given her a chance to explain.
She had to think of the baby. She had read of women having babies in prison, but the stories had been so remote from her own life that it was as though she were reading about people from another planet. Now it was happening to her. You’ll have to do whatever you think best with your baby, Charles had said. She wanted to have her baby. And yet, she thought, they won’t let me keep it. They’ll take it away from me because I’m going to be in prison for the next fifteen years. It’s better that it never knows about its mother.
She wept.
At 5:00 in the morning a male guard, accompanied by a matron, entered Tracy’s cell. ‘Tracy Whitney?’
‘Yes.’ She was surprised at how odd her voice sounded.
‘By order of the Criminal Court of the State of Louisiana, Orleans Parish, you are forthwith being transferred to the Southern Louisiana Penitentiary for Women. Let’s move it, babe.’
She was walked down a long corridor, past cells filled with inmates. There was a series of catcalls.
‘Have a good trip, honey …’
‘You tell me where you got that paintin’ hidden, Tracy, baby, and I’ll split the money with you …’
‘If you’re headin’ for the big house, ask for Ernestine Littlechap. She’ll take real good care of you …’
Tracy passed the telephone where she had made her call to Charles. Good-bye, Charles.
She was outside in a courtyard. A yellow prison bus with barred windows stood there, its engine idling. Half a dozen women already were seated in the bus, watched over by two armed guards. Tracy looked at the faces of her fellow passengers. One was defiant, and another bored; others wore expressions of despair. The lives they had lived were about to come to an end. They were outcasts, headed for cages where they would be locked up like animals. Tracy wondered what crimes they had committed and whether any of them was as innocent as she was, and she wondered what they saw in her face.
The ride on the prison bus was interminable, the bus hot and smelly, but Tracy was unaware of it. She had withdrawn into herself, no longer conscious of the other passengers or of the lush green countryside the bus passed through. She was in another time, in another place.
She was a little girl at the shore with her mother and father, and her father was carrying her into the ocean on his shoulders, and when she cried out her father said Don’t be a baby, Tracy, and he dropped her into the cold water. When the water closed over her head, she panicked and began to choke, and her father lifted her up and did it again, and from that moment on she had been terrified of the water …
The college auditorium was filled with students and their parents and relatives. She was class valedictorian. She spoke for fifteen minutes, and her speech was filled with soaring idealism, clever references to the past, and shining dreams for the future. The dean had presented her with a Phi Beta Kappa key. I want you to keep it, Tracy told her mother, and the pride on her mother’s face was beautiful …
I’m going to Philadelphia, Mother. I have a job at a bank there.
Annie Mahler, her best friend, was calling her. You’ll love Philadelphia, Tracy. It’s full of all kinds of cultural things. It has beautiful scenery and a shortage of women. I mean, the men here are really hungry! I can get you a job at the bank where I work …
Charles was making love to her. She watched the moving shadows on the ceiling and thought, How many girls would like to be in my place? Charles was a prime catch. And she was instantly ashamed of the thought. She loved him. She could feel him inside her, beginning to thrust harder, faster and faster, on the verge of exploding, and he gasped out, Are you ready? And she lied and said yes. Was it wonderful for you? Yes, Charles. And she thought, Is that all there is? and the guilt again …
‘You! I’m talkin’ to you. Are you deaf for Christ’s sake? Let’s go.’
Tracy looked up and she was in the yellow prison bus. It had stopped in an enclosure surrounded by a gloomy pile of masonry. A series of nine fences topped with barbed wire surrounded the five hundred acres of farm pasture and woodlands that made up the prison grounds of the Southern Louisiana Penitentiary for Women.
‘Get out,’ the guard said. ‘We’re here.’
Here was hell.
A stocky, stony-faced matron with sable-brown dyed hair was addressing the new arrivals: ‘Some of you are gonna be here for a long, long time. There’s only one way you’re gonna make it, and that’s by forgettin’ all about the outside world. You can do your time the easy way or the hard way. We have rules here, and you’ll follow those rules. We’ll tell you when to get up, when to work, when to eat, and when to go to the toilet. You break any of our rules, and you’ll wish you was dead. We like to keep things peaceful here, and we know how to handle troublemakers.’ Her eyes flicked over to Tracy. ‘You’ll be taken for your physical examinations now. After that you’ll go to the showers and be assigned your cells. In the mornin’ you’ll receive your work duties. That’s all.’ She started to turn away.
A pale young girl standing next to Tracy said, ‘Excuse me, please, could –’
The matron whirled around, her face filled with fury. ‘Shut your fuckin’ mouth. You speak only when you’re spoken to, do you understand? That goes for all you assholes.’
The tone, as much as the words, was a shock to Tracy. The matron signalled to two women guards at the back of the room. ‘Get these no-good bitches out of here.’
Tracy found herself being herded out of the room with the others, down a long corridor. The prisoners were marched into a large, white-tiled room, where a fat, middle-aged man in a soiled smock stood next to an examination table.
One of the matrons called out, ‘Line up’, and formed the women into one long line.
The man in the smock said, ‘I’m Dr Glasco, ladies. Strip!’
The women turned to look at one another, uncertainly. One of them said, ‘How far should we –?’
‘Don’t you know what the hell strip means? Get your clothes off – all of them.’
Slowly, the women began to undress. Some of them were self-conscious, some outraged, some indifferent. On Tracy’s left was a woman in her late forties, shivering violently, and on Tracy’s right was a pathetically thin girl who looked to be no more than seventeen years old. Her skin was covered with acne.
The doctor gestured to the first woman in line. ‘Lie down on the table and put your feet in the stirrups.’
The woman hesitated.
‘Come on. You’re holding up the line.’
She did as she was told. The doctor inserted a speculum into her vagina. As he probed, he asked, ‘Do you have a venereal disease?’
‘No.’
‘We’ll
