Inside, she sat near the door, still open, for fresh air. The pilot took his place in the cockpit, but his window remained open. As in an old movie, someone outside gave the propeller a shove, then another. The third hurl kicked the motor to life with a succession of blasts. Lulu woke up with a scream and struggled to free herself from her basket as though fleeing fire. Nola released her and tried to calm her, but her words of comfort drowned in the ear-piercing thunder.

The pilot sat unmoving, his eyes fixed on the prison buildings.

“Let’s go,” Nola called out, knowing that even if he heard, he didn’t understand.

The roar of the engine went on with an occasional cough that made the pilot glance at his instrument board. He stepped out to rummage beneath the plane, and his banging in the belly of the machine, right under Nola, felt as though he was hitting the bottom of her sneakers.

The motor’s din reverberated in the tin drum that her head had become. Nola was uncertain which of her fears overwhelmed the others—of unbribed guards initiating a chase and shoot-out, or of flying in a plane that should have been retired when the wooden nickel was removed from circulation. When had the plane last been serviced? The spasm in her stomach urged her to banish all such questions.

Lulu’s wail kept up unabated. Nola rocked her and tried to give her the pacifier while the noise hammered in her head. The stench of the men’s unwashed bodies, infected gums and untended wounds made the air too thick to breathe. For a split second, she swooned, then came to, disbelieving that she passed out while sitting up.

A uniformed man poked his head in the door. His epaulets glistened in the light behind him. He pushed in a clean, white Styrofoam container with a red top, fastened by twin stainless steel clasps.

“Let’s go,” Nola called out again.

“Dollar?” The officer extended his hand and rubbed a thumb and a finger. The watch gleaming from under his shirt looked like a gold Rolex.

Nola's brain swam in confusion until she remembered to pay for her fellow passengers. She withdrew three of the four-hundred-dollar rolls from her pocket and handed them to him. The remaining money roll for the fourth prisoner burned her with sorrow.

Throughout the exchange, the ex-prisoners did not raise their heads.

“Go now.” The officer gestured frantically with his hand and said, “Go quick. Kidneys get bad.”

Nola thought she had misunderstood his English. Her questioning eyes probably told him so.

He pointed toward the cooler. “Kidneys, yeah? Hearts, yeah?” He pointed to his eyes. “Eyes?”

The blood drained from Nola's scalp.

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 35