life of a prisoner

        Her C.O., and whoever else was copied on her mission, had to know she was being kept naked.  She was convinced of that.  Though nudity was necessary for the inspection, the inspectors must have thought it odd that she didn’t come in dressed in at least a robe.  And there was the all-over tan, and the tough soles.  The inspectors were obviously hindered by narrow terms of reference, but permanent nudity was the only possible explanation for the tan and the soles.  What else could be inferred?  That she was allowed to sunbathe nude?  That she liked going barefoot?  She smiled mordantly at the absurdity of someone engaging in such speculations, and paused for a moment in her labors, standing upright, only a little winded, her toes curling over the top of the shovel blade.  The day had to come, and come soon, when she would be led to the Warden’s office and given her release, and a set of clothes and an airplane ticket back to Base.

        She returned to shoveling.  The short water break at 10 o’clock, then they went back, advancing to another series of dirt piles and another truck.  She was in the middle of the line, distinguished by her nudity and by being the only one using her shovel left-handed.  She noticed that this was the sixteenth time during her captivity that they had done this earth-moving work; and the fifth time this month.  Judging from the bus routes, the locations were all close to each other.  She also knew that earthen barriers were used in the nuclear reactors that this country was suspected of building.

        The ability to observe minutely, and to remember what she observed, were critical to her mission and she continued to use her professional capabilities while an inmate.  She had been noticing that the guard for her wing (she thought of her as “Tasha”) did not like being given orders by her boss, a kind of sergeant (whom she thought of as “Natalya”).  And that Natalya seemed to be in bad graces with the Assistant Warden.  And that Natalya seemed to come to work with a hangover a few times recently.  A guard with an alcohol problem, disliked by the others and afraid of losing her job, could perhaps be cultivated.  The nude prisoner had noticed that Tasha had not been at her post a few times.  Last month the nude had looked, with a calculated degree of surprise, at the empty station on the wing -- so that Natalya noticed her face and then the empty station.  Natalya no doubt put Tasha on report, and was grateful for the tip.

        The high heat of the day arrived before the 1 o’clock lunch.  The nude prisoner was sweating profusely but so were the rest in her coffle, possibly more so in their uniforms.  Sweat dripped from the nude’s chin, from the downward slopes of her tanned jiggling breasts with big sun-darkened nipples, and rivered from her saturated pubic bush down each muscular leg to the bare insteps.  Now lunch: water, coffee and a sandwich.  She ate alone, the prisoners sitting apart, conversing quietly.

        Now the truck left and the prisoners were led over a small hill.  There was a large field of corn, then further on what looked like a ravine.  The next task was to pluck the ears and throw them into rolling bins pulled by the guards in little motorized carts.  It seemed too early in the season to be doing this and the plants were green and hard to pick.  But she efficiently grabbed the ears and bent and snapped them from the stalks, glad she didn’t have to husk them.  The bare ears of corn, their shape and their regular bumpy rows, would remind her of the “interrogations”.