grounds of the Southern Louisiana Penitentiary for Women.
“Get out,” the guard said. “We’re here.”
Here was hell.
5
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. Thematron signaled 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 soon find out about that.”
The next woman replaced her on the table. As the doctor started to insert the same speculum into her, Tracy cried out, “Wait a minute!”
The doctor stopped and looked up in surprise. “What?”
Everyone was staring at Tracy. She said, “I…you didn’t sterilize that instrument.”
Dr. Glasco gave Tracy a slow, cold smile. “Well! We have a gynecologist in the house. You’re worried about germs, are you? Move down to the end of the line.”
“What?”
“Don’t you understand English? Move down.”
Tracy, not understanding why, took her place at the end of the line.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” the doctor said, “we’ll continue.” He inserted the speculum into the woman on the table, and Tracy suddenly realized why she was the last in line. He was going to examine all of them with the same unsterilized speculum, and she would be the last one on whom he used it. She could feel an anger boiling up inside her. He could have examined them separately, instead of deliberately stripping away their dignity. And they were letting him get away with it. If they all protested— It was her turn.
“On the table, Ms. Doctor.”
Tracy hesitated, but she had no choice. She climbed up on the table and closed her eyes. She could feel him spread her legs apart, and then the cold speculum was inside her, probing and pushing
“Get out,” the guard said. “We’re here.”
Here was hell.
5
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. Thematron signaled 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 soon find out about that.”
The next woman replaced her on the table. As the doctor started to insert the same speculum into her, Tracy cried out, “Wait a minute!”
The doctor stopped and looked up in surprise. “What?”
Everyone was staring at Tracy. She said, “I…you didn’t sterilize that instrument.”
Dr. Glasco gave Tracy a slow, cold smile. “Well! We have a gynecologist in the house. You’re worried about germs, are you? Move down to the end of the line.”
“What?”
“Don’t you understand English? Move down.”
Tracy, not understanding why, took her place at the end of the line.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” the doctor said, “we’ll continue.” He inserted the speculum into the woman on the table, and Tracy suddenly realized why she was the last in line. He was going to examine all of them with the same unsterilized speculum, and she would be the last one on whom he used it. She could feel an anger boiling up inside her. He could have examined them separately, instead of deliberately stripping away their dignity. And they were letting him get away with it. If they all protested— It was her turn.
“On the table, Ms. Doctor.”
Tracy hesitated, but she had no choice. She climbed up on the table and closed her eyes. She could feel him spread her legs apart, and then the cold speculum was inside her, probing and pushing
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