Part 13 (1/2)

I don't know what to tell you, Koko. It's a hard world out there. It just is, that's all.

Well, how about this. How about The Picture?

Luke opened up the magazine and smiled.

Oh, that. I thought you boys might be havin' the Black a.s.s back here. And maybe you'd miss your old buddy Cool Hand. So I thought I'd send you this little old snapshot to kind of cheer you all up. All together that d.a.m.n thing cost me about a week's pay.

How had he been caught? He was a bit reluctant to discuss it but apparently the waitress' rejection was harder to take than he would admit. He continued to woo her but she kept playing hard to get. Again he began drinking, habitually and heavily. Then in swift strokes of calamity, in less than one week, he lost his job, the girl refused to talk to him, he went broke and then landed in jail.

He was down in the French Quarter one night, roaring drunk when a cop approached him down the sidewalk, swinging his club. Luke went berserk. With a scream he took a swing at the cop, kicking at him, knocking him down and rolling with him into the gutter. Civilian bystanders subdued him with difficulty, pulling him off the patrolman and holding him until the wagon arrived.

He was given thirty days. But at the City Stockade they took his fingerprints and sent them in to the F.B.I. in Was.h.i.+ngton for a routine check. When they found out who he was they suspended the rest of his sentence. But they extradited him back to Florida immediately.

So that was it. We hung our heads, angry and disappointed. The First Bell rang and we prepared ourselves for bed, stretching out for a restless night of grappling with our visions. Luke had been recaptured, put in chains and thrown right back into the ditch with the rest of us. And then quite calmly he had told us that there was really no other world but this.

Out on the Road the next day we went to work as we always did. But before Smoking Period came around Boss G.o.dfrey walked right up to Luke.

What were you lookin' at that there car for?

What car, Boss?

Don't you sa.s.s me! You hear? Didn't the Cap'n tell you to git your mind right?

With a whistling cut he brought his Walking Stick down sharply on Luke's head. Luke bent over, dropping his shovel and groaning with pain.

Did you say somethin' Luke? Huh? Answer me, d.a.m.n it!

Again the Stick came down, blood spurting from reopened cuts, new bruises beginning to appear on his shaven white skull. The rest of us kept right on shoveling, our heads bowed, our eyes on the ground.

Now pick up that shovel and git back to work. Ah ain't gonna put up with your f.u.c.kin' off no more. You hear?

That night they put him in the Box. After that the same procedure was followed every day. For no reason at all he was beaten and if there were moans or tears he was. .h.i.t again. But if Luke made no outcry he was struck anyway for not answering promptly. Luke got weaker. He was barely able to finish out each day, his heavily shackled feet dragging in the dust. Every night he was denied his supper and locked up in the Box.

Again his beard grew. His body and clothes became filthy, his head encrusted with dried blood, his shaved and sunburned scalp a solid ma.s.s of bruises and cuts. But on the third night, from out of the darkness and from out of the depths of his wooden tomb, we could hear Luke singing that old mountain song called Little Liza Jane. We lay in our bunks listening, his voice making us tingle all over.

Every morning, five minutes before the First Bell and just after the other Chain Men had already been awakened, the door to the Building was opened and they brought in Luke in his nights.h.i.+rt, holding his clothes heaped in his arms, his unsupported shackles dragging across the floor. There was no time to shave or take a shower. He barely had time to go through the complicated maneuvers of putting on his pants over his chains and fixing up his rig of harness and strings before the Second Bell.

Then the week was over. Luke had made it. Even if they kept him in the Box all weekend at least he would have a chance to rest. And on Sat.u.r.day morning they brought him into the Messhall and let him eat his breakfast.

But afterwards the Yard Man was waiting for him just outside the Messhall door. He took him over to the corner of the fence in front of the gun platform. Boss Paul was on guard and smiling. Boss G.o.dfrey was there with his Walking Stick. A shovel stood leaning against the fence. There was a long pause. No one said anything. Then Boss G.o.dfey strolled forward and with the point of his Stick he drew two long parallel lines on the ground. Turning to Cool Hand he jabbed at the ground with his cane.

Luke? You see that ditch? That's mah ditch. You see that dirt? That's your dirt. Now git you gawd d.a.m.n dirt outta mah ditch!

And with that Boss G.o.dfrey brought his Stick down hard on Luke's head. Jaws flexing and eyes watering, he staggered over without a word, took the shovel and began digging, hard, steadily, without looking up at any of the Free Men who stood there watching him.

Later the Yard Man and Boss G.o.dfrey walked off and left Luke working under the smile of Boss Paul. We also watched, from the windows and from the porch, in silence and in wonder. By the time the morning was half gone Luke had dug a ditch that was twenty-five feet long, three feet wide and three feet deep. Then the Yard Man entered the gate and walked over to Luke, looking down at him with a sneer, nervously slapping a grubbing hoe handle against the calf of his leg.

Luke? What in the h.e.l.l are you doin'?

I'm diggin' this here ditch, Boss.

Who tole you to put that dirt in mah yard?

Boss G.o.dfrey did. He said to git it outta his ditch.

With a swift backhand movement the Yard Man hit Luke a blow that knocked him over sprawling, leaning on the edge of the ditch for support, blood trickling down over his forehead.

Don't lie to me. n.o.body tole you no such a gawd d.a.m.n thing! Now git that f.u.c.kin' dirt off'n mah gra.s.s!

Weakly Luke clambered out of the ditch and began to shovel the pile of dirt back into the excavation. Once more the handle swung, whistling as it cut the air and whacked squarely across Luke's b.u.t.tocks.

Hurry up! Roll, d.a.m.n you! Let's see you roll!

And then, from out of the depths of the Building, a harmonica began playing softly, thoughtfully, with sadness and resignation. Dragline was sitting on the floor hunched over his crossed legs and playing an old country church hymn. Koko's guitar joined in with muted chords. Society Red sat on one of the commodes and jiggled his string up and down, making music the only way he knew how, by rattling his chain in a slow rhythm against the concrete floor. Blackie sat down beside him and did the same. Then Stupid Blondie, Four Eyed Joe and Gator began to sing in whining, nasal voices. Then all of us, those not knowing the words trying to hum it in the background.

At noon Boss Paul told Luke to go inside the Messhall and eat. Quickly he wolfed down three enormous platefuls of beans and two big bricks of corn bread dipped in cutback mola.s.ses. Throughout the meal the Dog Boy stood behind him and sneered.

Eat plenty, Double Gut. You probably won't git nothin' at all tonight. Eat up, you f.u.c.kin' hog. Stretch that hog belly real good.

When he finished Luke went out in the yard, washed his spoon and put it in his hip pocket. Getting down on his knees he wet his face and head under the faucet and then went back to work. He had almost finished filling the ditch when Boss G.o.dfrey came through the gate with his Walking Stick and stood behind him for several minutes, silently watching him work. Again the hymn resounded from the Building, quietly and fearfully.

With a loud whack we heard the Stick land on Luke's head. He fell flat on his stomach, his fingers gripping the earth spasmodically, digging into it with trembling agony.

Luke. Ah done tole you to git your dirt outta mah ditch. Didn't ah? Didn't ah Luke?

Yes sir, Boss.

So how come you ain't done it yet? How come?

I don't know, Boss.

You don't know. You don't know? know? Well, you d.a.m.n well better figure it out. And quick. Now git up on yore feet and git to work. Well, you d.a.m.n well better figure it out. And quick. Now git up on yore feet and git to work.

Again Luke rose and started digging. Again we played and we rattled and we sang. Once more the ditch was dug and then filled up with curses and blows from the Yard Man. Just before supper time, when all of us were lined up waiting in front of the Messhall door, the Yard Man came inside and took Luke down to the Box.

Sunday was the same thing. Luke dug. The Free Men hit him and we sang and we played. But at three in the afternoon Luke fell to his knees in front of Boss G.o.dfrey, moaning and choking in a beseeching sob.

Don't hit me no more, Boss! Please! Don't hit me no more! I'll do whatever you say. Just don't hit me no more.

The music stopped. Boss Paul smiled. The faintest trace of a grin moved at the corners of Boss G.o.dfrey's lips. Bending over, he spoke quietly, anxiously, almost with tender concern.

Have you got your mind right, Luke?

Yes sir, Boss. I got it right. I got it right.