Free The Enchanted by Rene Denfeld Page A

slowly raised, and the bus pulls inside. The men are hustled off the bus. For some this will be the beginning of forever. They are not thinking about that. They are stiff from the long drive—the transport bus picks up new inmates from jails all over the state. They are bored and ready for their new life to commence, whatever it is.
    The white-haired boy blinks in the sunlight, his chains dangling off slender arms, and the guards look at him and wince without knowing it. They know the score. Things happen in this enchanted place that no one can control.
    The new men are quickly herded into a prison door. WELCOME TO THE STAT PRISON says a sign on the wall with crooked stick-on black letters under bolted glass. The E has fallen off and lies at the bottom of the frame. The men are ordered to sit. A guard moves along the row and takes off their shackles. The boy stares at the guard standing by a door and holding a rifle in his hands. The boy stares at the rifle. He realizes with a start that he has never seen a gun except for the ones on police officers and sheriffs.
    When it comes his turn, the white-haired boy is called through the door. Inside a small concrete room waits a bored-looking guard wearing blue latex gloves.
    â€œUndress,” the guard says in a nasal voice. The boy quickly strips. The boy has the soft belly of youth. Histender penis has curled up into its nest of white hair. “Turn around.” The boy turns. “Bend and spread.” The boy bends and spreads. The guard only looks. “Turn and lift.” He turns and lifts his penis. The guard reaches under his ball sack and feels with slippery-gloved fingers. “Dress.”
    The boy feels relief. That wasn’t so bad. He picks his prison uniform from the large industrial laundry bins lined along the side of the room. Even the smallest size floats on him. But after months dressed in jail clothes, waiting for trial, the orange uniform feels like a relief to the white-haired boy. In jail, waiting for trial, he wasn’t allowed shoes with laces. He laces his work shoes with satisfaction.
    When they are all dressed, the new men are led down a hall into a large room. They sit in folding chairs and hold their new papers in their laps. It could be a classroom except for the bars on the windows.
    â€œYou came to prison as punishment, not for punishment,” the guard at the head of the room tells them. “Make the most of it.”
    The new men are quickly led through the system. They are given a sheaf of papers: work assignments, cellblock assignments, a small manual of religious services, and a thicker manual of disciplinary rules.
    The guard tells them if they have a problem to fill out a kite. The boy is confused until he realizes a kite is a complaint form. Each man is given a dozen.
    Orientation is over. The white-haired boy is told to reportto Cellblock G after free time in the yard for his cell assignment. He is surprised. He had thought he would be dragged to a cell and locked up. Instead, he and the others are let into the yard. The new men walk outside and look around the yard, and it seems the whole enchanted place stops for a moment and takes a breath. The guards stand rigid at the towers. When there are new arrivals, they are always like this. They scan the acclimation carefully.
    Some of the new inmates who have done time before casually walk over to old buddies. Others head to the picnic tables in the shade to read their papers. The others stand there, confused. The shot callers at the weight pile study the incomers with smiles.
    The white-haired boy feels sudden panic. He stands there, frozen. He is not sure what to do. How did I get here? he wonders. One day he was in math class, and then he was in jail, waiting for trial on auto theft charges. He knew what he did was stupid: He and his buddies took a car for a joyride. Now he is here, sentenced to two years. When he was being sentenced, the judge told him this was his