not saying I’m a genius or anything. I
mean, I don’t know as muchas Russell, obviously. In fact,
there’s plenty of stuff I don’t know the first thing about. But I’m
well educated. I’ve been taught how to think. So even if I don’t know the
facts about something I can usually work out how to think about it. And that’s
what being smart is – knowing how to think. Facts are all well and good, but they
don’t mean anything if you don’t know what to do with them.
    Anyway, I’m smart. That’s all
I’m saying. I feel an affinity with Russell because I’m smart. It’s no
big deal. I’m not bragging or anything. It’s just what I am. We’re all
something. I’m smart. Fred’s strong. Jenny’s kind. Anja’s
beautiful. Bird’s … fat. We all have our qualities, and none of them are
any better or worse than the others. They’re just different.
    At this evening’s meeting Russell
didn’t have a lot to say. None of us did. There were no new ideas, no suggestions,
no eurekas. Bird seemed preoccupied with something and hardly said a word. Anja had a
headache and retired to her room. Even Fred seemed unnaturally quiet. The only one who
had anything constructive to say was Jenny. When I showed her the escape ideas from last
night she quickly looked over the pages, moving her lips as she read, then she jabbed
her finger at my distraction idea and said, ‘That one. The rest are
useless.’
    I couldn’t help smiling. ‘What
about Fred’s?’
    ‘Which one’s that?’
    I showed her the idea about putting a
message down the lavatory.
    She read it again, looked at Fred, then
giggled.
    ‘What?’ he said.
‘It’s a
good
idea.’
    ‘It won’t work –’ she
started to say.
    ‘Shh,’ I said. ‘Write it
down. Here.’ I passed her a pen and a piece of paper.
    She bent low to the table and shielded the
page with her arm. Her tongue poked out from her lips as she wrote:
What will the
mesage say? We don’t know anything. We don’t know where we are or
anything. Whats the point of writing a mesage when we don’t know what to
write?
    I showed it to the others.
    We looked at each other.
    ‘Shit,’ said Fred.
‘She’s right.’
    Jenny smiled proudly.
    After the meeting Russell said he’d
like a word with me. I made some coffee and took it into his room. He’s in room
six. As I was shutting the door Bird passed by, heading down the corridor towards his
room, number four.
    ‘Watch yourself in there,’ he
smirked.
    I ignored him and shut the door. When I
turned round, Russell was lowering himself gingerly to the bed. He looked to be in some
pain.
    ‘Are you all right?’ I
asked.
    ‘It’s nothing,’ he said,
indicating the chair. ‘Please, sit down.’
    I