Another excerpt from my prison journal, keeping with the theme of inmnate portraits.
RAUL
I know Raul better than the other Spanish guys who storm the corridors without moving aside, dominate the kitchen staff, stealing brazenly and selling their hoists to the other prisoners, gathered together in their own corridor, their arguments in loud Spanish dialect. Raul, such a departure, a gentle soul, tall and handsome, not macho like the others, but not weak either. He spans the dorm after supper delivering his Christian prayers and messages on torn strips of loosleaf paper, a tiny but clear precise print, bowing his head as he hands you his strips, his clumsy English:
“For you my friend.” The messages always ending: “Jesus loves you.”
I don’t know his crime, like I don’t know most crimes, nor do I want to.A shy last look-right in your eyes, just before departing. So gentle this man. Could make you weep.
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