Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [59]
All that day Luke was left in the Box as we went out on the Road. After work we came back in, ate our supper, showered and went to bed. All night the bulb was still burning on the front of the Box.
Wednesday morning the Yard Man went out with a trustee and a guard. When they swung back the door they found Luke standing at the rear of the Box, his arms folded across his chest. The Yard Man started to grin but Luke cut him short with a growl—
Shut the god damn door, Boss. You’re lettin‘ in a draft.
The Yard Man didn’t move. He just stood there looking at Luke from under his eyebrows. Then his false teeth started clicking again and he slammed the door as hard as he could.
We went to work that day and also the next. Still the bulb burned on the front of the Box.
The morning after that the Yard Man opened up the Box, Boss Kean standing behind him with his shotgun aimed right at Luke’s belly, one eye squinted tight, the double muzzles wobbling and jerking as the old man quivered, trying to concentrate and chew his plug of Red Mule at the same time.
Luke was standing at the rear of the Box, his arms crossed over his chest in exactly the same posture as they had left him two days before. Except that his eyes weren’t quite right and his face was dirty and bearded.
Rudolph, the bloodhound puppy which the guards used for a pet was running all around, his long ears flopping loosely, barking and crouching, sniffing at Boss Kean’s heels while he tried to kick him away without losing his aim or his chew. The Yard Man grinned. In his hand he held a single, heavy biscuit. He tossed it up and down, weighing it in the palm of his hand.
You hongry Luke? How ‘bout a nice, hot cathead? Big eater like you must be hongry. Been four days. Ah reckon this would taste mighty good right about now. But damn. Wait a minute. Little ole Rudolph here looks pretty hongry too. Cain’t mistreat a pore, innercent hound that a-way. Tell you what. Why don’t we split it with the pooch? O.K.?
The Yard Man grinned and broke the biscuit in half. He held one piece in his left hand. He held the other up over Rudolph as he barked and wagged his tail, sat on his haunches and gazed up at the tempting tid bit.
Come on, Rudolph. Speak to me, baby. Come on now. Be good. Speak to me. Speak! Speak!
Rudolph barked, turned his head and gazed sideways up at the biscuit. Then he stood up as the Yard Man fed it to him, eagerly gulping it down as he was patted on the ribs with hollow slaps.
The Yard Man turned to Luke.
Well, Luke. Here’s your piece. Better eat it slow. There won’t be no more till tomorrow.
Squinting his eyes into narrow, concentrated slits, Luke growled in a low, even voice.
Might as well give Rudolph the other half too, Boss. I just ain’t much hungry.
The Yard Man pushed the side of his lower plate deeply into his left cheek.
Gawd damn you! Ah’ll fix yore fuckin‘ ass! But good! Rudolph! Here. Here, boy. Boss Kean? You watch this man close. He’s a trouble maker and has been known to be plannin’ escape attempts. If he tries anything a-tall, you know the Law.
Furiously, the Yard Man slumped away towards the Captain’s Office, his shoulders hunched forward, his head down. In five minutes he came back with an aluminum bowl of Epsom salts. He stood a minute looking at Luke, his dried and wrinkled face grimaced into a mask.
Drink this, bastard. And don’t tell me you ain’t thirsty. Ah know you’re thirsty. And Boss Kean here knows you’re thirsty too.
Luke drank the salts straight down with no expression at all and handed back the bowl. Then they locked the Box again. For three more days.
The rest of us went on with our routines. That was a Friday. That morning we went out on the Road and made the day but the weekend passed with tense expectation. We did the usual things but there was a difference, an atmosphere of sullen helplessness hanging over the Camp. Nothing was ever said about Luke. Not out loud. But we were all thinking