Part 13 (2/2)
Are you sure, Luke? You ain't gonna backslide on me are yuh? You sure your mind's right?
Yes suh, Boss. Please. Please don't hit me no more!
All right Luke. All right. Ah won't hit you no more.
The Building was silent.
25.
THE WALKING BOSS TOLD LUKE TO FINISH filling in the ditch and leveling off the dirt in the yard, standing nearby as he worked, leaning on his cane and watching. When Luke finished he stood there, waiting for instructions. The Walking Boss didn't move. For a full minute we sat inside the Building and waited.
Are you through, Luke?
Yes suh, Boss. I'm through.
Are you tired, Luke?
Yes suh. I am. I'm mighty tired.
All right then. Go on inside the Building. Take a hot shower and shave yourself up. Go to bed and git some sleep. As long as you got your mind right there ain't no reason why you cain't eat and sleep like everybody else.
I got it right, Boss. I got it right.
That's good Luke. Ah'm really mighty glad to hear that.
After that day they let Luke sleep in the Building with the rest of us and they let him have his meals. He was no longer beaten or abused and even the Dog Boy got the point and began to keep his mouth shut. Luke's wounds began to scab over and heal. His swollen lips went back to normal, his eye opened up and gradually faded. His hair grew out again, forming a ragged-looking crew cut spotted with bald places made by the scars. His hands hardened and his skin grew dark. The bridge of his nose mended with only a slight crook in it. He gained weight. His appet.i.te rose to what it was during his Newc.o.c.k days and his speed and endurance, his energy and strength resumed their legendary proportions.
But there was a difference. Luke no longer laughed and joked. He never sat in on the poker games. After he took a shower in the evenings he went straight to bed, looking off at nothing, silent and brooding. On weekends he would sometimes play his banjo but the music was different. There were no more of the virtuoso pieces, none of the Talking Blues. His repertory had been reduced to the plaintive and cajoling spirituals of the mountains, songs of humility, of regret and fatigue.
For Luke had been broken. His mind was right. His working partners tried to carry on as they had always done before, telling lies and exchanging insults, making phony bets and playing the Dozens. And none of the rest of us would have dared to make any comments on the changes in Luke. But even with Drag and Koko there was a difference. It just couldn't be helped.
One day in the middle of January, Boss G.o.dfrey was strolling up and down the road as we were pitching up dirt to the washouts. Cool Hand exercised his prerogative as a Chain Man, brus.h.i.+ng down the clumps as they were tossed up from the ditch bottom. Boss G.o.dfrey stood nearby, smoking a cigar and leaning on his Stick. Without s.h.i.+fting his weight or changing his expression, he began to growl in a low, matter-of-fact voice- Luke. Go get the water bucket.
Cool Hand glanced up. Then he stabbed his shovel in the ground and without hesitation he called out- Boss Paul! Gettin' the water bucket over yonder!
For a moment there was no answer. The guards saw the Walking Boss standing beside Luke and knew it must have been his idea. But it was too much. Luke had been made a Water Jack? Cool Hand Luke?
Boss Hughes! Boss Brown! Gittin' the bucket here.
Yeah. Yeah. O.K. Git it.
Luke started down the road, his feet moving with that pigeon-toed, short-stepped gait as he hobbled towards the tool truck. The guards watched him closely but Boss G.o.dfrey turned and idly strolled up the road in the opposite direction.
Luke got the bucket and lugged it back, offering the first drink to the Walking Boss, looking down at the ground and waiting while Boss G.o.dfrey gingerly sipped from the dipper.
Better give the guards a drink, Luke.
Luke started clambering down the shoulder of the road, across the ditch and up the back slope, pausing to call out in a clear, distinct voice, Boss Brown! Bringin' the bucket over to you, Boss!
He moved closer. The guard flinched, drew nearer, hesitated. He swung his shotgun down from his shoulder and got a tight grip on it, hitched the pistol holster forward. Then he slowly reached out and took the dipper, looking right into Luke's face. Luke stood there without moving, patiently holding the bucket.
After the Free Men the whole squad was served a drink. And after that day, if Rabbit and Jim were busy doing something else, Luke was often sent for the water bucket. He was even sent ahead of the Bull Gang to move up the red warning flag as we advanced along the road.
At first we were flabbergasted that Boss G.o.dfrey should let him go that far off without holding his rifle on him. Then we thought that two two sets of chains would surely make a difference. But we were forced to admit that there were other reasons. There was an entirely different att.i.tude in Luke's behavior. He was even becoming obsequious to the Free Men; agreeing with their opinions, laughing when they laughed, walking and talking in such a way as to admit that he was merely a stupid country boy who only got into trouble because he didn't have good sense. And if they made any references to his former escapes and rebellions he began to whine out a feeble excuse, shuffling his feet on the ground with embarra.s.sed humility. sets of chains would surely make a difference. But we were forced to admit that there were other reasons. There was an entirely different att.i.tude in Luke's behavior. He was even becoming obsequious to the Free Men; agreeing with their opinions, laughing when they laughed, walking and talking in such a way as to admit that he was merely a stupid country boy who only got into trouble because he didn't have good sense. And if they made any references to his former escapes and rebellions he began to whine out a feeble excuse, shuffling his feet on the ground with embarra.s.sed humility.
One morning Boss G.o.dfrey strolled over.
Luke. Ah'm gonna make you a Jack. But you'll have to keep them chains on though. Ah asked the Captain to take 'em off but he said no. But ah told him you were gonna jack for me anyhow. But hear me out, Luke. If you ever run from me again ah'm gonna kill you. You hear me? Ah'll kill you dead.
We had to turn our heads when we heard Luke saying, Don't worry Boss. I ain't gonna run no more. I done got my mind right.
A gloom hung over the whole camp, a despair, a lack of the l.u.s.tiness and the gaiety of former times. We knew what had happened. The Free Men's revenge for the night of July the Fourth was now complete. They had captured and chained and punished the culprits. They had broken them down in order to prove to the rest of us what would be the inevitable results of defiance. Then they had taken the greatest rebel of them all and rewarded him to show us the fruits of obedience. And just for good measure they even began to use Dragline as a part-time Jack-even though he had just had his parole turned down flat. The Parole Board said that his record had too many former arrests for drunkenness, a.s.sault and disorderly conduct; too many bad character references such as the one written up by the detectives in Miami who had investigated his case.
So when it happened no one was prepared for it. No one at all. It was a cool, dreary Monday afternoon. We were totally immersed in our labor and in our fantasies. Dimly we were aware that Dragline was sharpening tools on the edge of the road beside the tool truck and that Luke was carrying back the water bucket after giving us all a drink. Rabbit was down the road carrying up the red flag. Jim the Trustee was goofing off, shooting the bull with Boss Brown.
Suddenly there was the start of a motor, a roar, a prolonged, clattering crash, shouts and curses and the firing of guns. We dropped our tools and dove face down in the ditch as a frantic barrage of pistols and shotguns went off all around us.
Luke and Dragline had leaped into the tool truck, started the motor and driven off, pulling the lever which raises the dump body and spilling out on the road behind them a littered trail of cras.h.i.+ng shovels, yo-yos, bush axes, water barrels, tarps, lunch buckets, bean pot, bread box, the whole G.o.d d.a.m.ned works- Boss G.o.dfrey didn't move. He just stood there, leaning on his Walking Stick.
But the guards went hysterical, letting go with everything they had, their pumpguns booming until they were empty and then their pistols cracking out until the hammers clicked on dead cartridge cases in the cylinders. Bullets whined and whizzed, lead thudding out an entertaining melody against the body of the truck which had been raised up as a thick metal s.h.i.+eld.
The moment of fury stopped abruptly when all the guards ran out of ammunition. They stood there awkwardly, looking down at us, s.h.i.+fting their weight from one foot to another. Every one of us could have stood up and strolled away. Except that we couldn't move. We lay there flat on our bellies, laughing so hard we couldn't get off the ground, burying our faces in our folded arms to m.u.f.fle our hilarity.
For we realized that what Luke had really done was to put the Slow Con on all the Free Men. He couldn't possibly beat them in any other way so he simply had played it cool. Now he and Dragline were off in an aureole of flames, a tremendous din echoing behind them; laughter, curses and screamed invectives raised up in a mixed chorus of soaring halleluiahs- They're in the truck!
They're gettin' away!
It's that fat son of a b.i.t.c.h, Dragline!
And Cool Hand Luke!
26.
TODAY AT BEAN TIME I LAY THERE IN THE church yard, listening to the drone of Dragline's voice, my head propped up on my shoes, the bowl of my pipe resting on my chest. Something made my ankle itch and I drew up my leg, reaching down to scratch. As I relaxed again I turned my head and looked at the watch tower, studying its complicated design of criss-crossed beams and girders that supported the little square house on top. For no reason at all I began to count the flights of steps that zigzagged up into the sky. Fifteen. There were fifteen ladders. Like those that go from the boat deck up to the wing of the bridge. And for a moment I let myself remember. Right then the twelve-to-four would be on watch. The Captain and the Mates would be in the chart room working up the noon position. The sky would be clear, the seas moderate, the s.h.i.+p rolling and pitching gently.
They were still singing inside the church, a long, moaning kind of melodic prayer. There would be a pause for a minute or two and then they would begin again, one of the instruments or singers starting off alone, the others joining in one at a time. Stupid Blondie had finished sharpening yo-yos. The traffic on the road went by. Tobacco can lids were popped open. The dipper hit against the rim of the bucket. Matches were struck. A chain rattled.
Dragline drew one knee up against his chest, his other leg bent sideways, his ankles crossed. He leaned one arm on his upraised knee, holding a cigarette, his other hand picking up some sand and letting it fall through his fingers. Hoa.r.s.ely he murmured to the Bull Gang sprawled all around him, occasionally glancing over at the Free Men to see if they were listening. He squinted his eyes, his loose lips trying to conceal his grin.
Ah'm tellin' yuh. There was some some h.e.l.l raised when me and Luke took off. Ah ain't never heard such a noise. Bullets were whizzin' and moanin' and groanin' all over the place. They was poundin' away on the back of that old truck like-oh, man. Ah'm tellin' yuh. It was h.e.l.l on wheels. h.e.l.l raised when me and Luke took off. Ah ain't never heard such a noise. Bullets were whizzin' and moanin' and groanin' all over the place. They was poundin' away on the back of that old truck like-oh, man. Ah'm tellin' yuh. It was h.e.l.l on wheels.
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