I go through different stages in this imprisonment. At the beginning I am in a state of confusion. They haven’t treated me wrong, in fact at first I thought they were doing it to protect me, as a group of people came to my house with the intention of lynching me. Perhaps they would have done so, had they not detain me before. But even so, I am nervous and afraid, obviously. I wonder what could have gone awry and how this will end. I deny all the charges, of course. Two men always come very clearly to my mind. One of them is a young man. The word “attorney” [in English in the original] always turns up in reference to him, he must be my public defender and he assures me he will do everything in his power for me. He is a fool believing he can do something, but at least he believes in me and will give it a try. The other one is an older and very serious man, black-haired and with a mustache, and he doesn’t believe me. I read in his eyes that he wants to see me dead as much as they do. He thinks I am a monster. I don’t like him at all... with time I even hate him, though in those days I hated virtually everyone.
Sometimes some men (I don’t know if these are the same or others) come to speak to me. We all sit around the small table and they tell me how the situation stands. I am very upset. When they tell me the chances to be saved are low, I get down in the damps, but while they are in front of me I restrain myself and hold back the tears. I can’t believe they won’t absolve me as the other time. I think of the gallows and it makes me so afraid, of course, besides I think I don’t deserve it. Someone has left a piece of paper and a pen on the table, telling me that I can confess at any time if I want it to. But I do not intend to do so. I won’t give them that satisfaction.
At another time I also saw myself sitting at an office table, I am not very sure who was at the other side, maybe the prosecutor. He was asking me, “Why did you do it?” To which I replied, defiant, “Do what?” He was trying to scare me so that I make a confession, but I knew I would never, ever, admit the accusations against me.
I always wear a long, black dress. In one of the regressions I saw with all details the part of the chest and neck: I saw a piece of cloth that made a peak at the bottom, with little stripes as if it were a small pleating. At one side there seemed to be buttons and at the other something like buttonholes, but those that are separated from the cloth. And then I saw the typical lace collar, rounded and very close to the neck. I also saw the dress sleeves, long, tight, and ending with lace too. Now and then they come to the cell and take me to another place, where I have to undress so they can throw a bucket of freezing water over me. I feel so ashamed and desperate. As time passes, the physical deterioration is visible, and my hair looks more and more unkempt.
I know that a priest comes to preach to me from time to time, I listen to him (or pretend to) but I don’t give a damn about anything he says. I don’t know exactly when, but sometimes I also hear there is an uproar out there, around the prison, it is as if people is protesting about something or came to ask for my head. They remind me of the lynching attempt and how they had to protect me to bring me to prison... Again I feel so much fear and desolation. They don’t even know what that man (my third husband) used to do with his ex-wife, they don’t know what they did to me in my youth. Nobody knows that, because I’m supposed to be another woman, but this is another secret I will take to my grave. They don’t know anything about the beatings, the bathtub, or the desires for suicide. They know nothing but even so they have already judged me and they want my death. How unfair is life, how unfair is everything...
After the trial, they lock me up again and then I start to fall into utter despair. I still can’t believe that I have been condemned or that they are going to hang a woman. I am furious with my lawyer, who comes to visit me and tells me he will do everything he can to stop the execution, and he tells me to pray to God in the meantime. I answer him, “I don’t believe in God”. And then come to me those images of when I used to pray in the church with my missal and the veil (sometimes I used it to cover my bruises), and how I got married hoping that was the right thing to do, and then being forced to live in hell... I wonder how many women live condemned to something like that, and after going through all this, no, I don’t believe in God anymore. Excepting when I had my daughter and held her in my arms, the fruit of the love of someone who did care for me and tried to take me out or at least make that hell more bearable.
From then on I start losing the little sanity I had left. I spend my days curled up in a corner, with my knees below my chin, rocking back and forth, back and forth, more and more haggard with each passing day. One of the lawyers comes and gives me the bad news that things are getting darker and darker, they can’t do anything else for me. They tell me something like the townsfolk want me dead. I don’t know how much time I have left, but I know I am going to die in the gallows. I know that in front of other people I maintain my coldness and my composure, but when I am alone I break down and start to weep... I think, “I don’t deserve to end up in the gallows like a common criminal”. I get angry at God again for not answering my prayers. At some point I asked for a rosary of wooden beads and a crucifix. They think it is because I have become religious, but it is only because touching the beads calms me down. The truth is I have desires to stretch it out and break it up. With it in my hands I get asleep many times in a corner of the cell, shivering. I am going mad, I want to get out of here, it is not fair I am here, they were the abusers, she told me (my third husband’s second wife). Why can’t they see that?
I wish I could scream, but I don’t do it, lest they send me to an asylum, which would be worse than death. And, of course, I am terrified. I am so, so scared, mainly of the manner of death. I feel a lot of anxiety, sometimes I can’t breathe. There are days I refuse to eat, but eventually I do it again, as I think I already had the chance to kill myself and I didn’t do it, so now I won’t give them that satisfaction either, seeing me dead without further ado. Besides, it enrages me so, so much. The last days I am very depressed, but I still had a bit of pride. As the place is dirty I don’t even dare to sit down on the floor and I crouch in a corner, knowing that the bottom of the skirt is going to get stained.
I finish with another Arena song. This one is called “Fool’s gold”, and as always, it seems it was written expressly for me. I reproduce only the parts that resonate with me:
You think you can run from the hell you created
Never a thought for the fruits of your labour
Just some vague and fading picture
Fly to the valleys, fly to the hills
Try to exist on your own without feelings
Ripping your soul beyond all recognition
Unforgiven, twisted vision
Can you live with yourself and the deed you have done
Conquer your thoughts when all this has begun
It’s tearing your mind into guilt and regret
Troubled dreams - You’ll not forget this!
Digging deep for something of value
Will I find what I touched in a dream?
Then at my feet I find demons and devils
waiting to drag me down into the pit!
Digging deep for something of value
Will I find what I lost once before
From my soul there springs hope for redemption
A chance to walk the farthest shore
I made my own bed - I must lie here forever
I made my own prison - I must live out my life in it now
Are you really afraid when the sun sets at night
Are you really afraid when you lie down and close your eyes
Never a chance to retreat into sleep
The damage is done - now you shall reap justice