September 6, 2015 by RJ
While in jail, I read Wes Craven’s novel, Fountain Society. My parents sent it to me with some other books I don’t remember. I barely recall what the book is about because I mostly read it to turn off the noise from the other inmates screaming or talking. They spoke so loud you couldn’t always tell the difference. The guy who pretended to run the cell (there were about 10 of us crammed in) told me all sorts of tall tales about having been incarcerated in different parts of the world (he said that when he was in a Dutch jail the inmates were were provided marijuana periodically) and asked me if I could lend him the book whenever I wasn’t reading it. He clearly didn’t understand English but he pretended to be going through its pages. He wasn’t very bright either. He was in jail because he tried to fake his death and cash in on his insurance. For that, he was known as “el muerto vivo,” a nickname that’s appropriately Craven-esque. I also saw him confront another inmate in a knife fight, but that’s another story.
A few years ago, that jail burned down and several inmates died. I was already living in another country, so I don’t know if any of the guys I met there were harmed. I hope not, because most of them seemed to feel at home after having spent so much time in there. Maybe they were just pretending, but I’d like to think they had gotten used to living in jail. Anyway, RIP Wes Craven.