Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [70]
—four-teen—FIFTEEN!—(Sixteen)—seven-TEEN?
So the glorious escape had failed. Luke was thrown into the Box and the next day sent out on the Road. All day he dug and pitched, clumsy with the unfamiliar links fettering his legs, the chain rattling and banging awkwardly as he kicked against the blade of his shovel.
All day Boss Kean stood over Luke, assigned as his personal guard. Boss Kean has served on the Florida Chain Gang for twenty-two years. Before that he was on the Georgia Chain Gang for eleven years. A true Cracker, he was born and raised on the edge of the Okeefenokee Swamp, a dedicated, hard working, God-fearing man. And in all his years of guarding convicts he ain’t never had to kill no white man. He killed a few niggers in his time but never no white man. Course he wounded two of them once but they never did die.
But still you never can tell. And he’d sure hate to have to shoot no white man. But a body has to do his work. Boss Kean believes in work. And any time he catches either of his two no ‘count sons fooling around reading or if he just finds some old book or magazine or one of them newspapers laying around the house, why, he just throws it out into the yard, that’s all. He never had no use for reading himself. Never did have time to bother learning how to do it. Too busy out doing a man’s work. In fact he don’t believe in nothing that takes a man’s mind away from his work. No sir. A man should never let nothing take his mind away from his work.
Not once during the day did Luke dare look up. Even when a car slowed down and the driver threw out a pack of Free World cigarettes that landed almost at his feet, he had to go on with his shoveling, leaving them lying there, untouched and unseen. And with the Heat as bad as it was, we didn’t dare try to talk to him, to find out what had happened, pretending to ignore his very existence.
Hour after hour Boss Kean stood nearby, going on and on.
Ah hears tell you don’t b‘lieve in no God, Luke. Ah was wonderin’ how come a nice lookin‘ young feller like you was to come to git in heah. But now ah reckons ah knows.
The old man began to pace back and forth, growing tense, anxious, his own thoughts making him angry, shifting his shotgun from one arm to the other and idly fingering the butt of his pistol. Across the road the other guards watched. Farther down the line Boss Paul stood and smiled. And farther still Boss Godfrey leaned heavily on his Walking Stick, the blank wall of his face turned Luke’s way, seeing nothing, yet seeing all.
Boss Kean went on:
Even the heathen, them Chinee people and them thar Japs—even they knows thar’s somethin‘ up yonder. Ah jes don’ unnerstan‘ how a feller kin stan’ thar and say he don’t b‘lieve. No suh! Don’t nevah tell me that. That’s one thing ah b’lieves in. The soopreme spir’t. Eff’n thar warn’t no hereafter—why—eff’n a man was to git in mah way, ah’d jes blow his haid off. Right off. An‘ think no more about it than eff’n it war a rabbit. Eff’n ah seen a gal and ah wonted a piece. Ah’d jes take it off’n her and go on. Eff’n they was to hang me, ah wouldn’t keer. Ah could suffer a few minutes aw right. But for eternity! No suh. Don’t tell me that. No spir’t? Oh, man. Naw. Naw.
That night when the Bull Gang got out of the truck and lined up, there was only one night shirt ready. After we were shaken down there was a pause while the Captain slowly exhaled the cigarette smoke through his nose.
Luke. Boss Kean says you were Eyeballin‘ today.
Luke said nothing.
Well? What about it?
Yes sir, Captain.
They put Luke in the Box. In the morning they took him out and sent him back to the Road. All day Boss Kean stood over him and heckled