Just then, immediately next to my left ear, there began a slow tapping on the wall. Like the tolling of a bell, it continued about six times.

I acknowledged in the same way.

This exchange hung the crepe on an already somber scene.

The hapless prisoner was eventually returned to his cubicle (I was later able to see that he was observed constantly throughout the day by one guard who remained at his cell door.) But the scenerio didn't end here.

Suddenly my door burst open and I saw a hand reaching toward my head. I spurted to a sitting position and spun around to face the door and the intruder. my arms popped up defensively. What had just taken place, out in the corridor, was so impressive that my reaction was completely instinctive. I blurted out a rough Chinese equivalent of, “What's the deal?”

My intruder was a kindly attendant whom I saw infrequently. He quickly signaled reassuringly and told me he only wanted my wash basin. Until now, I had been allowed to keep it under the head of my bed. From this time forward, my basin was kept in the hall when not in use.

Had the prisoner broken his basin and attempted to slash his wrist or throat. The events strongly suggested this to be the case.

All day long the poor guy kept up a weird singsong chant. He was not admonished once. That evening they took him away.

Was he taken to the hospital?

Maybe this was his day to pay the supreme penalty!

Without a doubt, he had been under enough pressure, from some source, to make him crack. And crack he did!

I've been consistently referring to other prisoners in the masculine gender, because if there were any “bad” women in China, I assumed they were elsewhere. My minimal contact with other inmates had certainly produced no evidence which would lead me to believe that women were nearby.

One day they moved my “knocking” neighbor away. His cell was soon occupied by another with whom I immediately attempted to establish an acquaintance. I sent a series of taps on three separate tries, without success. Finally, on the fourth try I received a staccato of angry knocks. I got the message, but that wasn't all I got.

I heard my new neighbor pounding on the cell door. A guard responded, and a female voice told him of my unprison-like behavior. The guard opened my door and gave me hell, along with a few idle threats, for tapping on the wall.

My thoughts about women had been usually positive, when I thoughts about them, which was much of the time. However, I had some negative thoughts about this one.

I suppose, had I learned, in normal prison routine, that my neighbor was a female, I'd have been concerned about her fate. Somehow, after she squealed, I didn't give a damn.

Rest assured, I didn't allow her behavior to tarnish my high opinion of females, in general.

I met other venomous creatures while resting in cell 37.

One summer morning after washing myself and brushing my teeth, I returned my water cup to the floor beside my winter sneakers. I then sat on the edge of my bunk, waiting for my breakfast to arrive. The latrine parade was on and I was listening to the familiar footfalls. Suddenly, an object crossed the periphery of my vision. It darted from behind my sneakers and disappeared under my bed.

I could truthfully say I'd never seen a scorpion, other than in pictures. However, though I got only a fleeting glimpse of the thing, I knew I could no longer make that statement.

My feet jumped to the bunk with the rest of me.

Slowly I got onto my hands and knees and cautiously peered over the edge.

Old Curved Tail was strolling leisurly along the floor near the side wall, inspecting the premises. He may have been planning to move in. If so, I was going to move out. I didn't think my hosts would give that idea favorable consideration. The solution was obvious. The method was not.

O.C.T. started up the side wall, near the end. He got about six inches from the floor, then stopped. My attack must be simple, quick and accurate.

Very, very carefully, I picked up a heavy winter sneaker. I eased into position and took a mental practice swing. The first real one had to be perfect if I wasn't going to spend the next several minutes hopping wildly about my cell trying to chase him down, while he might be doing likewise to me.

I drew back and swung!

The heel of the sneaker struck Old Curved Tail exactly on the head. He dropped to the floor like a stone. There was not even a drop of venom from his stinger.

A few tentative nudges with the sneaker confirmed that he had gone to Scorpion Heaven. I slipped a piece of toilet paper, which I still had secreted at that time, under his body. When Etsa appeared with my food, I offered him my trophy. I didn't speak, but the look on my face said, “What kind of a jail are you people running here?”

A few moments later my door opened and Etsa stood there with a first cousin to my kill, lying on a piece of paper. This one was the same four inches in length, but it was black while mine had been sandy colored. The implication was that this was no big deal.

Had there been a contest and I lost because I hadn't bagged the black one? If there had been a contest, I would not have entered!

It may not have been a big deal to Etsa, but it was to me. I moved my bunk a minimum of three inches from the walls. At least future visitors were going to have to climb the supports and walk along the underside of the bunk, if they were going to get into bed with me.

I can't commend Lunatic Lane as a place to go for a good time.