by Donn Pearce
And over the front door is this picture of Lord Jesus somebody got off’n a calendar. And an electric clock on the wall that cain’t work. And the paint is peelin‘ off’n the ceilin’. Cobwebs and fly shit all around. Oh. And the fuckin‘ floor is painted blue. Yeah. Ah remember that floor. Real dark blue.
Up front they got a stand somebody nailed together. That thing holds up this big Bible. Lick-lick. Lickturn or somethin‘. Anyhow. There’s a big tablecloth over it and then this here big ole Bible.
But ah’m lookin‘ over this big stove out in the middle of the room. Ah’m layin’ down on the floor, tryin‘ to git me some rest. But ah’m rolled over and ah’m lookin’ at this thing thinkin‘ o’ how warm ah could be. Regular ole country stove. Big iron thing and there’s a pile of kindlin‘ there too and ole newspapers. But naw. Luke don’t wont to take no chances on smoke. But all of a sudden ah hears him start talkin’. At first ah figgers he’s talkin‘ to hisself but then he says—
“Hey, Mister Lord!”
Damn. Ah spins around and there he is, standin‘ up there like a preacher, bof’ arms leanin‘ out on bof’ sides of the Bible. You know how preachers always stand there. And real deep and loud, like he’s givin‘ the whole fuckin’ world a hell-fire sermon, this crazy Luke starts preachin‘. But he’s preachin’ straight to God though. He looks straight up at the ceilin‘ over his haid and he says—
“Hey up there, Mister Lord! How you doin‘ up there?”
Jes like that. How you doin‘? Like he’s the old man what lives next door maybe. Well, man, ah’m tellin’ yuh. Ah comes straight off’n that floor like a Jack-in-the-box jes a-lookin‘ at that crazy son of a bitch. Hell, ah ain’t cold no more and ah ain’t hongry neither. Ah’m jest scared that’s all. So ah says—
“Hey Luke! What are you doin‘?”
But he don’t pay me no mind. He jest looks up at the ceilin‘ and goes on prayin’ or rantin‘ or whatever it was he was doin’.
“Listen here, Lord. Hear me out a minute. I got a bone to pick with you, Old Man.” And then ah says—
“Luke! Luke! You’re takin‘ the Lord’s name in vain! Ah’ mean. That there’s a mortal sin. Man. That’s blasphemy!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, Drag. Ah’m a pretty evil feller already. You know that. Hell, everybody knows that. Ah mean ah done killed people and stole real money and everything.” And ah says—
“Aw, come on Luke. Don’t do that. Dummy up and lay down here awhile. Let’s rest up some. Come on now.”
Cool Hand keeps on talkin‘. Ain’t nothin’ gonna shut him up. And he’s shakin‘ his fists in the air and his face is all screwed up like he’s hurtin’. Hurtin‘ real bad. And he says—
“Ah mean, Lord. Ah’m a pore, dumb son of a bitch and all like that. But you gotta admit. You sure do make it mighty hard for a man to keep up. How come you’re all the time fixin‘ it up so that ah cain’t never win out? Anything ah do, no matter how ah do it, it’s all wrong? So that most of the time ah don’t even know mahself what’s wrong and what ain’t?”
Well, by this time ah don’t even know what ah’m doin‘ no more. Ah’m crawlin’ across the floor over to Luke. Ah’m practically beggin‘ him to shut up. It was jest beginnin’ to git daylight. The sky was all red and there was thick clouds out yonder. And Luke, he’s arguin‘ and cussin’ and mad all at once. Ah tries to humor ‘im. Like you gotta do some nut. Ah talks nice and soft to ’im. Real coaxin‘ like. Ah says—
“Please Luke. Come on. Ah don’t like this kind of talk. And God don’t neither. It’s blasphemy! Anybody knows better than that. You’re gonna bring down the wrath of God on yoreself. On you and me both.” But Luke says—
“The wrath of God? Ah thought God was love, Dragline? You know. Love thy fellow man and all that.”
By this time ah’m prayin‘. Yeah. Ah mean it. Ah’m down on the floor on mah knees. Now ah ain’t scared o’ nothin‘. Nothin’ on this earth. Ah ain’t a-scared o‘ man, beast nor the devil. But fuckin’ around with God. Now, that’s different. So ah’m down on the floor, mah hands put together like they taught me in Sunday school. And Luke, he’s still preachin‘. And ah’m prayin’. Ah says—
“Don’t listen to him, Lawd! He’s crazy! He’s outta his pore, misbegotten mind! They done beat on his haid too much, God. He don’t know what he’s sayin‘. But don’t punish him. Please. Have pity on us pore convicts. We know we been bad. Real bad. But have mercy anyway. O.K.? Is it a deal, Lawd?” And Luke, he says—
“Yeah Lord! Have mercy! Have pity! Cause ah’m a bad one aw right. But then again maybe you had better punish me. But good. Cause ah really need it. Ah mean ah done stole! Money! Right out of the mouths of pore, hongry municipal governments. And worse yet—ah done killed people. Well, maybe not exactly people. But there was fourteen of ‘em. Before ah was even a man. Before ah could even vote. In cold blood. Men ah didn’t even know. And one of ’em even had a Bible in his pocket. What did you tell him about love, God? Or don’t you really speak that heathen tongue o‘ his’n after all? And what about all them starvin’ heathen kids and women folk? And them ah wasn’t allowed to feed or even talk to cause they was enemies? And how come after ah had to do all this burnin‘ and killin’ they made me out somethin‘ special? Music, speeches, flags, medals? Hell, ah was Good Guy Number One. And how come everywhere ah went ah could always see some man of the cloth hangin’ around? Smilin‘ and grinnin’ and salutin‘? Wearin’ war ribbons and officer’s marks and all like that there?”
Man. It was too much fer me. Ah couldn’t even look no more. Ah jes covered up mah face and ah says—
“Oh, please. Don’t lissen to him, Lawd. You cain’t hold his sins against a crazy man. Can you Lawd? Ah mean. That ain’t fair. He’s nuts! His haid is all banged up and scarred. He’s had hisself a pretty tough time. But it ain’t his fault. Is it? Is it Lawd?”
But right then. Right in the middle of this threeway argument we’re havin‘. Comin’ from right outta nowhere, ah hears this voice callin ‘out—
“Luke! Dragline! Come on out of there!”
Course, ah knew who it was. Boss Godfrey. And ah says to mahself, “Oh, damn, damn. Lawd he‘p us. Boss Godfrey’s out there.” And then he yells out again—
“Luke! Come on out! This is the end of the line!
Right away ah goes scootin‘ over to a winder on mah hands and knees and real careful like, ah looks outside. Then ah tears ass over to the other side and looks out. After that ah jes fell flat. Ah jes couldn’t look. Ah buries mah haid in mah arms like a gawd damn ostrich does and ah says to Luke—
“Oh damn it, Luke. We’re surrounded. They done caught up with us already. Already! They’s a thousand cops out there. Man, they’re crawlin ‘around behind the bushes and the trees thick as red bugs. And there ain’t no way of gittin’ outta here.”
But Luke, he didn’t even move. He jes stood there like he was, leanin‘ on this table thing, one hand on each side of this Bible. He keeps lookin’ up at the ceilin‘. But he ain’t mad no more. All of a sudden his lips is all puckered up. It looked like it was jes about all he could do to keep from bustin’ out loud and laughin‘ his ass off.
But not me. Ah knew the fix we was in. Ah mean, ah knew. And ah tried to tell ‘im. Ah tried. Ah says to him—
“They got all kinds of Law out there, Luke! The Walkin‘ Boss. The Captain. Shotgun guards. The Dog Boy. The Sheriff. The Highway Patrol. Oh, damn, damn. What are we gonna do? What can we do?”
But he jest grins. Ah’m tellin‘ yuh. He jes grins up at the ceilin’ and he says—
“Do? Well, Dragline. Ah don’t know. Ah reckon about all we can do right now is jest try and play it cool.”
Shit. That was all ah had to hear. “Play it cool?,” ah says. “Cool? How can we be cool when we’re hotter’n the hinges of hell? They’ll blow our ass clean off if we try anything. They got a natural dead-lock right on us.”
But Luke jest stepped down from behind this Bible thing and he walks r
eal slow right up to the winder. The sun was startin‘ to shine by then and it was comin’ right in on him. And he raises bof‘ his two hands right up in the air and he yells out loud and clear—
“Aw right, Boss! Don’t shoot! You got us! We give up!”
And right then. He didn’t even aim. He didn’t even hafta shift his rifle around. He jes let it dangle real loose like in his hands. And jes like that, Boss Godfrey pulled the trigger.
27
THE BULLET HIT LUKE SQUARELY IN THE throat and passed completely through his neck, the force of it nearly knocking him over, making him stagger back several steps to keep his footing. The bullet ricocheted off the stove pipe and then the brick chimney, bouncing back at an angle to hit the ceiling and finally fell on top of the piano keyboard, the dim interior of the church filled with a puff of soot and of brick dust, the thwacking sounds of the bullet forming a single, instantaneous chord that culminated with the sounding of several treble notes on the piano.
Dragline began to crawl in a frenzied scuttle towards some sort of cover. He stumbled and kicked and paddled his way through the mass of cane chairs and then scurried behind the home-made lectern, trying to hide himself in the cramped hollow within.
There was silence. After the noise of the gunshot and the frantic, scrambling sounds, it was like a vacuum; ethereal, delicate, vibrating with a sensation of the infinite.
Dragline cowered behind the lectern, not daring to move, his mouth bitter with the taste of desperation that struggled inside his chest. Hearing nothing but the last faint hum of the piano, he cautiously peered around the edge. And he saw Luke standing there in the same place, the floor strewn with tiny glass fragments glittering in the sunlight streaming in through the window. His hands were still raised, his left arm trembling violently as he stared through the jagged window pane. He stood there swaying, trying to say something, blood gushing from the hole in his neck and from out of his mouth, his lips twitching uncontrollably. Slowly he sank to the floor, not falling nor even collapsing but just laying down with weariness.
Seconds later the commotion began. There were shouts outside and curses, the squeaks and rattles and thumps of men running and struggling.
God damn you! What d‘you do that for?
Keep your fuckin‘ nose out of this.
Come on, Boss! Come on!
Hey! You!
There were footsteps out front and then the door burst open. Shoes scraped and pounded, coming inside. Dragline was trying to squeeze himself under the lectern, reaching up to grab the huge Bible and the tablecloth off the top, pulling them over his head. He whimpered and prayed in a low moan, trying not to hear the clear, emphatic voice of the Dog Boy as he yelled out with the excitement of triumph and revenge.
Here he is, Boss! You got ‘iml You got ’im good! Hey, here’s the other one too. The fat boy hisself. Hidin‘ in the back. I’ll git him for you Boss. You got the other one. Let me get this one.
More footsteps, curses, the sound of a slap.
Put that thing down, you bastard. Put it down. There’s been enough killin‘ here for one day.
Hands reached into the lectern, grabbed Dragline’s shirt and pulled him to his feet, the Sheriff and his deputy holding his arms with desperate purpose. Dragline saw the Captain standing there inside the door with Boss Paul and Boss Hughes. Boss Godfrey was nearby, his rifle dangling loosely in one hand. A uniformed sergeant of the Highway Patrol grappled with the Dog Boy, slapping him in the face and holding up his gun hand by the wrist.
Breathing heavily, the Sheriff snapped a pair of handcuffs on Dragline and started to hustle him outside. At the same time the two shotgun guards went over to Luke. As soon as they touched him he struggled to rise to his feet. But he couldn’t stand up alone, his left arm and leg shivering, the corner of his lips and his cheek trembling violently.
Dragline was led outside and put in the back seat of the Sheriff’s car. There was a small crowd gathered nearby, a dozen Negroes huddled together, three disheveled men in green uniforms, one of them talking nervously.
I was on duty. Midnight to eight. Up in the tower. And I saw ‘em. Plain. The two of ’em. They were wearin‘ these striped pants. Sneakin’ around behind this here nigger shack. I could see ‘em plain in the glasses. There was frost last night. They were puttin’ out smudge pots and fires all over the groves. I had to keep my eyes open. You know. You gotta stay on your toes at a time like that. Case some of them fires get outta hand. So I’m lookin‘ all around. But convicts! Hell, I never figured on seein’ no convicts. But there they were. As big as life.
And Dragline heard the sergeant of the Highway Patrol say something to the Captain about providing an escort, about Orlando and the nearest hospital. But then he heard some dry spitting and a slow drawl, the Captain muttering something about not being authorized, about expenses and something about prison hospital.
Luke came out the door of the church supported by both arms between the two guards. And that was the last time that Dragline ever saw him. He was dragged stumbling past the car window, his entire left side twitching and shivering in spasms. They put him in the Captain’s black and yellow coupe and put cuffs around his ankles, put a safety belt around his waist and locked his wrists so that his hands dangled securely in his lap. Luke slumped forward, his head hanging at a strange angle, blood running down his neck and over his chest and belly, his mouth trembling but not making a sound.
Then the Captain got in the car and drove off towards Raiford, a hundred and twenty miles away.
28
AFTER LUKE AND DRAGLINE HAD TAKEN OFF with the tool truck the Bull Gang finished up the day. But we doubled up and went out on the Road the next morning with Boss Palmer’s gang. Boss Godfrey was missing all day and so was Boss Paul and Boss Hughes. But other than that we didn’t know anything about what was going on until after we had checked in that night. Then we found Dragline sitting on the floor next to his bunk, smoking a cigarette, staring down in sullen brooding at the shiny, brand-new set of shackles that were riveted to his ankles.
Silently we listened as Dragline told us about the escape and the shooting. Later in the evening, after the Last bell, Jabo the Cook was let inside the Chute by the Wicker Man. Jabo had been kept up late in order to fix the Captain, who had returned to Camp just after dark, some supper. And it was from Jabo that we got the message, whispered first to Carr and then murmured to the Wicker Man who repeated it to the Dog Boy lying there on his bunk. But the Wicker Man said it loudly enough so that everyone in the Building could hear, speaking in a crude, cruel and rasping manner, his words going right through us.
WELL, THAT LUKE FELLER IS DEAD. THE ONE YOU BEEN OUT CHASIN‘ ALL THE TIME. DIED UP AT RAIFORD. RECKON HE AIN’T GONNA GIVE NOBODY NO MORE TROUBLE NOW.
We just lay there in our beds staring up at the ceiling, at the light bulbs, at the shape of the man’s body pressing down on the mattress sagging above us. There was no sound; not even the squeaking of bed springs as men rolled over, not a cough nor a fart, not even the sound of breathing.
And then we heard the stretch and the rub of the Floorwalker’s crepe soled shoes and felt the subtle vibration of the Building as he paced back and forth, on guard and alert, wearing away his Time.
29
DRAGLINE FINISHED HIS STORY. HE TOOK A last drag on his butt and flipped it away, drawing up his knees and shifting his feet, the shackles rattling quietly, muffled by the sand and the dust. Fingering the center link, Dragline looked down at the ground. And I knew that his mind had at last relaxed, had let him forget about Luke. Instead he was wondering how much longer it would be before that link finally broke; remembering that the Captain had said that Drag would have to wear those chains until he wore them out.
And he was probably thinking of his own Time, his bad luck and his errors. For if he hadn’t agreed to run with Luke that day he would have been home by now. His original sentence was finished a month ago but now he is working on that brand new Five Spot for larcen
y of State property; in other words, for stealing the tool truck.
But the movement of Dragline’s chain was the only sound as the Bull Gang sat there, unmoving, our gestures and expressions awkward and fixed. Our throats were tight, our mouths were dry, our heads were ringing with the melody and the hymn called Cool Hand Luke.
Yet we tried to appear casual and tough as our eyes swept over the flimsy shack of a church. We studied the shifting concrete foundation blocks which held the building off the ground, the floor buckling between them. We examined the warped walls, the boards all dried out and cracked with streaks of old paint barely visible in the grain of the wood. We stared at the window which had a gray piece of weather-beaten cardboard inserted in the place of one of the panes. But that blank square spoke with such an eloquent simplicity that to us it had become as solemn as a window of stained glass reflecting a complex of infinities.
Inside, the choir was still singing. We could hear the swish and the roar of a passing truck back on the road. We could hear the voices of some little colored kids laughing and screaming at each other while swinging through the limbs of a distant mulberry tree. The piano went banging on, the trumpet muted and tremulous. But most of all we listened to the cunning notes of a sly banjo echoing from deep within the shadowed obscurity.
Then we began to get tense, began to stretch and shift our feet. Koko took off his cap and wiped his face with it, put it on his head, pulled it over his left ear, then pulled it over his right ear. He took it off again and mauled it with his hands, putting it on once more, the bill pulled down low over his eyes.
