By Joshua Ryan
Chapter 7: Everyone’s Dream Is a House of His Own
The three months were over, and it was a Sunday—time to celebrate the end of Training Team. The 16 convicts in my cell spent the day cleaning every inch of it, so we would leave it, as 7930 said, “much better than you found it.” Sergeant Wong came to inspect the cell, found problems invisible to us, and made us spend two more hours on “tidying up.” When he returned, the place had been re-cleaned, our bunks had been stripped, our gear had been piled on top of them, ready to travel, and we had dressed up in fresh uniforms, ready for our final inspection. Several of us needed to straighten our shirts or hitch up our pants or screw our caps more firmly onto our heads, but finally, with shoulders squared and eyes gazing resolutely forward, we left our barracks and marched to the Parade Ground, where Colonel Bridger was waiting to review us.
I don’t understand why I was so shocked. I knew he was running the place. I no longer assumed that was a good thing. I did hope I would never have to encounter him, that he would never see me in my convict suit with my number and picture clipped to my chest. Wrong again.
