by Susanne Beck
As you lay in your narrow bunk at night, counting the lumps in your mattress and hoping you aren’t sharing your sleeping space with creatures of the animal or insect variety, you can’t help but hear the mournful sound of the wind as it whistles through the gables or the ghostly knocking noises that sound as the plumbing settles in for the night. Sounds of snoring, shouts and solitary pleasures filter through the bars of your cell on silent currents.
Your mind becomes your enemy during long prison nights when the lights have been shut off, turning your world into a darkness full of wanton killers. If you close your eyes to the darkness, you might imagine yourself in some faraway fantasy land with freedom as your most cherished possession. But, in darkness or light, the living reality of your condition exists in the form of a cold barred door not five feet away, standing silent sentinel over your dreams.
The memory of the kiss was with me that hot summer night. As I tossed and turned against my sweat-damp sheets, fruitlessly trying to get it out of my mind, darkness and silence conspired to taunt me, giving my thoughts no other direction in which to turn.
Over and over I saw Ice’s sleek, dark head lower, her full lips encompassing those of a waiting Cassandra. I could almost see their tongues sliding against one another as they dueled in a sensual battle for supremacy.
I wondered again what it felt like to be Cassandra Smytheson in that minute. How did it feel to be turned from predator to prey by the power of a kiss? How did it feel to be pressed up against the heat of that strong, perfect body? What was it like to feel those long, tapering fingers draw their way up your body, leaving trails of sensation in their wake?
When my hands started to roam in the direction of my thoughts, my mind made a firm decision to cease and desist. Taking matters into my own hands was something I hadn’t done since I entered the Bog and if I was very lucky, that record would remain unblemished.
Blowing out a sigh of frustration, I turned over on my side, punched my pancake-flat pillow a few times and tried to get past the visions in my head.
Sleep, when it finally came, was anything but restful.
PART 4
AS THE LAST warm days of summer gave way to the cool chill of fall, the colorful autumn leaves signaled my anniversary. One year behind bars. I was no longer the young girl who had first entered the building, trembling and crying so hard that every figure I passed seemed to glow with shimmering radiance as they taunted me and hollered names at me I had never heard shouted in quite that context before.
No, I was a year older, a year wiser. The Bog was still a very frightening place, but in that time, it had managed to become, in a fit of morbid perversity, a home to me, and many of its inmates, family. I never really understood the phrase ‘Institutional man’ until the first morning I woke up after a sound sleep without one memory of a terror filled dream of incessant claustrophobia and total loss of freedom. Somewhere along the line in that year past, I had stopped looking at each morning as one step closer to eventual freedom and started looking forward to the adventure it would bring.
That doesn’t mean that I didn’t long for freedom, because I did, and still do. I ached for it the way one would ache for a drop of water in the desert. I yearned for it. Hungered for it. But I no longer obsessed over it. That, in its own way, was a very liberating feeling for me.
Without doubt, my friends aided me in this transformation. Corinne helped every day, being at turns scathing and grandmotherly. The Amazons helped, teaching me to be the best kind of fighter, the one who defends the weak, while at the same time lending me their friendship and support unconditionally. And Ice helped. The mystery of her kept my mind occupied during times when it might otherwise have dumped me into a vat of depression too deep to crawl away from.
In the days after the incident with Psycho and Heracles, Ice had remained very distant and withdrawn, spending most of her time in her cell, staring at nothing and talking to no one. But gradually, with the speed of an iceberg melting in an Antarctic winter, she began to come out of her self-imposed prison, letting us in again. Or at least as ‘in’ as anyone ever was allowed to go.
Much to the surprise and delight of Corinne, she would sometimes make the trek into the library where she would sit, sip tea, and listen as we talked, occasionally adding commentary when she felt it was warranted. Wordy she was not, but, as I came to find out, Ice possessed a keen intellect; a razor sharp mind that, had circumstances been different, would have caused her to come out at the top of whatever profession she chose. That made her situation all the more heart-breaking for me.
Sometimes we would sit beside one another at one of the tables, talking about our common interests. Solzhenitzyn invariably came up as a topic for conversation and debate. She would speak with a quiet intensity about his message of the true freedom one gained from oppression, be it the body, as in Cancer Ward, or the entire being, as in One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich or The Gulag Archipelago. Her arguments were always well worded, well thought out, and shone forth with the true belief in his vision, a vision which she shared under much the same circumstances as the writer himself.
There were other times when I would sit, sipping my ever-present tea, and listen to the interplay between Ice and Corinne. Though they spent most of their time batting keenly edged barbs back and forth, there was a strong undercurrent of deep affection between the two. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t even slightly jealous over the relationship those two women shared. Ok, I was a lot jealous. At least at first. As close as I’d gotten to Corinne, there was a line I couldn’t cross. A line I didn’t even know existed until I saw her interact with Ice.
Conversely, I was jealous at the seeming ease with which Corinne seemed to bulldoze down those walls around Ice’s heart. I had known Ice for almost six full months and had yet to scratch the surface of the most intense person I’ll ever have the privilege to know. I wanted so badly to sink myself deep within her, to get a sense of that person I had seen in her eyes the day we first met. I knew it was there, waiting for me to take it. I just didn’t know how.
Still, the passing days saw us drawing closer, if only by mere inches, and I contented myself with waiting, watching and listening, secure in the knowledge that I would one day find the magic needed to look into the window of her soul. After all, didn’t a person have to peel back the tough skin of an orange to get to the succulent fruit beneath?
The coming of fall also brought with it an increase in tensions among the inmates. It was as if, knowing that the coming winter would force them to be in one another’s intimate presence for the next several months, they were staking out claims on prime territory early, so as to avoid the rush.
This was especially prevalent in the yard, where many petty skirmishes over the least of imagined transgressions turned to all out bloody wars among the gangs. The Amazons had been very busy trying to keep the peace over the last week or so and, to my dismay, I hadn’t seen very much of any of them, Ice included.
On one particular day, I decided to venture out into the yard. Early fall had been cool and rainy, keeping me inside most of the time. The lack of fresh air had been making me feel restless and edgy and the thought of four or five months more of the same caused Corinne quite pointedly to suggest that I either go outside for awhile or stay away from her library until I could force myself into a better mood.
Taking her not so subtle advice, I decided to take a walk outside. It was a Saturday, the one day when there were no outside restrictions, and so when I stepped out into the cool, but sunny, fall air, I couldn’t help but notice that most of the prison seemed to want an open sky over their heads. The yard was crowded with prisoners and, near the basketball courts, the two largest gangs seemed to be getting ready for yet another tussle.
After recovering from her injuries, Derby managed to regain control of the white gang, wresting the leadership from Mouse. It appeared that surviving a beating from Ice gave her more status with her cronies than Mouse’s surviving a beatin
g from me.
Shaking my head and smiling a bit, I moved toward the weight area where Ice was standing, nonchalantly curling a fifty pound dumbbell as if she were lifting a feather pillow and spotting Critter who was gamely trying to bench press ninety pounds over her head.
As I walked, I allowed my eyes once again to drift back toward the two gangs who were massing like thunderclouds toward the center of the yard. The other gang’s leader, a woman who went by the prison name of Trey, was currently standing nose to nose with Derby. I’d always liked Trey. She was a tall woman with dark skin and dark eyes and a wide, infectious smile. She had, at one time, been the shining hope of the Lady Vols basketball team and still retained that athletic physique. She’d come down to the library occasionally to pick up some books that would help her complete her Physical Therapy degree and we always got along well enough. I found her to be soft-spoken and intelligent and was really surprised when I found out that she was a gang leader. Since that time, of course, I’ve grown to understand gangs and gang leaders and have come to the realization that not everyone is a Derby or Mouse.
I finally joined my friends in the free weight area, coming to stand beside Sonny, who was doing some bicep curls of her own, albeit with much less weight than Ice was using. The entire group seemed casual and unconcerned about the potential gang fight. "Hi, Sonny. Looks like a storm’s brewing over there."
Grinning a greeting at me, Sonny looked over to the growing groups of women. "Nah. They’re just having a pushy fight."
"A what?"
"A pushy fight. You know. Derby pushes Trey. Trey pushes Derby. They trade insults on whose mother is the bigger whore." She shrugged. "Shit like that."
"And that doesn’t concern you?" Looking back over my shoulder, I estimated that at least a hundred women from either side had joined in and the crowd was continuing to grow.
"Nope. Everything’s cool right now. If it gets worse, we’ll step in."
The sound of a heavy weight hitting the cracked concrete interrupted whatever more I might have had to say and I looked up, catching an orange streak flashing out of the corner of my eye as Ice blew by me. "Let me guess. It just got worse."
Sonny winked, dropped her own dumbbell and shot to her feet, grinning wildly. "Yup."
Turning fully toward the group, I watched as my friends jumped into the developing fray, led by Ice who leapt between the two gang leaders, one long leg lashing out strongly. My eyes followed the arcing path of a shiv as it flew through the air, tumbling end over end and flashing brightly as the sun winked off its metal finish. Critter was on the weapon in a flash, scooping it up and slipping it inside her jumpsuit.
Ice interposed her long body between the two lead combatants, grabbing Derby by the front of her jumpsuit and pulling the huge woman up onto her toes. Pony and Sonny each grabbed one of Trey’s arms, holding her back. "You know the rules, Derby," my friend said in a low, even voice. "No weapons."
Derby was red-faced with anger. "Fuck off, Ice. This ain’t your fight. You got no business interfering."
"When you pull a weapon, it becomes my business. You want those guards up in the towers to spray this place with bullets?"
"I don’t give a flying fuck. Just as long as I get what I want."
"And you can get what you want without the shiv. I don’t give a shit if you beat one another to death, but no weapons. Got me?"
At Ice’s statement, I looked up, noticing that indeed the guards in the two towers nearest the altercation were standing on the catwalk, their rifles aimed and ready. I felt a little shiver of fear race down my back at the thought of a high-powered weapon being aimed at me or at my friends. I hoped Ice would be able to settle the dispute peacefully.
Looking around, I noticed the hard smiles on the faces of the inmate onlookers. Off in a corner, a woman was taking bets. It sickened me, but I struggled not to let that sense of disgust show. It was like being present at an execution.
After a long moment of tense silence, Derby finally nodded and Ice let her go and stepped away. She turned her head toward Trey, nodding to the Amazons to let the other woman go, which they promptly did. "What about you, Trey? Have any weapons?"
Trey snorted. "Me? You think I need a knife to beat this two-bit wannabe honky piece of trash?"
Roaring, Derby lunged at Trey, to be stopped by Ice’s firm hand against her chest.
"Answer my question, Trey."
"No. I don’t have any weapons." She tipped a wink in Ice’s direction. "But you’re more than welcome to search me if you like."
At Ice’s nod, Sonny and Pony patted down the taller inmate. "She’s clean, Ice."
Ice smiled slightly. "Alright then. Have fun."
With a regal elegance all her own, the leader of the Amazons strode forth from the circle of inmates, the smirk on her face faintly pronounced. The prisoners closed ranks again as the Amazons followed Ice out of the crowd.
"So, what now?" I asked as my friends walked over to me. Behind them, the two gangs had resumed their tense stand-off.
Ice shrugged. "Guess they’ll pound the shit outta one another and be done with it."
"What are they fighting over?"
Sonny stepped into the conversation. "Use of the basketball court. Derby wants it for her gang and Trey isn’t willing to give it up peacefully."
"All this for a basketball court?"
Sonny shrugged. "It’s territory. That’s important to people like them. Law of the jungle."
I looked over at Ice, who wasn’t inclined to disagree with Sonny’s blunt assessment. "Well that’s about the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. They’re willing to risk getting killed for a sport?"
"That’s about the size of it," Critter replied.
In front of me, the voices had risen once again as Trey and Derby began to shove one another back into their respective groups. I could feel my own anger build up inside me. "This is just idiotic! I can’t believe grown adults would stoop to something this . . .this . . .juvenile!"
"We’re talking about hardened criminals here, Angel," Critter supplied. "Not exactly an Einstein in the bunch, ya know."
"Yeah," Sonny jumped in. "Besides, it’s not as if this shit doesn’t go on in the outside world. Whole empires have been overthrown for lesser reasons."
"That’s ridiculous. We’re not talking about the acquisition of land here."
"That’s exactly what we’re talking about," Ice interjected softly. "Trey’s gang has the basketball court. Derby’s gang wants it. It’s that simple."
"And you don’t see any problem with that," I replied, disbelief evident in my tone.
Ice shrugged. "As long as they stay outta my way and don’t endanger anyone else, nope."
"Well I do." Giving them all a last baleful glare, I spun on my heel and started walking toward the huge crowd, determination in my every step.
As if surprised to see me with such an expression on my face, and I’m quite sure most of them were, what with me being Little Miss Innocent and all, the crowd parted and I slipped through the throng of onlookers without difficulty, managing to make it up to the very front. I stood there, hands on hips, waiting to be noticed.
After a moment, Trey turned her head to meet my gaze, a small smile playing over her lips. "You better get outta here, Angel. You’re gonna get hurt."
Derby took that moment to chime in in her own literary style. "Yeah, fishie. Wouldn’t wanna get that cute snatch of yours all busted up now, would ya? Your Amazon buddies wouldn’t be happy if they didn’t have their little play-toy around to fuck anymore."
She made as if to grab me, then froze, looking over my shoulder. I didn’t have to turn to guess who was behind me and I’m afraid my smile grew rather smug. "Can I ask you a question?" I directed my words to both parties.
Derby grunted.
"What in the hell are you doing here?"
"What the fuck does it look like we’re doin’, fish? Playin’ checkers?"
"What it looks like i
s two three-year-olds squabbling over a plastic shovel in the sandbox. I’d like to think that you’re both a little more mature than that."
Derby scowled, no doubt trying to wrap her lumbering mind around the visual I provided. "Shows how much you know," she finally mumbled.
"Then tell me, Derby. Because I really want to understand."
Clenching and unclenching her fists, the huge woman looked down at the ground, unable to say anything.
I turned to Trey, who was standing there smirking at me. "What about you, Trey? Can you tell me why you’re doing this? I thought you were more intelligent than this."
The tall gang leader shrugged. "Intelligence doesn’t have anything to do with it, Angel. It’s a simple matter of space and possession. There isn’t much in the pen you can call your own. This is ours. Someone comes along and wants to take it from us, we fight. Nothing more to it than that."
"You do realize that the guards could come out here and take it from you in a second, right?"
Trey smiled that dazzling grin of hers. "Course I realize that, Angel. We all realize that. But until the guards come and take it away from us, we’ll fight to keep it. They have their space, we have ours. It keeps us happy. Well, for the most part, anyway."
I sighed and scratched my chin, trying to think of some logical argument that would sway her to my view of things. "Alright. How about if you guys trade up? Derby’s gang takes the basketball court and Trey’s gang takes the softball field. Would that work?"
"What the fuck are you, crazy?" Derby exploded. "Ain’t no fucking way we’re givin’ up the field!"
"But I thought you wanted the basketball court."
"I do want the fuckin’ basketball court, ya idiot! And I want the field!" She looked at me as if I’d suddenly given birth to a second and third head.
"And what are you going to do if you get the basketball court?"
