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January 26, 2006
Our Island Home III
Seraphic Disclaimer: This post contains some language that is a bit, actually, a lot more graphic than is normally found in Seraphic Secret. So if you are young, under 18, religiously modest, or secularly modest, the following, which deals with life in a women's prison, might not be appropriate reading matter for you.
The inmate groans in frustration as she awkwardly applies her make-up.
Her fingers shake as she pulls taut her eyelid, tries to draw the eye-liner in a reasonably straight line.
"I been home so long I've forgotten how to put on war paint. I should've done this before, but time got away from me."
The inmates in this maximum security women's facility refer to prison as home.
"I appreciate you letting me see your room."
"Cell, it's a cell, Mr. Av-e... Av-e-re-re.. uhh, how do you prounounce it?"
"Robert."
Eden smiles, tosses her white-blond hair. A prison trustee, Eden has been chosen by the Warden to show me her cell and serve as my guide in the pet program, which is the subject matter of the film I've been hired to write by ShowTime Network.
I immediately understand the Warden's choice, for Eden is, well, unique. In a population of several thousand female prisoners who are mostly angry, sullen, clinically depressed, grossly overweight, frighteningly masculine, and tattood like pagan priestesses, Eden is tall, lithe and pleasantly feminine--a surprising quality that should not be a surprising quality in an all-female prison.
Imagine one of those Roger Corman B movies, a women's prison film of the mid-seventies where all the women are unnaturally beautiful, and you've got a pretty good idea of what Eden looks like. Tall and whispy blond with haunting gray-green eyes, Eden has the look of innocence and vulnerability that is a magnet for men.
Which Eden took full advantage of when she set up the fatal ambush.
Eden's only physical defect is a minor limp that reminds me of Piper Laurie in The Hustler.
As for her psychic defects: endless and of course appalling.
"Eden, it's okay."
She gazes at me, at my reflection in the tin mirror, trying to gauge my honesty.
"Really," I tell her, "there's no need. You look just fine without it."
"You're lying; men lie."
"What?"
"You heard."
"Eden, I do not lie."
"I'm just kiddin'. Kinda. Sorta. Not really."
Her expression is dead serious.
Eden continues fumbling the make-up. The truth is, Eden looks like she's about to cry as she attempts to get the eye-liner to do what she wants it to do. "I haven't done this for like years," she confesses. "If I did, the rug munchers would figure I'm up for Mexico and go to town on me."
"Eden, lose the make-up. We're wasting time." I no longer ask, I tell. I am business now, a screenwriter and producer on a tight schedule.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Eden snaps up a Kleenex, pumps thick white gel on the tissue, smears it on her face, removes the make-up.
She studies her naked face in the mirror for a long moment.
"That's me."
Eden looks far better now, like a sturdy Swiss farmer in an idealized Social Realist painting, not like the former stripper, whore, junkie, cold-blooded murderess she is.
The walls of the cell are made of dull yellow cinderblock. There is one narrow window, way up high; it has bars on it, and the glass is two inches thick, made of bullet proof plastic. There is a shiny steel toilet in the corner. Three paces in one direction, two paces in the other. That's Eden's universe.
There are a dozen stuffed teddy bears on her bunk. Snapshots of her three children are taped to the wall right next to her pillows.
"Wanna meet my kids?"
"Love to."
She points to an angelic looking little black girl of about five years old. "That's Keesha.
Eden's finger trails along to a photo of another girl. She's got olive skin, high cheekbones and jet-black hair that trails all the way down her spine.
"This is Orenda, her daddy was an Injun. An Apache. Met him on a drunk in Tucson. Orenda. She's eight in this picture."
"Beautiful name, what's it mean?"
"I think it means magical power, that's what the Injun told me, but he was like such a liar, so who knows."
Eden moves on to the next photo.
"And this is Cody, my big boy," Eden rests her forehead on the wall, on a photo of a brooding teenage boy with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Cody looks, well, like trouble. His hair is dyed the color of Pepto Bismol, ink already disfigures his young skin, there are multiple piercings in his nose, his ears, G-d knows where else. He wears a T-shirt that proclaims: Dead Kennedys Live.
What does that mean?
"They don't visit me, my kids, I mean."
"I'm sorry."
Eden shrugs.
"I don't even know what they look like now. These picture are so old.
I say nothing.
"I write them letters, every week. I tell them what I'm thinking, what I'm studying. I tell them how I've repented, how I've found Jesus."
"Do they ever write back?"
She just looks at me.
Eden has been busy in prison for the past twelve years. She's earned her high school degree and she's working towards her college sheepskin.
"It's hard," she admits. "I got a lot of catching up to do. Basically, I was like illiterate, dropped out of school in tenth grade and went right to the pole."
"Tenth grade?"
"I developed early."
"They didn't ask for proof of age?"
Eden studies me for a long moment. I'm getting used to the women here looking at me as if I'm the dumbest man in all creation.
She likes English literature. The great books are all here: Moby Dick, The Scarlet Letter, Tristram Shandy, Middlemarch, and my eyes rest on Ariel's ZT'L very favorite novel of all time: Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.
I leaf through the paperback. The spine is cracked, and Eden's notes are written in a childish, cramped hand in the margins. Eden has highlighted almost every line in the book.
I ask Eden what she likes best about Pride and Prejudice. She ponders a long moment. We have to leave her cell and make our way across the yard and to the shed where the inmates train the dogs.
Eden is silent, thoughtful, as we make our way across the yard. Cindy the CO accompanies us for I am not permitted to go anywhere in the prison unless I am accompanied by a CO.
Cindy, as sharp as they come, immediately picks up on Eden's pensive mood. Cindy reaches over and flicks a residue of make-up remover off Eden's chin. Eden doesn't thank Cindy and Cindy doesn't expect a thanks. Inmate and CO have a tacit communication that is as powerful as I have ever seen. It's a fragile relationship, a delicate balancing act that seesaws back and forth a hundred times a day.
Just as we reach the shed where the pet program is situated, Eden halts in her tracks:
"The thing I like about Pride and Prejudice, the thing I like best is how the men and women talk to each other with all this respect. It's like they get so angry and totally hos–tile, but they don't get kill each other. They really seem to like each other no matter what. It's soooo freakin' weird."
To be continued...
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at January 26, 2006 09:41 AM
Comments
Seraphic Secret is private property, that's right, it's an extension of our home, and as such, Karen and I have instituted two Seraphic Rules and we ask commentors to act respectfully.
1. No profanity.2. No Israel bashing. We debate, we discuss, we are respectful. You know what Israel bashing is. The world is full of it. Seraphic Secret is one of the few places in the world that will not tolerate this form of anti-Semitism. That's it. Break either of these rules and you will be banned.
Well, Robert, what to say...I'm mesmerized. How does a human being become so lost along her way?
Why didn't she read the classics, and get her high school diploma, and find Jesus first, instead of deciding to bring 3 children into the world and become a cold blooded murderer? These questions are rhetorical, of course. The answers are far too complicated to answer here, I'm sure.
What prompted you to begin this series for us, your ever faithful readers?
And, if I may ask, did you wear a Kippah during these interviews? If so, did anyone question it?
(sorry for all the questions)
Posted by: Randi(cruisin-mom) at January 26, 2006 04:18 PM
Cruisin-Mom:
I THINK the simple answer to your THOUGHT provoking questions is the time to THINK! We see a similar example of this phenomena with our own children (I'm one of these kids) we send them away to Eretz Yisroel and they return with new life goals and a new way to see the world. I am not very far out of the israel yeshivah scene and I now see that the gift we allot our kids by sending them to israel is the isolation from everything they have known until now. It gives them a chance to "Find Themselves" and that's what they (we) probably need.
--Doc
Posted by: Doc at January 26, 2006 04:31 PM
Keep going. I'm going to like this.
Posted by: Assistant Village Idiot ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.seraphicpress.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at January 26, 2006 05:09 PM
Randi:
Why did I begin this series? I wanted to give Seraphic Secret readers something completely different. And the experience in prison has haunted me for years.
Nope, did not wear my yarmulke. It would only get in the way of my work--which was to get deep inside the heads of the prisoners and CO's.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at January 26, 2006 06:49 PM
Wow. Prison does haunt you. I had the "opportunity" to do a bit of outreach work at the local Federal prison. I went as a speaker for friends and family of Alcoholics..back when I thought a simple programmed answer was all one needed. The women were smart, tough manipulators and they scared the snot out of me. I did my "duty" but the feeling when they take all your personal effects and the door slides behind you is one I never want to have again. I admire your insight, Robert.
Posted by: Lisa at January 26, 2006 07:11 PM
Proud to announce that Seraphic Secret is currently the #1 personal blog in the Jewish and Israeli blog awards.
Posted by: Doc at January 26, 2006 07:17 PM
Lisa:
Thanks for your comment. Yup, the programmed answers will get you eaten alive in prison. Actually, it's hard to tell what will not get you eaten alive in prison. I told Karen after I returned home that if ever I had to go to prison for any reason--I'd take my life first.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at January 26, 2006 07:19 PM
Your portrait of Eden is haunting. What an ironic name! Whom did she kill and why? You've mention psychological defects... Now I'm intrigued!
Posted by: Irina at January 26, 2006 07:38 PM
Irina:
All the names are made up to protect the guilty.
As for who she killed, you'll read about it in the next installment. It's awful, just gruesome. I had trouble putting Eden togther with the crime. But she did do it and she's one of the few inmates who did not claim to be innocent, or was forced to do it by someone else, or did the crime by mistake.
Which is no comfort to the dead or their loved ones.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at January 26, 2006 08:24 PM
Wow, I almost hate to add such a trival commment to such an engrossing post but you asked so I'll answer.
The "Dead Kennedys" are an alternative/punk band
so it's some kind of pun about a band called "dead" playing "live" I suppose...
Posted by: shifra at January 26, 2006 08:25 PM
Shifra:
At last, the mystery is finally cleared up. And that is why Karen and I adore Seraphic Secret readers. You always know what we do not.
Thanks so much Shifra.
Sheesh, what a sick name for a musical group.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at January 26, 2006 08:47 PM
Just curious, Robert, how much research time did you take before you actually put pen to paper, or rather, fingers to the keyboard to churn out such a powerful movie script?
Can you perhaps carry your story a bit further and later on give us an idea of how such a story unfolds: research, plus writing, plus rewrites, plus meetings, plus all the other fine lines that actually happen before such a movie goes into production. It would actually be interesting to know what goes on behind the scenes...
Thank you.
(I know you are methodical and meticulous when it comes to research, as THE HEBREW KID AND THE APACHE MAIDEN shows us!
Posted by: Pearl at January 26, 2006 08:55 PM
Pearl:
I do a great deal of research, yet i work under intense deadline pressures in Hollywood. Let me think aboiut what you're suggesting. Maybe.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at January 26, 2006 10:41 PM
I never forget that the world I live in is not the same world everyone else lives in. Some people live lives that are so very different than mine.
People fascinate me.
Posted by: Jack at January 26, 2006 11:42 PM
This all reminds me of the movie Chicago - where you see all these women in prison who committed brutal crimes. I picture the scene where they're all singing and dancing about why they got there. Then there's the Birdman of Alcatraz. And then I think of the prisoners of war from Vietnam who were locked away and tortured for years and somehow kept sane. Please g-d we should only know about these things through books and movies.
Posted by: mata hari at January 27, 2006 05:57 AM
Jack:
Yup, prison was just fasinating. Remind me never to go back.
Irina:
I have left out the parts where the women break into song and dance. The choregoraphy just killed.
Posted by: Robert Avrech at January 27, 2006 12:21 PM
Robert,
Do you mean to tell me that the gangs weren't like the Sharks and the Jets. I am so disappointed. ;)
Posted by: Jack at January 27, 2006 03:14 PM
Jack:
I was so looking for Natalie Wood and Rita Moreno. I was all ready to start snapping my fingers and comb my duck tail. Alas, it was not to be. The world has moved on and the Jets and the Sharks are just relics of the days when JD's were, well, cute social problems, as opposed to the malignant sociopaths they have ratcheted into.
Posted by: Robert Avrech at January 27, 2006 03:23 PM
This is a fascinating glimpse into a world for which I have no frame of reference. I am glued to your words. This has been most interesting.
Posted by: Stacey at January 27, 2006 09:55 PM
"Malignant Sociopaths"..perfect description. The thing that struck me when talking with some of the women is their ability to leave behind their children. Mine are 12 and 14 and there is not one moment of the day that I do not know where they are and what they are doing and that they are safe. It would kill me to be separated from them by prison.
Posted by: Lisa at January 28, 2006 11:07 AM
Stacey:
Prison is another universe. I was fascinated, repelled, saddened, scared, and ultimately glad that there are prisons for there is real evil in this world for a good number of people are quite simply beyond redemption.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at January 28, 2006 09:40 PM
Lisa:
Lisa:
Most of the inmates had children. Talking about them was very difficult. It was hard for me to get a fix on the emotional landscape here for the relationships were so... messed up. And besides, how was I to know who was telling the truth?
And then of course there were the women who were in for killing their children.
Even they remained a separate society in the prison population. Even in prison there is a rigid pecking order and the baby killers maintain the lowest rung. Whereas husband killers are high up on the ladder for it is understood that "the bastard deserved it."
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at January 28, 2006 09:56 PM