Primitive Man Deprived of His Native Habitat

Primitive Man Deprived of His Native Habitat.

‘Spend any significant period of time here and you become institutionalised. And I don’t just mean the patients.’

The white-gowned doctor grinned as he spoke, but received only a scowl in return. I wasn’t enjoying my time here.

‘An hour would be long enough for me. No offence, but I’m never comfortable in places like this. Hospitals, prisons, they’re the same, but this bloody place seems worse somehow.’

‘Put that down to the regime. Everything has to be done in a precise way or you end up with anarchy. Especially here where there are a great variety of very disturbed individuals. Treat them all the same and the job gets easier. That means regular mealtimes, usually at times they’ve not been used to before they came in here. Early breakfast for a start, just like in a hospital or a care home.’

‘Or a prison. It’s a secure unit, after all. Has to be.’

‘Indeed. Some very dangerous individuals in here. Security has to be rock-solid. We go for a refined system of control. It’s all in the interest of building a structure. Not only drugs. That method of control will only work for a while. We have other methods. Keeping them busy for want of a better explanation. Food is the trigger.’

‘Like animals in a zoo, you mean?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but there are certain benefits to the smooth running of the system from adopting a regular and structured regime.’ Looking across the room I watched the queue forming at the closed serving hatch. Loose baggy clothing and flip-flops suggested a day at the beach, but there was a palpable lack of anticipation on their faces. Nobody met my eye, they ignored my presence completely; even though a stranger was a break in their routine.

Or so I’d have imagined. The neat rows of passive, submissive men were waiting without speaking or even acknowledging each other’s presence. It was un-nerving.

‘Why does everyone dress the same?’

‘A fresh start, everyone equal. That’s the theory anyway.’

‘But it takes away any sense of identity. Outside these walls, clothing gives a hint of personality at least. In here, everyone looks the same. Like a herd. Standing in lines waiting for the highlight of their day, a great dollop of stodgy unhealthy food.’

I’d expected a reply, even a defence of the system, but the expression on the face of the doctor seemed to suggest that everything I said was right on the money.

Nothing to add.

The man I wanted to see wasn’t here. Would never be allowed to mingle with other residents. He was far too dangerous.

An unreconstructed primitive.

I’d been killing time, waiting for the staff to go through their routine. An essential routine.

Last time the man I’d come to see had a visitor, it hadn’t gone well. That had been his solicitor. A man who’d tried his best to keep the man out of prison. I’d watched from the gallery when sentence had been passed. Detained indefinitely in a secure unit at a prominent mental hospital. ‘At her Majesty’s Pleasure’ as the archaic phrase said. He’d not showed much gratitude at the time. Even less at that last visit when he’d blinded his lawyer in one eye.

I wasn’t his lawyer. I’d had a big part in putting him in here. By now, he may know this. I was in no rush to see him. It had to be done, was part of my job, but even sitting here, watching these inmates, patients, whatever the correct term was, salivating outside a closed serving hatch was preferable to what I’d be doing next.