C6 Joana

"All right, it's just a normal prison," I said softly, wiping my wet hands on the side of my thin and chic pants. "He's just a normal inmate. Everything's fine.”

"If you don't feel prepared, Jo..." said João, but I interrupted him.

"I'm always prepared. It's just a shock of never having been so close to a place forgotten by God.”

"Now you understand me," he said, fixing his tie. "Wait until you are face-to-face with the despicable prison director. So you will regret even more wanting to help your friends. Also, remind me why did your sister ask you to take this case, particularly?”

"She is dating the deta's brother," I replied in a conspiratorial tone. There was never a bad time for gossip. "And, before they can take over publicly, our advisor kind of gave some guidelines to clean up all kinds of nebulous past that may exist in their lives.”

"And, as always, this part of cleaning ended up falling on your lap.”

" Exactly, my friend.”

João giggled.

"Get ready, friend, we will be entering through the gates of hell.”

"As long as you deal with the demon most of the situation," I shrugged, referring to the director of the place. "I'll be calmer.”

"He's done enough shit to provoke others," said João, although his countenance has become darker. "You leave that shit to me.”

I nodded in silence, and let John walk in front of me, making his way through the concrete path that gave way to the gates of hell. He was the one who told me what we were doing there, and I kept quiet, submissive.

Police officers were difficult to deal with. All of them have always been. I knew my role, I knew where to put myself, and I didn't need to prove anything to them.

I turned my eyes away from everyone who watched me with a hint of suspicion. Few believed in that withdrawn posture, but it didn't matter. I just didn't want to draw attention.

João and I were escorted outside the prison, so we didn't have to go through the cells or any corridor that an inmate might be using at that time.

We were taken up to three flights of stairs, turning every corner and walking more than a few blocks to finally get to the director's office.

The prison was made up of three buildings, and the director's room was in the central building, where I also knew that my detain was being kept.

We continue to be escorted when entering the room, even when the man greeted us with courage, fervently shaking our hands.

We sat in front of a dark desk crammed with useless objects, as well as papers, portraits, and books. The room had a strong smell reminiscent of tobacco. The sun did not enter through the wide window, because the curtains were closed and the glass very well sealed.

The man removed his reading glasses and landed it on an open book, it seemed to have been caught in the middle of reading the penal codes. Would you be getting ready for our meeting?

I let João lead the conversation, waiting to be included at the time when the subject about my detarious came up. The world of the defender's office was a political war; it was necessary to know who to play with and when to play. Therefore, I kept that body language quiet and without many attractions, as the director finally got into the subject that concerned me.

"You know that there is a lawsuit still in progress about this same detaed, don't you know, Miss Jones? "As asked the director, and I nodded, containing a yawn.

"I also know that there are unconstitutional elements in this process," I answered in a cordial and academic tone. The director arched an eyebrow. "My client, as far as I am informed, was arrested for the recognition of a witness who came into contradiction in his testimony, countless times. "This hurts the principle of the innocent, because there is doubt. Regardless of how small she is.”

"At the same time," said João, picking up my thread of thought. "It also injures the legal process.”

"This issue should not be dealt with with me," said the director, giving a dull smile. "I'm just the one who keeps the prisoners on the line. It's not my fault of those who are sent here.

"No one is blaming you," I said in the mildest, most fragile tone that I could force. "I'm just answering your question.”

"So I don't need to say that I have a small personal suspicion that someone is not wanting to let the process go ahead, and that all those who took the work for themselves were harmed in some way," pondered the director.

"No, you don't have to say," João replied bluntly. He moved in the uncomfortable chair we were sitting on, crossing one of his ankles over his knee. "We are aware. We want the case because we know the media repercussion it can have. This will help in our personal interests, and justice needs to be done. We're talking about an innocent person.”

"Suggedly innocent," stressed the director.

"Until it is proven otherwise," I completed in a soft voice.

The director gave me a disdainful little smile. There was the monster under the impassive and professional pose. He was holding back.

"In consideration of you, I thought I needed to make this very clear. The detaitee in question never showed bad behavior. He is very well regarded by the other inmates, even having a certain respect for all of them. We can't consider him as a gang boss, but he has his class. I don't know if you understand that the person responsible for his stay in this prison is not necessarily here.”

"Yes, Mr. Director, I understand," I agreed in a low voice, seizing myself in the chair that creaked under my weight. That shit was shaky, and I wasn't thin at all. "I also understand that the more time he loses, the less this case is solved. As far as I could read in the investigation, the man is innocent, but still treated as a suspect, rather than a victim.”

"And how could he be a victim if he was arrested red-handed? "As asked the director.

I took a deep breath.

"In the same way that many are accused of complicity in some crime, and they were only in the wrong place and at the wrong time.”

The director just watched me.

"Do you believe it could be the same case as him?”

I repressed the urge to gesture with my shoulders. I had no idea. I was only there to do my sister's favor. I really didn't know if the man was just a victim. As far as I knew, black men were arrested unfairly and very easily, but he did not fit this requirement.

"I believe he has a lot to say, and that somehow we can't explain yet, he's being silenced" was my answer.

The man leaned on the chair. As I sat on something uncomfortable and hard, he was totally relaxed and almost lying on the soft back of the swivel chair. It was no nothing that I had noticed that sloppiness in his posture. He was probably more than he wanted now, knowing that we had given ourselves well before that moment, and that we continued to maintain the usual good manners and cadence.

"And are you just here to introduce yourself as your new lawyer? "He wanted to know.

"No, actually, I'm here to try to make him speak," I explained, crossing my hands on my lap. "I believe I can file a request for habeas corpus that is more easily accepted if he tells me what happened that day. I heard that none of the previous lawyers had any success in a clear answer, and that not even you were able to find out what happened. The man is risking his freedom by not saying what can really free him, and I want to understand why.”

"And our entire group of lawyers is aware of the case," said João, shrugging his shoulders. "We want to take this process forward. It doesn't matter what we have to do or who we have to talk to.”

"It's almost looking like the detain has become a source of challenge for you," he joked, giving a weak giggle. I shrugged, although I thought it was funny, and that he had nailed my need to get answers. It was all a game. It was always a challenge that I accepted tooth and nail until I solved it. The Jones sisters had this small genetic defect. " But, I am very sorry to disappoint, even considering that your gifts for communication are enviable, I doubt very much that the detaic in question will end up telling the truth. He has been in prison for two years. He never denied, never conformed, and never came into contradiction. He just refuses to speak.”

"I always thought that you used methods of confession that were very difficult to get around," I commented softly, narrowing my eyes. So, I cast a look in the direction of João, who smiled like a predator. " But I must have been wrong.”

The director of the penitentiary gave me a sharp look. No police officer liked it when we made it clear that we knew about any of his tortures in search of answers. I knew very well how the law worked behind bars. There was no humanity. There were no limits. However, I needed to see the detaint with my own eyes to be able to consider any attempt at torture; I could not accuse anything out loud.

" With this inmate, it was always different," said the director.

“ Why? " asked João.

"He never caused us problems," he replied, shrugging. "From the first day, he offered to help in the kitchen. You see, many of our prisoners are, theoretically, obliged by the sentence reduction program to help with some task or work in search of some minimum money. However, in his case, there was never the need to ask. He always did everything to sound exemplary. It was like being trained to understand how the prison works. For a long time this was a reason for mistrust, but we could never prove anything. "He then cast a look at me. "And, as you well know, no evidence, no crime.”

I sighed softly, absorbing the words and that horrible smell of old cigar. I doubted that the man smoked cigars, there should be some very old cigarette butt in some crack, or stuck in some baseboard of those walls.

The place was putrid, despite squandering a forced cleaning. It was as if death impregnated every wall, making that smell so absolute and terrible. I couldn't imagine what it was like to be inside that place for two years, without having committed any crime, and without having any interest in defending myself.

But despite the director's suspicions, I very much doubted that anyone would be interested in studying safe behaviors in prison. Maybe the man was just crazy to want to keep the secret and pay for a crime that was not his.

"When will I be able to see him? "I asked in a louder tone.

"Whenever you want," said the director, again gesturing with his shoulders. He looked at João. "He is responsible for the kitchen, so he should already be at his workplace.”

"Take it to me," I asked in a gentle tone, lifting me up. João remained seated. The presentation would be made only with me. "I'm dying of curiosity about the inmate who can know things so well, but who never wanted to share them with anyone but himself.”