Part 15 (2/2)

Aw right. Let's go git it. It's that time.

We all stood up, clutching our yo-yos and waiting as Boss Paul, Boss Kean and the other guards began walking off to strategic positions that gave them a good field of fire. There was a moment's hesitation and then all together, without even a signal, we began to wade through the s.h.i.+fting hot sand towards the road and the ditch. We fell into formation and began swinging our yo-yos back and forth, slowly at first, our hands and arms stiff and cramped, yo-yoing the gra.s.s on both sides of the road, the guards scattered, stationed at the cardinal points of the compa.s.s. Our easy rhythm began to loosen up, our freshly sharpened yo-yos slicing through the weeds, the soft swis.h.i.+ng lulling us once again back to our reverie.

We began our thinking and planning. We imagined, we pretended and we remembered. As we worked our way past the little cemetery next to the church I glanced over at the pathetic graves with their crosses of ordinary lumber, the small lumps of stones, the wilting flowers stuck into mayonnaise jars of water, the stained and weathered photographs incased in gla.s.s and fitted in frames.

And as we pa.s.sed I couldn't help but think of the dead body of Cool Hand Luke. I knew that by the time the officials got around to notifying his relatives he was already buried, carried out the Main Gate and around the corner of the triple fences of Raiford, interred in that convicts' cemetery which is known to one and all as Gopher Ridge.

I knew that they must have placed a white wooden cross at his grave lettered in black paint with the name Lloyd Jackson and a serial number. And I also knew that before long the paint would crack and peel in the sun and the rains would level the mound of loose sand. Sooner or later the base of the cross would rot and the truck would be hauling in some more boxes and would accidentally knock the cross over, the tires pressing it into the sand.

In a few more minutes the voices singing in the church behind us became dimmer and finally lost in the roar and the whistle of the pa.s.sing traffic. We worked our way past the sign that read ”Lake County Fire Control Headquarters”-then another sign shaped like a huge badge. Farther on we pa.s.sed a parked green truck that belonged to the forest rangers. Then we cut away the weeds that grew around a concrete anchor for one of the wire stays that supported the watchtower. Again I counted the flights of steps that zigzagged drunkenly up across the sky and towards the eyes hidden there in the clouds. Fifteen.

Then we worked our way past a rusty barbed wire fence, the lightwood posts rotted away at the bottom and leaning at exhausted angles, held up by the very wire they were meant to support. Fifty feet farther on we hit a bare patch of sterile sand on the edge of which was a dead oak tree, the limbs broken off, the stumps hung with a few thin wisps of moss, one side of the trunk charred black from a gra.s.s fire leaving a thick, wrinkled scab of charcoal.

The hours pa.s.sed. We had our Smoking Period and then went back to work. The sun dipped towards the horizon, reflected in a blinding glare from beneath the black hat of the Man With No Eyes. Far away over his shoulder we could still see the watchtower raised up into the clouds.

It got later. We began to steal impatient glances at the Walking Boss, waiting for his growl which would permit us to put away our tools and load up into the cage truck. But he said nothing. Slowly he sauntered up the road behind us, swinging his cane as we yo-yoed past a cow pasture and then a small grove of grapefruit trees and then a Pepsi Cola sign.

Cool Hand Luke was Donn Pearce's first novel, published by Scribners in 1965. Mr. Pearce wrote the original filmscript for the well known movie based on his novel and is also the author of two later novels, was Donn Pearce's first novel, published by Scribners in 1965. Mr. Pearce wrote the original filmscript for the well known movie based on his novel and is also the author of two later novels, Pier Head Jump Pier Head Jump and and Dying in the Sun. Dying in the Sun. He has been a machinist's helper, safecracker, convict, third mate in the He has been a machinist's helper, safecracker, convict, third mate in the Merchant Marine, and is currently a private investigator in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida.

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