Yoko always seemed alone, almost hidden by an invisible veil, or web, lightly woven over her; or rather: the space between us seemed emptily cold. Yoko, the daughter of Jinko, and the wife of Richard, had a relation to us that seemed only connected by nothingness; by “us” I mean the Cochran family, white people in the USA; this proximity at a distance made my child-mind sense her deep sadness, or what I would now call melancholy.
I recall her standing, looking out over the valley her mother owned, in autumnal wear, a slightly puffy jacket, jeans: she seemed to both enjoy the view, the freedom of being so very alone, and also, which I sensed more palpably then, she also seemed to want to go home. Much later, Richard would go on to open a quite successful sushi restaurant in Grants Pass, Oregon. I suppose this enterprise would be…
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Prison As Power 