Page 124 of The Reformatory

“I’ll take him to the band room,” Mrs. Hamilton said.

“Sticking your head in only makes it worse.”

“Percy, hush,” she said. “I’m taking him. I’ll tell him.”

Mrs. Hamilton clung to his hand and urged him to walk faster as they crossed the field toward the band building. The cornfield fence was in sight and Robert wondered if the hole was cut in the fence. He wanted to pull free from Mrs. Hamilton and run so he would never learn the sad story in her eyes.

“I have awful news, Robert,” Mrs. Hamilton said as they ducked into the band building, where the empty chairs and music stands stood in neat rows. “I’ve had to give this news many times, but you’re so young to hear it and I’m truly sorry to tell you.”

New horror gripped Robert: maybe it was something he’d never considered! “Gloria?” he said in a mouse’s voice.

“She’s fine. I know this personally.” Mrs. Hamilton steadied herself. “But your friend has died. August was killed last night. He got into a fight in the Box and he was hurt and bleeding, and he died.”

Robert did not know anyone named August. His chest swelled with relief. Even when he remembered that Redbone’s real name was August Montgomery, he could not be sad because he could still feel Redbone’s warm forehead and see his smile, so he could not be dead.

“Did you hear me? Redbone—isn’t that his nickname? He’s gone.” The name lashed Robert with grief.

“Is he at the hospital?” The nearest hospital for Negroes was in Tallahassee, and Papa and Mama had forever complained about how people in accidents died on the way. No white hospital would let you set foot inside, even if you begged and screamed and bled all over the floor. But maybe Redbone was only hurt, and an ambulance racing with a siren had saved him.

“No, sweetie. They found him this morning. It was already too late for a doctor.”

The scream he’d swallowed when he was sitting with Cleo tried to erupt from him as he imagined Redbone bleeding on the dirt floor in the dark. His throat cinched with a sob.

“Where is he?” Robert said when he could speak again.

“He’s still here. They’re burying him today.”

“Who… did it?”

“It doesn’t matter who,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “It’s another boy. He said it was self-defense. It was a fight. A piece of scrap metal they got in somehow. Boys fight here, Robert. They’re scared, and they fight.”

“It was Cleo, wasn’t it?”

Instead of using words, Mrs. Hamilton answered with a sigh. “You see how upset he was. He was sobbing all morning. He said it was self-defense.”

The earth and sky pulled away. Redbone could not be dead, and yet he was dead. And he had died in a cloud of outrageous lies. Redbone never would have attacked Cleo first! Cleo had promised to kill both of them, and Boone had put Redbone in the Box with him to die. Then Boone and Haddock had set Cleo free to eat breakfast like it was an ordinary day. Instead of punishing Cleo for killing Redbone, they stopped punishing him. And Mrs. Hamilton, with her soft eyes and voice, was telling their lies. Cleo had said, Ask them, not me.

“They killed him,” Robert said. Once he started talking, he said the rest in a hurried breath. “Boone and Haddock. They made Cleo do it. They tricked him by telling him lies to make him mad at us. They did it on purpose. They kill people here. There’s haints all over this place—did you know that?”

Mrs. Hamilton gave him a pitying look. She didn’t believe it any more than her brother did. “We’ve all heard the stories.”

“Well, they died here, or died running from here. Who do you think does the killing? It’s them. They come to work every day like killing people is nothing. How can they do that? How can they kill kids and nobody does anything?”

Mrs. Hamilton strained to think of a good answer, or maybe another lie, but she couldn’t reply to him for a time. “It’s wrong,” she said. “As wrong as anything I’ve ever seen.”

Hearing the truth made Robert’s bones heavy. He sobbed into Mrs. Hamilton’s arms. If she’d been Mama, she would have hugged him for a long while, patting the back of his neck, saying, All right, try to be brave like your papa, and then let him lie down and miss his chores. But she wasn’t Mama, so when the hug was cut short, he could barely stand.

“Listen to me,” Mrs. Hamilton said, her words steadying him. “I know.”

She’d spoken as if she’d seen it all: the dead boys in the photographs, Gloria’s map, the haint at the church. Every secret thing that only Redbone knew—had known. Robert felt dizzy when he remembered Redbone was dead.

“I know what it is to have someone killed by violence—the injustice of it. It’s the worst feeling there is. My late husband, he didn’t die in the war: he got pulled off a train and beaten to death after he got back home. He never made it back to me. I carry that, Robert.” Her eyes were bright with tears. “This is yours to carry. There’s lots of people working to get you out of here, but you won’t find justice in here. If there’s any kind of justice, and I do mean if, it’s waiting outside. After you’re out, you can tell everyone about Redbone—how you played in band together and he helped you cope with being here. I saw you two laughing together in the infirmary. That was a special friend who could make you laugh in here, especially when you were new.”

“He was covering for me!” Robert confessed, each word fire. “I didn’t tell everything—”

“That’s behind you now,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “Friends protect each other. That’s the only meaning of friendship in a place like this. And he knew that, Robert. Only he didn’t know it would turn out so bad—”

Robert sobbed, imagining Redbone bleeding and wide-eyed as he realized he was dying, maybe calling for his mama. Had Cleo taunted him and called him names while he died?