I was led into an anteroom where other prisoners were being put through the regular fingerprinting procedure. I refused; there was a definite connection in my mind between admission of guilt and fingerprinting; both in their different ways placed me in the category of criminals. My refractoriness was reported to the court. But the judges, poor dears, had worn themselves out trying to avoid sending me to jail and were exasperated and cross; one more rebellion was too much for them. “Don’t bother us with that. It’s not our job. Take her away.”
We were then herded through the rear of the building into an open yard where the van was standing. The careless youth who had answered the court’s call with such unconcern was waving farewell to friends who loitered outside.
“How long, Alf?” asked one.
“Five years,” and he laughed as he said it.
Two more boys, their arms fraternally flung across one another’s shoulders, shouted, “Three!” and, “Four!” consecutively. Were they normal? Could liberty be of so little account? The muscles in my throat contracted as I pictured the maternal love once spent on their infancy, and now the reckless disregard for freedom culminating in this ride. Thirty days seemed to me the end of the world, but they made light of marking time in life for years, calling this their “sleeping time.” They paid no attention to me; I was entirely out of their realm.
The women huddled beside me were more serious. An hysterical and tearful “one-monther” had been obliged to leave her small four-year-old son sitting on the veranda watching for her return. She had not even been allowed to go back to see him and arrange for his care during her absence.
Some experiences, though unexpected, are nevertheless partially anticipated in the subconscious. I had believed fully and firmly that some miracle would occur to keep me from going to jail. There had been no miracle. The doors banged shut, two blue uniforms stared stolidly at each other, the automobile jerked forward.
The trip to Raymond Street was short. We were ushered into a waiting room. A thin-lipped attendant of huge size callously pushed one weeping girl through the door.
“Get ready there, you!” she tossed over her shoulder at me.
“For what?”