Broken (20 page)

“You have a visitor,” the guard said as he cuffed Anna Mae. He then led her by the elbow, down the hall to the iron door leading out of the cellblock. In a long enclosure, inmates were sitting in small partitioned areas, talking on telephones through wire-embedded glass. He guided her into an empty cubicle where she sat on a metal stool that was bolted to the floor. “Visiting hours are almost over,” the guard told her. “You’ll have to make it quick. Tell your friend to come earlier next time.”

On the other side of the glass, Angelo, his face ashen, held a receiver and stared at her through the glass. She felt a mixture of relief and humiliation. With the handcuffs in full view, she pushed her oily, shoulder length hair out of her face—the face that she hadn’t washed since she woke up in this god-forsaken hellhole. She didn’t have to wonder how terrible she looked. Angelo’s distraught expression said it all. She wanted to curl up and die.

Angelo motioned at her to pick up the receiver that was lying on her side of a counter. Struggling with the handcuffs, she pressed it tightly against her ear. Angelo was saying something but she couldn’t hear him.

On Anna Mae’s left, a thin woman with short dark hair, leaned back so she could see around the partition. “I’ll be finished with this jerk in a second, honey. You can use my phone. That one don’t work.”

When the woman disappeared behind the partition, the man she was talking to slammed his receiver on the counter, swore, and left. After the woman left, Angelo and Anna Mae moved to the next enclosure and picked up the phones. Angelo spoke first. “Can you hear me now?”

Anna Mae wilted at the sound of his voice. She was devastated that he had to sit on the other side of the glass with wires crisscrossing his face—the first familiar face in a maze of hostile strangers. She struggled to find her voice, and when she did, it sounded more like a plea than a statement. “I can hear you. Angelo! They say I killed Walter. I don’t remember anything.”

“You don’t remember being arrested?”

“No.”

“Do you remember being under the steps next to the kitchen when the police came?”

“No!”

“You were screaming so loud the neighbors heard you. And the blood—it was all over you. You don’t remember Olga trying to get you to stop screaming?”

She stiffened.
Blood? Screaming? What was he telling her?
When she replied her voice was shaky: “No, I don’t remember being home at all. The last thing I remember is going to see my mother. I remember sitting in her kitchen talking.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “And when I woke up I was in here. Someone made a mistake.”

After a brief silence, he asked, “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

She raised her voice. “No! I’m not okay! Would you be okay if they did this to you?”

The shadow of a guard loomed over her. “Keep it down.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears now flowing down her face. She lifted the tail of her orange pullover to wipe them away.

“My father says he can get you a good lawyer,” said Angelo.

“I have a lawyer,” she snapped.

“The court gave you one?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not good enough. You need a good lawyer.”

What did Angelo know about lawyers, anyway? And why was she getting so irritated? “I think he’s a good lawyer,” she said trying to calm herself. “His name is Hammerstein. Ivan Hammerstein.”

“You need my uncle Michello’s lawyer. He’s Italian.”

Oh, yes! The Italian thing again.
She could barely control her annoyance. “Angelo, I don’t want your uncle’s lawyer. I can’t pay him and I don’t want him. I just want to get out of here.”

“You really need to try to remember where you were—what you were doing when Walter was killed. That’s the only way they’re going to let you out. You have to tell the detectives why they found you under the steps.”

Ever since she woke up her emotions had been bouncing all over the map. Now anger boiled up from her feet. “Remember? What are you talking about? You know I won’t remember. All these years, Angelo. Not once…not once—never…ever…could I remember. Think of something else, Einstein!”

Angelo looked as though he’d been punched in the face. Anna Mae immediately regretted her unwarranted sarcasm. A buzzer obliterated Angelo’s reply. The guard announced that time was up. Before the phones went dead, Angelo said, “I left something for you.”

As Anna Mae stood to go, she smiled weakly and mouthed the words, ‘I’m sorry.’ She then followed the other inmates as they were led, in single file, out of the phone room. Half way down the corridor, the guard informed Anna Mae that she had been moved to ‘A Range.’

An overweight, tall and masculine female guard, whose nametag identified her as Officer Harriet Clauson, escorted her toward a short flight of iron steps. At the top of the steps there were two doors. The one on the left was made of wood. A sign said ‘Employees Only.’ The other consisted of big, black bars. Anna Mae and Officer Clauson, were buzzed into the barred area where over a dozen women were standing around in small groups.

A-Range smelled of mildew and body odor. Near the matron’s empty metal desk, Clauson roughly removed Anna Mae’s handcuffs. She then led her past a series of open cells to the last one in the row. Clauson nudged her into it, indicating that this was where she would stay. It looked much like her previous cell except for the bare mattress and rolled up bedding. “If you have any problems,” the officer said as she was leaving, “tell the matron or one of us officers.”

Anna Mae stood in the middle of the cell, bewildered. An emaciated black girl with huge, wide-set, brown eyes looked into the cell. “They call me Chocolate,” she said. “What’cha in for?”

“None of your business,” snapped Officer Clauson, who had returned and was holding a brown bag. Pushing Chocolate aside, she said to Anna Mae, “Your boyfriend left this for you.”

By this time a group of women were milling around Anna Mae’s cell and staring curiously at the girl who looked as out of place as a ballerina in a men’s locker room. As soon as Officer Clauson left, a tall white woman with bad teeth stepped inside the cell and grabbed the bag from her hand. She skipped out, laughing and holding it above her head. “What’ll you give me for this?” she jeered.

Anna Mae was petrified.

“Give her the bag, bitch!” said the girl who called herself Chocolate.

“Make me!” said the other. She took a Bible out of the bag and waved it over her head.

Chocolate lunged for the Bible. Suddenly someone yelled, “Here she comes!”

The woman with bad teeth dropped the bag and threw the Bible into the cell. It landed open on the mattress.

Clauson stuck her head into the cell. “You okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, the guard ran after the woman who had thrown the Bible.

“I gotta see this,” said Chocolate and took off after the guard.

Anna Mae sat down on the bare mattress. She couldn’t stop trembling. It was a nightmare. Only she wasn’t dreaming. It was all terrifyingly real. 

She picked up the open Bible. It was her Bible—the one she had found a long time ago when she was cleaning Sarah’s bedroom. She ran her hand over the open pages. Soon the words came into focus.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...”

Maria blushed. “My husband gave it to me for our 25th wedding anniversary. I don’t like to wear it with the valley’s hard times and so many people out of work. But his feelings are hurt if I don’t wear it.”

“A husband like that, every woman should have,” said Olga smiling.

“Uh hum,” said Pete stepping into the room holding a mop and wearing soap bubbles on his arms.

Olga handed Maria the coat, went over and kissed her husband on the cheek and said, “Mine Peter is better than a thousand of dose coats.”

Sarah started to cry again.

January 17, 1971

Anna Mae’s once glowing complexion had faded into what was referred to as the jailhouse pallor. She had lost weight and dark circles around her eyes gave her a gaunt appearance. Her dull blond hair was pulled back and secured with a rubber band, and there was a hardness about her—a stony, resolute force in the set of her jaw.

After a cold, tasteless lunch, she sat on her cot and opened a letter from Angelo’s mother. For the past three months Maria’s letters were a cherished connection to the life Anna Mae once knew.

Dear Anna Mae,

Christmas was a sad time without you here. Sarah and David came to our house for supper. We invited Olga and Pete but they wanted to stay home. I think they celebrate Russian Orthodox Christmas. 

The construction business is always slow during the winter months so Angelo has been working with his Uncle Tony, putting up drywall. I guess he told you all about that when he visited.

Dobie has not been doing well. Ever since he went through Irene’s old letters, he has been going downhill. He just sits in the living room staring at the TV.
Even when it’s on! We do what we can, but he misses his wife so badly. I don’t think he will ever be the same again. We haven’t told him about Walter or what happened to you. It would only add to his depression.

Everyone here in the valley knows you are innocent. I don’t know what the DA thinks he can accomplish by sending detectives to talk to all your friends. I called Becky the other day. She didn’t seem to want to talk to me so I didn’t stay on the phone. I know she doesn’t go to see you or anything. I don’t know what her problem is, but don’t you worry about it. Sarah loves you like a daughter. You don’t need to bother yourself about Becky.

Angelo says it’s cold in that old jail in the winter. I bought you some flannel pajamas and a sweatshirt. Angelo will bring them when he comes. It’s hard to believe that they can keep you there until the trial. Sarah says that after the Grand Jury met, Mr. Hammerstein tried to get you out on bail again. Where do they think you will go? Next month, when you are finally proven innocent, I hope you will get some kind of compensation for what you have been through.

‘Chocolate’ sounds like a good friend. Sometimes when young women get on drugs, they do terrible things to buy what they need. It’s too bad Chocolate doesn’t have anyone. When she gets out, maybe we can do something to help her.

Angelo just came home and says to tell you he loves you and will see you Saturday. We are all praying for you. You’re a good girl, Anna Mae. Read your Bible and stay strong.

Love,

Maria

Anna Mae lowered the letter to her lap and looked across the cell at the calendar taped to the cinder block wall. When she stood up, Maria’s letter fluttered to the floor. Ignoring the letter, she lifted the January page and stared at the thick black circle surrounding February 8th. Twenty-two days to go. She had been in jail for ninety-five days and felt like she had aged ten years.

She let the calendar page settle back to January, picked up Maria’s letter, folded it, and placed it in the neat little pile of letters under her cot. Feeling the unrelenting chill of the ancient building, she hugged her arms around her bulky, blue sweater and walked over to the open cell door. She looked out into the area where inmates could gather as long as there were no problems. Chocolate was walking slowly in her direction. Yesterday she had been in a fight with another prisoner and now the guards had her full of dope—the county’s idea of inmate control.

‘A Range’ was a section for women who were accused of violent crimes and for those who were mentally unbalanced. Chocolate, whose real name was Tanisha Jones, was awaiting trial for stabbing her pimp. He didn’t die. However, he was permanently scarred and had to have part of his intestines removed. When Tanisha was thirteen, the pimp had given her enough drugs to develop an addiction. When she was fifteen, he named her Chocolate and put her out on the street. If she didn’t earn enough money, he’d beat her. Anna Mae felt deep compassion for the pretty black girl who, at the age of twenty-one, was facing serious prison time.

Anna Mae leaned against the wall and watched Chocolate drag her feet in the aptly named Thorazine shuffle. When Chocolate finally reached her, Anna Mae put her arm around her lethargic friend’s slumped shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Anna Mae asked.

Chocolate nodded and mumbled something.

“I can’t hear you,” said Anna Mae.

“Not important,” said Chocolate.

Anna Mae saw the goose bumps on her brown arms. She took off her sweater and helped her friend put it on.

“Thank you,” said Chocolate.

“I see my shrink today,” said Anna Mae as they leaned side by side against the wall.

“That’s right.” Chocolate’s voice was dry, monotone.

“He’s gonna hypnotize me to see if he can get me to remember.”

Chocolate looked at Anna Mae with bleary eyes. “Ain’t you ‘fraid?”

“A little.”

“What if you ‘member you did it?”

“Then I’ll be on trial for murder.”

“Ain’t you already?”

“Well, yes…but they don’t have any proof.”

“If you did it, jes don’t tell.”

“I don’t know,” said Anna Mae shaking her head. “I think my lawyer will argue not guilty by reason of insanity.”

Chocolate thought about that for a few seconds and then said, “You ain’t crazy, Annie. Walter was crazy. Not you. You don’t belong here.”

“Neither do you,” said Anna Mae.

“Yes, I do,” said Chocolate looking at the floor. “I ain’t no good. Just a common street whore...”

“Don’t say that,” said Anna Mae. “When you get out of here...”

“I ain’t gettin’ out.”

Officer Clauson was walking toward them. Anna Mae reached out and tenderly buttoned the blue sweater. “Get some sleep,” she said. “Let that crap they gave you wear off.”