Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [47]
About three years now, ain’t it? Since the war was all done with?
I reckon it is.
Still drinkin‘ like you were?
Aw, come on now, maw, interrupted Luke’s brother. You know Lloyd ain’t allowed no liquor in—while —he’s got to stay here.
I don’t mean that. He knows what I mean.
Yes maw. I know what you mean.
Have you been gettin‘ any religion? I asked you once. Before you went into the army. Please Lloyd. Wherever you are and whatever you’re doin’, take a little time out once in a while for the Lord. Give him just a few minutes of your time.
Luke said nothing. He reached for a piece of huckleberry pie and picked up a fork. But he stopped himself.
Maw. You know—maw—
They just looked at each other. Then Luke turned his eyes away.
Lloyd. I know how you feel. But I do wish you could forget about your paw. That was a long time ago. You were only a little boy.
Luke didn’t answer.
He couldn’t help what he done. If I can find it in my heart to forgive him, why can’t you?
Luke turned his head to the other side.
Lloyd. He couldn’t help it.
He couldn’t? He was a preacher, wasn’t he?
Yes. But he was flesh and blood too.
He was, huh? But didn’t he decide to call himself a man of the cloth? Didn’t he teach the Good Word? Folks ain’t supposed to steal? Ain’t supposed to kill and lie and sin? Gotta work real hard and go to church and have lots of faith? Can’t even drink or dance or play music? Just off. That’s all. I guess he’s still spreadin‘ the Faith somewhere’s ain’t he? Among the poor innocent heathen, most likely.
Lloyd. Please.
I’m sorry, maw. I wish you hadn’t mentioned it. You know I always get riled up.
The rest of the time was spent in idle talk. Some of the visitors in the park had nothing more to say at all. Curly played with his kids. The Greek just fidgeted, his parents holding hands and staring off to nowhere. Steve was anxious to get away and come back inside so he could peddle some of the groceries his mother brought him and get into the poker game. Boss Godfrey stood up and looked at his watch. Without his saying anything, everyone knew. It was already time, the two hours were over. Last minute greetings and assurances and instructions and questions were exchanged. People kissed each other, kids were called, men shook hands.
Suddenly Luke’s brother called his son and rushed over to the pickup truck, returning with a cardboard box full of Mason jars of preserved fruit and vegetables. The boy followed behind his father, grinning, holding out in his arms an old, scarred, scratched and beat-up banjo. Luke took it from him, holding it out at arm’s length to examine it with smiling wonder.
There were the farewells, the last kisses and tears. The convicts gathered in front of the gate, clutching their parcels and sacks with one arm and waving with the other; short, embarrassed gestures, crippled by shyness and regret and pain. On the other side of the lawn the visitors began to get into their cars, turning to wave and blow kisses, the kids screaming out their goodbyes.
Boss Godfrey walked over and opened the gate. The men came inside the yard and stood on the porch as the cars drove off down the clay road in single file, a horn blowing, arms sticking out of every window and waving. One or two of the convicts made unconvincing waves, knowing they could no longer be recognized in the crowd of men standing on the porch dressed in the same gray prison clothes. Then they turned and went inside the Building to go to their bunks and inspect their packages. The rest of us stayed outside, trying hard to swallow down the lumps in our throats while pretending to be thinking of nothing at all.
After we recovered we went inside the Building to gather around Luke’s bunk. Again we knew that something great was going to happen. There was a silent hush as we crowded around. Luke sat on the floor crosslegged, his back to the wall. At first he just stared at the banjo in his lap, rubbing his hands over it, stroking its parts. In a low voice he began to mumble.
Hell, I ain’t played this thing since the day