REEVES SAT ON THE BLEACHERS in the yard. He was spotted with lots of peeling scars on his face, after his week-long recovery from his chickenpox at the Infirmary. He was chatting with his newfound 'cellie' friends outside Wesleyan, whom he has grown closer over the years...

Behind him was the weekly Sunday mass conducted by the monk-priest Michael, on a makeshift altar at the far corner of the prison yard in the Whites' fenced area.

Reeves has remained as a doubter since his Wesleyan days — he did not jump with the rest into the frenzy religious bandwagon that had caught up pro-active with most of the Black and White races of the inmates in Tombscradle, who flocked themselves to attend the Sunday mass.

Troy Norton and Truman Robert were the ones present with him in the big-yard that morning at their corner. They were his new circle of free-male friends since he was brought into the penitentiary five years ago.

He was under isolation when he first arrived — he stayed in the 'heatwave' row for a month before he was released into the gen-pop — after they cleared him off as a 'G.N.C.' Since then, Reeves' cell was next to theirs on the third tier of White inmates' C Block. The two 'ace deuces' became close to him since they heard of the bravado escape attempt that Reeves had pulled in Wesleyan before he was captured with Joe...

Despite Reeves trying to be there for him, but Joe was no longer close to him. Since their arrival in Tombscradle, Joe had kept to himself for a few months and he soon suffered from depression while adjusting from his school environment to prison. Reeves was glad to see him later in the prison's med-line getting his treatment — as there were many cases of illing White-lop orphans who were driven to suicide in their failure of adapting to the prison life.

Finally, like birds of a feather, Joe regrouped with the Wesleyan coterie. Joe had then adjusted well with the rest of the obstinate troublemakers' circle of Kiki and Hank — into their attempt, to make the Wesleyans be known as one of the majority among the rest of the other White gangbangers' minor groups, which formed their own strong-corners in Tombscradle in the years later.

The clique that Reeves was in was seen by those new White gangs as the weak-corner — that got nothing coming in their presence in prison. But, Reeves was not bothered — he would rather 'eight-ball' with these two new friends instead, whose lives brought more perspective sense to him — and he needed them too...

Troy Norton was an ardour highbrow computer hacker back then in his school — he defaced some government websites, and that landed him here in Tombscradle — were at a present environment, none of the inmates was given any parchment book to read in their prison stay, and let alone access to a computer.

Reeves' other prison-buddy was Truman Robert who was also known inside the walls as True Bob — a half-White and half-Cherokee Native — a wanderer since the age of ten, ever since he ran away from the Indian reservations. He was an Argonaut ardent traveller at heart — the vagrant, crossroader had visited most of the states and cities in the West Coast. It was until the rounder was caught for shoplifting at a mart — and he was then sent over to Tombscradle, to be part of the helots of orphans in the government's semen milking program.

For the last five years in Tombscradle, Reeves the former Wesleyan had theoretically learned how to operate and survive — by listening and getting into discussions to view the perspective of both of his friends' life stories and experiences.

He also needed to in-cooperate that isosceles knowledge of survival out in the 'other place' once he hailed his strength from his chicken-pox recovery — and decided that it was the precise time to jump the prison wall alone by himself — and to begin his own hegira quest to find Laura Jensen...

At the yard, Reeves began articulating his bottled-up frustration since his failure to escape from Wesleyan, happened some years ago. He was loud with harrowing thoughts — and. both of his friends hated it when he ranted sometimes...

He was ballistic just like in the past with Joe, in their secret-place in Wesleyan...

"Damn! Dig this out, I just found out that Riverside Methodist Hospital was just 50 fucking miles away from the university where I fucking grew up in. If I had known it back then, I would have jumped off the school fucking wall sooner — and I would have found my mother out there."

Troy replied in allay to his troubled friend...

"She is in a coma, did you say? Then means, somebody had put her in there and is still paying the hospital bill — that shows you got other Jensen-kin out there, right Reeves?"

"Guess it looks like it. That's was all the bits of details that I 'ear-hustled' from both the nurses jabbering at the Infirmary that night."

Reeves remembered what was spoken vaguely that night — the lacuna of information he memorized about his mother who was now transferred even further away to the East in Washington DC with the new name of Mimi Jensen.

He even pondered in anger about the cover-ups that happened — of why and who this so-called Jensen-kin was trying so hard to conceal Laura's identity.

The other friend, True Bob was seated among them, he was quiet in most of the conversation — finally, he too even spoke in appease favour to calm Reeves down of his former setbacks...

"It is a good sign, bro — and the dots of the Universe are connecting now for you to go to Washington even sooner to find your mother. It ain't nothing, once the Preacher gets us all out — we then stand a better chance to pursue things like these."

Hearing this, made Reeves to instantly scoff, and he stood up...

"What the fuck is wrong with you guys? That Preacher has been selling us 'wolf-tickets' since day one about his reckoning breakout — but, where is he now? We have not heard anything about him for almost a month, ain't that right Bob? Oh yeah, the last I heard this leader of yours is jailing in the Hotel De-Sag — and yet — you both are confidently waiting around for him to spring you out from here...

"What' up now? Is the Preacher digging an underground tunnel in the slammer for you guys from over there? Then, you both finally walk out the prison main-gate to the road to the free-world paradise out there, that he so often spoke about — so, 'it ain't nothing,' right guys?"

"Just shut up, Reeves!"

True Bob snapped at him. "Hey asshole, I find that this holy-man got lotta heart by all the right things he has fueled around here. Soon someday, the Preacher's actions will be rewarded in multiple-fold by the Universe."

Reeves laughed...

"Hey Universal Studios — your Preacher has been spending more time in the hole than anyone of us out there in the yard — yea, all the three of us, included — we even have not fuckin' seen him for a month, and nobody knows if he is dead or alive now in the hole.

"The warden would have that covered up if he died, and you will never know, right? So carry on you both, you are still bought into his 'wolf talk,' — but me — I simply just lost my faith in him."

Troy then pointed at the large crowd at the other end of the yard who were listening to Michael's sermon...

"But look over there at them, man, his followers have really multiplied in numbers. Even if the Preacher is dead, there are many other qualified leaders over there to lead the strike when that day comes."

"Oh yeah, the second banana monk will jump in and redeem our 'juice-cards' for real. That is a good ploy for years with all their distractions and confusions at our yard — with all their sales-pitch sermons by the Preacher himself, and his monkhood Amen-cult buddies — but the truth is, I have wizen up and ain't buying that revolution jack-shit anymore...

You hear me, I am tired of waiting, I am sick to the bones of hearing those promises that the Preacher-fucker made us believe for years!"

True Bob replied...

"These things don't happen overnight, you dumbass, it has been in the process since we got here. We all have been seeing the signs — and we are waiting for the right timing before we go 'no-smoke' fighting — to bring down the system here someday."

Reeves laughed out again...

"Well, stop acting 'in-the-car' you two — cos and I can 'ass-bet' that shit ain't happening, and you two can go ahead and believe whatever you want. Really, I have heard this same old song when I spent more than a 'dime' of my time, institutionalized in Wesleyan...

"...over there, what was said was that there will be freedom once we graduate from school— but instead, the school sold us out, to be here in prison — now, I'm fucking plastics cunts every morning for some government-owned, public-breeders scheme...

"No way, I'm saying to myself — that I do not believe in any more bullshit that these 4 walls had preached to me all these years — I will be out there, taking my own chances from now on...

"Nice kicking, 'but I am 'catchin' out' — 'holler at ya both later,' you lame-lops..."

Reeves walked away — he needed to be alone — to process his clean game plan to get his freedom by jumping over the prison wall.

Even his two buddies felt that Reeves was 'burnt-up' to do something foolish soon. They were worried that his 'hemming-up' scheme may get him killed — or even tortured and thrown into solitary together with the Preacher — someone...

... whom he had lost his faith and hope in.

*

A sermon for the weekly Sunday Mass in the yard, of discourse on redemption, was given by the Preacher's emissary, Michael — who stood in front of a few hundred Caucasian followers seated on the hard ground facing of him...

The Black-Christians have tripled the numbers, and they too were garnered on their side of the fence — even Hajja, Li Chi and the rest of the other non-Christians stood behind and observed the Mass conducted.

Another peering pair of worried eyes that morning was of Warden Graves — looking below at the congregation from outside her IMU office window. There was no sign of attrition of the googol of the growing number of Negro attendees in the yard, despite the absence of the Preacher. She heard Michael, as he threw out his voice so that every Intersexual that gathered could heed...

"But last of all he sent unto them his Son, saying to Himself — 'They will reverence my son'. But when the husbandmen in the vineyard saw the son — they said among themselves, 'This is the heir — come, let us kill him, and let us seize on his inheritance.' So they caught him, and cast him out of the vineyard — and they slew him.

"When the Lord of the vineyard comes, what will he do unto those husbandmen? They say unto Him — 'He will miserably destroy those wicked men, and will let out his vineyard unto other husbandmen, which shall render him the fruits in their seasons."

Someone threw an apple core that fell in front of Michael. Many of the Latinos laughed from their side of the fence. A laughing guard cautioned the 'joker' to stop. Michael realized it was the same culprit to whom he had given the handmade rosary to — he was one of Ramirez spies whose airs fooled him yesterday...

Michael resumed his sermon again — while the clamouring Blacks seemed provoked by their rival's disrespect...

"Jesus said unto them — Did ye never read in the scriptures, The stone which the builders rejected, the same has become the head of the corner — this is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes? Therefore say I unto you — the kingdom of God shall be taken from you, and given to a nation bringing forth the fruits thereof — and whosoever, shall fall on this stone, shall be broken — but on whomsoever, it shall fall, it will grind him to dust.

"Do you all understand the message of this sermon?"

A White convict seated in the front row voiced...

"We have heard this story before, Father Mike — the Preacher too has told it many times — now, tell us a different one."

Most of the inmates had taken for granted that the weekly sermons as a mere allegory — it was like stories told around at a campfire for the purpose of escapism from their routine life in prison.

Most importantly, they were all gathered here for the curiosity of wanting to know if the Preacher was still alive— because nobody saw nor heard of him for over a month since the public flogging and his attempt to castrate himself.

Michael sighed inwards and looked at the clueless people gathered around...

"Yes, the Preacher has told this same parable many times and you even know the meaning behind it — in which, God sent his only Son to the world to live with his people and to lead them to God's Kingdom — but yet instead — he was tortured and killed by the very same people like you all here in this Tombscradle!"

The same Chicano joker heckled back...

"Hey Padre, don't judge and condemn others — everyone is innocent in Tombscradle, except those, whose ass got whipped at the post like it happened the last time!"

The Hispanic inmates gibed and laughed, but Michael ignored their pillory — and he picked up again...

"History is just repeating in every generation of man, where many good leaders will come to lead the flock to the righteous path — and, these leaders were soon scorned, persecuted and killed instead. Why is that so?

"It is because men like you never learnt from the mistakes of your wicked past — and that, you never learnt your lessons from all these parables...

"The Preacher had told you many stories of salvation but yet, you don't listen — the Preacher told you of many messages in Tombscradle but yet, you all don't follow. He told you to share your skills amongst yourself to teach another man to fish but yet, you all remain selfish with your knowledge...

"The Preacher told you to protect your weak brothers — but you went ahead, and bullied and injured them instead. You then even broke their spirits, both mentally and physically!

"Yet — you then keep asking the same dumb questions every time and every day, to which you already know the answers — like you ask — when will salvation come, but you have forgotten that the Preacher had already answered that before...

"For anyone of you to see that day, you all have to first change yourself — but yet, you all refuse to change!"

Michael glared at the mocking Latinos behind the fence, particularly at the deceiving joker. The priest-monk next spoke out at the troublemaking Chicanos with his sermon...

"You keep asking yourselves of when are you going to leave these four external walls, and the Preacher had said to you many times — that these two internal fences that separate the races should fall first — and, the people should then unite as one — but, you all refuse to do that — and yet, instead of seeking for your salvation — you fools — still fight and kill each other instead!"

The monk-priest carried on saying deposition, in the manner of the same emblazon that had landed Doran in solitary in the past for his discord disruption with the adherent to mutiny. A guard radioed and alerted Capt. Olsen that the sermon was getting askew — while the bewildered congregation paid attention to Michael's angry words...

"So there is no salvation for you all because of your sinful ego, pride and attitude that are miscreant and corrupted — and it has weakened you from being God-fearing decent men into men without an ounce of hope for salvation!

"There is nothing more to say, so now accept this, you all — that Tombscradle is your eternal Hell on earth and you are all fated to be doomed in here till the day you die within these four walls — all because, you cannot change and redeem yourself — all because, you sinners cannot unite as one, and most of all — you all sinners cannot accept a good leader who had now come to Tombscradle to redeem you all..."

The largish Capt. Olsen came up, charging fast — and she choked Michael by his throat before she threw him aside. The monk-priest fell on his back — the fuming Captain of Guards howled out in her guttural alto...

"You damn bible thumper son of a bitch, what you are trying to pop-off here? You wanna end up in 'D-town' with that ball-less Preacher girlfriend of yours?"

Olsen turned to the adherent crowd gathered...

"Oii! The freak show is over — everybody, come on, beat your feet now!"

The pint-sized Peter stepped up — approached Olsen from behind with a futile petitioning...

"Boss, please can we serve them the Holy Communion before they go?"

Peter the avail altar-boy monk next fell down flat on his face, after a slug connected his cheekbone.

"It is against prison hygiene guideline, you blanket-goof! No shit is to be fed outside the mess-hall — is that clear?"

Olsen then saw a makeshift wooden stool with a container filled with broken bits of bread. The brutish captain lashed out her boot, the broken-bread at the makeshift altar spewed on the dirt ground.

The disrupted Sunday Mass had ended for the congregation, everyone present booed at the Mighty-Whites, armed with rotangs that arrived Some inmates went away with no appease at heart but they were filled with more hatred from the ill-treatment that was rampant in the warden's prison system.

It even saddened them that the forsaken Preacher was nowhere at sight — to ignite the run-riot that should justly be happening now, in these times of injustice.