"Mark 'em and put 'em to work," he barked at the guards. Two uniformed men, who must have sneaked in while I was fascinated by the man behind the desk, seized me and started painting my forehead with an acrid fluid that stung like strong disinfectant in an open wound. I squinted my eyes and tried to look blank.
"This is indelible," one of them explained. "We have the chemical to take it off, but it doesn't come off till we say so."
When I had been marked, one of the guards took his ink and brush and advanced upon Bertha. The other addressed himself to me. "There is a choice of activities. There is the jute mill, the rock quarry, the stump-removal detail, the manure pile...."
"How about the steam laundry?" I asked, prompted now by the cold sound of a sudden gust of rain against the wooden side of the building.
Splukk! went the guard's kidney-sock as it landed on the right hinge of my jaw. Soft or not, it nearly dropped me.
"I said there is a choice—not you have a choice, shnook. Besides, the steam laundry is for the ladies. Don't forget who's in charge here."
"Who is in charge here, then?" I asked, strangely emboldened by the clout on the side of the jaw.
Splukk! "That's somethin' you don't need to know, shnook. You ain't gonna sue nobody. You signed a release—remember?"
I had nothing to say. My toes, I noted, looked much the same. Then, behind my back, I heard a sharp squeal from Bertha. "Stop that! Oh stop! Stop! The brochure said nothing about—"
"Take it easy lady," said the other guard in an oily-nasty voice. "I won't touch you none. Just wanted to see if you was amenable."