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MARCHING POWDER

Nothing ever came for free in San Pedro, but if you were a decent person, you could usually persuade someone to help you by offering to work for them or promising to pay later. This was particularly the case when you were new, because people might think they could do you a favour and get some money out of you later.

There were inmates who did die out there, though, of starvation or exposure. Usually, they were the base addicts, who had lost all hope. They didn't have anything at all and, according to Ricardo, whenever they got their hands on something, even a few coins, they preferred to buy drugs than to sleep in a warm bed or pay back a debt.

‘That’s why I don’t let anyone who smokes base in my room,’ he said. ‘It’s sad. But no matter how sorry you feel for them, they’ll steal everything you own.’

‘But they’re still people, aren’t they?’ I felt quietly disgusted that people could die of hunger in jail, even drug addicts, and no one would do a thing.

A week had gone by since I arrived at San Pedro and I still had no money to buy a room. Since my insurance plan of selling the cocaine had failed, I tried to repay Ricardo in other ways: I cleaned and tidied his room every day; I did the cooking and washing up; and eventually, when I felt strong enough, I offered to go to the shop he had told me about to buy supplies for him. Having heard Ricardo talk about the dangerous inside sections where they smoked base, Pinos didn’t seem so dangerous, especially during the day.

‘Are you sure you’re ready?’ he asked sceptically.
‘Why not? I’m almost better now. And it will be a good way for me to learn how to speak Spanish. You can teach me the words and I’ll go down each time.’

Ricardo hesitated. ‘I suppose you have to start learning about the prison one day,’ he said, pulling some coins out of his pocket and handing them to me.

After explaining where the shop was, he opened the hatch for me and I climbed down the wooden ladder, repeating to myself the words he had taught me – mantequilla, pan, espaguetis and tomate.

‘I’ll leave the door open,’ said Ricardo. ‘Call out if you have any trouble.’