Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. On the Chain Chapter 2 by Hardlabor The early morning sun streamed through a stained-glass window, creating whimsical patterns of color on the church pews. An elderly woman noticed that a pretty young girl standing next to her was crying. "Now dear, you mustn't carry on so," whispered the gentle old lady as she offered the girl her hand. "Whatever it is, let us pray together." The two women prayed; the girl for her friend Robert, and the older woman that the poor, suffering girl would find solace. The older woman smiled at the girl, whose eyes were dark and reddened by tears and insomnia. The poor thing was the picture of a tortured soul, thought the older woman. "What's your name, dearie?" she inquired. "Marie." "Well, Marie, my name is Emma. I don't know what you're going through, but I know a man who can help." Emma waved to Reverend Michaels, and discreetly said "this poor girl is suffering. Will you speak with her, and help her with her burden?" The Reverend smiled comfortingly. "Why certainly, Emma. Come, child," he said, giving her a moment to thank the older woman before gently leading her to his office. The minister closed the door and invited Marie to sit in a comfortable chair, while he sat down across from her. "Now, child, tell me what pains you." Marie related the story. How she had seen a man she knew from work suffering on the chain gang, how he was innocent and it was a case of mistaken identity, how she had spoken to the prison clerk, and how agonized she was as she waited for his release. "I see. This is certainly a troubling story," said the minister. "Are you...involved...with this man?" he asked. Marie said that she wasn't. "How long have you known him?" he asked. Marie admitted that they had only been loosely acquainted for a few weeks. The minister leaned back, and thought a moment. "My child, it is to your credit that you feel such compassion for your friend as he suffers in prison. We all should feel such compassion for those who suffer. But my child, you must consider the possibility that your friend is where he belongs. You do not know him very well, and you would not be the first innocent to be so victimized." Marie gasped. She seemed about to cry. Reverend Michaels acted quickly. "My child, please don't think I'm saying that your friend IS guilty, and that he DOES belong there. Only God knows, and I am asking you to trust to Him. I know it is difficult, but you must have faith in His justice. You must have faith that whatever happens is right. If he is innocent, he will need your compassion. If he is guilty, then he is receiving justice, and that justice, if it leads to his redemption, shall set him free" preached the minister. Marie rallied herself. "Thank you, Reverend," she said as she wrung her wrists nervously. "I suppose you're right. He could be guilty. But I'll hope and I'll pray that he's not, and that he is released from that awful place soon." The Reverend smiled on her with kindness in his eyes. "My child, let us both pray for that" he said, and the two shared a silent prayer before Marie left for work. --- "Let's go! Let's go! I mean you! I mean you!" Ol' Jack hollered the words at the top of his lungs, and the groggy prisoners rolled out of their bunks. It was about 4:30 AM. Jack was the trusty assigned to keep the punishment detail functioning, which meant waking them up in the morning, preparing their meals, having them on the chain in time for inspection, and anything else required to get them to work on time. Ol' Jack knew his job inside and out, having spent a good half of his own life on the chain. I felt foul. First, I was coated in a greasy sludge of body oil, sweat, dirt, leaves, and all the detritus one would expect to be on a half-naked man put to work all day with no ability to wash up. Second, my body was simply not used to sleeping in handcuffs and legirons, and I had woken up several times during the night. Still, I could see the drill and I followed along. Each prisoner was to stand at attention near his bunk, waiting for necessary order. As soon as the prisoners were ready and the squad chain unlocked, the order was given to march. Jack marched us single-file to the privy, clanking and clattering as we went. We were allowed ten minutes to prepare ourselves for the day ahead, and we came to prize these few minutes. In addition to addressing our daily duties, this was the only time we were allowed out of our handcuffs for any purpose other than work. Of course, the privy was as foul a place as one can imagine with eight men chained together and using the facilities at the same time, but we didn't see it that way. To us, the privy was the place where had freedom, even if it was only ten minutes per day. "Wipe and move!" came Jack's order. Our ten minutes were up, and each man finished as best he could. Jack whistled, and we lined up shoulder to shoulder with our wrists behind our backs, ready to be put back into handcuffs. Then we were led single-file to the front gate, where we waited silently at attention, facing the gate, with our heads lowered until the Boss arrived with the truck. It had been three days since I had been arrested and taken to prison by the bounty hunters. I had been humiliated, kept chained like an animal, worked like a beast of burden, and denied basic signs of humanity such as the right to speak or to be fully clothed. By rights, I ought to be enraged at the men who had done this to me--the bounty hunters, the clerk who ignored my plea of mistaken identity, and the guards who brutalized me. But I didn't feel anger. I was as happy as I could be, under the circumstances. Monday had arrived, and I was sure to be freed. Even if the wheels of bureaucracy ground slowly, Marie was sure to see to my release. And was I much worse for wear? No. In the end, I had done nothing wrong and only lost a weekend. The experience would make me a better person--more sympathetic to the sufferings of others. More confident in my ability to survive even when the basics were denied to me. It would probably take a few hours for the paperwork to come through, and I resolved to be a model prisoner until my release. We arrived at the work site around 6 AM. The day was a scorcher and the punishment detail had the worst kind of work: laying tar onto a macadam highway. We worked like slaves with the hot sun beating on us, the filthy tar splattering onto us, clinking and clanking in our chains. The conditions were so brutal that the Boss allowed Jack to give us a double ration of water, which meant a drink every half-hour. Around noon came the order to "Lay em down!" We had thirty minutes for dinner and rest. Each of us plopped down right where he stood when the order came, eager to enjoy every second of luxurious recuperation. Ol' Jack went down the line of prisoners with a bucket of red beans and deposited a heaping scoop into each of our cupped hands. I listened with disgust as the other prisoners slurped and licked and wolfed down their rations, but when my turn came, I found myself devouring the food just like everyone else. The bean course was followed by a hunk of corn pone about the size of a man's palm. Corn pone is just a simple cake made from cornmeal, baking soda, lard, and water, and baked on a griddle. Any free person would turn his nose up at such an unpalatable concoction, but we prisoners stuffed our hunk of corn pone into our mouths as if it were a delicacy that might be taken away at any moment. Finally, Jack returned with a bucket of water and a ladle, to wash down our sumptuous dinner. The thirty minutes passed quickly. "Pick em up!" came the command, and it was back to the tar for us. By the early evening, my optimism had turned to despair. A man would be punished if he failed to "keep the lick," and I began to lag. My mind simply wasn't on my work, and I even craned my neck once to see if any messengers were coming with a release order. "Lay em down!" came the order. It was time to return to the prison. We secured our tools and equipment in the truck, and then the command came to "line em up!" This was the signal for us to line up shoulder to shoulder for restraint. Clickkkk! I felt as though my heart couldn't sink any lower as the handcuffs ratcheted around my wrists. The truck soon bounced its way back to the prison, pulling to a halt at the gate to the punishment detail's cage. "Step down!" came the Boss' order, and we slowly filed off the truck for inspection. "Jack!" said the Boss, "take the last one off the chain. He's going to see the warden." Could it be? It was! My heart twittered with excitement as I was unchained from the punishment detail. The Boss and another guard escorted me to the administration building, past the clerks and ringing telephones and other signs of modern civilization that I had almost forgotten in three days of the Dark Ages. The Boss knocked on Warden Samantha Richardson's office door. "Enter," answered a voice within. Warden Richardson's office was beautifully appointed, considering it was located in a prison. The walls were paneled in mahogany, there were overstuffed leather chairs placed strategically around the room, and a gigantic southern pine desk as the centerpiece. The Warden herself was an older woman, perhaps in her 50s, tall, dark haired, fair-skinned, and quite attractive, exuding the combination of beauty and confidence that only older women possess. "Sergeant Reynolds, how are you? How's the wife and kids? Fine, fine," said Warden Richardson. "How can I help you?" This was it! The moment I had waited three whole days to arrive! "Ma'am, this prisoner arrived on Saturday and was placed on the punishment detail due to insolence. His first day, he ignored the rules and spoke with a civilian three times, for which I assigned him nine additional days of hard labor. Today, he was lagging the men and looking about instead of working. I believe the time has come for more severe intervention," said the Boss. I was crushed! I hadn't been called in to be released. The Boss had brought me in for further punishment! "I see," said Warden Richardson. "Ellen! Ellen, would you bring me this prisoner's file. What's his name, Sergeant?" "Robert Perez, Ma'am," said the Boss loud enough for Ellen to hear in the outer office. A younger brunette in her mid-20s soon appeared, carrying a file folder which she handed to Warden Richardson. "Thank you, dear. Now, let's see. Hmm... Drunk and disorderly, breaking and entering, fraud, theft, petty forgery, currently our guest on a charge of armed robbery. Served three stints on the punishment detail. Prisoner, you have quite a record. This is your first violent offense, but your record betrays a clear lack of discipline in your life. That is something we specialize in at this institution. What have you got to say for yourself?" This was my only chance, but I was terrified. Here I was in chains, shirtless, filthy, stinking, exhausted, and from their point of view, guilty. Here I was, a deviant animal placed on trial before normal people. The Warden loomed before me, towering over me like a goddess of power, justice, and wrath. "Well? Speak up. This is your only chance," said Warden Richardson. The words began to spill out, in a soft, mouse-like voice that surprised me. "I can't hear you, Prisoner. Speak up!" commanded the Warden. Reluctantly, as if I was a pig speaking to a Goddess, I spoke more distinctly. "Ma'am, I am innocent. I was arrested by bounty hunters in a case of mistaken identity. My name is Robert Perez but I'm not the person who belongs here. When I saw a friend of mine in town Saturday, I called to her to get help. Please, Ma'am. I was told my case would be heard by the judge today and I would be released if my story checked out. I don't know why it hasn't." Ellen, the young file clerk, interjected. "Prisoner, did you say you were innocent? I want to put that in the file." She smiled sardonically. The Warden and the two guards grinned at the joke, but it was lost on me. "Yes, Ma'am," I replied meekly. The Warden paced slowly around me. "That is quite a story, prisoner. Well, there is a notation in your record that your allegations were referred to Judge Hawkins for possible adjudication. I know Judge Hawkins. She is one of the most competent jurists in this state, and she would have investigated your claims immediately. But let's find out for certain. Ellen, have any communications regarding a prisoner Perez been received from Judge Hawkins today?" "No, Ma'am. Nothing for a 'Perez'" Ellen replied. "If you like, I can call the Clerk to inquire further." "That won't be necessary, Ellen. Thank you." Warden Richardson slowly shook her head from side to side. "Prisoner, you cannot hope to ever become a productive member of society until you admit your failings. You cannot ever hope to become a productive member of society if you refuse to accept responsibility. You cannot ever hope to become a productive member of society until you learn discipline." The Warden paced around me. I was an insect under a microscope. I was a snake in an eagle's talons. I was a supplicant before a queen whose job was to show no mercy. I wanted to run, but my legs were in irons. I wanted to hide my face, but my wrists were in handcuffs. I wanted to disappear, but I stood half-naked and filthy before a jury of my superiors. "Very well, Prisoner. If we cannot reach you logically, we will reach you physically. You have served three days of hard labor on the punishment detail. Sergeant Reynolds has awarded you nine additional days for disobedience. I will triple that--you will serve 27 additional days at hard labor, beyond the nine you earned from the Sergeant. Furthermore, I order you to be flogged tomorrow evening. Sergeant, you will give this prisoner ten lashes on the bare back, well laid on." "Yes, Ma'am," said the Boss. The Warden turned to Ellen. "Dear, please record that the prisoner is to receive 27 additional days at hard labor, plus ten lashes tomorrow evening. Do you have anything to add?" Ellen looked me over. "Ma'am, perhaps the prisoner would learn faster with the necklace." The Warden smiled wryly. "Yes. I do believe you're right. Thirty days in the necklace. I must say, Ellen...you're coming along quite well in your...training." The warden patted the girl on the head, and Ellen beamed. "Prisoner, your education has begun. We have many methods available to correct attitude problems like yours. I suggest that you accept the fact that you are a prisoner here, that you do belong here, and that your suffering is justice. You are dismissed. Sergeant, place him in the necklace tonight, and call me tomorrow when you're ready to begin his flogging. Oh, and leave me a pair of handcuffs. Thank you." Needless to say, I was in shock. I managed a "Thank you, Ma'am" because I knew I had to, and I was marched out. I felt like gelatin as the Boss led me back to the punishment detail's cell, where I learned what the "necklace" was. A steel collar was locked around the prisoner's neck, with a three foot long length of heavy gauge chain. The unfortunate prisoner was locked to his bed at night by his collar, and during the day, he had the additional burden of the collar and chain to accompany him as he worked. Finally, I was locked back on the squad chain. I thought I had been miserable before, but my situation was now infinitely worse. It was hard enough sleeping handcuffed, filthy, and chained to seven other men. Now, I couldn't even get up to relieve myself by using the night bucket. Thank God I was exhausted from a full day of work. Eventually, the thoughts of "This is forever. No one cares. You deserve this" died away, and I fell asleep.