My Name Is River Blue (58 page)

Every day, Mr.
Cortez inspected the library and the book lending ledgers to see what kind of
job I was doing. When he was satisfied, sometimes we would sit down and talk for
a while. He began to recommend certain books to me and told me that I could
read on the job as long as I kept up with my work. Soon, we began discussing
the books, and it was obvious why he chose them for me. Most of them contained
inspirational messages for people suffering through hard times. He didn't try
to dig much into my past, but he asked questions about what I wanted to do with
my life after my parole. Mr. Cortez acted more interested in my future than my
counselor or the priest. He had even begun to use my first name.

One day, during
my third week in the library, I was reading a book at a table near the windows
when I heard Mr. Cortez's voice behind me.

"River, I
think any inmate who loves a good book as much as you do is worth saving."

"Thank you,
sir."

Mr. Cortez
surprised me when he smiled down at me and ruffled my hair as a man might do to
his little boy. I thought it was an odd thing for him to do to an inmate, and I
was suspicious because he had been nicer to me than I ever expected a prison
supervisor to be. I wanted very badly to keep my job in the safety of the Quad,
so I acted as if his gesture didn't bother me, but I wondered if Mr. Cortez was
building me up for something illegal. Did he need a partner to help him shave a
little off the canteen accounts? Did he want something more personal? As my
mind went wild with thoughts of what he wanted with me, I guess he could sense
my unease because his next words gave me all the assurance I needed.

"Don't
worry, River. I was just agreeing with Manny that you're a good young
man."

I was curious
about my uncle's arrangement with him, but I knew that some subjects were not
safe to discuss anywhere in prison no matter what precautions we took. I
decided that I would not mention the deal as long as I was in Rockville.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE

Not long after I
began working in the library, two members of a Latino gang, which was comprised
of all Mexican-Americans, approached me in the yard. They invited me over to
their group to talk to me about joining their gang. I was a little surprised
since I was obviously not pure Latino. I wanted the protection of a gang, but I
didn't want anyone controlling my fate by making me do something that brought me
more charges and additional prison time.

Carlos Perez, the
shot caller, was another muscled man like so many of the men that I saw in
Rockville. He was in his mid-thirties, over six feet tall and weighed at least two
hundred twenty pounds. He and others like him made me wish that I could still
work with weights, as I used to before the accident. It had been a long time
since I had been able to do more than light-weight bench presses flat on my
back and curls with hand weights that wouldn't strain me. I was as strong as I
could be with my limits, but I was nothing compared to Carlos. I told him that
he might not want me in his gang if he expected me to be physical with anyone.

Carlos smirked. "Wink
would say you got physical with him. That is, if he could talk."

"Yeah, well
you know how rumors are. But if I had done something like that, it would have
been done quickly with no fighting involved."

"You can
still join, man," said Carlos. "Word is that Dugan has marked you,
and you need our protection. You didn't take shit from Dugan's gang, so I know
your heart is Latino. I won't turn my back on you because you got some weak
Anglo blood. We can find something for you to do."

"It's cool
that you want to help me, but you don't need to go to any special trouble for
me." I wondered how obvious it was that I didn't want to join him.

"Let's see."
Carlos ignored my comment and rubbed his chin as he thought. "My cellmate
just got out, and I got a CO that can get you transferred to my cell. There you
won't worry about all these guys ganging up on your shit. Young dude like you
needs an older con to teach you and keep you safe. Show you how to get along in
the joint."

Standing there
with Carlos and his gang around me, I didn't know what to say. There was no
guard in sight. I knew if I offended him that his gang might kill me right
there. It was another time that I cursed Max for the accident that left me so
vulnerable. I tried to be honest with Carlos without disrespecting him.

"I'm
honored that you would consider me, and I don't mean any disrespect, but I have
limits to what I will do for protection, and I need to know what the deal is. Also,
I have less than four years to serve, and I don't want a situation that could cost
me more time."

Carlos stared at
me in a way that I interpreted as surprise that I would dictate terms to him. "So
you want my gang to protect you, but you want to do only what you want? Is that
it?"

"I want to contribute,
but in a way that keeps my parole date the same."

I tried to think
of something that would be of value to him, and came up with money. Papa had
left me plenty of money I could use to buy the approved items that inmates
could have in their cells. On a visit, an inmate's family member could bring
items to the COs to check, and if they were permitted, the COs would send them
to the inmate's cell later that day. I offered my idea to Carlos.

"I have some
money. Enough that I could contribute things to you and the gang from time to
time. My uncle could handle it for me. Maybe put some money in your canteen
accounts or buy something for your cells from the list the prison allows. Radios,
CD players, coffee, cigarettes, whatever you guys need."

Carlos looked
thoughtful. "I'm sure we can work something out. We could use some things.
So I will make the cell change happen quickly." He stepped closer to me until
he placed his hand behind my neck and pulled me forward until his cheek pressed
against mine. His hand was painfully squeezing my neck, as he whispered in my
ear. "You should remember a few things, my young friend. First, I am not
Wink, so don't fuck with me. If you promise me something, you deliver. Second,
from now on, you will do anything I tell you, and you will never refuse me. You
got something to say, something you want, you ask me nicely and I decide. Understand
me?"

"Yes. I
understand." I said it quietly and respectfully. I was afraid of Carlos
and his gang, and I'm sure it showed.

I wished that I
were any place but that prison yard with Carlos threatening me while his gang
watched. The frustrating part was that before my accident there's no way I would
have taken any crap off him, which would have gotten my ass beaten, but I would
have felt more like a man. I wasn't sure what Carlos might order me to do, but
I was trapped and powerless to stop him. Since I knew that Dugan would come
after me one day, I hoped that joining Carlos was the lesser of evils.

Carlos used his
connections to arrange for my transfer to his cell, and the day I bagged up my
few possessions, I wasn't sure if I felt sorrier for Scott or for me. I didn't
believe there was much anyone could do for Scott. I never really knew him, but
whoever he was before he came to Rockville died the day the white racists
attacked him. Scott ate very little, kept to himself, and hardly spoke. I told
him that he should get help from the infirmary doctor, but he never responded
to my suggestion.

The prison
chapel held various religious services each week, and I had been attending Mass.
I told the priest what happened to Scott and that he was sinking fast. The
priest told me later on that he did talk to Scott and arranged for him to get
counseling, but I guess Scott was so depressed that he saw only one way out of
his pain. Another inmate gave Scott a blade that my young cellmate used to end
his life.

I was so nervous
when I moved in with Carlos that I didn't sleep the first night. After a few
days, I was relieved that he wasn't asking me to do anything that would risk my
parole date. Uncle Manny bought items that were luxuries in prison and
delivered them when he visited me. He also contributed to their canteen
accounts when they were struggling for funds. The gang appreciated the
donations, and I knew I was safer when everyone heard the word that Carlos and
his gang had my back. I had made a good move.

There were times
when Carlos didn't want to talk, but other times when he told me stories about
his family and his life before prison. One night he told me enough to make me
understand why he made me the offer to be his cellmate. I reminded him of his
little brother who was killed by a rival drug dealer. Carlos blamed himself for
putting his brother in a bad situation, and he avenged his brother's death by
killing the other drug dealer and the dealer's younger brother. His attorney
worked a deal for a sentence of twenty-five years and called Carlos lucky.

I wasn't
surprised that Carlos left it to me to clean our cell and run errands for him,
but I contributed to the gang in many other ways. A few of our members liked to
read, and I made sure that they were at the top of the list for any library
books they wanted. There were also some guys in our gang, who were illiterate,
and I helped them with reading and writing letters. I think I wrote more
letters to people I had never met than I did to people I knew. Near the end of
my first year, I began teaching some guys in our gang how to read and write.

As time went on,
I saw the different sides to Carlos, and as it is with most people, he was not
all good or all bad. He could be moody, and he had a temper. Sometimes it was
hard to tell how much it would take to set him off on a certain day. He always
demanded respect from his gang, and if he deemed that one of us was disrespectful,
we paid for it.

In some ways, he
was not as hard on me as he was the rest of the gang, but at the same time, he
expected more from me. I began to understand that in his mind, I had taken the
place of his little brother in the sense that he had another chance to take
care of a young guy and teach him what he could. While he would never care for
anyone as much as he did his real little brother, I had to learn to be
sensitive to the fact that Carlos cared for me and expected me to be grateful.

Carlos knew that
Howie Spearman and I were writing a book together, and he would often ask to
read the pages that I would be giving to Howie on his next visit. I didn't want
him, or anyone else, to read what I had written, but I knew better than to
refuse him. There were times he would drive me crazy. After reading a few pages,
he would want to know right then what happened next, and he would say,
"Really? You're not making this shit up?" I would tell him whatever I
thought would get him off my back.

One time, when
Carlos told me to show him what I was writing, I gave him some notes about
Carlee and me, and he came up with the idea that I should write a couple of
pages describing intimate details about making love to Carlee. He wanted an
explicit erotic story that we could pass around to the gang for their
entertainment.

While I
understood how badly some men in prison wanted to see that sort of thing, there
was no way that I would do anything to disrespect Carlee. I was using the
desktop in our cell, and I looked up at him and begged him to understand why I
couldn't do it. I told him I would try to write a story about some other woman,
and Carlos loudly ordered me to write what he wanted. When I flatly refused
him, he slapped my face so hard he knocked me out of the chair and onto the
concrete floor.

One of the
difficult things about my situation was that I could not retaliate against Carlos
no matter what he did to me. No one in his gang could lift a finger to him. Not
unless we were ready to die. Refusing him was a dangerous thing, and I had just
done it for the first time. It was the first time that I wished that I had
found a way out of joining the gang because I knew that my body would not hold
up well to a severe beating.

As I sat there
with my face burning and swelling, I didn't want to get up from the floor, but
I knew I had no choice. When I stood, I faced him and folded my hands behind my
back as I had seen other guys in our gang do when they had earned punishment. I
might have looked brave to an observer who didn't know that my only other
choice was much worse.

I stood there
waiting for the first blow while Carlos sat on his bunk and simply stared at me
for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Now, how
am I supposed to punish you without crippling you? You see the position you put
me in?"

There was no way
that I was going to say any of the smartass things I was thinking. "Yes,
Carlos. I'm sorry."

"I'll have
to think about this. Go back to your writing."

After an hour or
so, he sprang off his bunk and stepped over to where I was still working on my
book. I cringed. I wasn't sure what he was going to do. When he told me to
stand up, I couldn't believe how cruel he was to mess with my head that way and
then beat me anyway.

When I stood, he
threw his arms around me and apologized which is something I had never heard
Carlos do. He told me that I obviously loved my girl very much, and he
respected me for protecting her honor and her memory the way I should. He
hugged me, and then really shocked me when he asked me to forgive him for
disrespecting her.

I'm still living
with Carlos, and although there have been times when I thought he might push me
over the edge into insanity, I have been better off with him than I would have
been with another cellmate. In all my time with Carlos, no other inmate has
ever bothered me. I haven't even had so much as harsh words with more than two
or three guys over the years.

***

During my last
few months at Rockville, Uncle Manny and Tyler were more anxious every time I
saw them, and we spoke of how life would be for us when I came home. I had
given a lot of thought to what I wanted to do when I left prison, and I decided
that I wanted to do something with my life that would have made Papa proud of
me. I wanted to honor him by continuing his work with troubled kids, and I believed
that I had the experience to help them.

I wanted to
expand the mentoring program by including girls in activities on the farm.
Knowing how much Carlee enjoyed horseback riding, hiking, and camping, I had to
believe that plenty of the girls in state care would like the same things she
did. I even thought of constructing separate cabins for the boys and girls so
that we could have camp programs that lasted for a week or more as we did with
the football boys. Uncle Manny beamed as he listened to me talk of all my plans
and told me that it was good to see me so enthusiastic about life. He had been afraid
ever since my arrest that prison would eat away all the good in me and leave me
angry like I was after Stockwell.

***

I'm only days
away from freedom, and I'm antsy. Today, when I finished my work in the library,
I still had another hour to go, but I wasn't in the mood to read.

I was sitting in
front of two large windows and enjoying the view from the second floor. It was such
a contrast to the ugliness of the prison. The buses that delivered new fish to
the reception and intake processing area, always stopped directly below the
library. If I followed that driveway back past the fence, and beyond the last trees
of the thick woods there was an amazing river that resembled a wide strand of
sparkling sapphires in brilliant sunshine. I had only seen one river like it,
and I wondered if it was the same one. I was curious enough that I found a map
of the state, spread it out on the table next to me, and began searching.