Sleepers

'Nice and loud,' Styler said from behind me. 'Pray nice and loud.'

'Hallowed be thy name,' I said, tears falling down the sides of my face. 'Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done.'

'Don't say come in front of Styler,' Nokes said with a loud laugh. 'You don't wa

'On earth as it is in heaven,' I said, my legs starting to buckle, my body damp with cold sweat. 'And forgive us our trespasses…'

'That part must be about us,' Addison said, his eyes wide, his tongue licking at his lips.

'As we forgive those,' I said, my hands starting to slide off the desk, knuckles still gripping the rosary beads. 'Who trespass against us.'

'Louder, fucker!' Nokes said, standing now, holding my face with two hands. 'Make like you're in a fuckin' church.'

'And lead us not into temptation,' I said, the room around me a shifting blur, my arms and legs empty of feeling. 'But deliver us from evil.'

'Too fuckin' late for that now, loser,' Styler said, as he released me and let my body crumple to the floor. 'Too fuckin' late.'

I woke up in my cell, on my cot, my pants still wrapped around my knees. I was shivering, sheet and blanket under me, my body numb to movement. The rosary beads were still in my hand, the cross wedged into my palm. I brought the beads to my lips, slowly, and kissed them.

I opened my eyes, looked out into the darkness and cried till the sun came up.

Spring 1968

Michael hit the handball against the cement wall, watching it one-bounce its way toward John, who waited for it near the middle of the white divider line. I played off the back line, alongside Tommy, my mind more on the weather than on the game.

It was early afternoon and warm for a mid-April day. The sun was still strong, scattered rays bouncing off the hardened tar floor and onto our arms, legs and faces. The air was dry, humidity low, soft breeze blowing at our backs.

The handball court was seldom free: the black inmates had coopted the area as part of their domain. But, for now, they were out of the picture, joined together in organized protest, a reflection of their outrage over the murder earlier in the month of Martin Luther King, Jr. They stayed in their cells and refused to engage in any prison activity, insisting that even meals be brought to them. Initially, the guards reacted as expected, with intimidation and force, but the inmates held firm, anger and pride keeping the rules of the prison at bay. The warden, fearing outside attention, ordered the guards to back off and allow the protest to flame itself out.

The ball came in a dark blur toward Tommy, who took two quick steps back, balanced his weight, swung his hand and missed. He turned around, picked up the ball and tossed it back to Michael.

'I don't get this game,' Tommy said. 'I don't understand it at all.'

'That makes me really glad you're on my team,' I said.

'What's the point?' Tommy asked.

'We don't have any points,' I said. 'Michael and John, they have all the points. Go ask them.'

'It's six to nothing,' Michael said, walking toward me, bouncing the ball against the tar, his right hand wrapped in heavy black adhesive tape. 'You wa

'How about we take a break?' I said. 'I'm not used to getting this much sun.'

'There ain't much shade around here,' Michael said.

'Let's go near the trees,' I said. 'The guards can still see us from there and it's gotta be cooler.'

We walked past the wall, wiping sweat from our faces and arms, toward a small chestnut tree with drooping limbs, the duty guard following us with his eyes.

We sat around the tree, our arms spread behind us, legs rubbing against grass, staring out at the square-shaped brick facade of C block, our home these past seven months.

'Nice view,' John said.

'Just looks like any other place from here,' Tommy said. 'It don't look like what it is.'

'I'll never forget what it looks like,' I said. 'Or what it is.'

'You might,' Michael said. 'If you're lucky.'

'They give you your release date yet?' Tommy asked me.

'Nokes had the letter from the warden,' I said. 'He waved it in front of me. Then he tore it up.'

'When do you figure?' Michael asked.

'End of June,' I said. 'Maybe early July. Something like that.'

'I wish we were goin' with you,' John said, his voice crammed with sadness. 'Woulda been nice for us to all walk out together.'

'I wish you were, too,' I said, smiling over at him.

'No use thinking about it,' Michael said. 'We're go

'I could talk to Father Bobby after I get out,' I said. 'Maybe he could make some calls, shave a month or two off.'

'There's nothing to talk about,' John said.

'There's lots to talk about, Joh

'I don't want anybody to know, Shakes,' John said, the center of his eyes filling with tears. 'Not Father Bobby or King Be

'I don't either,' Tommy said. 'I wouldn't know what to say to anybody that did know.'

'What about you?' I asked, turning my head toward Michael. 'You go

'I can't think of anybody who needs to hear about it,' Michael said. 'Guys did time in this place or places like it, they know what went on. Those who didn't won't believe it or won't give a shit. Either way, it's nothin' but a waste of time.'

'I don't even think we should talk about it,' John said. 'Once it's over.'

'I want it buried, too, Shakes,' Tommy said. 'I want it buried as deep as it can go.'

'We've got to live with it,' Michael said. 'And talking makes living it harder.'

'People might ask,' I said.

'Let 'em,' Michael said, standing up, brushing loose grass off the back of his sweats. 'Let 'em ask, let ' em think. But the truth stays with us.'

'Just be glad you're going home, Shakes,' John said. 'Forget everything else.'

'And try to stay out of trouble till we get back,' Michael said.

'That should be easy,' I said. 'Without you guys around.'

'What's the first thing you're go

'Go to the library,' I said. 'Sit there for as long as I want. Look through any book I want. Not have to get up when somebody blows a whistle. Just sit there and listen to the quiet.'

'Know what I miss the most?' Tommy asked in a sad tone, his face up to the sun, his eyes closed.

'What?' John said.

'Ru

'Two slices of hot pizza and an Italian ice at Mimi's is heaven,' I said.

'Walkin' with Carol down by the piers,' Michael said. 'Holdin' her hand. Kissing her on a corner. That's hard to beat.'

'What about you, John?' I asked.

'I don't want to be afraid of the dark again,' John said in a voice coated with despair. 'Or hear an open door in the middle of the night. And I don't wa

'Some day, John,' Michael said. 'I promise that.'

'We all promise that,' I said.

In the short distance behind us, a guard's whistle blew. Overhead, rain clouds gathered, darkening the skies, hiding the sun in their mist.