Confinement Page 5

  I barely breathed. I didn't rustle. I knew something momentous was going on.

  She looked at the pages for a very long time. Then she made tiny fists and pummeled the papers. I was thrilled. I wanted to grab the papers out of her hand and devour every word. But she quickly folded them, stuffed them back in the shoebox, and shook the whole thing as hard as she could.

  She wrapped the shoebox back in old, green towels and stuffed it under her bed. Then she lay down in bed on her stomach, threw her head onto the pillow, and moaned into the husky night.

  Duffino, it's over, I whispered fervently to myself. I've seen you, I've heard you, I know you're coming back to life. I dug my nails into my palms as hard as I could, to make a pact in blood with myself. I was going to read every word she wrote, and unravel each secret, one by one.

  I loved to unravel secrets. I used to think it was the entire reason I was placed on earth. When I first came to Bingham, I told the staff I was here to unravel every secret I found.

  "What secrets? Drink your milk, Charlotte," they scowled.

  Sometimes I would drink the milk, sometimes not. But I never had the courage to spill it. I made it look like I was obeying orders, drinking down every single drop. People here said if you obeyed orders, you had a chance of getting out. That's all you had to do to be a member of society, obey orders, whether you liked them or not.

  I yearned to speak out to Duffino and tell her what I'd seen. But after all these years, I knew how to keep silent. I also knew something more precious - the way back to speech again.

  That very night, when Duffino was sleeping, I crawled out of bed like a cat, slid her shoebox out from under her bed, opened it softly, unfolded the tiny papers and held them up to the window's light.

  At first it was hard to make out what was written. The letters curled around each other, and swept all over the page. I closed my eyes, like the nuns had taught me, put the papers in my hand, and listened to them with every pore. God had many ways of speaking.

  If I listened hard enough, I could feel the meaning directly. There were rumbles of sorrow in the pages. Disaster that had come unexpectedly.

  Duffino, now I see why God made me your roommate. I have to put these pieces together. There's a code here, a special design.

  I started to tremble excitedly. Once she talks, I'll tell the reporters I did it. I unraveled the code. It'll make headlines in all the papers.

  Dorothea used to write letters too, tiny notes, peculiar missiles to her favorite Saints. Late at night, she'd creep into my room and hand them to me under the covers. I told her to send them straight to the Saints. She didn't like that, just pushed them on me further.

  "Get away, Dorothea."

  "Do it for me, Charlotte."

  "Do what?"

  She snuggled closer into my bed.

  "Get out of my bed. You have a vow of silence. Get out of my bed. You're married to Christ!"

  I crumpled Dorothea's notes in my hand. I wasn't a Saint and I didn't want them. Not a single word.

  I wanted to wake Duffino up now, shake her, and say, Listen Duffino, wise up, get out. There's someone else besides you who's been through torture. You're not so special, after all. There's really only one torture, though it comes to us in different ways.

  I didn't wake her though, just began copying her words on paper of my own. These words were my keys to freedom, and I copied them in her same scrawly hand, understanding nothing at first.

  Then, I made a code of my own to represent each mark she drew. I assigned a number to each letter. I numbered each torn piece of paper so, like the pieces of a puzzle, I could slowly put them in order again. I was going to find every detail of her story, whether Duffino liked it or not.

  * * * * *

  The next two weeks, whenever I had a few free minutes, I placed the papers in different positions and gazed at them. Within a week, a pattern appeared.

  In exactly eight days, I could read the first word. It was early in the morning. The papers were sitting on the tiny table near my bed. As soon as I opened my eyes, I glanced at the top page. Three words suddenly flashed before my eyes. They were written in bold letters and definitively said, I DO NOT...

  I grinned so hard I felt my face cracking. It was easy! What had taken me so long to understand? I wanted to wave the papers and yell Victory, real loud.

  I got dressed fast, grabbed the papers, stuffed them in my shirt pocket, and flew to the dining room on wings. On the way there, I checked the positions of the guards. Every day they were identical. No one here knew how to change a thing. No one knew I was watching.

  After breakfast, I went to the dayroom, plopped down on the nearest sofa, grinned, took the crumpled papers out of my pocket and kept turning them around and around. The other words still weren't in focus. Duffino was somewhere else now. She couldn't see a thing.

  Lanny Rodring looked over from his chess board near by. Lanny had tiny, green eyes and a very long nose. He sensed something funny going on right away.

  "Don't ruffle the pages, Charlotte, please. I'm concentrating," he said.

  Lanny was one of the only inmates who said please. He said it with a funny emphasis that sent chills up my spine. It didn't matter what he said, I couldn't stop rustling. He turned and stared at my papers with vengeance. I tried to draw his attention away. If anyone knew what I was doing, terrible things would happen.

  All my papers would be taken away and inspected. I'd be put under constant surveillance at once. Small light bulbs in the corners of my room would light up whenever I walked in. There wouldn't be a second left for me to be alone in the shadows. And we inmates need time in the shadows. We need silence and shade. Despite the crimes we'd committed, we need time alone with ourselves, if only for a little while each day.

  "What have you got in those papers, Charlotte?" Lanny came over and leaned closer. He couldn't leave it alone.

  My heart skipped a beat. He was no dummy. Immediately, I countered, and pointed to his chess game.

  "Did you figure a move yet, Lanny?"

  "Almost."

  He tucked his nose way down onto his lip. He played the same game of chess everyday for hours. Everyday he got to a certain point and stopped. There was one move he couldn't make.

  "Sooner or later you'll figure a move." I said.

  He perked up considerably. "I'm close."

  "And then, you know what?" I continued.

  "What?"

  "You'll be free."

  He turned away from me sharply and went back to the chessboard with its huge, ivory pawns. He grabbed his black knight and held it firmly.

  "The gates will open," I called loudly.

  "Shut up, Charlotte!"

  No one here liked to be reminded it was possible for the barbed wire gates to open one day, and for us to go free. It was considered cruel to even say the word. Free.

  "Free. Free. Free."

  Lanny got up. "You're breaking my concentration."

  "Sorry."

  "Not true. You're not sorry."

  "I am."

  "No, you're not. No one is sorry."

  He abandoned the game for a few moments, moved to another table, and started muttering loud enough for everyone to hear. "Show me one person who is really sorry! That's all I'm asking for!"

  I could have showed him one person, but today I didn't want to bother. There were lots of people who were sorry. Me, for instance. I was sorry for everything. But no matter how many times I told him, it didn't sink in. Someday it would, though. I was sure of it. It was only a matter of time.

  * * * * *

  That night, when I was back in the room, and I was sure she was sound asleep, I put more of Duffino's papers in order. All of us loonies are consumed by order, lack of order, or by the secret desire for order to never come. As I worked, I realized I didn't really know if Duffino was guilty or innocent, or what the outcome of her life should be.

  Not one of the doctors here spoke of guilt here as if it were real, some
thing to be accounted for. It was never a matter of paying a debt we had contracted, balancing scales, becoming pure. Guilt was seen as part of the illness. I violently disagreed.

  In the group therapy we all had to go to, Dr. Farbin told us constantly, "Guilt is the cancer of human life. Root it out, once and for all."

  All inmates were divided into small therapy groups of six or eight that had to meet twice a week for an hour and a half. We would sit in a circle on wooden chairs with our doctor, and talk.

  Our particular group, run by Dr. Farbin, was assigned to a small treatment room, with blue tile walls and oblong windows that refracted the light so it fell, like a prism, on us. You never knew, in that room, if it was morning or evening. You never knew if you were good or bad.

  Our group consisted of Lanny, Else, Sharon, me, Barney - who had tufts of uncontrollable, gray hair that made him look like

  a huge human puppet - and Freddy, who was convinced someday I would marry him. It was rumored Barney's hair wasn't always like that. It only went crazy after his crime.

  During our sessions, we weren't supposed to get too comfortable. This was a time to work and think. It was a time to learn to communicate. The big word these days was communicate. Dr. Farbin said it over and over. I never thought he knew quite what it meant.

  "You're doing your time," he used to repeat, "when it's done, you get a fresh start. If you get well again."

  "When is our time done?" Else always wailed.

  "Root out your guilt and you'll see," Dr. Farbin replied. "Root out your shame. Communicate honestly. That's all it takes."

  "But guilt can make you well again, doctor," I said.

  "Wrong, Charlotte," Dr. Farbin frowned at me often.

  His frowns had no effect on me. I thought of Father Paul, in the convent, teaching us to develop remorse for the way we wronged others continually.

  "Repent your evil deeds," Father Paul used to say, "and eventually grace will come. Forgiveness. . ."

  Whenever he'd say that, I'd take a deep breath, waiting for grace to come to me.

  As we sat in group therapy I often thought of Father Paul. How I'd long for forgiveness, though I wasn't sure exactly what I had done wrong. I wasn't sure why I ended up in convent, never knew my parents, or ever had a life outside the gates.

  "Why am I here?" I used to ask Father Paul. "Why can't I go out like other girls?"

  "This is God's will for you," the Father would reply. "We must not question God's will."

  In the convent we repented constantly, always questioning ourselves, not the will of God. In our group therapy sessions, Dr. Farbin encouraged us to speak of our crimes, express our feelings, whatever they were. Feelings were the holy grail here, even though

  all of us were ashamed of who we had become. Rightfully so, I often remarked.

  "If we did something wrong, we should be ashamed, Dr. Farbin."

  "Not so, Charlotte. There are reasons why each person did as they did."

  "The act is the act. What do reasons matter?"

  "Quiet, Charlotte! After all, you killed a nun!"

  "That's not exactly the way I see it. I sent her to God. She begged me for it. I gave her exactly what she wanted and needed. She was guilty. Not me."

  "Quiet! You've said this before."

  "She broke her vows to God and to man. My act was an act of purification."

  "Shut her up," Sharon yelled.

  "I turned Dorothea into a lamb. Didn't she tell me, over and over, how much she longed to be a lamb for God?"

  "There's no such thing as a lamb for God, sweetheart," Else called out hopelessly.

  No one at Bingham, or at the convent, was willing to accept what I said.

  "Whether Dorothea was guilty or innocent is not the question, Charlotte," Dr. Farbin stood up, exasperated. "That is not for you to decide."

  I stood up as well. "Then who else? She was evil, Dr. Farbin.

  "Sit down."

  "Every night she tried to crawl into my bed."

  He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Good or evil is not the issue. You've got to learn to deal with your anger constructively." His green eyes gleamed right at me then.

  "I was protecting the honor of the entire convent!" I stood up roundly on my fat legs. "The question is, should a person be held guilty for a crime where she's protecting what's right in the eyes of God? When she kills someone off who is evil?"

  "Charlotte, I said, sit down."

  "I'm not guilty, ladies and gentlemen," I hollered. "I deserve to go free."

  "We're not your judge and jury, Charlotte." Lanny got up gently and stood next to me.

  "My intention was not to hurt anyone."

  Dr. Farbin walked over between us. "Guilty or innocent is not the issue! We're doctors here, not priests."

  "No difference."

  "Our job here is to cure mental illness."

  "There's no such thing as mental illness " I yelled. "Only the wages of sin. How else is our fate decided on high?"

  "It's not a matter of fate." Now Dr. Farbin smiled condescendingly.

  "I disagree."

  "Shut her up," Sharon yelled out, "she's taking up our whole hour."

  "Be calm, Charlotte," Dr. Farbin demanded.

  "How can I be calm, Dr. Farbin, if I don't know how to become innocent again?"

  "Again?" He tossed my words back at me. "That's interesting,

  Charlotte. Again?" Then he brushed his thick, wavy hair off his forehead, with a casual toss of his hand.

  I could see our discussion was going nowhere, I was taking up too much time. Our impasse was real.

  When I quieted down, Dr. Farbin started again.

  "All of us must try to understand why we've done what we've done."

  "Why did I do it? Why? Why?" Else started wailing now.

  "Now you got Else going," Barney's hair stood up on end.

  "Quiet, Barney," Dr. Farbin said. "Let Else speak. We all have to understand."

  "What is there to understand?" I demanded.

  "The reasons Else threw Tommy into the lake."

  "There are plenty of reasons," Lanny chimed in.

  Sharon spit on the floor, like an old farm lady.

  "Tell us the reasons, Else," said Lanny.

  Else wailed louder.

  "Give her a break," Barney demanded. "Forget the reasons, just give her another chance." Then he curled up in his chair and started biting his paper thin nails.

  "Now we're upsetting Barney, Dr. Farbin." Lanny was running from one to another.

  "So, let him be upset," Dr. Farbin said. "This is the place to express our feelings. Barney, tell us why you're upset."

  Barney shivered.

  "He's got reasons," Lanny said.

  "Reasons, reasons," I chanted like a mantra. "With all the reasons, we're all still dumb."

  "What are you feeling, Barney?" Dr. Farbin zoomed in.

  Else interrupted. "God damn, leave him alone." She felt protective of Barney. "He's been through enough, hasn't he? God damn."

  "Don't say God damn!" my skin curdled.

  "I'll say what I want."

  "Not in front of me."

  "Quiet. Quiet." Dr. Farbin banged his fist on the clipboard he was holding. "We each must learn to respect the other. Each must have a chance to express."

  "Why? There's poison in this universe, Dr. Farbin. Why should it be expressed? What's the point of encouraging it?" I chimed in.

  "Pack it up, Charlotte," Sharon yelled out. "Pack it up and take it on the road."

  "What does that mean?" Else asked. "Why does Sharon always say take it on the road? That's when all my trouble started. When I took Tommy on the road."

  "She means it figuratively, Else," Dr. Farbin said.

  "No, she doesn't," Lanny broke in. "Sharon always means exactly what she says. After all, she was a college professor."

  Sharon grinned at that. She loved Lanny, and Lanny loved her. He admired her learning. She admired his chess game.r />
  "Sharon taught philosophy," Lanny continued. "Until her awful crime."

  "Why do you always have to mention my crime?" Sharon crouched above her chair. "Why can't you just say I taught philosophy, and leave it at that?"

  Lanny shrugged.

  "I'll tell you why," she start breathing hard, "because you can't bear to believe that someday I'll get well."

  Lanny looked as if he were going to cry.

  "It's not that," I burst in, "it's that Lanny longs for the truth."

  He looked over at me gratefully.

  "Like I do."

  "All right now," Dr. Farbin wanted to move things ahead.

  I wouldn't let him. "There's evil in this universe, ladies and gentlemen. I think we're really all here to repent."

  I half lifted my plump arms to the sky.

  "Pack it up, Charlotte," Sharon yelled again.

  Barney boxed his own ears with his hands. "Here she goes again. I can't stand it."

  "Pack it up, Charlotte. Pack it up." Sharon repeated, "There's no evil in the universe. Just chaos everywhere."

  Actually, Sharon and I got along pretty well together until

  we got to this point. She was a nihilist. I was not. I could accept our difference. She could not.

  Dr. Farbin completely sided with Sharon.

  "Sharon is right, it's time to move on." He focused on me. "All your talk about God is just a diversion. We are here to deal with reality, Charlotte."

  "We live in a world with converging realities," I said, very fast. I had learned that long ago, in the convent. "Only God's reality is pure. I only pay attention to that."

  Dr. Farbin hated talk about God.

  I relented. Temporarily. After all, I was here for a reason. There had to be some point to my stay. I knew soon I would figure all the secret patterns. Until that time I had work to do. Perhaps I was here to help with the Cure?

  Chapter Five

  As I sat on my bed that night with Duffino's papers, bits and pieces of her story started to come back to me. I remembered the headlines in the papers saying the first time she'd met Miguel, they'd fallen in love instantly. Cookie, the tough gang leader's girlfriend had testified about it on the stand.