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Authors: Robert Cormier
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side, leering: “Hey, the Ice Man’s falling in love.” Eric gave him a withering look and Sonny Boy faded away. Eric realized for the first time that he had picked up a nickname like everyone else: Ice Man.
That night her face appeared before him when he closed his eyes. That low sultry voice echoed in his ears. Even in the drab facility uniform, she had been vibrant in her beauty, a contrast to the other girls in the place. She made him nostalgic for places he’d never known, calling to his mind sun-baked squares, cobblestoned courtyards, a hacienda sleeping in the shadows. That was the moment she became the Señorita for him.
He caught sight of her occasionally in the nextfew days, glimpses from his window as she strolled to the ball field, as she left the gym, always the last one to depart. He lingered in the cafeteria after the cleanup, hoping to see her again. Once or twice she entered but always with a group of girls, although she looked his way once in a while and their eyes spoke to each other. He turned away, the pulse in his temple beating wildly.
The old longings were more intense than ever before. He tossed in his bed at night, spent restless moments pacing his cell. He was scheduled to be released soon. But how long would she be a prisoner here? He hoped it would not be long—sentences could be as short as a few weeks, even less if a prisoner was simply awaiting an appearance in court.
He pondered taking steps to get in touch with her. Communication between prisoners was always possible through a system of messages left at certain locations, like the cafeteria or the gym. A trustee known as the Distributor collected and delivered messages. For a price, of course. The price was whatever prisoners could afford, money or cigarettes or an exchange of merchandise, like porno magazines or jewelry. The Distributor was quick-talking and quick-walking, everything about him quick, especially his hands while making the exchanges. He also could arrange furtive meetings, although these were risky, with pricesfew prisoners could afford, and tough disciplinary action if discovered.
Although he still did not dream, he’d wake up suddenly, his mind full of the sight of her—that long hair, the slim, slender throat. He’d feel his fingers trembling, as if from an old disease. He knew the disease, sweet and precious, that had been muted and slumbering these past three years. He resisted, however, the thought of communicating with her. He was afraid of what would happen if they met, even in this place. And his long-range plans would fall apart.
Patience
, he told himself,
patience
.
His patience ran out three days later. He’d crossed off another day on the calendar, nine days remaining in his sentence. Stepping out of his room, he was startled to see Sonny Boy standing at the end of the corridor. Prisoners were free to wander the hallways and recreation areas at certain times of the day, but no one ever came near Eric. He discouraged visitors, always kept himself aloof, turned off gestures of friendship with a cold, calculating look.
Sonny Boy stood alone down near the red exit sign, his back to Eric, the door half opened, his shoulders hunched forward as he looked outside. Was Sonny Boy spying on someone? Or waiting for another prisoner to come along? A secret rendezvous?
Fingers trembling, Eric glided cautiously toward Sonny Boy, his sneakers noiseless on the hardwood floor. Was tenderness possible with someone other than a girl? Could the need that kept him awake at night be fulfilled in another way?
Crazy, crazy
, he told himself as he approached Sonny Boy.
I
won’t do it
. But kept getting closer, closer.
Eric was upon Sonny Boy the way a cat pounces on a mouse. Hands around his throat, the smell of Sonny Boy, sweat and aftershave in his nostrils. Although Sonny Boy was small and thin, he showed surprising strength as he squirmed and struggled, twisting and turning, the strange sounds of survival coming from
That night her face appeared before him when he closed his eyes. That low sultry voice echoed in his ears. Even in the drab facility uniform, she had been vibrant in her beauty, a contrast to the other girls in the place. She made him nostalgic for places he’d never known, calling to his mind sun-baked squares, cobblestoned courtyards, a hacienda sleeping in the shadows. That was the moment she became the Señorita for him.
He caught sight of her occasionally in the nextfew days, glimpses from his window as she strolled to the ball field, as she left the gym, always the last one to depart. He lingered in the cafeteria after the cleanup, hoping to see her again. Once or twice she entered but always with a group of girls, although she looked his way once in a while and their eyes spoke to each other. He turned away, the pulse in his temple beating wildly.
The old longings were more intense than ever before. He tossed in his bed at night, spent restless moments pacing his cell. He was scheduled to be released soon. But how long would she be a prisoner here? He hoped it would not be long—sentences could be as short as a few weeks, even less if a prisoner was simply awaiting an appearance in court.
He pondered taking steps to get in touch with her. Communication between prisoners was always possible through a system of messages left at certain locations, like the cafeteria or the gym. A trustee known as the Distributor collected and delivered messages. For a price, of course. The price was whatever prisoners could afford, money or cigarettes or an exchange of merchandise, like porno magazines or jewelry. The Distributor was quick-talking and quick-walking, everything about him quick, especially his hands while making the exchanges. He also could arrange furtive meetings, although these were risky, with pricesfew prisoners could afford, and tough disciplinary action if discovered.
Although he still did not dream, he’d wake up suddenly, his mind full of the sight of her—that long hair, the slim, slender throat. He’d feel his fingers trembling, as if from an old disease. He knew the disease, sweet and precious, that had been muted and slumbering these past three years. He resisted, however, the thought of communicating with her. He was afraid of what would happen if they met, even in this place. And his long-range plans would fall apart.
Patience
, he told himself,
patience
.
His patience ran out three days later. He’d crossed off another day on the calendar, nine days remaining in his sentence. Stepping out of his room, he was startled to see Sonny Boy standing at the end of the corridor. Prisoners were free to wander the hallways and recreation areas at certain times of the day, but no one ever came near Eric. He discouraged visitors, always kept himself aloof, turned off gestures of friendship with a cold, calculating look.
Sonny Boy stood alone down near the red exit sign, his back to Eric, the door half opened, his shoulders hunched forward as he looked outside. Was Sonny Boy spying on someone? Or waiting for another prisoner to come along? A secret rendezvous?
Fingers trembling, Eric glided cautiously toward Sonny Boy, his sneakers noiseless on the hardwood floor. Was tenderness possible with someone other than a girl? Could the need that kept him awake at night be fulfilled in another way?
Crazy, crazy
, he told himself as he approached Sonny Boy.
I
won’t do it
. But kept getting closer, closer.
Eric was upon Sonny Boy the way a cat pounces on a mouse. Hands around his throat, the smell of Sonny Boy, sweat and aftershave in his nostrils. Although Sonny Boy was small and thin, he showed surprising strength as he squirmed and struggled, twisting and turning, the strange sounds of survival coming from
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