William Vollmann - The Atlas

That one, the Angel said.

I seen you up there, said the hunky girl in yellow with the pursed lips.

Do you know where you are? the Angel said.

Sure.

Why are you here?

Somebody called somebody's mama dirty.

That's right, said the Angel. That's finished you. And do you remember the darkness when you died?

I dreamed I been walkin' on worms. .

That was when they buried you. That was when they shoveled the earth over your eyes.

The air gits so thick around here.

You'll get used to it. After your skull is fully exposed, you won't mind the shortness of breath. Maybe you'll get to like the noises that the rats make when they go by. But the darkness. . Well, it takes time to learn to see in the dark.

Naw, it don't really git dark at night, the girl said. They have to keep the lights at a certain level. If they don't, people start talking or someone might git a seizure or something. Anyway it don't matter. The longer you're here the more sleepier you git, 'cause you git to do more activities.

And are you ready for your final judgment?

I go to court the thirty-first. I'm fightin' goin' to this drug program. They're tryin' to make me do this year plus eighteen weeks. And I told em y'all must be out of y'all fuckin' head. I'm on three years' felony probation. Anything over two bags is sales. They dropped it to possession 'cause I'm a user. You never know what that Judge is gonna do. He got some shit in His cornflakes you don't know what He gonna do.

I'm glad you know that. So you figured out that there's a worse place than this.

Yeah. Yeah, I know that, Mr. Angel. You're not the first social worker told me that. You know, that other social worker really pissed me off. He said to me: I see a lot of discomfort in your soul. — So why does he say that?

I don't think you should be worrying about that. What you ought to be doing now is remembering your life.

Everything is ought around here.

Your only hope is to understand what got you here, the Angel insisted.

They just picked me up on the street down here.

They just picked you up, did they? My. Through no fault of yours?

I been in the hospital fifty-one days. I didn't know I had a bench warrant. They said: You know you got a warrant, Miss Tompkins. — My probation officer is an asshole. He's just automatically assuming this is a habitual offense. Please don't try it. 'Cause I can git fucking ignorant. Fuck him and feed him fish. He's one of them fucking niggers that want to make a name for himself.

(For a long time the Angel stared into that yellowpale, lined resentful face. He faced her inimical lizard-eyes. He watched time stain that pale and aging face, that pale tongue. She mumbled with her snaggle-teeth.)

And what's in your name? the Angel said.

My name don't mean nothin'. You can see I'm wearin' the yellow.

And what's in your sin?

My sin don't mean nothin', neither. Like I said, it depends what side of bed that Judge gits up on.

And you think that's wrong?

'Course it is.

I see. Well, then, if you were the Judge, how would you run the universe?

Like, last night these girls were boxing and they got real mad. They were doing it 'cause something was said to somebody. I got laughing. I woulda judged 'em. I woulda judged 'em both laughing, 'cause they were in the wrong. But they say this Big Judge He never laughs. Just looks at you and sends you down. You gotta git left to yourself, but they don't know the meaning of the word respect. They don't play the game.

But you do, I take it, said the Angel with a yawn that rose to the very high ceiling and rolled down those whitewashed halls.

Now this here girl, I never hit her. But they gave me ten days. She broke my dentures. I'm a model inmate. She claims I stole ten dollars from her. She 'pologized to me two weeks ago, saw me in court. I said sure. It ain't but two teeth. Two teeth's all I need.

Time's up, the officer said.

Keep her out of trouble until the Judge gets to her, said the Angel.

No problem, the officer said. We control the power-operated doors here. We control the TV stations. We control the music.

We give them also general knowledge, the officer said. All the prisoners here, they can read and write. Through our education we can make some people understanding. You see, after the prisoner leaving here, we give first thinking and then degree of knowledge, and then we give them the job. In the prison there are handicrafts. They can make small tables. You see, the prisoners, they produce some production, and then they get more from store. When we let them free we give them some supplies.

Do you think these people here are bad people?

You see, these people, they believe now. They trust our policy. They will become good people. They want to get amnesty from our government.

When will their reeducation be completed? said the Angel.

It's not much longer to stay. Soon they will be good.

And are you good? asked the angel.

Me? said the officer. Of course I am good.

Bring in the prisoner, said the Angel.

The man came in bowing and blinking, skinny and terrified.

How long have you been in prison? said the Angel.

Two years and seven months.

Have you had a trial?

No.

What sentence do you expect?

I hope that the authorities here will let me free at one time and now I try to be a good people as the other. .

You are not good now?

No, sir. No, I am not good.

The Angel took the right hand of the prisoner and placed it in the officer's left hand. He said: By the power vested in me I join you both in marriage forever. You are fitted for each other.

The prison was an immense white skull on a hill of snow-white rock and snow-white sand near the seaport. The blue gate, partly rusted, opened all its teeth at the Angel's touch. He ascended the steep white steps overlooking the sea. The next door was rusty red, and a guard saw him coming through the bars and opened so that he could follow the snow-white hall which was flecked and cracked and pitted, and so he came to more bars. There was a dusty white courtyard. The first section was on the left. It was white, of course, with bars. That was for the prisoners with one to fifteen years. Behind the courtyard's single tree was the Asab section: fifteen years to life.

Well, thought the Angel biliously, let's see who's good now. The man's face was sick and cratered. He was dull-eyed and stinking, and there were scars all over his skinny body. The guards allowed him to sit down. Otherwise they would have been compelled to hold him up.

I get a sickness all around my penis, the man said. I got a small boil on penis, then I scratch it.

Are you a thief?

A looter.

Weakly he smoothed his sweaty hair.

First I have stab someone with a knife to get fifty shillings, the man said. Police complained and put me here.

Can you read?

No.

Do you know the Qur'an?

Yes.

Do you think about it now?

If I think about the Qur'an I know I am destroyed for everything. So I don't think about it anymore.

So you feel alone, do you?

I–I don't have a wife. My family is still alive. They too are hungry. They too are looters.

The Angel paced. — You know Whom I work for. He's preparing the sea of fire for you right now. Do you have anything further to say?

The man looked at him. — The only thing I can tell you is that I am sick, and if I can get some medicines I am better.

You know there's no medicine for you, the Angel said. You know that you were born for burning.

I want to be good, the man whispered. I want to be different, but my problems are not different.