The Memories of Ana Calderón (25 page)

When Ana appeared, she seemed pleased to see them, and she smiled broadly as she slid both her hands through the separation between the table and the bottom of the screen. No one spoke; they only squeezed each other's hands for a few moments. Then Amy signaled the woman guard to hand Ana the parcels.

They chatted about the weather and the ranch. Franklin said that they were planning to sell the market; it was time that he and Amy began to relax, maybe move back to Cherokee County in Oklahoma with family. They spoke this way for a few minutes until Ana asked her usual questions.

“How is Ismael? Have you seen him recently? I can't believe a whole year's gone by. He must be a big boy now.”

They looked at one another nervously, but it was Amy who spoke. “Ana, you know that man doesn't let us get within five miles of his place. How could we see Ismael?”

As they had foreseen, Ana's questioning had signaled the right moment for what Amy and Franklin had to say. Clearing her throat and re-arranging herself in the chair, Amy got to the point. “Ana, do you remember way back, just before Ismael was born, we discussed Hagar and her son?”

Ana looked at Amy with an expression of not knowing exactly what that long-ago conversation had to do with her present condition. “Yes, I remember. What about it, Amy?”

“Well, good God, Gertie, wouldn't you know it! The reading came up again the other night and we got to talking even more. We thought that you'd like to know what we said. Didn't we Franklin?” She turned to her husband for corroboration, sounding slightly out of breath. Franklin nodded energetically.

Reaching into her sweater pocket, Amy pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She carefully spread it out on the table as she took her reading glasses from her bag. Ana waited patiently as this went on. She glanced at Franklin, who returned her gaze with a sheepish look. Amy began to read.

“‘Hagar departed, and wandered about in the desert of Bersabee. When the water in her bottle was gone, she left the child under a bush. Then she went and sat opposite the place,
for she said, ‘Let me not see the child die.'”

When Amy looked up to take a breath, she saw that Ana's face had become pallid, and that the color of her eyes seemed to dip to pitch black. She realized that she was being misunderstood by Ana, so she quickly blurted out, “That's not the real part! I mean, that's not what we spoke about the other night.”

Swallowing hard, Amy spoke nervously. “This part right here is what we were concentrating on, the part when the good Lord again speaks to Hagar. Just listen, Ana, please. ‘The angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, what is the matter, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heard the boy's cry in this plight of his. Be assured in his regard, for I will make him a great nation.'”

Amy's voice trailed feebly as she read the last words; she was frightened by the intensity of Ana's eyes and the expression that framed her mouth. Franklin and Amy shifted in their chairs. No one spoke for a long while. It was Ana who finally broke the silence.

“Amy, you're trying to tell me something.” Her voice was calm but they could tell that she was controlling fierce emotion. “Is my son dead?”

“No!” Amy and Franklin answered so loudly that the other visitors and inmates turned to see who had shouted. At the same time, both of them reached in to take hold of Ana's hands which were cold and clammy. Liberally interpreting what she had read, Amy said, “We mean that even if Hagar's son was taken from her, the good Lord promised to make something great of him.”

Understanding flashed in Ana's eyes as she sensed the truth behind what she was being told. Ismael was gone. He was beyond her reach, and any hope of getting him back was, for some reason, now out of the question.

Ana's eyes were closed tightly when she finally spoke. “Amy, please say it! I want to hear it in straight, simple words.”

It was Franklin who responded in terse phrases; his voice was husky. “Ismael's been adopted. He's now with a new family. They're a good family. That's all we know. We know neither their name nor where they live.”

Amy and Franklin clamped their spread-out hands, palms down on the table, and waited for Ana's reaction. The three of them seemed to be frozen; no one spoke, no one moved. Franklin felt perspiration trickling down his back.

Amy moved her hand closer to Ana's. “God will take care of him.” Her trembling voice was so thin that it was hardly audible, but she continued whispering. “You'll find him again, Ana, and when you do, you'll remember the good Lord's words.”

Silently, Ana stood up and moved toward the door leading back to the cellblock. The guard opened the door for her, and she disappeared behind it.

Hope of regaining Ismael had given me reason to live while in prison. Now I was empty. There was nothing inside of me except hollowness, and hatred for Octavio and my sisters. I passed sleepless nights remembering my father's curse. Maybe, I told myself, Amy and Franklin were mistaken about what had happened to Ismael. How could Octavio give away his own son? Why?

I became obsessed with a desire to break out of that cage. I felt that the prison walls were closing in on me, suffocating me. Soon I convinced myself that if I were to crash through the trap that held me, I would be able to hunt down Octavio and force him to tell me where Ismael had been taken.

It was then that I began to work on a plan of escape.

Sensing what was causing Ana to brood almost constantly, her cellmate cautioned her one night after the lights were out. “Keep your nose clean, Ana. Don't get caught up in any of the shit that's flying all over the place here.”

When there was no response, the woman spoke up again.

“You gotta remember that some of these gals are real pros. They're two- and three-time losers, and they're tough, believe me.” There was a pause in what she was saying. “But still, don't make the mistake of thinking they have the answer to everything. Oh, yeah, they'll come up to you and tell you how easy it is to do this or that. They'll even tell you that you can spring loose. But don't listen to them, kid. You'll
only end up in deep shit because here, nothing is for free. You can expect it. They'll ask you to do things that will make you feel like a pig.”

Ana disregarded what she was hearing. Instead, she turned over in her bed, thinking of her plan to escape. Her mind worked on it all that night, carefully examining each detail of what happened every morning.

The next day was exactly the same as the day before; nothing ever changed the routine. Just before daybreak the Milk Brigade, as the inmates in charge of unloading the milk van were called, lined up outside the prison kitchen. They stood in line, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the sound of the whistle that signaled them to begin moving the heavy crates off the truck. They were drowsy and cranky from having been hauled out of bed at dawn, and many of them still had sleep-encrusted eyes.

“Shit! I need this like a hole in the head!”

“Shut up, will you? You say that every God-damn morning!”

A guard cut in on what the women were saying. “Okay, you two! Cut out the yapping! How many times have I told you not to talk while you're on my detail!” Then she turned to Ana, calling out in a husky voice. “You! Number 36! Get out there and whip open those panels. Why do you have to wait for me to say it every day? Come on! Get a move on!”

Ana hated being called by the number she had been issued when she began her sentence, but she had nothing else to do but obey the guard. She went to the rear of the van and, twisting the handles, opened first one door, then the other. The racks of crates holding the milk bottles loomed in front of her. She climbed onto the flatbed and began handing boxes down to the line of shuffling women.

The chill of the refrigerated van pierced the thin cotton sweater and dress Ana wore, and her hands ached from the weight of the crates. But she had done the same job for nearly a year so her arms and back had become strong. She was able to keep pace with the others who held up their arms waiting for a crate to lug into the kitchen.

Ana had noticed some time before that there was a small space left over in one of the rear corners of the van where nothing was ever placed. After a while she saw that even when the truck was reloaded with empty boxes, that space
was never filled. Once, when the guard turned to talk to the supervising officer, Ana slipped over to that corner and tested it to see if she would fit. She discovered that even after the interior of the van was filled, she could fit without being detected.

Ana began to figure out a way to squeeze into that space after the truck was reloaded. It was possible, she told herself, to make it to the mainland hidden among the crates, and once the vehicle made it to San Pedro, she would find a way to escape. But she needed someone to help her do this undetected. She began to look around for that person, hoping the price would not be too high.

Every day, after the Milk Brigade was dismissed, Ana spent eight hours working in the laundry. This assignment also included mending and sewing the inmates' uniforms, and it was while working at this job that Ana fine-tuned her plan. One day, as she was about ready to decide on who her accomplice might be, she heard someone talking to her.

“I know what's up your ass, cutie.”

On that particular day Ana was, as usual, lost in her thoughts when the harsh words penetrated, making her swing around to see who was speaking. She glared into the face of Lynette Hampton.

“Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I've been here longer than anyone, and I can tell when someone is planning to spring loose.”

Ana turned her back on the woman, deciding not to respond, but the talking kept up. “I guess if I still had my old man out there, I'd want to get the hell out of here, too.”

Ana finally said, “Leave me alone, Lynette. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, yeah, you do! I've seen you eye-balling the back of that truck each time you get the chance. And I know what's going through that head of yours.”

Ana slammed the door of the washer and whirled around to face the woman. “Look, Lynette, back off! I mean it. If you don't…”

“If I don't, what's going to happen, Ana? Eh? Come on, I'm waiting.”

Ana, always uneasy in the presence of the woman, found her more intimidating than ever. She reproached herself for allowing anyone to even guess what was on her mind. A few
minutes passed before the voice chimed in again.

“Look. I can help if you let me. I've got my ways, you know. I've been here for nearly twelve years and, believe me, I can help you.”

Ana was quiet as she slowly folded bath towels. She finally spoke up. “I'm not planning anything. But, let's just say that I was, and let's just say that you would help me. What's in it for you, Lynette?”

“Ha! I knew from the beginning you had smarts.” Lynette paused while reloading the washer. Then she moved closer to Ana; her voice dropped to a whisper. “Easy. All you have to do is let me be your old man a couple of times. We can get together…”

Ana's shove against the woman's shoulders was so powerful that she skidded backwards, tripping over a filled tub. She flipped over it, landing squarely on her buttocks, and the impact of her body overturned the container, smearing the floor with soapy, dirty water. The fall knocked the air out of Lynette's lungs, and it took her several seconds to regain her breath. But when she did, she suddenly sprang to her feet and lunged at Ana, grabbing her hair. The two women went into a tangle as they fell on the concrete floor. By that time several inmates had rushed to them, forming a circle, shouting, screaming and rooting.

Ana and the woman grappled, squirming on the wet, greasy surface. Both women were grunting and snorting. Lynette cursed; obscene words squeezed out of her clenched jaws. Ana's lips were shut tight as she pummeled her attacker's face with closed fists. Her opponent's ebony-colored skin began to show gray blotches where the blows landed, but she countered by scratching and gouging at Ana's face. After a while, she was able to gain the advantage and, twisting around, she mounted Ana.