Caged

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Pile out, you tramps.

It's the end of the line.

Grab your last look at free side, kid.

- Hi, Emma.

- Hi.

Shut up!

Line up by twos.

Take them to the receiving room, Cassie.

You know the way blindfolded.

Heard you was falling back in.

Still got you scrubbing, Meta?

Give me some skin!

No guy's given me a tumble in months.

Shut up!

The lists are alphabetical. Marie Allen.

Court says you're married. Legitimate?

All valuables must be turned over to us

until you hit free side.

Wedding ring, too.

Some county-jail gum heels

must have been here first.

Do they still soak you a fiver

for a phone call or a visitor?

Sign this. I'll fill it in later.

Mother living? Father?

Any brothers? Sisters?

Well, there's just my mother.

She got married again.

Nothing like this has ever happened

to anybody in the family.

No previous criminal record.

In case of death, who do we notify?

Death? Oh, Mom, I guess.

Belong to any church?

We used to go.

It's a church on State Street.

I forget its name. I think...

Armed robbery, huh? For one to 15 years.

The judge called me an accessory.

I've got to get to your version

of the crime, so shoot.

Well, we'd only been married

a couple of months.

We tried to find a place to live,

but everything costs so much,

so Mom let us move in

with her and my stepfather.

Well, Tom was always fighting with Gus.

That's my stepfather.

He tried to find a better job,

and then he got fired.

Get to the crime.

When Tom drove into that gas station,

I stayed in the car while he...

Then the attendant hit Tom over the head,

and I went out to help him.

I guess

that's why they called me an accessory.

They took back the $40.

Five bucks less,

and it wouldn't be a felony.

Don't try to kid me.

How old are you really?

Nineteen.

Sign this. I'll skip the mental test.

You look normal enough.

Lots of them haven't all their marbles.

You can take your physical.

- Where?

- The infirmary. Your number's 93850.

No, 93850. Remember it.

The infirmary's at the end of the corridor.

Follow your nose.

Next, Emma Barber. Snap into it.

Say, you got real skinny, didn't you?

I hope your batch is cleaner

than the last lot.

I had to scrub them with brooms.

Eyes okay.

No drugs in the ears.

Open your mouth wide.

I said, wide.

No drugs in the mouth. Teeth sound.

Lung tap sound.

Heart excited but strong enough.

What's the matter?

I feel a little sick.

Get that way often?

Yes, the last week or so.

Say, you expecting company?

I don't know.

Another pregnant one. Get up.

You know who the father is?

My husband.

Well, ain't we getting respectable?

Could he help with the expenses?

He's dead.

Another bill for the State. Get dressed.

Shall I put down "pregnant"?

No, better wait. See what the doc says.

That trained seal sure can ask

a lot of questions.

Who's this Pearl Harbor, anyway?

Is she an inmate?

- Shut up, Emma, and strip.

- Oh, goodie.

Never mind the glamour, puss.

Couldn't I have a comb?

What's the difference?

There's no men in here.

Can I write a letter to my mother?

No, not while you're in isolation.

You gotta stay here

until your blood test comes back,

so for two weeks,

there'll be no mail, no visitors, no nothing.

Welcome to Lysol Lane.

Did you just get in today?

I'm on the last lap.

Ten to 20. They had to put me in here.

No beds in the infirmary.

I'm sick.

I got it bad.

Oh, I'm sorry.

You better not stay

too close to the bed, sister.

It's just the break you get.

Sometimes you get a matron

who's a louse.

Sometimes you get a good egg.

I'd walk a mile for a cigarette

if they'd let me.

I was just thinking.

Quit bragging!

It's all the judge's fault I'm here.

When Joe first beats me up, I grab his gun

and just wing him in the shoulder.

Do they arrest me? No!

Then a year later,

I fires at Joe again and miss.

Do they give me a rap

for attempted assault? No!

Then last year,

I defends myself again with a gun,

and the police still treats me

like I was poison ivy.

And then finally I finish Joe off for good.

Well, it's that judge. If he had nabbed me

the first three times

while I was just practicing,

I wouldn't be here now for murder.

It's all the judge's fault.

Read it and weep.

Rubbing it in

because we're behind the iron.

Heads or tails, you lose.

You girls are moving along today.

Marie Allen, I've got news for you

from the infirmary.

Your blood came back okay. No treatment.

Now, the Superintendent will see you first,

and Doc says

you're two months on the way.

That's swell, honey.

I got a grownup son older than you.

It's funny. You get a baby from a guy,

and then 20 years later, you finish him off.

Hello, Ann. Well, it's good to see you.

How are things up front?

Busy. Who's first?

Marie Allen.

Good luck, kid. Be seeing you.

It's tough at first. I know.

I've been through the mill.

Been here eight years.

Kept my nose clean, and Mrs. Benton

let me help her in the office.

Having a regular job like that

certainly makes you feel good

after working in the bakery for five years.

What are you in for?

Murder.

Come in. Sit down here, please.

Don't be frightened.

I want you to know

that we're all here to help you.

I want you to believe that

I'd like to be your friend if you'll let me.

What is it? What's troubling you, Marie?

I have been so Ionely the last two weeks.

Those other women, the way they talked

and the awful things they said

and those matrons,

always watching, never leaving you alone.

You'll find all kinds of women in here,

just as you would outside,

but every large institution

must have rules,

and the matrons are here to see

that the rules are obeyed.

You weren't sent here to be punished.

Just being here is the punishment.

That's all.

You know, first offenders like you, Marie,

are our greatest concern.

Unfortunately, they have to be crowded in

with more experienced women

simply because we haven't more space,

and you'll be with such women.

Of course, I want you to have friends.

All of us need an outlet for affection,

but no prison is a normal place.

How soon can I go home?

If your record is good,

you can come up for parole in 10 months.

But I'm going to have a baby.

Do I have to have it in here?

I know how you feel, Marie,

but the inmates aren't allowed to go home

to have their babies.

Don't worry.

Any blood relative can take care

of your child until you get out.

Then my mother will take care of it.

But they wouldn't let me write her.

Can I write her now?

Of course, now that we're sure

that your relatives actually exist.

That's because some of the inmates

change their criminal contacts

into kindhearted uncles and cousins

and sometimes even sick grandmothers.

I know how strange all this is to you,

but you were sent here

because you were involved

in a serious crime.

We want to help you

so that when you go home,

you can start a new life.

I want to do the right thing.

You're an intelligent girl.

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