Thirty minutes from the time the women had entered the room, a loud bell sounded and the women stood up. Paulita snatched a lone green bean from a plate next to her. Tracy joined her in the line, and the women began the march back to their cells. Supper was over. It was four o'clock in the afternoon — five long hours to endure before lights out.

When Tracy returned to the cell, Ernestine Littlechap was already there. Tracy wondered incuriously where she had bee at dinnertime. Tracy looked at the toilet in the corner. She desperately needed to use it, but she could not bring herself to do so in front of these women. She would wait until the lights went out. She sat down on the edge of her bunk.

Ernestine Littlechap said, “I understan' you didn't eat none of your supper. Tha's stupid.”

How could she have known that? And why should she care? “How do I see the warden?”

“You put in a written request. The guards use it for toilet paper. They figure any cunt who wants to see the warden is a troublemaker.” She walked over to Tracy. “There's lotsa things kin get you in trouble here. What you need is a friend who kin he'p keep you outta trouble.” She smiled, showing a gold front tooth. Her voice was soft. “Someone who knows their way around the zoo.”

Tracy looked up into the black woman's grinning face. It seemed to be floating somewhere near the ceiling.

It was the tallest thing she had ever seen.

That's a giraffe, her father said.

They were at the zoo in Audubon Park. Tracy loved the park. On Sundays they went there to listen to the band concerts and afterward her mother and father took her to the aquarium or the zoo. They walked slowly, looking at the animals in the cages.

Don't they hate being locked up, Papa?

Her father laughed. No. Tracy. They have a wonderful life They're taken care of and fed, and their enemies can't get them.

They looked unhappy to Tracy. She wanted to open their cages and let them out. l wouldn't ever want to be locked up like that, Tracy thought.

At 8:45 the warning bell rang throughout the prison. Tracy's cell mates began to undress. Tracy did not move.

Lola said, “You got fifteen minutes to get ready for bed.”

The women had stripped and put.on nightgowns. The peroxided-blond matron passed the cell. She stopped when she saw Tracy lying on her cot.

“Get undressed,” she ordered. She turned to Ernestine. “Didn't you tell her?”

“Yeah. We tol' her.”

The matron turned back to Tracy. “We got a way of takin' care of troublemakers,” she warned. “You do what you're told here, or I'll bust your ass.” The matron moved down the hall.

Paulita cautioned, “You better listen to her, baby. Old Iron Pants is one mean bitch.”

Slowly, Tracy rose and began to undress, keeping her back to the others. She took off all her clothes, with the exception of her panties, and slipped the coarse nightgown over her head. She felt the eyes of the other women on her.

“You got a real nice body,” Paulita commented.

“Yeah, real nice,” Lola echoed.

Tracy felt a shiver go through her.

Ernestine moved over to Tracy and looked down at her. “We're your friends. We gonna take good care of you.” Her voice was hoarse with excitement.

Tracy wildly jerked around. “Leave me alone! All of you. I'm — I'm not that way.”

The black woman chuckled. “You'll be any way we want you to be, baby.”

“Hay tiempo. There's plenty of time.”

The lights went out.

The dark was Tracy's enemy. She sat on the edge of her bunk, her body tense. She could sense the others waiting to pounce on her. Or was it her imagination? She was so overwrought that everything seemed to be a threat. Had they threatened her? Not really. They were probably just trying to be friendly, and she had read sinister implications into their overtures. She had heard about homosexual activity in prisons, but that had to be the exception rather than the rule. A prison would not permit that sort of behavior.

Still, there was a nagging doubt. She decided she would stay awake all night. If one of them made a move, she would call for help. It was the responsibility of the guards to see that nothing happened to the inmates. She reassured herself that there was nothing to worry about. She would just have to stay alert.

Tracy sat on the edge of her bunk in the dark, listening to every sound. One by one she heard the three women go to the toilet, use it, and return to their bunks. When Tracy could stand it no longer, she made her way to the toilet. She tried to flush it, but it did not work. The stench was almost unbearable. She hurried back to her cot and sat there. It will be light soon, she thought. In the morning I'll ask to see the warden. I'll tell him about the baby. He'll have me moved to another cell.

Tracy's body was tense and cramped. She lay back on her bunk and within seconds felt something crawling across her neck. She stifled a scream. I've got to stand it until morning. Everything will be all right in the morning, Tracy thought. One minute at a time.

At 3:00 she could no longer keep her eyes open. She slept.

She was awakened by a hand clamped across her mouth and two hands grabbing at her breasts. She tried to sit up and scream, and she felt her nightgown and underpants being ripped away. Hands slid between her thighs, forcing her legs apart. Tracy fought savagely, struggling to rise.

“Take it easy,” a voice in the dark whispered, “and you won't get hurt.”

Tracy lashed out at the voice with her feet. She connected with solid flesh.

“Carajo! Give it to the bitch,” the voice gasped. “Get her on the floor!”

A hard fist smashed into Tracy's face and another into her stomach. Someone was on top of her, holding her down, smothering her, while obscene hands violated her.

Tracy broke loose for an instant, but one of the women grabbed her and slammed her head against the bars. She felt the blood spurt from her nose. She was thrown to the concrete floor, and her hands and legs were pinned down. Tracy fought like a madwoman, but she was no match for the three of them. She felt cold hands and hot tongues caressing her body. Her legs were spread apart and a hard, cold object was shoved inside her. She writhed helplessly, desperately trying to call out. An arm moved across her mouth, and Tracy sank her teeth into it, biting down with all her strength.

There was a muffled cry. “You cunt!”

Fists pounded her face…. She sank into the pain, deeper and deeper, until finally she felt nothing.

It was the clanging of the bell that awakened her. She was lying on the cold cement floor of her cell, naked. Her three cell mates were in their bunks.

In the corridor, Iron Pants was calling out, “Rise and shine.” As the matron passed the cell, she saw Tracy lying on the floor in a small pool of blood, her face battered and one eye swollen shut.

“What the hell's goin' on here?” She unlocked the door and stepped inside the cell.

“She musta fell outta her bunk,” Ernestine Littlechap offered.

The matron walked over to Tracy's side and nudged her with her foot. “You! Get up.”

Tracy heard the voice from a far distance. Yes, she thought, I must get up; I must get out of here. But she was unable to move. Her body was screaming out with pain.

The matron grabbed Tracy's elbows and pulled her to a sitting position, and Tracy almost fainted from the agony.

“What happened?”

Through one eye Tracy saw the blurred outlines of her cell mates silently waiting for her answer.

“I — I —” Tracy tried to speak, but no words would come out. She tried again, and some deep-seated atavistic instinct made her say, “I fell off my bunk….”