Living My Life - Emma Goldman [75]
In the evening I had a violent headache, caused by the electric light scorching my eyes. I again knocked on the door and demanded to see the doctor. Another woman came, the prison physician. She gave me some medicine and I asked her for some reading-matter, or at least some sewing. Next day I was given towels to hem. Eagerly I stitched by the hour, my thoughts with Sasha and Ed. With crushing clarity I saw what Sasha’s life in prison meant. Twenty-two years! I should go mad in a year.
One day the matron came to announce that extradition had been granted and that I was to be taken to New York. I followed her into the office, where I was handed a large package of letters, telegrams, and papers. I was informed that several boxes of fruit and flowers had come for me, but that it was against the rules for prisoners to have such things. Then I was handed over to a heavy-set man. A cab waited outside the prison and we were driven to the station.
We travelled in a Pullman car, and the man introduced himself as Detective-Sergeant—. He excused himself, saying he was only doing his duty; he had six children to support. I asked him why he had not chosen a more honourable occupation and why he had to bring more spies into the world. If he did not do it, someone else would, he replied. The police force was necessary; it protected society. Would I have dinner? He would have it brought to the car to save my going to the diner. I consented. I had not eaten anything decent for a week; besides, the City of New York was paying for the unsolicited luxury of my journey.
Over the dinner the detective referred to my youth and the life “such a brilliant girl, with such abilities” had before her. He went on to say that I never would earn anything by the work I was doing, not even my salt. Why shouldn’t I be sensible and “look out for number one” first? He felt for me because he was a Yehude himself. He was sorry to see me go to prison. He could tell me how to get free, even to receive a large sum of money, if I would only be sensible.
“Out with it,” I said; “what’s on your mind?”
His chief had instructed him to tell me that my case would be quashed and a substantial sum of money presented to me if I would give way a little. Nothing much, just a short periodic report of what was going on in radical circles and among the workers on the East Side.
A horrible feeling came over me. The food nauseated me. I gulped down some ice-water from my glass and threw what was left into the detective’s face. “You miserable cur!” I shouted; “not enough that you act as a Judas, you try even to turn me into one—you and your rotten chief! I’ll take prison for life, but no one will ever buy me!”
“All right, all right,” he said soothingly; “have it your own way.”
From the Pennsylvania Station I was driven to the Mulberry Street Police Station, where I was locked up for the night. [ ... ] The next morning I was taken before the Chief. The detective had told him everything and he was furious. [ ... ]
My trial was set for the 28th of September; my bail, to the amount of five thousand dollars, was given by Dr. Julius Hoffmann. In triumph my friends took me to Justus’s den.3
In my accumulated mail I found an underground letter from Sasha. He had read about my arrest. “Now you are indeed my sailor girl,” he wrote. He had at last established communication with Nold and Bauer and they were arranging a sub rosa prison publication. They had already chosen a name; it was to be called “Gefängniss-Blüthen (Prison Blossoms).” I felt a weight lifted off my heart. Sasha had come back, he was beginning to take an interest in life, he would hold out! At most he would have to serve seven years on the first charge. We must work energetically to get his sentence commuted. I was light-hearted and happy in the thought that we might yet succeed in wrenching Sasha from his living grave.
Justus’s place was crowded. People I had never before seen now came to express their sympathy. I had suddenly become an important personage, though I could not