Page 71 of The Reformatory

“Hey, Bone,” Robert whispered.

Redbone shifted to another row, another direction, and glared at him over his shoulder, reminding him it was his fault they were pulling weeds in the sun. Each time Redbone glared, Robert wanted to cry.

But he couldn’t cry. The night before, Boone had sent a boy to the Funhouse for no reason other than crying at bedtime, and promised he’d do the same to any sissy he saw crying all day long. At least Robert’s back wasn’t hurting as much as the first day. At least he had to work only four hours in the sun and not all day like grown men did, and in chains. At least he wasn’t really a slave, with no end to the work for his whole life, or his children’s. Robert tried to think of every reason to feel glad so he would not cry. He would never go to the Funhouse again.

Boone was watching. Boone had a crew of three men with him—one on horseback, two with hound dogs—but Boone was the only one whose eyes always seemed to be following Robert. It was as if Boone could see every thought in his head, like how Robert wanted to run away every time he bent down. Hell, he might have tried if not for the dogs.

“Fill up those sacks!” Boone called. “You don’t fill your sacks, you stay ’til suppertime!”

Unless he was punished for working too slowly, Robert could have his lunch break soon and then go to school and then to band practice. And the day would be over, like yesterday, ready to start again. He hadn’t gone to the Funhouse yesterday, and he wouldn’t go today.

He and the other boys he’d ridden the truck with were working a small swath of the field, headed toward the fence, but older boys had clustered farther ahead. Most of them had taken off their shirts to wrap them around their heads to block out the sun. Their muscles were hard like grown men’s.

Robert was wondering when his own muscles would grow so strong when he saw Cleo. A pale reed hung from the corner of Cleo’s mouth like a cigarette, and he seemed twice as tall as Robert, who was close enough to see the dark, splotchy mole on the side of Cleo’s nose. He’d seen a glimpse of Cleo at dinner last night, but he’d managed to keep out of his sight. Now one of Cleo’s friends tapped Cleo and pointed at him, and Robert nearly gasped. Robert bent down right away and hoped Cleo would forget about him, but Cleo was still staring when Robert straightened up with a fistful of weeds in his clenched palm.

Robert saw the tool in Cleo’s hand—a curved hand fork that looked like claws. The boys huddled near Cleo were faces he knew from the schoolhouse, the ones who had jumped him on his first day. Dammit. Dammit, dammit. What had he ever done to them? He didn’t want another beating, especially if those tools could be weapons. Just as bad, if Cleo started something, he might go to the Funhouse again. Walking slowly, Robert changed direction slightly, away from the fence where he’d been heading. Toward the open corn.

“Was you makin’ up stories on me the other night?” he heard Redbone call out to Cleo.

Redbone’s voice surprised Robert so much that he froze. He wondered if Redbone was snatching Cleo’s attention away on purpose. “He gave you a pat on the head like a good doggie, huh?”

Cleo let out a hooting, angry laugh. “Did you and that sissy hold hands in the Funhouse?” Redbone didn’t answer Cleo’s taunt, but he glared daggers at him.

“You ain’t gonna do nothin’,” Cleo said. He slashed his clawlike tool at a corn stalk, shredding leaves. “Come on, then, boy.”

Again Redbone said nothing, and Robert was glad. If he had to go help defend Redbone, they’d both go to the Funhouse for sure. After giving Cleo a long stare, Redbone veered away from Cleo, closer to the comparative safety of the gray-bearded white man riding his horse up and down the path between the stalks.

“Yeah, just like I thought!” Cleo called. Robert wished he and Redbone both could sock Cleo in the nose, but not if it meant more time for Redbone. Or another night under a leather strap. Robert bent just long enough to try to fool Cleo’s eye. He counted to ten before he raised himself. Sure enough, when Robert took another peek, Cleo had turned his back to him. Robert crossed rows to keep out of his sight.

But the corn to the left of him swished as if a pack of dogs were moving toward him, or a horse at a full gallop, the tips dancing wildly. The swaying stalks rustled as if to swallow him—

A hand curled around Robert’s ankle, and his throat caught his scream. Had Cleo come after him so fast? Robert was so startled that he lost his balance and fell.

But the laughter was a smaller child’s—Blue’s! Blue was rolling on the ground beside him, gleeful, holding tight to Robert’s ankle when Robert shook his boot to try to free it. Blue had crawled through the stalks to surprise him, and somehow he’d made the corn shiver and quake. Maybe he’d used a hoe to make the corn sway. Blue was supposed to be in the kitchen!

“I scared you, huh?” Blue said.

“What—what—” Robert couldn’t speak right away, imagining the quavering corn stalks. He stood up on his tiptoes and saw Boone calling out instructions to the boys working closer to the fence with Cleo. “How’d you get out here? You’re supposed to be—”

Blue finally released him. His grip had been tight; Robert’s ankle vibrated, raw from Blue’s cool grasp. “I go where I wanna go.”

“You tryin’ to go to the Funhouse? And get me sent too?”

Blue laughed, standing up. Blue seemed no taller than a seven- or eight-year-old, not quite reaching Robert’s shoulder, but Robert pushed down on Blue’s knobby shoulders to make him hunch lower.

“You better not let nobody see you,” Robert said, hushed. “Not even Redbone. Go back where you s’posed to be.”

“Kitchen’s not the same without you and Bone,” Blue said, pouting.

Had Blue hidden in one of the trucks? Crawled through the fence because he was so small, maybe a hole hidden in weeds? Robert wanted to ask him to draw him a map of how he’d done it, but he knew better. Soon, but not now—not with Cleo and Boone and the dogs so close.

Robert couldn’t decide if Blue was the most daring kid he’d ever met or the stupidest. Stealing dessert and locking him in the freezer were bad enough, but sneaking out to the cornfield could get him hurt bad. Or killed.

Tears stung Robert’s eyes. Blue’s risks were a bad omen. “Just go, Blue—please. Go back the way you came. Quick.”

“What you cryin’ for?”

“What you think?” Robert said. “Blue, you don’t know what the Funhouse is like. Redbone jumps in and takes your licks for you. It’s bad your parents are dead, but you don’t wanna be in a shed gettin’ whipped. And me neither.”