Living My Life - Emma Goldman [117]
On our return to Rochester I found two letters from Sasha. The first, sub rosa, dated July 10, had evidently been delayed in transmission. Its contents threw me into despair. It read:
From the hospital. Just out of the strait jacket, after eight days.
For over a year I was in the strictest solitary; for a long time mail and reading-matter were denied me.... I have passed through a great crisis. Two of my best friends died in a frightful manner. The death of Russell, especially, affected me. He was very young, and my dearest and most devoted friend, and he died a terrible death. The doctor charged the boy with shamming, but now he says it was spinal meningitis. I cannot tell you the awful truth—it was nothing short of murder, and my poor friend rotted away by inches. When he died, they found his back one mass of bedsores. If you could read the pitiful letters he wrote, begging to see me and to be nursed by me! But the Warden wouldn’t permit it. In some manner his agony seemed to communicate itself to me, and I began to experience the pains and symptoms that Russell described in his notes. I knew it was my sick fancy; I strove against it, but presently my legs showed signs of paralysis, and I suffered excruciating pain in the spinal column, just like Russell. I was afraid that I would be done to death like my poor friend.... I was on the verge of suicide. I demanded to be relieved from the cell, and the Warden ordered me punished. I was put in the strait jacket. They bound my body in canvas, strapped my arms to the bed, and chained my feet to the posts. I was kept that way eight days, unable to move, rotting in my own excrement. Released prisoners called the attention of our new Inspector to my case. He refused to believe that such things were being done in the penitentiary. Reports spread that I was going blind and insane. Then the Inspector visited the hospital and had me released from the jacket.
I am in pretty bad shape, but they have put me in the general ward now, and I am glad of the chance to send you this note.
The fiends! It would have been a convenient way to send Sasha into the madhouse or to make him take his own life. I was sick with the thought that I had been living in a world of dreams, youthful fancies and gaiety, while Sasha was undergoing hellish tortures. My heart cried out: “It isn’t fair that he alone should go on paying the price—it isn’t fair!” My young friends clustered around me in compassion. Stella’s large eyes were filled with tears. Yegor held out the other letter, saying: “This is of a later date. It may have better news.” I was almost afraid to open it. I had barely read the first paragraph when I cried in joy: “Children—Stella—Yegor! Sasha’s term has been commuted! Only five years more and he will be free! Think of it, only five more years!” Breathlessly I went on reading. “I can visit him again!” I exclaimed. “The new Warden has restored his privileges—he can see his friends!” I ran about the room laughing and crying.
Helena rushed up the stairs, followed by Jacob. “What is it? What has happened?” I could only cry: “Sasha! My Sasha!” Gently my sister drew me down on the sofa, took the letter from my hand, and read it aloud in a trembling voice:
Direct to Box A 7.
Allegheny City, Pa.
July 25, 1901.
DEAR FRIEND,—
I cannot tell you how happy I am to be allowed to write to you again. My privileges have been restored by our new Inspector, a very kindly man. He has