No way to tell exactly what time it is, but soon the lights will go out. And then the shouting will begin. My God. My God. Every night the man shouts, over and over. My God. My God. My GOD! As if he believes he really can summon God to this place, if only he can shout loud enough. At first I expected another prisoner to shout back, order him to shut his mouth. That was before I understood that once lights are out, no other prisoner will ask you to deny your pain. Instead we listen in silence, or call back our own grief. It’s left to the screws to bang on his door and threaten him with
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