Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [31]
Just remember, man. Wherever you go and whatever you do. Always play a real cool hand.
And from that night on he always answered to the name of Cool Hand Luke.
9
MANY MONTHS PASSED BY. SOME OF THE Oldcocks went home. Some more Newcocks drove up. One day the Bull Gang was lying in the shade, resting and smoking after our beans. Somehow the conversation got around to the bottomless chasm of Luke’s stomach. I could hear Dragline nearby talking to Society Red, a young college man from Boston who had been sent up from Miami Beach for hanging five thousand dollars worth of paper in a half-dozen night clubs, restaurants and hotels after his checking account had gone dry.
Dragline was enjoying himself, bragging and exaggerating with abandon, as though Luke’s gastronomical exploits, by virtue of being his buddy’s, were somehow part of his own achievements.
Eat? Haw! You ain’t never seen nobody really eat. One Sunday Luke and Curly chipped in to buy a gallon of ice cream. But the Laundry Boy and the Cap’n got hung up in town and didn’t git back until right after dinner. And we had somethin‘ special that day, meat of some kind or other. They couldn’t wait for the ice cream. So they went in and had three helpin’s each. Stuffed themselves like billy goats. And then when the ice cream finally did show up they just sat there on the front porch like a couple of kids. They had eight pint containers between ’em and they ate up every gawd damn drop.
You don’t say, Dragline? said Society Red.
Eat? One night ah saw him eat ten Hershey bars and drink seven Pepsi Colas in no more than fifteen minutes time.
Ten Hersheys and seven Pepsis? In fifteen minutes? Now wait a minute. Don’t think I’m that much of a Newcock. I’m just an Oldcock in a new place that’s all.
You don’t believe it?
Dragline sat up and slapped his hand on his chest with a resounding thud.
Ah’ve seen it wif mah own eyes! These two right here.
Oh, come on Clarence.
Clarence? Clarence? What the hell do you mean— Clarence? You callin‘ me a gawd damn liar? Ah’m tellin’ yuh. That there boy of mine can eat. He could eat a threefoot two-by-four—raw. He could chomp up and swallow a hatful of rusty nails—broken bottles—anything. Eff’n you’d so kindly oblige as to let me cut yore gawd damn haid off, why, he’d eat that.
Luke lay there a few feet away, paying no attention to the commotion. Serenely he smoked his butt and stared up at the clouds. And then quietly he spoke with matter-of-fact simplicity.
Five dollars says I can eat fifty hard-boiled eggs.
Fifty eggs? said Society Red, sitting up with interest.
Dragline did a double take, blinked his eyes, stared at Cool Hand Luke with a stricken expression, gulped, shook his head and then bravely nodded, jabbing his finger at Society Red for emphasis.
You’re gawd damn right he kin. Eff’n he says he kin do it, it’s done. And ah got five dollars more says he kin.
Society sat up straight, rearranged his cap and squinted thoughtfully.
Well, I have news for both you Southern gentlemen. I’ll just take that bet.
A few minutes later Boss Godfrey interrupted the proceedings by ordering everybody back to work. Quickly Dragline sidled over to Luke, shoveling away with fury.
Damn, Luke! What’s the matter with you? We done bet ten whole god damn dollars that you can eat— oh, Christ Almighty! Ah hates to even think about it. That you can eat—fifty eggs. Fifty eggs, boy. Ah backed you up. Yeah. But don’t ask me why. Habit, ah reckon. You’re mah buddy. But gawd damn—damn it Luke. What’s the matter with you?
Don’t worry Dragline. We got a dead-lock on that mullet. We just can’t lose.
We can’t? You sure the Bear ain’t caught yuh now?
Positive.
Well. Ah don’t know. Ah hates to let it be said ah didn’t back up a buddy. But