Page 26 of The Reformatory

“It ain’t nothin’,” Redbone said. “You get used to it.”

“Just pray at night,” Blue said. “They’ll let you alone.”

“There’s worse things to worry about than haints.”

“Way worse,” Blue said.

That didn’t make Robert feel better about the boy and the blood and the knife—or the fire in the field—but was enough to get him back to work. The urgency of too-hot water and forks to clean helped him convince himself that nothing he’d seen could hurt him the way Cleo and those bigger boys had. Or the way Haddock would.

The dishes had no end. Dishes waited before dinner, and a steady flow of dishes came back to them on carts after the two dinner shifts began. Robert couldn’t see the dining hall from his sink station, so the din sounded the same to him for both shifts: a furious, steady hum of conversation. Even some laughter, although it was careful, not too loud. Everyone was happy to be eating. Maybe they looked forward to eating dinner all day. Any angry shouts were quieted by angrier shouts from adults and a thick silence before the talking started again.

But all of those dramas were far from the dishwashing station, past the wall and thick glass of the long picture window. To soothe his hunger, Robert snuck finger wipes from plates before he shook scraps into the garbage: buttery mashed potatoes, gravy, beef. A sweet apple dessert. Not as good as Mama’s or Miz Lottie’s, but good enough to make him eager to fix his plate. That was the hardest part of the job: feeding others before he could eat.

The kitchen crew ate last, Redbone and Blue had told him, but they could eat as much as they wanted so the food wouldn’t go to waste. They could have seconds or even thirds sometimes, although it was nearly impossible to have more than one dessert, and dessert was often gone before their turn. No one skipped dessert. They would have to spend time cleaning up afterward, but like Boone said, they would never go to bed hungry.

“Here,” Blue said, and snuck a small apple pastry in Robert’s wet hand. It was mostly intact except for a split along the seam. And it was hot. Maybe hotter than the dishwater. “Eat it, dummy. Hurry up. Won’t be none left.”

After a furtive glance for Boone or another guard’s eyes, Robert stuffed the pastry into his mouth whole. It was so hot that it flared against his sore gum and numbed his tongue. Plus he could taste dish soap from the sink. But so good. Yes, the kitchen was all right, ghosts or no ghosts. The three of them stood in a row at the sinks, scrubbing hard, trying to chew softly and hide their full cheeks.

Finally, it was their turn for dinner. With most of the other boys gone, the last wooden chairs squealing away from the tables, Robert could sit at last and gnaw at a thick slice of meat loaf drowned in gravy. The meat had no flavor, but it was filling. He felt no worries about Cleo and the older boys because they were huddled at the tables at the far end, speaking in low voices, their laughter far away. The older boys had seated themselves first, and Robert noticed that Redbone and Blue wanted to sit nowhere near them, choosing the table farthest away.

Two other boys were close to their age: Troy and Eddie, who had graduated to sweeping, mopping, and wiping counters, and who sat mostly watching and listening at their end of Robert’s table, shy and quiet. Redbone told funny stories about when he stole that car, and how he could barely reach the gas pedal or see up through the windshield, and how he nearly drove himself into the Atlantic. Although half the stories sounded made-up—how could Blue claim that six patrol cars had chased Redbone when he hadn’t been there to see it?—it took all of Robert’s concentration to try not to choke on his food or laugh too loudly. Once he noticed Cleo staring over at him and his food grew heavy in his stomach, his smile fading, but the next time Robert looked up, Cleo’s stare was gone.

Now Robert could see a kind of way through it: he would go to school, work in the kitchen, be with his new friends, go to bed, go to school, work in the kitchen. Six months was a horribly long time, but if he stayed clear of Cleo and didn’t make anyone mad… he could do it.

Except for the one thing still bothering him most. He would never sleep unless he knew. “Does Warden Haddock do everything he says he will?” Robert said while everyone’s mouths worked on their meals.

Their chewing slowed. Troy and Eddie looked at their plates.

“Depends,” Redbone said. “What he say?”

Robert spoke softly. “Said he was gonna give me twenty lashes.” No one answered, but Robert saw his future in their faces. “He said I won’t know when. I thought… he was tryin’ to scare me.”

Blue shrugged. “Oh, he means it.”

Redbone gave Blue a sharp look. “It’s called the Funhouse,” he said after a while. “That’s where they whup you. Mostly Warden Haddock and that other one, Mr. Ames. Boone sometimes. Twenty’s a lot.”

“Thirty’s worse,” Blue said, shrugging.

No one spoke for a while. Robert wanted to ask if any of them had been to the Funhouse, but he didn’t, since no one brought it up. He had changed everyone’s mood. His stomach was bloated, and he hoped he wouldn’t get sick. Without the laughter, all he remembered was the screaming in the field and the bloody knife in the boy’s back.

“Helps to holler and cry,” Redbone said. “Some fools try to act like it don’t hurt. Warden Haddock don’t like that. He’ll just whup you harder ’til you do.”

The other boys nodded as if they had all been beaten. Robert wanted to confess he’d never had a beating except one school paddling and a few smacks across his palm with Papa’s belt, but they might call him a sissy. Besides, he hadn’t made a sound when Cleo and those boys licked him, and crying might have made it worse. Being scared of Papa’s belt had been worse than the belt.

“Twenty’s nothin’,” Robert said. “I won’t holler.”

Redbone shrugged.

“I ain’t scared of the Funhouse,” the one called Troy said.

Blue made a sound like half a laugh, but he smothered it with his dinner roll. “He’s scared of his shadow,” he murmured toward Robert’s ear. “Always jumping.”

Robert checked the older boys again, saw no one looking in their direction. The guards were mostly in the back, with only Crutcher eating alone at a table out of hearing range. Robert’s heart pounded.

“Does anybody ever run away?” Robert said.

He said it more loudly than he’d intended, so everyone at his table seemed startled. The one called Eddie dropped his fork.