Page 52 of The Reformatory

Redbone scowled, cut the deck, and fanned the cards facedown on the mattress before he shuffled them. He never cut and dealt directly; he always put on a show. “Don’t be fooled.”

“What you mean?”

As Redbone scooped up the cards and began dealing, his look reminded Robert of the story he and Blue had told in the kitchen—a year ago in a day—about how Crutcher had held his head under the hot sink water. And the band lady was Crutcher’s sister.

“No one stays nice,” Redbone said. “Best remember it.”

A shadow moved up high, from the corner of Robert’s eye. The boy who had died of pneumonia floated above him again, staring down while he waved his arms beside him, like swimming. Robert jumped, but not even enough for Redbone to notice. The gently bobbing haint made him imagine himself at the bottom of the deep Atlantic, looking up at an ocean of the dead.

They were not allowed to stay in the infirmary for a second night.

The nurse brought Robert and Redbone a bland dinner of peanut butter sandwiches and canned peaches; then at seven she told them to go back to their dorm to sleep. Redbone had warned Robert to expect it, but after six thirty, with the skies getting dark, he’d gotten his hopes up for the peace and safety in the infirmary, especially after the younger boys were gone.

The nurse came in after dinner and told them to walk back to their dorm. They were both barefoot because they’d been in bed when Boone took them to the Funhouse, wearing nothing but pajamas, but they walked in a hurry so they wouldn’t be late. The walk back to Lincoln was long, across at least twenty acres of the field from the school side to the dorm side, and then over to the Negro area of the campus. Robert was glad his soles were tough. Redbone kept hissing at pebbles and pine cones. City boy, Robert thought.

Since his feet weren’t tender and hurting, Robert noticed the world of free space around him. They were by themselves! At this late hour, so close to curfew, no one else dared to be outside. He scouted the vast tracts of grass and ragged, bark-shedding pines between the buildings. Tall fences stood at the outer edges of everything he could see. To the west, the painted steeple of a church glowed white in the dark. A Reformatory church! Robert hoped he would never have to sit in any church where Warden Haddock prayed, or else the devil might glimpse him too.

Every touch, every lash, became real again. Robert had to curl his lips to keep his anger from flooding into tears. As Robert thought of Haddock, he recognized the warden’s brick office building in the distance, a dim light inside a far window still on, and the open space beyond it in the field where the ghost fire burned.

He couldn’t see as far as the front gate, but he knew the road was that way too, open and waiting. Every muscle in his body knew he was walking in the wrong direction, away from where he needed to be, and he felt an ache worse than the welts and cuts from his beating. His stomach growled too. He wished he could have eaten his real dinner in the cafeteria. He envied Blue, who probably was still working happily at his job in the kitchen, stealing sweets instead of washing dishes, getting away with everything because he was quick and small.

Long rows of fenced kennels ran between the white and Negro dormitories, and barking dogs mocked their approach. Robert had always known he would run from dogs. He’d been dreading it since Mama first told him how white men sent dogs chasing after runaways in the swamps, and how sometimes the water could fool a dog’s nose. Even when he’d been much younger, he’d felt like it was worth knowing how to escape dogs. The McCormacks’ dog Duke, as a puppy, had snapped and snarled when Robert tried to take back his own bread he’d dropped. Duke had gone from wagging his tail to chomping his sharp teeth with a growl in his throat. That had taught Robert everything he wanted to know about dogs. He wasn’t fooled by wagging tails or Rin Tin Tin.

Robert had assumed the McCormacks’ dogs would be the ones to chase him—he had nightmares about running from those dogs sometimes. But, no—these were the dogs who would chase him. His body wanted to take a wide arc away from the kennels as they walked, but he wouldn’t let himself be scared. Even Redbone hesitated to walk so close to the runs, where dogs stood on their hind legs against the gates with mean barks saying what they would do to them if they could. Robert felt adrenaline prick him every time a dog’s paws clanked the fence links.

Hard, like the shake of a grown man. The kennel smelled like dog shit.

Most of the dogs were two-toned German shepherds like Duke, but one was a bloodhound with drooping skin. Spittle sprayed from the nearest dog’s teeth as he barked. Robert counted six in all.

“Don’t stare ’em in the eye,” Redbone said. “We’re too close.”

Robert followed Redbone a few paces away from the dog runs, but only after he’d proven he wouldn’t panic at a dog’s bark. He had never let himself jump.

“Is this all the dogs?” Robert said.

“Shut up,” Redbone said, in a hushed voice.

Just past the kennel’s far corner, a white teenager was filling up water dishes. Redbone shot Robert a look: See? And gave Robert a small shove that hurt more than it should have as they hurried past him, silent. Robert had been careless. Sorry, he mouthed.

When they were long out of earshot, Redbone said, “If you get me sent to the Funhouse again, I’m gonna whip you myself.” He didn’t sound like the same Redbone who’d played cards with him. “Blue talks too much, but you were stupid to ask him. Everybody thinks they’ll run, but nobody gets out. And if they get out, they don’t stay out. Six months is the end of my time. It’s all you got, but it’s the end for me. If Haddock gives me more time ’cause you mess up again, you and me ain’t friends. And I’ll knock out your teeth—just watch.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Sorry don’t heal my back up. Sorry won’t get me home. Just don’t be dumb no more.”

“Okay.” Robert had never been sorrier. What if he’d said something even worse the white boy might have heard? Papa said people got paid for snitching on their own, so of course a white boy would snitch. He’d been talking like only the dogs could hear him.

“And I better not never hear you say Blue’s name to Boone—not about nothin’,” Redbone said. “No matter if it’s his fault or not.” Again, Robert envied Blue for Redbone’s fierce friendship.

“I didn’t say nothin’,” Robert said. “I could have, but you know I didn’t. Did I? Did Blue go to the Funhouse? I only counted me and you laying on those hospital beds.”

Redbone walked ahead of Robert, deliberately outpacing him. Redbone had been in a better mood in the infirmary, Robert realized, but now his good mood was gone as they got closer to his everyday world. The food was terrible, but the infirmary hadn’t been as hot as the dorm room, and no ruler swats or late-night intrusions. It didn’t feel so much like jail.

“We already had a bath,” Redbone said. “That’s what we’ll say.”

“Okay,” Robert said, although he felt a ball of dread in his stomach. He didn’t want trouble, and now Redbone wanted him to lie right off. As much as he had hated the shower room and being naked, Mama had found him through the shower pipe. Robert hoped to hear Mama again. And even if Mama had been able to visit only once or twice, he’d rather go to the shower room than the Funhouse. But he owed Redbone; he was his only friend.

“Don’t mess it up,” Redbone said. “A shower’d hurt like hell. Boone don’t care.”