by Susanne Beck
"No problem." Squeezing my shoulder once more, Phyllis levered herself off the table and turned to Corinne. "See you later?"
My friend dimpled. "Sounds good."
"Till then."
As the guard sauntered out, I turned to stare at Corinne, a smug grin on my own lips. "Corinne," I mock-chided, "are you going to get that poor guard in trouble with your lascivious nature?"
She turned her own smirk back at me. "I never kiss and tell, Angel."
"You should. Peter was a bit . . .dull. I could use a few pointers."
Her smile turned into a leer. "I’d be happy to show you."
I made a show of rolling my eyes. "We’re not going to start that again, are we? Besides, what would Phyllis think?"
"She’d think I was damned lucky," my friend growled.
"Enough of that." Pushing myself away from the table, I stood, idly twirling the long, thin package in my hands. Walking over to Corinne’s desk, I placed it in front of her. "Would you be sure Ice gets this?"
"I’m no postman. Give it to her yourself."
"No . . .I don’t think that would be a good idea. Really. Maybe I’ll get one of the Amazons to . . . ."
"Angel, you’re going to have to face her sometime, you know."
I sighed. "I know. But it’s only been a week. For all I know, she’ll take one look at me and send me flying out of her cell with one of those kicks of hers. I’ll be laid up for weeks! Who’ll help you with the library?"
My friend eyed me. "Don’t make up excuses to cover your cowardice, Angel. This deal is between the two of you. No one else. Just go up there and give her the package. It’s not like she’s gonna bite you." The leer returned. "Unless you want her to."
"Corinne . . . ."
She flapped her arm at me. "Just deliver your package and leave me be. I’ve got a date to prepare for."
Sighing, I retrieved the box. "This never gets any easier, does it."
"Nope. That’s what makes it so much fun. Now shoo."
With a last pleading glance, and seeing no help would be found, I spun on my heel and made my way out of my sanctuary.
The mind is an amazing creature, especially in its morbid tendency to spew out thoughts best locked away deep in the cavern of the subconscious. As I walked down the long, dim hallway leading from the library to the prison proper, I could almost see in front of me a black-garbed priest softly chanting the Lord’s Prayer as guards kept pace beside me.
The box in my hands became chains on my wrists and my heart sped up as my mouth became dry as dust. I imagined a cold gust of winter air that swept across my body and my skin responded as the hair lifted from my arms in stiff spikes. Just as I was beginning to wonder why my imaginary companions had morphed into the garb of Roman centurions, the hallway opened out into the prison’s main square, leaving me slack jawed and blinking with its sudden brightness.
"Angel," I whispered to myself, "you’ve got to start getting out more. I think that library’s starting to have a bad influence on you."
A few strange looks were cast my way by passing inmates and I firmly pushed the spectral visions from my mind, resolutely stalking toward the near stairwell as if I hadn’t a care in the world.
Ice’s cell was on the eighth floor and as I mounted the steps, quickly climbing, I wondered how she and the other inmates could stand to climb so much just to get to their rooms. My time with the Amazons had put me into pretty good shape by then, though, so the trek wasn’t as bad as it might have been months earlier.
Still, a ball of cold lead seemed to have taken up residence in my stomach, growing larger and heavier each step I climbed so that by the time I had reached the top, I wasn’t sure if I could take another step.
As I stood on the final landing, trying to regain both my strength and my will, I looked around and was thankful that most of the block seemed to be free of human habitation. Calming my breathing and centering my thoughts, I gave myself one of my patented pep-talks. "Alright, Angel, let’s get moving. Nothing to it, right? Just go in there, give her the package and leave. It’s not as if she’s gonna ask you in for tea, right? She’ll probably just grunt at you and send you on your way. No big deal, right?"
Right.
So why was my heart trip-hammering in my chest? Why was my skull pounding fit to burst and my guts twisting inside me like a roll of barbed wire? "Oh God. I think I’m gonna be sick."
A passing inmate, one of the few up and around on level eight, paused next to me, looking at me with concern. "Are you alright?"
I managed a weak smile. "Oh yeah. Never better." As she continued to look at me strangely, I frantically searched for something to say. "I’m . . .um . . .lost, I think. Can you tell me which cell is Ice’s?"
The inmate’s puzzled look turned into a smile. "Yeah, sure." Half turning her body, she pointed down the catwalk bordering the cells. "Last one to the left down there, in the corner. H-324."
"Thanks!"
"Hey, no problem! See ya around." I didn’t miss the speculative glance I got from my new acquaintance, and for whatever reason, it made my heart lighter. Ha! Take that, Ice! I don’t need to be scared of you. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.
Ok, so it was a bad analogy.
Heading down the catwalk with a lighter step, I glanced curiously into the cells I was passing. The eighth floor, for the most part, housed the most dangerous criminals in the Bog. Because of this, the prison authorities thought it best to give them single rooms. These rooms were the same size as the regular cells, but instead of a second bunk, a long stainless steel table ran along one wall.
Unlike the rest of the prison population, the warden’s edict banning items of a personal nature didn’t appear to extend to the worst of the worst. I wasn’t sure why this was exactly, but figured that a happy murderer was a safe murderer and so left my thoughts at that, lest I start becoming perturbed at the unfair irony of the worst getting the best.
At long last, I was standing outside of Ice’s cell, my body pressed up against the cool, pebbled cement of the wall. Maybe she’s not in! my mind shouted. Yeah, right. You’re not that lucky.
It’s absolutely amazing how your body can ignore a firm directive from your mind. Of course, at the time, my mind was shouting conflicting orders at it, but still, it was more stubborn than a mule, confused or not.
Suddenly a deep, sensuous voice broke into my thoughts. "Ya might as well come in, Angel. I can hear you breathing out there."
Flushing with embarrassment and not a little shock, I pushed myself away from the wall and walked toward the open door of Ice’s cell, pausing just outside and staring in.
Ice was lounging on her bunk, her back pressed up against the far wall as the rest of her long, strong body lay in peaceful repose, one leg cocked at the knee, the other fully extended. A thick paperback lay face down against her lower abdomen, its spine creased from many readings. The glare of the overhead flourescents made catching the title all but impossible, not that I didn’t try.
After a moment, I held up my encumbered hand. "I . . .um . . .your package came in today. Corinne suggested I come up here and drop it off."
Smiling slightly, showing no more than the barest quirk of her full lips, Ice shifted on the bed, then placed her feet on the floor, standing with the fluid grace that haunted my dreams. I was mesmerized. Again.
Watching as she came toward me, I licked my lips, still holding out my arm and willing my hand not to tremble as the heat of her body wrapped itself around mine, caressing my skin. Reaching out a long arm, she took the box from my hand, looking down at the untouched wrapping, then back up at me, one eyebrow raised to her hairline.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. Just surprised it isn’t opened."
"Oh. Well, I trust you."
The eyebrow went higher.
I smiled weakly. "Besides, I’ve seen you fight."
Her little half smile came out again and I resisted shaking my head against the feelings that
simple expression engendered in me. Her fierce eyes softened as they regarded me and, from deep within my heart, I felt the tug of whatever connection we seemed to possess. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft, her hand hefting the package and tossing it lightly.
"No problem."
How long we stood there, looking at one another in perfect silence, I’ll never know. As with our first meeting, whole centuries seemed to fall away with the weight of each breath. It was like looking at an old and cherished photo album that you forgot even existed and getting warm and happy from the memories. At the same time, it was much more, this connection. And much less. It had about it a simplicity so fundamental and a complexity so profound that my mind just decided to give up the ghost and simply ‘be’.
Though I didn’t want to break the moment, some part of me eventually came to the decision that this wasn’t the best of ideas, and so I broke the lock of our gazes, my eyes touring the room, looking for some safe space to land my gaze.
As if by providence, my eyes landed on the metal table that ran the length of one wall of Ice’s cell. It’s chill, shining finish was covered with a beautiful silk cloth, done up in purples, yellows, blues and reds of varying hues and emblazoned with what looked to be Chinese characters. Or they could have been Japanese. My Asian isn’t all that great, truth be known.
On the cloth, side by side, sat four bonsai trees looking like visions of a world far from here. The love and care that had gone into their shaping was obvious and, quite beyond my conscious will, my body was drawn to what my eyes were seeing. I barely felt the shifting presence as Ice stepped back to allow me into the cell.
Striding over to the table as if gliding on currents of warm summer air, I stopped at the boundary and simply stared, completely taken in by the vision before me. The four small trees bore the distinct stamp of proud individuality, yet when seen as a unit, they seemed to tell a story, the meaning of which darted teasingly around in my brain, tossing out hints which I failed to catch.
Looking at them was like seeing into someone else’s soul, all violent beauty, gentle caring and turbulent emotions fighting for space within the fragile shell of a living being. The deep profundity of hidden meanings niggled at me, stirring my curiosity, but rather than give into them, I chose to look upon the stark simplicity of the works before me. I imagined feeling warm sunlight on my face as it shone, dappled, through the leaves of a forested glen. The feeling of ultimate freedom and tender peace filtered down to me with the light, cocooning me in its gossamer web. It was like looking through a window and seeing an unending vista filled with warmth, peace and love. "Beautiful," I breathed.
Looking at art affected me that way and, in all honesty, still does. I hope to never lose that part of myself that sees joy and wonder in the most simple of things.
The soft sound of a throat being cleared broke me from my rapture and I turned to see Ice, looking faintly embarrassed and staring down at the box in her hands. "Thanks," she mumbled.
The look on her face made her fully human for the first time to me and I couldn’t help the feeling of surprised giddiness that went flowing through my heart and body. Laughter threatened to bubble up, but I remembered who I was with and tamped down on it, reining in control over my sometimes flighty emotions. "They really are beautiful," I replied softly. "Spiritual, almost. But primal too. A wonderful paradox."
When her eyes met mine, I saw the embarrassment had brought with it a bit of defensiveness. "Angel, they’re trees."
"Lying won’t help your case any," I replied, figuring that gentle teasing might do the trick. "They’re more than just trees and the work you’ve put into them proves my point quite nicely, don’t you think?"
She scowled at me, but didn’t refute my words. Inside, I pumped a triumphant fist.
"Come on, Ice. People must tell you that a hundred times a day! These are magnificent."
"Actually, no," she countered, getting a little of her confidence back. "Aside from the guards, you’re the first person I’ve ever allowed into my cell."
Ohhhhh shit. I reached my hand up to scratch at the back of my neck, something I did often when I needed to think quickly and the answers just weren’t coming. "I’m . . . sorry. I . . .didn’t mean . . . . It’s just that . . . they were so beautiful and I . . . ."
She smiled, slightly, one that reached her eyes and made them soft and warm. "It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean any harm."
My relief was palpable. "Thank you."
"No problem."
For lack of anything better to do, I let my gaze wander again. On the wall above the bonsai was a large map that looked to be from National Geographic. It sported the title "Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire". With little icons of battle plans and weaponry, it seemed incongruous, sitting as it was above a scene of such absolute tranquility. As I looked around further, I noticed smaller maps scattered about on the green-painted walls, each showing the territory of a once powerful empire which was, eventually, crushed to dust beneath the boot-heels of a stronger army.
"Interesting hobby," I remarked, more to hear myself speak than anything else. "Is there a message behind these?"
"World domination."
I whirled back to face her, catching the slightly sarcastic grin that made its way across her beautiful face. "Very funny."
Her eyebrow went up again. "What makes you think I’m joking?"
I stared at her for a moment, then shook my head. Something told me there was more truth to those words than I wanted to hear.
The small space around us, and the energy with which we were filling it, became too intense suddenly. I’m afraid I took the coward’s way out. "Well, I guess I should go now. I hope you enjoy your rake."
"I’m sure I will. And thank you."
I couldn’t help it. I had to smile. "You’re very welcome. Anytime. If you ever need anything else, just remember who can get it for you."
"I’ll keep that in mind."
"You do that. Well, I guess I’ll see you around?" Intense as the situation was, part of me, a big part, was absolutely loathe to leave.
At her nod, I grinned again and walked to the barred door of the cell. Just at the threshhold, I paused and turned back. "Ice?"
"Yes?"
"I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. About what happened last week. My words put you in a bad position and I want you to know that I never meant to do that."
"It’s already forgotten."
"Thanks!" I paused, desperately trying to think of something to say, but my words, it seemed, had been all used up. "Well, goodbye, Ice."
"Goodbye, Angel."
As I stepped from the cell, not looking back, I had a distinct sense of loss. But the knowledge that she had both forgiven me for my indiscretion and allowed me into a place where no one else had ever gone warmed me like a blanket on a cold winter morning. I carried that feeling within me and savored it at odd moments.
It was a good day.
The next several weeks traveled on in their usual interminable fashion. As before, I spent most of my time in the library, cataloguing, writing, teaching and chatting with Corinne and the others who also made this place their home. I continued my daily workouts with the Amazons and sometimes, if I was lucky, Ice would join us for a bit.
When that happened, invariably what seemed like half of the prison would gather around, watching her athletic form go through its paces while badgering and begging her for the finer points of some of her varied fighting techniques. Some questions she just ignored, while others she would answer with a demonstration, using one or another of the Amazons as a sparring partner.
Like the others, I watched her every move and when I wasn’t drooling over the perfection of her body, I was taking furious mental notes, learning everything I could from a woman who was, in my estimation, one of the greatest fighters ever. Not that I'd ever had cause to see many up close and personal, mind you. But, as you can no doubt tell by reading this far into my tale, when it comes to Ice,
I can be quite biased.
One such morning found me out in the yard, my bare foot red and stinging from repeated kicks to the canvas heavy bag that continued to mock me with its smug complacency. My lesson today was round kicks and Pony, as always, was a patient teacher. She’d started off easy, marking a spot on the dirty canvas with a piece of cinder and asking me to kick at it repeatedly with my right leg, demanding that I hit the exact same spot with each blow. After I had managed to hit the mark flawlessly for what felt like three or four thousand repetitions, she moved the mark higher, then higher again until my body was completely laid out and I was forced to stand up on my toes just to launch the kick. The tendons in my groin bellowed out their protests quite stridently.
After missing the mark for the tenth time in a row, I stopped, panting lightly and putting my hands on my hips. "I can’t do it, Pony. I’m just not tall enough."
Suddenly, the radiating heat of another body slid itself against my back as hands moved to displace my own from my hips. Long, tanned fingers took their place, splaying slightly against my abdomen. "Sure ya are," came the low, sultry voice in my ear, its tenor, combined with the supple strength of the body behind me, sending entirely different signals to the tendons, as well as other areas, in my groin.
The voice came at me again, caressing my senses as the warmth of strong flesh leeched itself through the resilient fabric of my jumpsuit. "You’re just not in the right position."
As you might have already guessed, at that point in time, I could think of no other position in the world that could have possibly been more right than the one I was in.
Strong hips thrust lightly against my backside, angling my pelvis so that my right side was slightly closer to the hanging bag. "It’s all in the positioning, Angel. Feel my body as I make the kick."
Melding us seamlessly together, Ice launched a light round kick to the topmost part of the heavy-bag. Even with a teasing shot, the chain rattled out its protest as the bag swayed as if blown by a violent wind. The feeling of Ice’s body uncoiling against me as she released the blow was indescribable.