Part 4 (1/2)

Koko is the camp barber. On weekends he takes the trash can and lays a board over it for a seat. He puts a towel around your neck and goes to work with a pair of old, worn-out clippers and a pair of dull scissors. If you have a quarter you give it to him. Otherwise you owe it to him. If you are one of those who never gets a money order from home then he does it free.

Sunday dinner is a luxury. We have beef stew and canned peaches. But at supper we revert right back to beans and corn bread.

The following week the new men dragged their way through the days, panting and stumbling along the ditch bottom as we dug and carried and pitched, filled in the holes, moved up and then dug and carried and pitched. The skins of the Newc.o.c.ks reddened and peeled, blistered and bled. The blisters on their hands broke open and stung in the brine of their own sweat.

But the Newc.o.c.ks dug and died alone. For we hadn't yet decided. We were still watching their gestures and listening to their voices, studying the way they held their heads and looked us in the eye. We taught them all the complicated laws and rules of this Fatherland of ours. But we still had our own work partners, our own circles during Smoking Period and Bean Time.

Every day at noon Rabbit comes around and takes up a Store Order from the guards and those convicts who have the money. Boss G.o.dfrey and Rabbit drive off in one of the trucks and return in twenty minutes or so with the Pepsi Colas, the milk and crackers, the Free World cigarettes and candy bars. And also the girlie magazines and the paper-backed f.u.c.k Books with their wondrous tales of seduction, perversion, rapes and romance that we will read after the Last Bell, our greedy eyes scanning over the wonders of the written dream.

But on Tuesday the new men were given a demonstration of the marksmans.h.i.+p of Boss G.o.dfrey. He has a sharpshooter's rifle which is his own personal weapon and which he keeps in the cab of the cage truck. But to prevent any possibility of armed escape, he keeps the clip of cartridges and the bolt in his pocket.

The time for taking the Store Order came. Boss G.o.dfrey and Rabbit drove off. In about a half hour we could see the truck rattling and bouncing up the road at better than forty miles an hour. High over the open fields to our right a white crane was flying in the opposite direction. Suddenly we saw the rifle poke out the window of the cab. Without aiming, simply pointing the barrel in the precise direction of his will, Boss G.o.dfrey fired.

The crane jerked in mid-air, a handful of feathers exploding into the wind. Without even fluttering it plummeted down into a patch of palmettos, falling with a smooth, limp trajectory of white, as though Death himself had spoken.

We stood there, our shovels forgotten in our hands. And then Jackson opened up for the first time. With a soft mutter only heard by those of us who were near him, he exclaimed with mock astonishment, Uhhh hmmm! That man Luke can sure shoot!

With a little smile, he stabbed his shovel in the ground, kicked it, bent the handle over his knee and tossed a clod of dirt. Ears was still standing up on the shoulder of the road, his mouth agape, holding his shovel behind a washout. He jerked awake when the clump of dirt landed square and solid against his shovel blade with a whack.

So the days went on. We built our Time. Jackson and the others began to harden. Their skin was turning dark and their hands were getting calloused. Their muscles began to swell. The Newc.o.c.ks began to lose the awe of their surroundings and were more at home, accustomed to the routines.

Gradually Jackson began to change. Slowly he revealed a sardonic sense of humor that seemed to include everything. He could laugh at the movements of the ants on the ground, at the sun, at the traffic on the road. And whenever the Bull Gang would be standing by waiting for orders Jackson would pull his cap down over his eyes, lean on his shovel and drawl under his breath.

Well now. Come on. Shoot, Luke. Let's go here.

Jackson began to sit in on the poker games in the evening, staying on after the Last Bell until Carr broke up the game. And it turned out that he was an excellent gambler. You never had the slightest idea of what he was going to do next. He would sit there and ante up for half an hour without playing out a hand and then suddenly he would call a bet purely on his nerve. He might raise you on sheer bluff. Or he might be holding a dead lock. But whatever it was that he was holding in his hand he would still look you right in the eye and smile.

One night everyone had thrown in his hand but he and Dragline. Drag had opened up the betting and then stood pat. Jackson drew three cards. Smirking, Drag bet the limit, a dollar. Jackson looked at his cards, looked at Dragline, saw the bet and then raised it a dollar. Drag sat there scowling, swearing in a harsh whisper and tapping the edge of his hand on the table. Jackson looked at him and smiled. Finally he drawled in that soft way of his.

Well, come on now, Luke. Shoot or give up the gun.

Ah am shootin'-Ah mean-ah'm thinkin'. d.a.m.n yore a.s.s. Ah think you're bluffin'. Ah calls yore bet.

Dragline had a queen-high straight.

Jackson had four threes.

The next day out on the road Jackson was joined by Dragline and Koko during Smoking Period. Koko wanted to know about Jackson's war experiences, about his wounds and his medals, about all the girls he had laid in North Africa, in Italy and France and Germany. Dragline lay on the ground saying nothing. He himself had been a truck driver during the war, shuttling supplies from the ports along the Persian Gulf over the mountains into Russia. And he was still sulking from his poker defeat of the night before. But Koko persisted, eager and anxious.

Come on Jackson. How about this big medal that you got? That Silver Star thing. What did you do to get that?

Shoot man, nothin'. Nothin' at all. All them people were just runnin' around like crazy. Shootin' guns and throwin' things. Screamin' and hollerin'. Everything blowin' up and burnin'. All them trucks and tanks and airplanes runnin' races day and night. Me, I just played it cool, that's all.

After Smoking Period Jackson began to work along with Dragline and Koko. They shoveled and shot the bull in whispers until Boss G.o.dfrey drove off with Rabbit to fetch the Store Order. As soon as the Man was gone Dragline stopped to take out his chewing tobacco, calling out, Gettin' a chew here, Boss Paul.

Yeah. Chew it up, Drag.

Dragline took a pinch of the coa.r.s.e, loose grains from the crumpled package, stuffing them in his mouth and chewing it up and moving it over in a wad to one side of his cheek. He offered the package to Koko who took a chew and then spoke out loud.

Must be time for Boss G.o.dfrey to get back. Must be time for beans. What time do you say it is, Dragline?

Drag stopped. He spit out a stream of tobacco juice to one side, s.h.i.+fted his quid with his tongue, turned his head and winked at Boss Paul who stood nearby.

Ah bet ah kin come closer to it than you kin.

I'll bet you a cold drink you can't.

A cold drink? A cold drink? You think ah'm gonna waste mah soopernatcheral talents on a lousy five-cent cold drink? What do you think ah am?

How much do you wanna bet then?

Nothin' less'n a quarter. At least.

A quarter? What do you think I I am? A millionaire? am? A millionaire?

Eff'n you don't wanna bet it's all right by me.

O.K. Make it a quarter then.

How 'bout you there, Mister Newc.o.c.k Poker Player Jackson? You wanna bet too?

Yeah. All right. I'll bet you a quarter. Why not?

Ha! This is mah lucky day. Ah'm cleanin' up!

Well Drag, said Koko. What time do you say it is?

Oh no you don't. Yo'll gotta say first. Ah kin come within two minutes ever' time and you know it. Yo'll jes guess a minute from me and you might jes win by accident.

No bet then. We got to have some kind of a handicap. We ain't got no watch built into our a.s.s like you got.

Ha! You know it too, huh? Well, let's see. Ah guess ah kin afford to be generous with a pair of no 'count amachoor time tellers like you two. Yeah. O.K. Ah'll guess first.

All right then, said Koko. It's a bet.

Yeah, said Jackson. Fire when ready, Mister Dragline.

Dragline looked up at the sun and squinted. He took off his cap and wiped his face with it, shoving it back on his head at an absurd angle. He stabbed his shovel into the ground and walked around it slowly, putting his fist on top of the handle with his thumb upraised as he scowled down at its shadow on the ground. Then he measured off the distance from the blade of the shovel to the end of the handle's shadow, using his outstretched fingers for a ruler. Spatoo! went the tobacco juice. Drag's lips began to move as he ticked off calculations on his fingers.

The rest of us were grinning. Boss Paul and the other guards were entranced by this devious, complex ritual which was really designed to steal a few minutes of free f.u.c.king off. And we knew that no one but Dragline could ever hope to get away with it all. Which is why we kept on shoveling, slowly, ineffectively, but constantly moving nevertheless.

Jackson stood there, leaning on his shovel and smiling.

Well now, come on here Luke. You know d.a.m.n well we got a couple of rules around here. You gotta shoot. Shoot, man. Either that or give up the gun to my sergeant here.

Spatoo! went the tobacco juice. Dragline frowned, scratched his nose and scowled. Closing one eye, he turned his head and gazed at Koko.

It's exactly ten forty-seven. A.M.

Eastern Daylight Saving Time?