분야
hwp-Hi, Sister.
-Hi, Billie Jean. How you doing?
lts the late Sister Helen.
lve got a note from my mama, ldella.
Do you need a new notebook?
-Thanks.
-How about you, Melvin?
The resident council wants us
at their meeting tomorrow.
-Can you be there at 7:00?
-Yes.
-New poetry books.
-Your poem got all smudged.
Smudged?
Sister Helen, l got
another letter from that guy.
-Which guy is that, Luis?
-Angola inmate, death row.
-Oh, yeah.
-Could you write to him?
Sounds like he could use
some friendly words.
-lll come up after the class.
-Okay.
-lt got smudged.
-You can still read it.
Theres a woman standing there
in the dark.
And shes got big arms to hold you.
But you wont feel
those arms that hug...
... till you can see her face.
So you stand there waiting for
the light at the end of the road.
Idella, that is so fine.
Thank you.
My lawyer seems to have disappeared,
so I need help on the legal end.
But if you cant do that,
Id take a kind word or a visit.
Gets real quiet here sometimes.
None of these guys on the row
can afford an attorney for appeals.
You can imagine the calls
we get from death row inmates...
-...begging us to find attorneys.
-Wholl work for free.
Right. These petitions
take hours to prepare.
Attorneys arent exactly
lining up for the job.
Dear Sister Helen,
thank you for writing to me.
Im writing from my home.:
my 6-by-8-foot cell.
Im in here 23 hours a day.
We dont work on death row.
Were special here. They keep us
away from the general population.
Were the elite because we gonna fry.
Its hard not to get soft here.
I press my footlocker, lift it,
to try to get my muscles in shape.
Its hard not to get fat.
Rice, potatoes, pancakes, beans.
Sometimes I feel like
a sow on a farm...
... thats being fattened up
for a Christmas slaughter.
I dreamt once that I was
about to be fried in the chair...
...and then God come into my cell
with a chefs hat on.
He rolled me around in bread crumbs,
licking His chops and all.
Maybe Im a weirdo
to have dreams like that...
...but your mind does funny things
when youre surrounded...
...by people that want to kill you.
Anyway, thanks for writing.
I dont get many letters
or visitors either.
No one in my family seems able to make
the trip out here. I understand.
Its a long drive from Slidell.
-Good morning.
-Good morning, Father.
-Sister....
-Helen Prejean. Nice to meet you.
-Have a seat.
-Thank you.
-Have you been in a prison before?
-No, Father.
Sister Clement and l sang at the
New Orleans Juvenile Detention Center.
We sang Kumbaya,
and the boys really liked it.
They made up
their own verses, singing:
Someones escaping, my Lord
The guards made us sing
a different song.
Where is your habit?
Our Sisters havent worn
the habit for 20 years.
You are aware of the papal request
regarding nuns garments, arent you?
l believe the pope said
distinctive clothing, not habits.
Well, lm sure youll interpret it in
your own way. Whatevers convenient.
Matthew Poncelet.
l remember him from the news.
Him and another fella...
...shot two children in the back
of the head on Lovers Lane.
Raped the girl.
Stabbed her several times.
Do you know what youre getting into?
So, what is it, Sister?
Morbid fascination?
Bleeding-heart sympathy?
He wrote me and asked me to come.
There is no romance here, Sister.
No Jimmy Cagney
lve been wrongly accused.
lf l only had someone
who believed in me nonsense.
They are all con men.
And they will take advantage
of you every way they can.
You must be very, very careful.
Do you understand?
Yes, Father.
These men dont see many females.
For you to wear the habit
might help instill respect.
For you to flout authority will only
encourage them to do the same.
Woman on the tier!
You can wait there.
Well bring your man out for you.
Well, Matthew, l made it.
Thanks for coming, maam.
Never thought ld be visiting
with no nun.
So youre a nun.
Yep.
lm here to listen. Whatever you
want to talk about is fine.
Youre very sincere.
What do you mean?
You never done this before.
-Never been this close to a murderer?
-Not that l know of.
Lots of niggers down where you live.
They knock each other off
like beer cans off a fence.
When l got your letter,
l seen Helen on it.
l thought it was my ex-old lady.
Almost ripped it up.
She turned me in.
She called the cops.
-Orphaned our kid, the stupid bitch.
-Youve got a kid?
-Yeah, a con with a kid.
-Girl or boy?
-Girl.
-Whats her name?
-You ask a lot of questions.
-l dont know you.
Yeah, well, never mind.
Your letter said
you work with the poor.
Your daddy was a lawyer?
You come from money, dont you?
Some.
And you live in St. Thomas Projects?
l dont know whos crazier, you or me.
-l live where l work.
-Yeah, in the slum.
What about you?
l live here.
You were brought up poor?
Aint nobody with money on death row.
You and l have something in common.
-Whats that?
-We both live with the poor.
Aint you gonna ask me what l done?
-The chaplain filled me in.
-Oh, Farley?
Yeah, well, hes a very religious man.
l didnt kill nobody.
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