Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [84]
Later the Yard Man and Boss Godfrey walked off and left Luke working under the smile of Boss Paul. We also watched, from the windows and from the porch, in silence and in wonder. By the time the morning was half gone Luke had dug a ditch that was twenty-five feet long, three feet wide and three feet deep. Then the Yard Man entered the gate and walked over to Luke, looking down at him with a sneer, nervously slapping a grubbing hoe handle against the calf of his leg.
Luke? What in the hell are you doin‘?
I’m diggin‘ this here ditch, Boss.
Who tole you to put that dirt in mah yard?
Boss Godfrey did. He said to git it outta his ditch.
With a swift backhand movement the Yard Man hit Luke a blow that knocked him over sprawling, leaning on the edge of the ditch for support, blood trickling down over his forehead.
Don’t lie to me. Nobody tole you no such a gawd damn thing! Now git that fuckin‘ dirt off’n mah grass!
Weakly Luke clambered out of the ditch and began to shovel the pile of dirt back into the excavation. Once more the handle swung, whistling as it cut the air and whacked squarely across Luke’s buttocks.
Hurry up! Roll, damn you! Let’s see you roll!
And then, from out of the depths of the Building, a harmonica began playing softly, thoughtfully, with sadness and resignation. Dragline was sitting on the floor hunched over his crossed legs and playing an old country church hymn. Koko’s guitar joined in with muted chords. Society Red sat on one of the commodes and jiggled his string up and down, making music the only way he knew how, by rattling his chain in a slow rhythm against the concrete floor. Blackie sat down beside him and did the same. Then Stupid Blondie, Four Eyed Joe and Gator began to sing in whining, nasal voices. Then all of us, those not knowing the words trying to hum it in the background.
At noon Boss Paul told Luke to go inside the Messhall and eat. Quickly he wolfed down three enormous platefuls of beans and two big bricks of corn bread dipped in cutback molasses. Throughout the meal the Dog Boy stood behind him and sneered.
Eat plenty, Double Gut. You probably won’t git nothin‘ at all tonight. Eat up, you fuckin’ hog. Stretch that hog belly real good.
When he finished Luke went out in the yard, washed his spoon and put it in his hip pocket. Getting down on his knees he wet his face and head under the faucet and then went back to work. He had almost finished filling the ditch when Boss Godfrey came through the gate with his Walking Stick and stood behind him for several minutes, silently watching him work. Again the hymn resounded from the Building, quietly and fearfully.
With a loud whack we heard the Stick land on Luke’s head. He fell flat on his stomach, his fingers gripping the earth spasmodically, digging into it with trembling agony.
Luke. Ah done tole you to git your dirt outta mah ditch. Didn’t ah? Didn’t ah Luke?
Yes sir, Boss.
So how come you ain’t done it yet? How come?
I don’t know, Boss.
You don’t know. You don’t know? Well, you damn well better figure it out. And quick. Now git up on yore feet and git to work.
Again Luke rose and started digging. Again we played and we rattled and we sang. Once more the ditch was dug and then filled up with curses and blows from the Yard Man. Just before supper time, when all of us were lined up waiting in front of the Messhall door, the Yard Man came inside and took Luke down to the Box.
Sunday was the same thing. Luke dug. The Free Men hit him and we sang and we played. But at three in the afternoon Luke fell to his knees in front of Boss Godfrey, moaning and choking in a beseeching sob.
Don’t hit me no more, Boss! Please! Don’t hit me no more! I’ll do whatever you say. Just don’t hit me no more.
The music stopped. Boss Paul smiled. The faintest trace of a grin moved at the corners of Boss Godfrey’s lips. Bending over, he spoke quietly, anxiously, almost with tender concern.