Page 127 of The Reformatory

Robert hesitated. He could barely feel the breath in his lungs. How could he play?

“You want me to?” Tex said. He was first trumpet, after all. He would play it better.

Robert shook his head, taking the trumpet from Crutcher. Blinking acid tears from his eyes, he tried to blow. No sound came at all through the instrument except ragged breath.

“Take your time, son,” Crutcher said.

Tex put his hand on Robert’s shoulder, and Robert imagined Tex was Redbone standing tall and alive beside him, and his lungs opened up. Despite all of his practicing, the notes were unsteady and wavered in and out of key, but no one seemed to mind. Robert remembered what Mrs. Hamilton had said about how Redbone might hear him all the way in heaven, so he took a deep breath from his belly before he played his high C, the saddest sound of all, and even Crutcher looked at him with startlement because the note was so sure and strong. Birds flapped out of the trees, shamed by its perfection. Robert held the high C for an impossibly long time, until Tex was nodding and smiling at him. The last six notes were easy, his lungs emptying out. The memory of his music floated over them long after he had laid his trumpet down.

Mrs. Hamilton had said Redbone died like a soldier in a war, so Robert saluted him the way he’d seen in picture shows, and the other boys all saluted Redbone’s casket too. Then Crutcher said, “All right, let’s cover him up now,” and their shovels flurried to return the soil they had taken and slowly hide the pale wood of the casket. Although tossing loose soil was less work than digging, Robert’s shovel felt heavier in his hands as he watched the last traces of Redbone buried under the dirt. The triumph of his high C note was too small a solace, especially when he realized that no one from Redbone’s family was with them. Would his mama just get a letter in the mail saying Oh, well, he’s dead, sorry you missed the funeral? If he died here too, would that same letter go to Gloria and Miz Lottie? Would his family come to Boot Hill one day without knowing where to find him because his grave wasn’t marked?

None of the boys were crying. Since crying on an ordinary day could get them sent to the Funhouse, they had trained themselves to hide their crying. All of Robert’s crying was hidden in the plan in his head, which was the only thing that got him through burying Redbone. Once the crater dipped only a little less level with the rest of the ground, they patted the soil with their shovels. And then it was done.

“Anyone who wants to ride in the truck, climb in back,” Crutcher said. “If you walk, no one’s holding supper for you. So walk fast. And don’t miss dorm check-in.”

Most of the boys raced after Crutcher to ride in the truck, but Tex and the two other band kids decided to walk together. They waited to see if Robert wanted to walk with them. Robert only shook his head. If not for his plan, he might have tried to run right then, headed blindly into the woods far from the spot Gloria had shown him on her map. To stop thinking about running, he remembered laughing with Redbone by the swimming pool at the idea of Boone crawling on the diving board after haints that weren’t there.

“I’m sorry, Redbone,” Robert whispered. “I didn’t know what they would do.”

A twig snapped from behind him, and Robert whirled around with a gasp. He was so eager to see Redbone’s ghost that his knees went weak.

But it was only Blue, shoulders hunched inside too-big mourning clothes. “I’m your best friend now,” Blue said.

Blue hadn’t come when Robert called him to try to help with Hank Jackson, but now Blue wouldn’t leave Robert alone, walking ahead of him as they headed back to the cafeteria. When Robert tried to veer right or left, Blue instinctively knew which way to veer to mimic his path, like a shadow in front of him. Robert tried kicking the back of Blue’s leg as hard as he could, but although Blue appeared as solid as any other boy, Robert’s boot passed straight through him. Robert almost lost his balance from kicking so hard at thin air.

Blue looked back over his shoulder. “You think you can lick a haint? You think this is me walking here and not… me just wishing I was here? Making you see me?”

“Where’s Redbone?” Robert said.

“Where you just put him.”

“Shut up!” Robert said. “You know what I mean! Don’t you care about him?”

Blue was silent so long that Robert thought maybe he didn’t care, but Blue finally said, “I didn’t know Redbone would get cut like that. By the time I knew, it was done. And I told Henry Jackson to go to the well just like I said. Haints don’t always know how to find one place, especially if they’re not visiting somebody they know. It takes practice to get it right. You saw him, didn’t you? He came like he was supposed to. You messed it up, not him.”

Robert could hardly see for his tears, since Blue was saying exactly what he’d been saying to himself: it was his fault. The hog’s cry had distracted him, and he’d missed his chance to catch Henry Jackson just because he hadn’t come exactly to the well. Why hadn’t he ever thought the haint might just come close to the well because it was all the same to him? For the first time, with no one but a haint to hear, Robert’s sob rose to a wail.

“Crying won’t get you free,” Blue said, and the promise of freedom was enough to stop Robert from wailing. “And I miss him too, you know.”

“He’s a haint now, ain’t he? He’s not with you?”

“We don’t all sit around in a clubhouse. Is that what you think? Everyone who dies doesn’t come back; most just move to what’s next. They die cleaner, or don’t feel like there’s anybody left here to look after, so they don’t get stuck. Sure, Redbone might come around to see after you, but he won’t look like me—not at first. He might come to you in a dream, though. Dreams are the easiest way. But I don’t dream like you, so I can’t talk to him yet until he learns how. He knows you’re gonna make things right here, so he might be long gone without a care. We don’t get vexed about everyday things.”

“If he’s gone… is he in heaven?”

“After I’m not here anymore, maybe I’ll know. But after I know, I bet I won’t be able to tell you. You’ll see what heaven is about for yourself, just like me, I guess.”

Robert wrestled in silence with the idea that Redbone might be happily away from the Reformatory, which felt good, but his grief deepened knowing that he might never be able to see him like he saw Blue. He’d been counting on seeing him, he realized now. How could he see haints he’d never met and not Redbone? No part of life felt fair since the day Lyle McCormack pushed him. Robert had a hard time remembering why he’d expected fairness at any turn. Mama used to say Life isn’t fair when he cried over not getting his way, but he hadn’t known then that unfairness was so big, covering the world.

The steeple of the Negro church appeared to signal how close they were to the campus. With a downward slope, his pace quickened. He was still mad at Blue, but he didn’t have time to waste. He had one chance to get his escape right.

“Do you have a plan?” Robert said.

“Sure I do. First thing is to put Haddock in a good mood.”

“How?”

“You know how,” Blue said. “You already tied a shoelace around the tree. Call Boone out and put Henry Jackson in the haint jar like we planned. He’ll let you keep looking for more.”