“The harrow?” asked the researcher. He hadn’t been listening closely; the sun was far too strong in this unshaded valley and he found it difficult to gather his thoughts. It made the officer seem more impressive for carrying on in his tight parade uniform, weighed down with epaulettes and strung with braid, eagerly explaining his work while still making small adjustments here and there with a screwdriver. The soldier on guard looked to be in a similar condition to the researcher. He’d wrapped the chain holding the condemned man around his wrists and was leaning on his rifle, letting his head slump down on his neck and paying no attention to anything. The researcher wasn’t surprised; the officer was speaking French and he was certain that neither the soldier nor the condemned man could understand what he was saying. So it was all the more striking that the condemned man was nevertheless trying hard to follow the officer’s explanation. With a kind of sleepy tenacity, he looked wherever the officer was pointing; when the researcher interrupted with a question, both he and the officer turned to look at him.
“Yes, the harrow,” said the officer. “It’s a fitting name. The needles are arranged like the spikes on a harrow and that’s how the whole thing operates, albeit just in one spot and with a much higher degree of sophistication. You’ll see what I mean in a moment. The condemned man is laid down here on the bed. — I want to describe the machine before I start the process. Then you’ll have a better sense of what’s going on. Also, one of the cogs in the engraver is badly worn; it screeches very loudly when it’s moving and you can hardly hear yourself think over the noise; unfortunately, it’s very difficult to get replacement parts out here. — So, this is the bed, as I was saying. It’s completely covered in a layer of cotton wool; you’ll soon see why that’s needed. The condemned man lies face down on this layer of cotton wool, naked of course; there are restraints for the hands, the feet and the neck—here, here and here—to keep him in place. Here, at the top end of the bed, where the man, as I mentioned, lies face down, there’s a block of felt that can be easily adjusted to slip into the man’s mouth. It’s there to stop him screaming or biting through his tongue. You see, the man has no choice but to take the block into his mouth, because otherwise his neck would be broken by the restraints.”
“This is cotton wool?” asked the researcher, and leant forward.
“Yes, absolutely,” the officer said with a smile, “feel it for yourself.” He took the researcher’s hand and moved it across the bed. “It’s been specially prepared, that’s why it looks a little different than usual; I’ll come on to what that’s for later on.” The researcher had been slightly won over by the machine; shielding his eyes against the sun, he looked up at the top of the apparatus. It was a big construction. The bed and the engraver were the same size and looked like two dark troughs. The engraver was about two metres above the bed; the two parts were connected at the corners by brass poles that shone in the sunshine. Between the two troughs, the harrow was suspended from a steel chain.
The officer had hardly noticed the researcher’s previous indifference, but he certainly picked up on his growing interest and paused his explanation to give the researcher more time to examine the machine. The condemned man copied the researcher; since he couldn’t put his hand over his eyes, he squinted up at the top of the machine.
“So the man lies there,” said the researcher, then leant back in his chair and folded one leg over the other.
“Yes,” said the officer, pushing his cap back on his head and wiping his hand down his overheated face. “Now, listen carefully. Both the bed and the engraver are equipped with their own electric battery; the bed needs one for itself, the engraver’s is for the harrow. As soon as the man is tightly fastened, the bed starts to move. It vibrates by making tiny, rapid movements from side to side, and up and down. You’ll have seen similar equipment in mental hospitals; the difference is that with this machine, every movement has been precisely calculated; each one has to correspond precisely to the movement of the harrow. And it’s the harrow that actually carries out the sentence.”
“What is the sentence?” asked the researcher.
“You don’t know that either?” said the officer in astonishment, and bit his lip. “Excuse me, please, if I’ve been getting ahead of myself in the explanation; I’m very sorry about that. You see, the commandant used to give the explanation himself; the new commandant has given up that honourable duty; but the idea that he would fail to explain sentencing to such an eminent visitor”—the researcher tried to fend off this compliment with both hands, but the officer insisted on using that phrase—“that he wouldn’t even tell such an eminent visitor, that’s something new, and it”—he had a curse on the tip of his tongue, but he pulled himself together and just said: “I wasn’t told, the fault isn’t mine. And as it happens, I’m the person best placed to explain our sentencing because, right here,”—he patted his breast pocket—“I’ve still got the old commandant’s original sketches.”
“Sketches by the old commandant himself?” asked the researcher. “Was there anything he couldn’t do? Was he really a soldier, a judge, a builder, a chemist and a draughtsman?”
“Yes, indeed,” said the officer, nodding with a fixed, pensive expression. He inspected his hands; they didn’t strike him as clean enough to touch the sketches, so he went to the bucket and washed them again. Then he pulled out a small leather portfolio and said: “Our sentence doesn’t sound particularly severe. The condemned man has the law he has broken written onto his skin with the harrow. This man, for example”—the officer gestured towards him—“will have inscribed onto his skin: Respect your superior officers!”
The researcher glanced across at the condemned man when the officer pointed at him; his head was lowered and he seemed to be straining his ears to try and understand at least some of what was going on. But the shapes he formed with his rubbery lips made clear that he hadn’t understood anything at all. The researcher had wanted to put several questions to the officer, but looking at the man, he just asked, “Does he know his sentence?”
“No,” said the officer, and was about to carry on with his explanation when the researcher interrupted him: “He doesn’t know his own sentence?”