Page 41 of The Reformatory

“That’s not what we heard,” Boone said. “Boy over in Washington says he heard you talking ’bout running away.”

All three of them let out wails: realization, horror, shock. Boone’s charge sounded so much worse than anything they had imagined. Tears streamed freely down Blue’s face, and he shook his head as if it might fall loose. The memory crashed back over Robert: how Redbone said not to talk about how boys ran away, but how Blue had pressed on. The way the other boys at the table had jumped up and walked away, too wise to stay close to them.

“We wasn’t plannin’ nothin’. It was just stories. I just got here, Mister Boone—” Boone’s blow with the ruler landed on Robert’s crown and grazed his ear—not the one Red McCormack hurt, but the thin wood smarted enough that he dodged away and won a second blow across his hip, which made his teeth hiss. The second blow was harder, like a snakebite through his thin pants, stinging long after the ruler was gone.

“You don’t even say the word runnin’,” Boone said. “You don’t think about runnin’. Some things is common sense, or ought to be if you ain’t dumb as hell.”

“It was me,” Redbone said. “Robert didn’t ask nothin’ ’bout where to run. I was just talkin’ ’bout those stupid boys at Boot Hill. Why I wanna run now? Wouldn’t make no sense. You know me, Mister Boone, sir. I ain’t like these simple boys out here missin’ their mamas, cryin’ ’cuz they never held a plow or rode a thresher. You know how I tell stories, Mister Boone.”

Redbone’s voice was a low, quiet begging, but he was so persuasive that Robert doubted his own memory. Hadn’t it been Blue who told the stories about running away? Hadn’t Redbone been the one who’d tried to shush him? Redbone had seen this horror coming.

“You talk too damn much,” Boone said. “I told you, ain’t I? Talkin’ all the damn time.”

“All the time,” Crutcher said. He mimicked talking with his hand. “Yak yak yak.”

“Yessir. I’m sorry, sir,” Redbone said. “I didn’t mean to get nobody in trouble.”

Blue’s head wobbled up and down as he tried to nod despite his shaking. “I didn’t do nothin’, Mister Boone. I can go back to bed, sir?” Robert heard Blue’s homeland thick in his accent, parts of him already fleeing far from Gracetown. When Boone didn’t say anything or give him a glance, Blue ventured a step toward the door and scurried away. And he’d talked more than anyone at dinner!

Robert’s heart ran with Blue, but he didn’t dare move. Robert hoped he would be next, that Boone would say That true? and he’d say Yessir, he hadn’t known what he was asking, and Redbone had told him about a stupid boy who ran and ended up getting buried—because that’s what happened when you ran.

“Can we go back to bed?” Redbone said. “We’ll work extra hours. We wouldn’t try nothin’ like what you said, Mister Boone. You know I ain’t that way.”

The long night and a day and another night seemed to pass while Boone studied them, making up his mind. A clock ticked on the wall behind them, the seconds impossibly slow.

“Naw,” Boone said to Redbone. “You know better. You goin’ to the Funhouse.” A thunderclap shook Robert’s head. For a flash, his vision went white.

Boone’s eyes came to Robert next. Robert was praying so loudly to himself, he wondered how everyone couldn’t hear him begging God to let him go back to bed.

“You too,” Boone said. “Best learn early so you’ll never wanna go back.”

Robert looked to Redbone: What now? But Redbone’s face was empty as he sagged against the wall, all swaying gone. Boone grabbed Redbone’s arm with a meaty fist and pulled him to his feet. Crutcher took Robert’s arm and shook him into motion.

“Go back to sleep or you’ll be next!” Boone shouted as they passed the bunk room’s open doorway. A dozen faces stared from the nearest beds. His comrades had pity in their eyes.

Somewhere in the dark, Blue was crying.

Boone ordered them to climb into the bed of the dusty white truck with a State of Florida seal parked outside of the dorm’s rear door. Redbone climbed in right away, but Robert paused so long that Boone hit him with the stick, a flame across his buttocks. Robert whimpered and climbed into the truck, tumbling beside Redbone when his foot slipped. The truck’s grooved metal was warm from the day’s sun beneath a thin layer of dirt and straw. Crutcher stood watch over them from the doorway ten feet away while Boone went back inside the dorm.

“Where he goin’?” Robert whispered.

Redbone didn’t answer, staring away.

“Why we gotta get in a truck?” Robert said. “Where they gonna take us?” His imagination flooded with his parents’ stories of the woods and trucks and the night.

“Shut up,” Redbone said.

“How come you covered for Blue?” Robert said.

“You started it, not Blue.” Redbone’s voice hitched, and Robert’s guilt made the air wet in his lungs. If Redbone cried now, he would scream.

“Why wouldn’t Blue shut up, then?” Robert said.

“Blue’s Blue, that’s why.” Redbone glanced toward Crutcher, who was still waiting by the door, wrapped in a halo of smoke from his long cigarette. “Blue can’t go to the Funhouse. You and me can.”

“I can’t neither.” Mama’s hand had stayed Papa’s strap many times. Papa had said it would make him weak, and maybe Papa had been right.

“Yeah. You can,” Redbone said, looking him in the eye for the first time since they’d been in the truck. “But Blue, he can’t go. This ain’t nothin’ to me, long as they don’t add to my time. And you’ll get some marks, but you’ll heal up fine—just like I did when I went one time. Blue’s not like us.”