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The Warden was a G,d fearing man and
believed even those going straight to hell had a chance to redeem themselves in
the eyes of the Lord. Of course, as everyone knew, the Warden would also tell a
man with his cheerful smile that the Lord loved him just as they injected him
to die. The Warden had a round beaming face, and with his job of segregating,
punishing, administering, disciplining, and executing the inmate population, it
was generally believed that he was the Devil himself.
Martin Sr.
didn’t mind too much the whole idea of praying. He thought that if he had
known G,d a bit better, he wouldn’t be there sitting thinking about why he
should have.
A line formed for communion. Martin Sr. shuffled along with
the rest of the prisoners.
Along the walls of the chapel room was written
the history of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary.
“Construction of the
Oklahoma State Penitentiary began in 1908 when the Oklahoma Legislature set
aside 1556 acres of land northwest of McAlester and appropriated $850,000 for
the state’s first prison Prior to statehood in 1907, all felons convicted
in Oklahoma Territory were sent to Kansas State Penitentiary. ”
Martin
Sr. had read the words over and over again. It filled him with a strange
ambivalence when he read them because convicts like himself – murderers,
rapists, robbers, arsonists, pedophiles – had lived their lives in this
place. Four generations of felons had come and gone. It was an awful place,
Martin Sr. thought, but he tried not to think too much of it too often because
it would eat him away.
Martin Sr. was a number by which he was identified
by the computers, and he assumed his place among the genealogy of convicts that
came before him. It was his new family lineage. Considering it wasn’t
likely he was going to outlive his sentence, the history of the Oklahoma State
Penitentiary replaced the stories of his own family and their lives. No matter
how one held it at bay, it slowly replaced one’s past.
“The
newest addition, ‘H Unit’ provides new quarters for disciplinary
segregation inmates, death row, and the lethal injection chamber. H unit also
houses Administrative Segregation and Level III general population
inmates.”
Martin Sr. had been to H Unit once before and how he lived
to tell about it was another story altogether.
He went up and made the
cross and got his grape juice and wafer. The same preacher had been coming to
give church services as long as he had been there – four or five years
now. The preacher, like the security guards, was confident and alert. But they
all had that look, the preacher included. It was hid deep behind their eyes,
but no matter how deep it was, a convict could always see it. It was a look of
utter terror and of thankfulness that if they survived, they would walk out at
the end of the day, and they never had to come back if they didn’t want
to. To Martin Sr., it was the most frightening look he had ever seen.
“Martin Williams?” Bill Rabin, a security guard, waved Martin
down.