Chapter Forty-One #3
“Two of the guards on our tier. They went out of their way to make Corby’s life a living hell.”
“Why? What had he done?”
Manny looks away. Sighs and looks back. “He stood up to them. Called them on their shit. Now that I think about it, the whole thing started over you.”
“Over me? What do you mean?”
“You came to see Corby. It might have been your first visit. And one of those clowns hassled you about something. The metal detector maybe?”
I nod, recalling the incident. “He was harassing me. I forget his name but—”
“Piccardy. And when he finally let you into the visiting room, you were pretty shaken is what Corby told me. The next day, he got on Piccardy about it. Told him he’d better not ever treat you like that again, and that was all it took.
See, Piccardy and his wingman, Anselmo, were bullies.
And when Corby stood up to one of them, that made him their enemy. ”
I tell Manny I remember asking Corby to just let it go.
“Well, he wasn’t able to do that. He had to defend your honor, I guess.
But that was just the first thing. See, Anselmo and Piccardy were doing all kinds of shit but keeping it under the radar—or so they thought.
When Corby was on that work crew, he caught them abusing some wild turkeys that were roaming nearby.
Pepper-spraying them for fun. And he tried to blow the whistle on them about that.
And about Solomon, too. Like I said, those two liked to bully the weakest ones in the herd.
And because the kid was too screwed up to defend himself, Corby defended him.
They hated him for that, so things went from bad to worse.
They kept needling him. Goading him. Waking him up in the middle of the night to scare him.
One time they put a snake in our cell, but that bothered me a lot more than it did Corby. ”
“It sounds cruel but so childish.”
“Yeah, but then they went way over the line. Did something really bad to him.”
“What?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t… I mean, it explains why he started taking those benzos. Are you sure you want to know?”
I’m not sure, but I tell him I am. This is why I’ve driven here.
“Well, okay then. We were leaving chow one night and Anselmo stopped him. Accused him of swiping a salt shaker off the table. Everyone knew it was bogus, but it gave Anselmo an excuse to strip-search him. In private. Piccardy was off that day, but he was in on it. He was there.”
“Did they beat him up?” I ask.
“Not so anyone would be able to see,” he says.
“They wouldn’t risk that. But they found a way to humiliate him and shut him up.
And it changed Corby. The poor guy was nervous, depressed, couldn’t sleep.
He became afraid of them, so he’d stay in our cell if they were on duty together.
That was why he started taking those meds.
Which is why, when he was due to get out, he failed the drug test.”
“What are you saying, Manny? Why was he afraid?”
He bows his head. Doesn’t look at me. “At Yates, the COs carry defensive weapons. Pepper spray, batons. So that they can stop fights, control a crowd if a riot breaks out. And—”
“Batons?”
“You know, like the billy clubs cops used to carry, except these are metal rods that extend to about two, two and a half feet. In case they need to start swinging.”
“What? I don’t… Did they beat him with one of those?”
“No. They strip-searched him. Then they made him bend over, and raped him with it. Sodomized him.”
My stomach heaves. I have to get away before I lose it. “Excuse me,” I tell Manny, standing abruptly.
“Are you all right? You said you needed to know, but—”
I rush past stores and kiosks until I find a restroom.
Lock myself in a stall, put my head down, and cry long and hard for Corby.
When I’m finally able to stop, I go to the sink and splash cold water on the puffy red face in the mirror.
I leave and Manny’s standing there, waiting for me.
“You forgot this,” he says, handing me the envelope.
I manage a thank-you, but I need to get in my car and drive away from here.
“It caught up with them eventually, Emily,” he says.
“Not what they did to Corby, but they were pulling stuff with other guys, too. They both got fired. Then they got arrested. Corby knew about that at least. I just wish he had lived long enough to know they’re both doing time now, one in upstate New York and the other in Massachusetts.
And if word’s gotten out about the crap they were pulling at Yates, they better watch their backs twenty-four seven. ”
It’s spontaneous. I reach out and touch his cheek, and he puts his hand over my hand. I tell him I really have to go.
“Yeah. Hey, listen. After they let me leave Connecticut, I’m moving back to Jersey. Me and my sister inherited a motel from our uncle. It’s just over the GW Bridge in Fort Lee. If you’re passing through and you want a place to stay, you’re welcome anytime. Free of charge.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I start walking fast toward the Nordstrom exit.
“It’s on Route Nine, close to where Palisades Park used to be.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“There’s a pool! And free continental breakfast! Anytime, Emily.”
Driving home, I can’t unhear the things I heard.
Metal rods that extend to about two, two and a half feet.
Raped him with it. Sodomized him .… Whenever he felt like giving up, he’d hold it and it would give him hope.
… I’d hear him crying down there, sometimes even when he was asleep.
… Addicts usually give themselves away in one way or another.
I might have smelled alcohol on Corby’s breath once when I got home from school.
And when I counted his Ativan that time, I wondered why he was going to run out before he could get a refill.
But he was so touchy about everything by then, I figured I’d monitor the situation instead of saying something and getting into another fight.
So maybe there were signs. Maybe he was giving himself away, waiting for me to notice.
When Corby’s remains came back from the crematorium, his mother and I agreed to divide his ashes: half to her, half to me.
Vicki bought a plot at the Sheltering Arms Cemetery.
To memorialize her son, she had a flat stone carved and installed.
Her portion of Corby’s remains were buried at the foot of it so she could have a place to visit and a grave to decorate.
This all happened a year and a half ago.
Meanwhile, my canister of his remains has sat on a shelf in my bedroom closet since I received them, but it’s time for me to stop procrastinating.
Given Corby’s love of nature, I decide I’ll release the ashes I have into the Wequonnoc river.
There’s a boat launch at the river’s approach to Three Rivers.
I pick a date, imagine a small early morning service, and jot down whom to invite: Corby’s parents, of course; Manny; Dr. Patel; Mrs. Millman.
I’d invite Solomon if he was well enough to come, but I wouldn’t know how to contact him.
Should I include Maisie? I’m undecided. The concept of her birth father having been transformed into dust and bone fragments might be difficult for her to handle.
Maybe I’ll have her stay home with Bryan.
That evening, thinking about my plans for the memorial, I remember that Solomon’s stepmother, Adrienne, and I exchanged phone numbers that night at the prison.
I find her in my contacts and call her the next morning.
She says she’s sorry for my loss and sorry that she’s late in acknowledging it.
“I found out how much your husband advocated for Solomon when he was at Yates, and that he paid a price for doing that.” She doesn’t say how she knows this and I don’t ask.
“So how is Solomon doing?” I ask.
“ Much better,” she says. I tell her I’m calling to invite him to join us when we scatter Corby’s ashes. Give her the date and the time and ask if she could let him know. “But please tell him not to feel obligated.”
She says she and Solomon have very limited contact these days, but she’ll make sure he gets the message.
“A couple from the tribe, Ron and Bev Bramlett, have taken him under their wing and he lives with them on the reservation now. I’ll call Bev and let her know.
Solomon works at the casino in food service.
I didn’t imagine he’d ever be able to hold down a job, but he’s done very well.
The medication he’s on has helped. There are side effects but the gains he’s made have been worth it. ”
I tell her that’s wonderful to hear and would have made Corby very happy.
When I call Manny’s halfway house, I learn that he has left the state.
Dr. Patel says she wishes she could come but will be in Europe.
While I have her on the phone, I ask her whether I should bring Maisie to the service.
“Well, Emily, you’ve told me more than once that you came to regret having withheld Maisie from her father while he was in prison.
Why would you withhold her from an opportunity to tell him goodbye? ”
“Because if I try to explain cremation to her, it might scare her.”
“Then don’t dwell on that. Maybe you could give her a task—something she can focus on so that she feels she has an important part in what’s happening. That’s my suggestion, but of course it’s up to you.”
“Oh, dear, we have a commitment that morning,” Mrs. Millman says.
“But that will be over by midmorning. Hey, I have an idea. Since you’re going to be in that area anyway, how would you like to see your husband’s mural?
I’m retired now and the library hasn’t reopened since Covid, but I’m sure I can arrange a visit.
Maybe we could meet there after Corby’s service. ”