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hard it is to break into the province’s maximum-security prison, Yudel thought. All you have to do is turn up with a letter, purportedly signed by the minister. ‘I’m coming,’ he told Maloka.
    It took almost an hour for Yudel to travel the kilometre or two to C-Max. His own car had been taken to be serviced and he had to wait for a driver. Among the jumble of cars in the parking area, one stood out from the others. It was a lavender-pink BMW cabriolet. Yudel, who had very little interest in cars, stopped to look at it. ‘Please don’t let her be the driver of this,’ he prayed.
    He was met at the gate in the inner wall by the prison’s head, Director Nkabinde, a broad-shouldered, deep-chested man who was more at ease dealing with convicted felons than female American visitors. ‘She came in here, waving the minister’s letter at anyone who argued with her.’
    ‘So what did you do?’
    ‘Me? Why me? The minister’s office says she’s your baby.’
    ‘Well, where is she now?’
    ‘In the B-Section hall.’
    ‘In the hall, during exercise time? Alone?’
    The prison director took a deep breath, pushed out his chest and threw back his shoulders. He was regaining his dignity. ‘Hell, Yudel, what do you take me for? She’s got four members with her.’ A moment later his dignity was forgotten. ‘You better get down there, Yudel, please.’
    From the railing above the hall, it seemed to Yudel that the entire B-Section population was congregated around a central point in the middle distance. The central point itself was hidden by the crush of bodies. The head warder had been quite wrong about the number of men guarding the visitor. As far as Yudel could see, the director may have sent four men, but a number of others, apparently acting on their own initiative, were hurrying towards the gathering to add support.
    By the time Yudel reached them, he could not see a prisoner anywhere else in the section. All the inmates in that part of the province’s highest-security prison, every murderer, rapist, armed robber, kidnapper, gang enforcer and hired thug, perhaps a hundred and fifty of them, were gathered round in complete silence.
    Yudel heard her voice before he saw her for the first time. ‘Nothing is final,’ she was saying. ‘There is nothing that cannot be changed, no circumstance, no personality problem, no law, not even the sentence that brought you to this place.’ It was a gentle voice, sparkling in its clarity and possessed of a slight accent that Yudel thought may have originated in Boston. She seemed to have no need to raise her voice to make herself heard. ‘I have visited many institutions like this one and spoken to many inmates. I have heard stories as tragic as yours, but nothing I have ever heard has convinced me that there is ever a condition that excludes all hope. For everyone here, for every person who has ever been convicted, no matter what your crime, your life can be changed – no, not can be changed. You can change your life.’
    Not all the prisoners were standing. Some closest to the speaker were sitting on the floor, giving those at the back a clearer view. Yudel had never seen anything like it in C-Max or any other prison. Even Yudel, who was shorter than the average man, found a place from which he could see the focus of all this attention.
    The visitor looked to be in her early twenties. Long blonde hair, naturally blonde, Yudel thought, curled in an elegant sweep to just below her shoulders. Wide-set blue eyes and a tip-tilted button nose were off-set by skin that was tanned just enough to add a hint of brown to its natural paleness. The large, heavy-lidded eyes were the most striking feature of all. The irises were a brilliant blue, giving an appearance that was simultaneously penetrating and sympathetic. A body that was trim rather than voluptuous was enclosed in pants and a ruffled blouse that buttoned up to the neck, both a brilliant white in the light from the translucent