For the whole of each day, between the early-morning head-count

and the evening meal, we moved about within a large

courtyard that was attached to our dormitory room.  Some men

played cards or other games.  Some talked with friends, or

tried to sleep on the stone paths.  Not a few

men, shuffling uncertainly on thin, tottering legs, talked a twitching

madness to themselves, and stumbled into the walls until we

turned them gently and set them on a new course.

The evening meal consisted of watery soup, made of the

peelings of vegetables, ladled out onto our flat aluminum plates.

__________________________________________

Paraphrases from the novel Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts.

Advertisements