Wild Jack by John Christopher

We saved our bread and tossed it over to him; there was no way of saving the watery stews and gruels which made up the rest of our diet. We also managed to roll a couple of blankets into balls and threw them over, picking them up again early the next morning before the guards were about.
    Thirst was not a problem. The hollows in the concrete floor held water, and when, as at present, there was no rain, water was thrown in from a bucket by a guard each day. But to drink, Sunyo had to crouch down like an animal and lap. I could imagine how that made him feel.
    The real agony was sleeplessness. By wadding the blankets up in a corner he could manage to doze a little during the night, sitting with his back wedged in the angle, but during the day he had no suchrespite. He had either to stand or to accept the torture of the jagged floor.
    The first evening he was low enough in spirits, the second utterly wretched, the third confused and rambling.
    I said, “At least this is the last night. Tomorrow afternoon you’ll be out.”
    Sunyo did not speak for a moment. Then: “I won’t crawl to him. Never. . . .”
    Kelly said, “It doesn’t mean anything. And we’ll find a way of getting back at him. The three of us.”
    I said, “You’ve got to do it, Sunyo—go through the motions, anyway.”
    He whispered again, “Never. I’d rather die.”
    As we went back to the tent, I said to Kelly, “He’ll feel different when the time comes.”
    Kelly shook his head. “I wish I could be sure of that.”
    â€œIt would be stupid not to do it. And pointless.”
    â€œI agree. I’d apologize—crawl if necessary. Then one night I’d kill him. I think I may do that, anyway. But Sunyo’s different—that pride of his. . . .”
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    The desperation of Sunyo’s situation was very much in contrast with my own. Since my interview with the commandant I had thought I detected a difference in the attitude of the guards. I came in for less abuse than the others and had an impression I was being given the easier jobs, or at least not landed with the really nasty ones. The feeling was sharpened by an incident on the morning of Sunyo’s third day in the stockade.
    We were among the ruins of the town, loading granite blocks which we were removing from the crumbling ruin of a church. Most of it had fallen, but part of the belfry remained, raggedly etched against the sky. A guard said:
    â€œWe want someone up on top with a pickax. Anderson! No, belay that. Mustn’t run risks with the councillor’s son. You get up there, Trudillo.”
    He spoke sarcastically, but it was still significant. I had told no one but Sunyo and Kelly about my father—Sunyo and Kelly and the commandant. Word must have gone out from his office to go easy on me while things were looked into.
    It was almost a week since I had been broughthere, four days since I saw the commandant. The order for release could come through at any moment. I could be back in London, in my home, this very day.
    I checked my daydreaming with the thought of Sunyo. But at least the end was near; in a few hours he would be out of the stockade.
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    In the afternoon it was raining. Sunyo’s persecutor, with two other guards, opened up the gate and looked through it at Sunyo, who leaned with buckling knees against the fence.
    He said, “What a pretty sight. The son of the apes looks more like a drowned rat. Well, time’s up. You can come out now.”
    Sunyo took a few lurching steps toward him. He was soaked through by the rain, which trickled off the waterproof capes of the guards.
    â€œCome on, then,” the guard said. “Come on, yellow monkey. Only one little thing to do. Down on your knees and say you’re sorry.”
    Another few steps brought Sunyo in front of him; he stood there,