10
THE EAST, WEST AND SOUTH OF THE PRISON WAS bounded by a swamp, along which the cypresses rose high and spilled their leaves onto the murky surface of the water. The only way out was to the north, across the rice paddies tended by Cajun tenant farmers. There was a small village eighteen miles north of the prison and it was here that most prisoners trying to escape were caught and brought back to the prison by the Cajuns for the ten-dollar bounty offered by the state. Those who were not caught were presumed dead in the swamp. There had been only two such cases reported in the prison's twenty years of operation.
One morning in May, after Max had been there a few months, the guard checking out his hut reported to one of the trusties the absence of a prisoner named Jim Reeves.
The trusty looked around. "He ain't here?"
"He ain't out in the latrines, neither," the guard said. "I looked."
"He's gone, then," the trusty said. "I reckon he went over the wall in the night."
"That Jim Reeves sure is a fool," the guard said softly. He turned on his heel. "I better go tell the warden."
They were lined up in front of the kitchen, getting their coffee and grits, when Max saw one of the guards ride out of the prison and start up the road toward the village.
He sat down against the wall of one of the huts and watched the guard disappear up the road while he ate. Mike, the giant Negro trusty who had given him ten lashes the day he arrived, came over and sat down beside him.
Max looked over at the trusty. "That all the fuss they make over a man gettin' out?"
Mike nodded, his mouth filled with grits. "What you expec' them to do?" he asked. "They'll git him back. You wait and see."
He was right. The next morning, while they were at breakfast again, Jim Reeves came back. He was sitting in a wagon between two Cajuns, who carried their long rifles in the crooks of their arms. The prisoners looked up at him silently as he rode by.
When they came back from their work in the evening, Jim Reeves was tied naked to the whipping post. Silently the trusties led the prisoners to the compound, so that they could view the punishment before they had their meal.
The warden stood there until all the prisoners were in line. "You men know the penalty for attempted escape — ten lashes and fifteen days in the cage for each day out." He turned to Mike, standing next to him. "I don't want him knocked out. He must be conscious so he can rue the folly of his action."
Mike nodded stolidly and stepped forward. The muscles along his back rippled and the long snake wrapped itself lightly around the prisoner. It seemed to caress him almost gently, but when Mike lifted it from the victim's back, a long red welt of blood bubbled and rose to the surface.
A moment later, the prisoner screamed. The snake rippled around him again. This time, his scream was pure agony. The prisoner fainted three times before the lashing was completed. Each time, the warden stepped forward and had a pail of water thrown into his face to revive him, then ordered the lashing continued.
At the end, Jim Reeves hung there from the post, unconscious. Blood dripped down his back from his shoulders, across his buttocks and the top of his thighs.
"Cut him down and put him in the cage," the warden said.
Silently the men broke ranks and formed a food line. Max looked at the cage as he got on the line. The cage was exactly that — steel bars forming a four-foot cubicle. There was room to neither walk, stand or even stretch out full length. There was only space enough to sit or crouch on all fours like an animal. There was no shelter from the sun or the elements.
For the next thirty days, Jim Reeves would live there like an animal — without clothing, without medical attention, with only bread and water for his food. He would live there in the midst of his pain and his excrement and there was no one who would speak to him or dare give him aid, under penalty of the same punishment.
Max took his plate of meat and beans around to the side of the hut, where he would not have to look at the cage. He sank to the ground and began to eat slowly.
Mike sat down next to him. The big Negro's face was sweating. He began to eat silently. Max looked at him and couldn't eat any more. He pushed his plate away from him, rolled a cigarette and lit it.
"You ain't hungry, man?" Mike asked. "I'll eat that there food."
Max stared at him for a moment, then silently turned the plate over, spilling the contents on the ground.
Mike stared at him in surprise. "What for you do that, man?" he asked.
"Now I know why you stay here as a trusty instead of leavin' like you should," Max said. "You're evenin' up with the whole world when you swing that snake."
A look of understanding came into the trusty's eyes. "So that's what you' thinkin'," he said softly.
"That's what I'm thinkin'," Max said coldly.
The Negro looked into Max's eyes. "You don' know nothin'," he said slowly. "Years ago, when I first got here, I seen a man git a beatin' like that. When they cut him down, he was all tore up, front an' back. He died less'n two days after. Ain't a man died since I took the rope. Tha's more'n twelve years now. An' if you looked close, you would have seen they ain't a mark on the front of him, nor one lash laid over the other. I know they's lots of things wrong about my job, but somebody's gotta do it. An' it mought as well be me, because I don' like hurtin' folks. Not even pricks like Jim Reeves."
Max stared down at the ground, thinking about what he had just heard. A glimmer of understanding began to lighten the sourness in his stomach. Silently he pushed his sack of makings toward the trusty. Without speaking, Mike took it and rolled himself a cigarette. Quietly the two men leaned their heads back against the hut, smoking.
* * *
Jim Reeves came into the hut. It was a month since he had been carried out of the cage, encrusted in his own filth, bent over, his eyes wild like an animal's. Now his eyes searched the dark, then he came over to the bunk where Max lay stretched out and tapped him on the shoulder. Max sat up.
"I got to get outa here," he said.
Max stared at him in the dark. "Don't we all?"
"Don't joke with me, Injun," Reeves said harshly. "I mean it."
"I mean it, too," Max said. "But ain't nobody made it yet."
"I got a way figured out," Reeves said. "But it takes two men to do it. That's why I come to you."
"Why me?" Max asked. "Why not one of the men on a long stretch?"
"Because most of them are city men," Reeves said, "and we wouldn' last two days in the swamp."
Max swung into a sitting position. "Now I know you're crazy," he said. "Nobody can get th'ough that swamp. It's forty miles of quicksand, alligators, moccasins an' razorbacks. The only way is north, past the village."
A bitter smile crossed Reeves's face. "That's what I thought," he said. "It was easy, over the fence and up the road. Easy, I thought. They didn' even call out the dogs. They didn' have to. Every damn Cajun in the neighborhood was out lookin' for me."
He knelt by the side of Max's bunk. "The swamp," he said. "That's the only way. I got it figured out. We get a boat an'— "
"A boat!" Max said. "Where in hell we goin' to get a boat?"
"It'll take time," Reeves said cautiously. "But ricin' time is comin' up. Warden leases us out to the big planters then. Prison labor is cheap an' the warden pockets the money. Them rice paddies is half filled with water. There's always boats around."
"I don't know," Max said doubtfully.
Reeves's eyes were glowing like an animal's. "You want to lose two whole years of your life in this prison, boy? You got that much time just to throw away?"
"Let me think about it," Max said hesitantly. "I’ll let you know."
Reeves slipped away in the dark as Mike came into the hut. The trusty made his way directly to Max's bunk. "He been at you to go th'ough the swamp with him?" he asked.
The surprise showed in Max's voice. "How'd you know?"
"He's been at ev'ybody in the place an' they all turned him down. I figgered he'
d be gettin' to you soon."
"Oh," Max said.
"Don' do it, boy," the giant trusty said softly. "No matter how good it looks, don' do it. Reeves is so full of hate, he don' care who gets hurt so long as he gets out."
Max stretched out on the bunk. His eyes stared up into the dark. The only thing that made sense in what Reeves had said was the two years. Max didn't have two years to throw away. Why, in two years, he'd be twenty-one.
11
"Man, this is real food," Mike said enthusiastically as he sat down beside Max, his plate piled high with fat back, chitterlings, collard greens and potatoes.
Max looked over at him wearily. Stolidly he pushed the food into his mouth. It was better than the prison food, all right. They didn't see as much meat in a week as they had on their plates right now. But he wasn't hungry. He was tired, bent-over tired from pulling at the rice all day. He didn't think he'd ever straighten out.
Reeves and another prisoner sat down on the other side of him. Reeves looked over his plate at him, his mouth working over the fat meat. "Picked yourself a gal yet, boy?"
Max shook his head. They were there all right. Cajun girls, young and strong, with their short skirts and muscular thighs and legs. Plenty of them, all over the fields, working side by side with the men, their hair flying and their teeth flashing and the female smell of them always in your nostrils. It didn't seem to matter to them that the men were prisoners. Only that they were men and for once there were enough of them to go around.
"I'm too tired," Max said. He put his plate down and rubbed his ankle. It was sore from the leg iron and walking in the water all day.
"I'm not," the prisoner next to Reeves said. "I been savin' up my hump a whole year for this week. I'm gonna git me enough to last me till nex' yeah."
"Better not pass it up, Injun," Reeves said. "There ain't nothin' in this world like Cajun girls."
"Man, that's the truth," the other prisoner said excitedly.
"You got one picked out?" Reeves asked across Max to Mike. His eyes were cold and baleful.
Mike didn't answer. He just kept eating.
Reeves's face darkened. "I seen you out there on the field. Walkin' up an' down with that rifle in your hands. Showin' the girls what you got in them tight pants."
Mike still didn't reply. He began to wipe up the gravy in his plate with pieces of bread.
Reeves's laugh was nasty. "There's always some half-wit girl lookin' for a big buck nigger with a cock as long as my arm. An' I bet you just can't wait to stick it into some white girl. That's all you niggers think of, stickin' it in white women."
Mike stuck the last piece of bread into his mouth and swallowed it. Regretfully he looked down at the empty plate and got to his feet. "Man, that was sho' good."
"I’m talkin' to you, nigger," Reeves said.
For the first time, Mike looked down at him. Almost lazily he bent over Max and with one hand picked Reeves up by the throat. He held him writhing in the air at the level of his head. "You talkin' to me, jailbird?"
Reeves quaked, his voice choking in his throat.
Mike began to shake Reeves gently. "Remember one thing, jailbird," he said. "I'm a trusty an' you' jus' a prisoner. You likes stayin' healthy, you better learn to shut you' mouth."
Reeves's arms flailed helplessly in the air. His face was almost purple. Mike shook him a few more times, then casually flung him at the wall of the bunkhouse, about five feet away.
Reeves crashed against the wall and slid down it to the floor. His eyes glared at Mike. His lips moved but no sound escaped them.
Mike smiled at him. "You' learnin', jailbird," he said. "You' learnin'." He picked up his empty plate. "I'm goin' see if I can't scrounge me some more of these eats. I swear if they ain't the best I ever tasted."
Reeves struggled to his feet as the trusty walked away. "I'll kill him!" he swore tightly. "Honest to God, someday before I get out of here, I'll kill that nigger!"
There was an air of expectancy in the bunkhouse that night. Max was stretched out on his bunk and the feeling was contagious. Suddenly, he wasn't tired any more. He couldn't sleep.
The guard had come and checked the leg irons, fastening each man to the bed post. He had gone to the door and stood there for a moment. Then he laughed into the dark and went out.
Almost immediately, Max heard the scratch of a match, then a faint glow spread through the darkness. Max turned toward the light. Somehow one of the men had got a candle. It burned almost gaily at the head of his bed.
There was a subdued sound of laughter in the room. Max heard a voice say, "At leas' this time we can see what they look like."
"I don't care what they look like," another voice answered quickly, "as long as they got big tits."
Still another voice said raucously, "Your pecker won't know what to do, it's so used to yoh lily-white hand."
A soft laughter rippled through the room. About a half hour passed. Max could hear the sounds of restless movements, men twisting anxiously in their bunks.
"You reckon maybe they won't show up?" a voice asked nervously.
"They'll show up, all right," another prisoner replied. "They been waitin' for this as long as we have."
"Sweet Jesus." An anguished voice came from the far end of the room. "I can't hold it no more. All day long I been thinkin' about them women, about tonight— " His voice trailed off in a hoarse moan.
For a moment, the room filled with the sounds of the men turning restlessly in their bunks. Max felt the sweat come out on his forehead and his heart began to beat heavily. He rolled over on his stomach, feeling the sweet, heavy warmth suddenly spread into his loins. For a moment he writhed, caught in the fire of a wild desire, then angrily he forced himself to turn over. He rolled a cigarette with trembling fingers. He felt shreds of the tobacco fall around him but he finally lit it and dragged the smoke deep into his lungs.
"They ain't comin'," a voice cried, almost on the verge of tears.
"They ain't nothin' but a bunch of cock-teasers!" another voice said angrily. "T’ hell with them."
Max lay quietly in his bunk, letting the smoke trickle through his nostrils. The candle sputtered and flickered out and now the bunkhouse was pitch black. Mike's voice came softly from the next bunk. "How you doin' boy?"
"All right."
"Gimme a drag of that there butt."
Their hands touched briefly as Max silently held the cigarette out. The cigarette glowed and cast a faint shine over Mike's face as he dragged on it.
"Don' worry, boy." His voice was soft and reassuring. "They'll show up any moment now the candle's out. What those damn fools can't seem to understan' is them women don' want to see 'em, anymore'n they want theyselves to be seen."
A moment later, the bunkhouse door opened and the women began to come in. They entered silently, their bare feet making the faintest whisper on the floor.
Max turned in his bunk, hoping he could catch a glimpse of the one that would come to him. But all he could see were shadows that entered and then were lost in the dark. A hand touched his face. He started.
"Are you young or old?" a voice whispered.
"Young," he whispered back.
Her hand found his and brought it to her cheek. For a moment, his fingers explored her face gently. Her skin was soft and warm. He felt her lips tremble beneath his fingers. "Do you want me to stay with you?" she whispered.
"Yes."
Swiftly she came into the bunk beside him and he buried his head to the softness of her bosom. A great warmth and gentleness welled up inside him.
As if from a great distance, he heard a man across the room begin to cry softly. "My darling," he said, "my darling wife. You don't know how I've missed you."
Max turned his face up to the woman. As she bent to kiss his lips, he felt the tears rolling down her cheeks and he knew that she also had heard.
He closed his eyes. How could he tell this woman he couldn't even see what he felt? How could he tell her she bro
ught kindness and love into this room?
"Thank you," he whispered gratefully. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
* * *
On the fourth day at the rice fields, Reeves came over to him. "I been wanting to talk to you," he said quickly. "But I had to wait until that damn nigger wasn't around. I got a boat!"
"What?"
"Keep yer voice down," Reeves said harshly. "It's all arranged. It'll be in that big clump of cypresses south of the prison the day after we get back."
"How d'you know?"
"I got it fixed with my girl," Reeves said.
"You sure she ain't jobbin' you?"
"I'm sure," Reeves answered quickly. "These Cajun girls all want the same thing. I told her I'd take her to New Orleans with me if she helped me escape. The boat'll be there. Her place is out to the middle of nowhere. It'll be a perfect place to hide out until they stop lookin' for us."
He glanced up quickly and began to move off.
That evening, Mike sat down next to Max at chow. For a long time, there were only the sounds of eating, the scraping of spoons on plates.
"You goin' with Reeves now that he got his boat?" Mike asked suddenly.
Max stared at him. "You know that already?"
Mike smiled. "Ain' no secrets in a place like this."
"I don' know," Max said.
"Believe me, boy," the Negro said sincerely, "thirty days in the cage is a lot longer than the year an' a half you got to go."
"But maybe we’ll make it."
"You won't make it," Mike said sadly. "Fust thing the warden does is get out the dogs. They don' get you, the swamp will."
"How would he know we went by the swamp?" Max asked quickly. "You wouldn' tell him?"
The Negro's eyes had a hurt expression. "You knows better'n that, boy. I may be a trusty, but I ain't no fink. The warden's gonna know all by himself. One man allus goes by the road. Two men allus goes by the swamp. It's like it was the rule."
Max was silent as he dragged on his cigarette.
JC1 The Carpetbaggers Page 12