ONCE INSIDE THE building, Mischa lined up her shoes at a red marker, gave her name to someone behind a window, and was directed into a room. She moved gingerly. Her ribs were so sore it hurt to breathe. Her lower back was seizing up. But she made it. The room had white walls and a desk. A guard stood with a clipboard and motioned her in.356Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHrcCIKSLVo
She gasped when she saw a woman lying prone in the corner. It was the woman asking about her parents, the one they'd beaten until she stopped asking.
"Barton," said the guard. "Parlez-vous francais?"
"That woman needs medical attention," said Mischa. "Elle a besoin d'un docteur."
"Ah, English." The guard didn't even look up from her clipboard. "You have---engagement ring?"
"This woman needs to see a doctor!" Mischa repeated.
"She is okay. You have...."
"No, I don't have an engagement ring." Women were allowed to bring their rings into prison, but Mischa figured it wouldn't last long in there, and she wanted to pass it on to Zoe or Hania when either of them got engaged.
The woman in the corner stood. Her head lifted and turned. Blood trickled from her mouth. Her right eye was swollen shut.
"Get this woman some help!" Mischa demanded, raising her arms and pointing to her---and wincing as she did so, the pain rocketing through her ribs.
"Watch?" the guard continued. "Yes, you have watch. Watch is okay."
The woman in the corner managed to look in Mischa's direction. "Ou sont mes parents?" she mumbled.
"Take off---clothing," the guard order.
"Hell no." Mischa took a step back. "That woman is barmy (mentally ill) and she's been seriously hurt. I'm not taking off my clothes until you help her."
The guard, for the first time, looked up at Mischa. "The clothes," she repeated.
Mischa stood her ground and shook her head.
The other woman reached into her pocket and removed a whistle. She gave it two quick blows. Almost instantly three more guards burst into the room.
"Elle ne se deshabillera pas," the guard said to the new reinforcements.
They hardly broke their stride as they moved toward her.
"No!" cried Mischa, but they were on her before she could even raise her hands. Their nightsticks were still at their waists. They were using their hands. She tried to push them away, to squirm out of their grip, but it didn't seem like a good idea to start throwing punches or kicking and scratching them, so she never stood a chance. They forced her to the floor and pinned down her arms. One of them tugged at her shirt with both hands until she managed to make a tear in the cotton at the top. Then they ripped their shirt right down the middle. The same guard ripped Mischa's bra off from the front before tugging on her pants until they came off. It took her a few tries at Mischa's panties before she ripped them apart, too, leaving her naked.
When it was over, the guards stood up and moved away from her. Mischa was naked, her clothes in tatters. And the door to the room was open, so every prisoner who'd been behind her in line was watching everything that happened.
"La," said the guard with the clipboard. "Now the clothes are off. Stand up."
Mischa rose to her feet with considerable pain.
"Raise the arms," she ordered Mischa. After she did so, the guard continued with her demands, part of the ritual search. "Open the hands. Lift the feet."
Then she snapped on rubber gloves. "Open the mouth." With no enthusiasm whatsoever, the guard inserted a tongue depressor in Mischa's mouth,, probing underneath her tongue and along each cheek. She just about gagged a couple of times.
Then the guard ran her fingers through Mischa's hair. Finding no contraband in her hair or mouth, or under her arms or feet, she had one place left to look.
"Turn and----bend---bend over," she said.
Mischa took a breath, turned around, and reached for her toes, stark naked as she was. The guard shone a small flashlight into her anus.
The prisoner in the corner was lying motionless again, her head back down on the floor.
"Cough," said the guard.
Mischa manufactured a cough. Two of the guards whispered and laughed. They made her stay in that contorted, vulnerable position, her privates exposed to the guards and the prisoners, for what must've been ten minutes. Unless there was something incredibly interesting about the inside of her anus (and in twenty-six years nobody had ever said so), or unless one of the guards was an aspiring proctologist, it seemed the guards were just making a point.356Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡS2XzJskGKa
They were humiliating her, violating her privacy, and making sure everyone understood that they could do it with impunity.356Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIeoRm4aAnO
