Page 133 of The Reformatory

As if it were playing a game, the drawer began rolling open. It wasn’t even locked! Robert raised himself to his knees as he rifled through the drawer’s neat rows of pencils, blue ink pens, red ink pens, staples, and paper clips, everything eerily neat. The only papers were two certificates from the state of Florida with blue designs in the margins. He reached as far back as he could… Nothing except a ragged old cigarette.

“It’s not the right drawer,” he whispered to himself, imagining what Blue or Redbone would say if they were with him. And why wasn’t Blue with him? This was all Blue’s idea!

Cursing Blue under his breath, Robert finally noticed the sets of drawers on both sides of the desk, but none of the drawers seemed to have a lock. Leaning down, he saw that the largest drawer on the desk’s left side had a keyhole hidden close to where Haddock’s knee would be, on the side, not in front. The keyhole was much smaller than the one for the center drawer.

“Please, please, please…,” Robert whispered. The longer he sat in this office, the more he was daring Haddock to catch him.

The key clicked and turned easily. Leaving the key in the lock, Robert pulled on the drawer. It was too heavy to give at first, so he pulled harder… and it rolled toward him. A wooden case of Coca-Cola bottles came into view, the bottles full except for two empty ones. The case was so large that it filled the entire drawer… except in the very rear, where Robert saw a large envelope as golden yellow as firelight, sealed with a string wound at the top. Robert was so excited to see the envelope that he almost forgot about the haint jar, and he worried about where the jar was hidden as he pulled out the tightly packed envelope. He smiled. The haint jar was hidden behind it.

This time, his good luck froze him still. It was here! It was all just like Blue had said.

“… the Fourth of July…,” said Haddock’s secretary, passing close to his door. “My family’s in Clearwater, so I’m thinking we’ll…” The rest was muffled.

Robert held the envelope but did not open it. The horrible images inside pulsed against his fingertips like a writhing snake. He was sure that if he glimpsed one more photo, he might see Haddock’s profane work every time he closed his eyes. Instead, he crammed the envelope into his satchel, barely leaving room to squeeze the haint jar in beside it. Robert turned the jar’s lid to make sure it was closed tight, so none of the ashes would fall out.

“I’ve got you,” Robert said to the haints inside, not sure if they could hear. “I’m gonna take you to the creek to let you loose.”

With the window screen set aside, it was much easier to climb back out of the window than it had been to climb in. The bulky satchel caught in the corner of the window as he jumped down, but it came loose with a tug. He hid behind the bushes, heaving and light-headed as if he’d just run a mile, dizzy with the size of what he’d just done. Robert patted his pocket and found it empty: Where was the Vaseline? He panicked until he realized the jar had fallen out of his pocket, landing a foot from his boot in the dirt.

Robert took his time, careful. By the time he’d slathered his hair and face with the warm goop, except for his eyes, he wished Gloria had given him two or three jars. He slickened each of his arms and legs with it beneath his shorts, then reached under his shirt to try to smear it across his chest. He thought of several spots he’d missed even as he scraped out the last of it with his index finger. Damn! But it would have to do. Through the window, Robert heard the woman visitor say maybe she’d better come back on Monday if it was a bad time, but the secretary said she was sure Haddock would be back soon, her voice still pretending everything was fine.

Robert had to leave, and fast. He didn’t want to bring the empty jar, but he also didn’t want to leave it behind, so he scooped up some loose soil under the warden’s window and buried it, a sour memory of burying Redbone. That done, he peeked from behind the bushes to see if anyone was in sight. From there, he had a clear view all the way to the Funhouse about sixty yards away, which was always empty and locked until after dinner. Beyond it stood the cornfield fence where he prayed the hole was waiting.

Robert wanted to take off running, but he couldn’t draw attention to himself, so he emerged from the hedges as casually as he could, scanning the rear of the building as if he were searching for haints. As much as he wanted to go directly to the Funhouse, he decided to walk in the direction of the Negro side of the campus, which wouldn’t look strange to anyone—and then he would veer toward the Funhouse in a wide loop. His heart slowed with each step he took, the plan seeming less dangerous and easier with every stride.

Since he wanted to avoid the fire spot this time, his walk took him past a small supply shed that looked locked. But it wasn’t locked. The shed door opened and Crutcher emerged holding a large custodian’s broom. Robert was so close to the door that they stood face-to-face.

“Robert Stephens!” Crutcher said. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Catching haints,” Robert heard himself say before his brain caught up, when he was still hoping Crutcher wasn’t really there. “Mister Boone said I could.” He prayed Crutcher wouldn’t demand to see inside his satchel, which hung heavy behind his back. But what if he did? What would he do if he saw the shocking photographs inside?

Crutcher frowned, dabbing at Robert’s shiny forehead. “What in the world…?”

Sand seemed to clog Robert’s mouth. Why hadn’t he waited until he was at the Funhouse to cover himself in petroleum jelly? All he could think about was Gloria waiting for him and how he couldn’t go to her if Crutcher caught him so soon. Even if Crutcher reported the photographs to the sheriff, which he might be too afraid to do anyway, that didn’t mean Robert would be free. And he wouldn’t be able to free the haints trapped in the jar.

“I asked you a question,” Crutcher snapped.

“Haint… grease,” Robert said. “It pulls them to you. That’s what his grandmama said.”

Robert couldn’t see Crutcher’s face clearly as he stared up because the sun was shining behind him, so he shifted slightly and saw grim disapproval glimmering in Crutcher’s staring eyes.

“Be careful,” Crutcher said, and he paused so long that Robert was sure he knew Robert was running, until he added, “Don’t go to work at the kitchen today. There’s a fire.”

Robert let his eyes go wide with the surprise he’d been trying to hide. “Yessir. I won’t. I’ll go wash up at the dorm.” The dormitory was the farthest place from where Robert was going and might delay anyone looking for him. He was proud of himself for the lie.

Robert expected him to say more, but Crutcher jogged off toward the kitchen, holding his broom with two hands in front of him like a weapon. Robert watched him go, breathing fast, and leaned against the shed to regain his balance after his scare. The shed’s ragged wooden door was still partially open to reveal a dark space inside that smelled humid and sour, but—just like with the envelope—Robert knew better than to look too closely. Hadn’t Redbone or Blue warned him about the shed? He crossed to the opposite side, where he would be out of Crutcher’s view, and changed his path to walk directly to the Funhouse. He’d already explained himself once. He could do it again.

Full of confidence from his successful evasion, Robert walked steadily, even quickly, in direct strides. The Funhouse’s long white building had seemed so large that first night, but in daylight it was puny and sad. The truck had made ruts in the grass from driving back and forth so often, so Robert followed the ruts until he noticed that his boots were leaving a pattern behind him in the packed soil. That wouldn’t do! He went back and kicked at the soil to cover his tracks, reminding himself that he had to be careful about leaving tracks out in the woods too. He would have to pretend he was a Seminole Indian warrior evading cowboys, or a slave running for the North on the Underground Railroad. Robert walked carefully in the thickest grass beside the ruts, leaving no visible signs of his path. With each step, the Funhouse drew closer, until he could see the chipped paint on the walls.

Two chairs were arranged for the white boys in front, and six for Negro boys in the rear.

Instinct took Robert to the chairs where he and Redbone had sat, just in case Redbone came. But the chairs were empty in two neat rows, waiting for that night’s unlucky boys. The luckiest of them would go only to the Funhouse, not to the Box. Or the shed. Since Redbone wasn’t waiting for him, Robert concealed himself behind the far side corner of the Funhouse, near an old tire and broken beer bottles hidden in the shadows near the cornfield. The cornfield fence was barely ten yards from the Funhouse walls, stretching in both directions as far as Robert could see. In his imagination, he’d thought only one clump of weeds might be growing wild against the fence, but weeds seemed to be everywhere along the fence line except for patches where boys had pulled them. There was no marker to help him find the hole!

He tried to remember everything Gloria had said; he’d recited her words from visiting day over and over in his head: By the chairs on the colored side. He stayed hidden in the corner of the wall closest to the six empty chairs, scanning the fence again. Would they have cut a hole by a fence post? Where the weeds were thickest? The minute he left the shelter of the Funhouse, anyone might see him squatting by the fence, so he didn’t want to root around for the hole in plain sight. But of course he couldn’t see it from a distance; Uncle June was too smart for that.

A voice clawed through Robert’s calm: Maybe there isn’t really a hole—Blue just said there’s one to get you to steal the haint jar, and Robert’s heart thudded with dread, then sped with rage. Redbone had said to trust Blue, but maybe that had just been a dream, or Blue playing a trick on him. Blue’s treachery felt so obvious that tears came to Robert’s eyes.

“You said you were gonna help me!” he shouted as loudly as he dared. “I don’t see it!” Only the wind answered, rustling the corn plants growing beyond the high fence.