#8
I must be losing my touch because cold-hearted springs to mind. My ma once told me when I was young that I was going to melt hearts when I was older. I guess that’s not the case with Mercy. Hers is still frozen like a duck pond in winter . There’s not much going on about the surface but, deep beneath the thick, icy layer, there’s still substance that keeps her alive.
She’s the kind of woman that makes me want to ask questions yet, here in jail, I’m not in any position to ask them. I’m considered a criminal, and treated as such. There are no chance meetings, no rendezvous. There are only routines and scheduled recreation times that certainly will not facilitate the kind of relationship where trust can be built enough to open a person up. When you’ve got a lot of time on your hands, you’ve got time to think about these things.
Like Groundhog Day , the doors to my cell open up right on time, ready to release us for scheduled shower times. We go on a rotational basis, carefully managed by the guards. The bathrooms have no mirrors, just polished stainless steel to see our reflection. It’s good because, besides being a safety feature, it disguises some of the ugly staring back at it. You want to shave? No problem; but you don’t get to keep the disposable razor as it’s too much of a safety risk.
Four of us are taken down to the cubicles at the end of our block. We have ten minutes in the stalls to wash, and shave if we want to. A guard watches over, making sure nobody pilfers the razors. You can forget your modesty at the door because in here, at some stage or another, everybody is gonna get a look at your prick. I can’t remember the countless times the jail has undergone a shakedown and we’v e all been subjected to a strip-search along with the surreptitious squat and cough routine. It’s unsettling as a new comer, particularly if you’ve never had to throw away your dignity because the rules of the house demand it.
We’re only two minutes into the shower, the hot water not even fully come through yet, when the prison alarm goes off. The guard’s radio squawks; the crackle alerting him to a code of unrest within the jail. All of us stay right where we are, waiting for instruction. One minute later we hear the fast approach of rubber soled boots on the linoleum flooring.
She doesn’t acknowledge or even take a look at our nudity. She’s out of breath and has been running hard.
‘Vic, you’re needed in D Block now!’
Victor takes off, not even waiting for her to fill him in. In places like this, seconds can mean the difference between life and death. With the male guard out of the room, the atmosphere suddenly adjusts dramatically.
I have the decency to turn around, offering her nothing more than my white backside to look at if she should choose. The inmate next to me does the same thing. He’s relatively new here and I know not looking for any kind of trouble. He came to Silverwater on a transfer so that he can get parole in little more than a month’s time. A man that close to release, there’s nothing he’s going to do to fuck that up. The two pricks in the furthest stalls I’m not so sure.
While I hurry to finish and get out of the stall, the two monkeys down the end seem intent on giving their dicks the best soaping of their life. Mercy, meanwhile, is doing a great job of ignoring the bunch of us while she stands to attention, inert at the doorway.
She may be relatively new on the job, but I’m sure she’s no idiot. Generally female staff are never posted as the sentry for obvious reasons. Whatever’s going down in D Block must have been pretty big for her to get left here with the naked likes of us.
I tie the white towel firmly around my waist so that I can shave over at the sink without giving Mercy an eyeful. In the reflection of the stainless steel, I can see that we’re going to have some trouble of our own soon if we’re not careful.
While I lather
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