Read Online Jewelweed by David Rhodes - Free Book Online Page B

really.”
    â€œI always hoped that prisons were in some way having a positive influence on the people inside them.”
    â€œI’m afraid you couldn’t be more wrong, Mrs. Helm. Does that offend you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou have no idea, I’m afraid, what it feels like to try to understand how a single thoughtless action should result in years and years of living in a cage while fools with tiny brains poke you with sharpened sticks.”
    â€œYou’re right,” said Winnie. “I have no idea.”
    â€œWhat can I say? I feel small about the resentment I feel. Some guys who get sent to prison, they know as soon as the door closes behind them that they’ll be treated like lizards. It’s fools like me who imagine that some degree of respect and dignity should still govern the way peoplerelate to each other, even in here. I can’t get over it. Why, for instance, do they search visitors when they don’t even end up in the same building with the person they’re visiting? It’s unnecessary, but they do it anyway. Why do they search our rooms and throw things all over when nothing comes in that has not been inspected? They have rules for everything, but no one can tell you why using the telephone here costs ten times what everyone else pays. Why is that? Go ahead, ask them. They don’t know. There are countless things like that, and it makes me angry. I can’t help it.”
    â€œAnger is never constructive,” said Winnie, “though I often can’t avoid it either.”
    â€œAnger proves I’m still alive,” said Blake.
    Winnie looked at the wristwatch strapped loosely around her thin wrist. “I’m afraid my time is almost up. I’ll be back though. I promise to visit you again. You have my word.”
    â€œLook, Mrs. Helm,” he said. “I mean, you did it once and I appreciate it, but you don’t need to come again. It’s against nature. This is a human garbage pit. Don’t come back.”
    â€œI’m coming back,” said Winnie.
    â€œGood,” said Blake.
    â€œIs there anything you would like me to bring next time? I’m sure there are many things, but please limit yourself to things that are inexpensive, not difficult to obtain, and meet the narrow requirements of the prison. Let’s say three things.”
    â€œThree things?”
    â€œYes, three things.”
    â€œBooks, books, and books. I’ll pay you back someday.”
    â€œDo you like to read?”
    â€œYou have no idea.”
    â€œAm I allowed to bring books in here?”
    â€œThey’ll make it as difficult as they possibly can, believe me. They can’t help themselves, but please, please bring me some books.”
    â€œWhat kind of books?” she asked.
    â€œAny books are better than none, of course, even books written without much thought—flavorless fantasies relying on clichés and stereotypes. I’ll read those too, but what I really want are thick books with fine print, difficult sentences, long words, and enormous ideas, books writtenin a feverish hand by writers who hate the world yet can’t keep from loving it, whose feelings so demand to be understood that if they didn’t write them down they would go blind. Bring me books by women who have fallen out of step with society and refuse to march and sing the old songs. Books by men who through terrifying sacrifice overcome all the challenges set before them but one. Find me books by sensualists who drink their cups dry every time and yet never figure out why they’re so thirsty, and books by pious men and women who continue to believe that being good will save them. Bring me books about people in love, people so passionate about each other they will stand against family, community, country, fortune, and fame in order to be together, and books about people who don’t have a chance in hell yet somehow find one. Bring