Within These Walls

I was so tempted to tell the big man: "Yes, I know all about Lucinda Maye," but instead I shook my head and told him that I did not know. Henry Thompson lingers behind the tour at all times and he would surely have told the warden if I had done otherwise. I do as I am told; I am no longer mistress of my will, if indeed, I ever was.

I try not to think about the fact that Henry has raped me several times over the years. More than a few of the corrections officers here are criminals themselves. The only difference between them and us is that they usually don't get caught. I have learned to hide my true feelings, even manage to smile at the snake-in-the-grass. I tell my raging heart that one fine day when his back is turned I'll get even, but not now.

Before visiting the cellblocks, everyone must pass through central control, a high, circular structure that comprises the nerve center of the prison. It provides optimum visual surveillance by acting as a hub from which all of the ten blocks, two for women and eight for men, can be accessed. The visitors follow me in silent procession. It's always dark down here, no matter what time of day or night. We walk past the prisoners crowded into small cells, like maggots in rotting cheese. They gape and stare and follow our every move along the corridor with pocket mirrors. They undress the women with their eyes and Henry Thompson sees all and hears all.