“You raise your”-I swallowed the word “brats”-“and I’ll raise mine.”
“What did you say?”
I smiled broadly. “This is Surimanda Baikal from Russia, and Tiny Timms from New Jersey. For some reason Tiny is interested in dressing like an Amish woman. Of course, you’d have to put a lot of darts in the bust area-maybe even some clever metal scaffolding-but if anyone can do it, you can.”
“Yah, I can. Elma Gindlesperger-she had the glands too, you know. I made for her also the dress of much support. And a swimming costume as well.”
Elma was, of course, a Mennonite of the more liberal persuasion, and not of the Amish faith. “Poor, poor Elma,” I said.
“When her cruise ship sank, she managed to stay afloat for eight days before the sharks ate her-in sight of land!”
“This is very quaint,” Tiny said, sounding a mite miffed, “but do you mind if we get started?”
17
Tiny survived her bust-measuring ordeal, and Rudy’s snake turned out to be a baby garter snake, which is a completely harmless garden variety. Undoubtedly more dangerous than either of these two events was my visit to the state penitentiary.
The urgent call had come during my absence that morning. It was a matter of life and death, my sister said. If I didn’t make the two thirty afternoon visiting session, it proved I didn’t love her and she would never speak to me again. While there have been more than a few times when such a threat would have been greeted as a welcome challenge, I felt something quicken in the depths of me that stirred me to action.
Now, I do believe in women’s intuition, plain and simple. I’ve always maintained that a hunch from a woman is worth two facts from a man. I also believe that a woman’s voice should be heard, despite the admonishments of the otherwise brilliant, but undeniably misogynistic, apostle from Tarsus. That said, I followed my hunch, and was quite vocal until the warden relented and agreed to add me to the list of that day’s visitors.
However, since this was a maximum-security facility, I still had to endure the most rigorous and humiliating search imaginable. My torturer was a Goliath of a woman with an unpronounceable name embossed in black letters on a pearl gray badge. As her hands, which were the size of Virginia hams, moved up and down my person in the most familiar way, I felt compelled to speak out.
“My dear,” I said, “I haven’t felt anything quite like this since my wedding night.”
“Are you complaining, lady?”
“Au contraire, I’m trying very hard not to enjoy this.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that if your left hand moves any closer to the South Pole, it could trigger an avalanche. Unfortunately, I always sing when that happens, and I’m not known to be very good at that-singing, that is.”
‘V’h’Neek’qQ”WA’a Smith glared at me. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“No, ma’am. I am trying to remain celibate.”
The Virginia hams stopped their needless probing. “For all I know, you’re packing a gun down there.”
I sighed, anger and relief mingling like smoke from a freshly doused fire. “Do I look like the type?”
“There isn’t any one type. And since you’re in that strange getup, with that little hat thing on your head-Hey, where are you from anyway?”
“Hernia?”
Ms. Smith howled. “Are you putting me on?”
“I fail to see the humor in this. At least I don’t have seven apostrophes in my name.”
“Hey! Don’t be making fun of my culture.”
“Your culture? Where are you from?”
“Da hood.”
“Is that near Dahomey? My church supports a missionary family there-the Sapersteins. You wouldn’t happen to know them, would you?”
“Oh, sure, I know them; I have them over to dinner every other Sunday.”
“Really?”
“Look, you fool, Dahomey is now Benin, and ‘da hood’-Well, I was just making that up on account of my mother got a little apostrophe crazy. I admit that. But I’ll be watching you in there; this glass is one-way. Don’t you be slipping your sister anything, or taking anything from her. You’re allowed to hug her-but no kissing on the mouth.”
“Ugh.”
“You’d be surprised what people try in order to get stuff in or out.”
“Stuff? Like what?”
“Cocaine mostly. One woman who normally wore a glass eye came in wearing a fake eye made of coke that had been painted with food dye to look like the real thing. But when she left I noticed that her hair was pulled down. I asked her to pull it back and whoa! You could practically see her brain.”
“Well, my body parts are all real-as I think you know by now.”
“And protected by the most insane underwear I’ve ever encountered. Where did you get that stuff-that crazy bra, in particular? From the Army Surplus Store? I mean, is that like for combat, or something?”
“It’s sturdy Christian underwear, although clearly it is not invincible. I’m going to have to surf the Net for a more unassailable model.”
“Girl, you have definitely lost it; I shouldn’t even be letting you in here. Although”-she paused and cocked her head as she pursed her lips-“I like you.”
Alarmed, I took a step back. “ ’Twas only a fleeting thought, put there by Lucifer the Lustful. I beg thee, kind miss, please do not misconstrue my sexual preference.”
“Say what?” ‘V’h’Neek’qQ”WA’a laughed. “Go on through, before I change your mind. When you’re done-or if there’s any trouble-rap on the glass.”
Susannah looked better than I’d ever remembered seeing her. She was dressed in orange scrubs-perhaps not her most flattering color-but at least one could see that she had legs. Also quite visible, and rather new on the scene, was the presence of a bosom. The latter was, no doubt, a result of boredom; my pseudo-anorexic sister had been packing on the pounds since her incarceration almost five years ago because she had nothing more interesting to do than to eat.
“You look positively voluptuous,” I said.
My baby sister grinned. “Mama would have hated it. Right?” “Absolutely. In fact, when I get home I’m going to drive up to Settler ’s Cemetery and give her the bad news.”
Susannah giggled. “How fast do you think she’ll spin in her grave?”
“Hopefully fast enough, and long enough, to make the U.S. less oil dependent on the Middle East.”
“You see! And you said I’d never amount to anything.”
“I never said that!”
“Well, you thought that.”
Few things annoy me more than being told what it is I think or feel. I’m not in the habit of letting folks inside this thick skull of mine. I especially hate it when I’m being justly accused, and the injured party knows that I can’t wiggle out of his or her accusation.
“And look how wrong I was; for surely you are an exemplary inmate. I mean, if not in deed, at least in your animal appetites.”
“Thanks-I think. Was that sarcastic?”
“What matters is, what do you think? As Dr. Phil would say, perception is everything.”
“Mags, you’re still weird. You know that?”
“ ’Tis a badge I choose to wear with honor. Okay, Susannah, tell me the purpose of this so-called emergency visit.”
She had the temerity to blink. “Who said anything about an emergency?”
“That’s what your message read. Shall I call the warden to collaborate it?”
Susannah sighed. “All right. There’s no need to get snippy about it. Just promise me you won’t freak out, that’s all.”