Half of Paradise (17 page)

“As long as he don’t look at the string till dark.”

“I ain’t going to look at it no time. I don’t want the goddamn thing. Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m putting it in your pocket for you.”

“I had my fill of this stuff.”

“Shut up and do like he says,” Billy Jo said.

Brother Samuel picked up the ball of hair. He took a kitchen match from his denims and scratched it across the sole of his work boot. He held the flame to the ball and waited for it to catch. A wisp of yellow-black smoke came up, and the sweet-rotten odor of burnt hair made the men draw back. He stood up and hurled the ball of flame into the air, where it burst apart in a myriad of fire. Pieces of burnt hair floated slowly to the ground.

“It’s over. I set him free,” Brother Samuel said.

Jeffry got up and walked across the clearing, his legs held close together.

“Where are you going?” Billy Jo said.

“To the goddamn latrine.”

The whistle blew for the lunch break to end. The men filed past the back of the pickup and dropped their plates and spoons into a cardboard box. Toussaint and Avery went back to work on the trench.

“Does that go on all the time?” Avery said.

“That’s the first time I seen him do any conjuring. He’s usually talking about the Word and soul-saving.”

“He stuck the snake’s fang right in the center of the cross.”

“I seen that done down home before. I knowed a man that did the same thing to get rid of a sickness. He said when he died he could pass on his powers, but it had to be to a woman. A man can only give them to a woman, and a woman only to a man.”

“He puts on a fine show.”

“He’s a good man. He don’t do nothing unless he thinks he can help somebody,” Toussaint said.

“He didn’t do much good for Jeffry. He’s still on latrine duty.”

Evans came over to watch the work. The width and length of the trench were dug out, and Avery had spaded the depth down to a foot. Evans chewed on a matchstick. He rolled it from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue.

“We want it finished this afternoon,” he said. “Put in a little less talk and more work.”

“We was talking about this fellow Belial.”

“What?”

“This is the place where you can get the spirit run out of you, the camp latrine.”

“What the hell are you saying, Boudreaux?”

“You’re the only hack in camp with a conjuror on your gang.”

Avery threw a load of dirt to the side of the trench and didn’t look up.

“You got no sense. You could be smart and do easy time,” Evans said.

That would put you out of a job. You wouldn’t have nobody to lock up in the box.”

“You got a lot more years to pull. You ain’t going to make it.”

“Don’t put no money on it.”

“You’ll break down,” Evans said. “I seen bigger guys than you crack. Some of them went to the bughouse at Pineville. You ever see anybody go nuts from stir? A stir nut is something to see.”

“How deep do you want the trench?” Avery said.

“I told you before, three feet.”

“It looks deep enough now.”

“You better learn something now. You do like you’re told in the camp.”

“I thought I might give a suggestion.”

“Don’t.”

“All right.”

“This man you’re with is trouble. Buddy with him and he’ll get you time in detention,” Evans said.

“I didn’t ask to dig latrines with him.”

Evans stared at Avery as though he were evaluating him. He flipped the chewed matchstick into the trench. The butt of his revolver and the cartridges in his belt shone in the sun.

“Do your stretch easy. It’s the best way. Don’t give me no trouble.”

He left them and went to the trees.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Toussaint said.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t think you ever got to take pressure off me.”

“I got tired of listening to him talk.”

“I don’t want you putting your neck out for me.”

“Why did you start that stuff with him?”

“I thought it might pick up the conversation.”

“He’s right. You’ll never make your time,” Avery said.

“You believe what he said about cracking a man down?”

“I don’t know. A few years of this. Jesus.”

“You think he can crack you?”

“I don’t ask for trouble.”

“It don’t matter if you ask for it or not. You got one to three years of it when you walked through that front gate,” Toussaint said.

“Free will.”

Toussaint looked at him. “It’s a joke the brothers used to teach us,” Avery said.

The sun went behind a cloud and the clearing fell into shadow. The breeze from the river felt suddenly cool; the sky was dark. A dust devil swirled by the trench and spun into the air. Its funnel widened, whipped by the wind, and disappeared.

The afternoon wore on, and at five o’clock the men climbed into the trucks and were taken to the barracks. The trucks rolled down the gravel roads over the railroad tracks and through the fields of green and yellow grass with the sun’s dying rays slanting over the pines. The men showered and changed into fresh denims and lined up outside the dining hall for supper. They sat at the wooden tables and benches and ate the tasteless food that still seemed to smell of the carbolic and antiseptic that was used to clean the kitchen. They went back to the barracks and lay exhausted on their bunks, listening to the sounds of the frogs and night birds in the woods. Then it was nine o’clock and the lights went out and someone struck a match to the candle and the poker game began for those who were not too tired to play.

Toussaint’s bunk was two down from Avery’s. The army blanket on it was stretched and tucked so tightly across the mattress that you could bounce a quarter off it. The pillow was laid neatly at the head, and his foot locker was squared evenly with the base. He had a cardboard box fixed to the wall above his pillow, where he kept his razor, soap, toothbrush, tobacco, matches, and cigarette papers. He sat on the side of his bunk and reached up to get his package of Virginia Extra. He rolled a cigarette and popped a match on his thumbnail. He dropped the burnt match into a small tin can that he kept under his bed.

The poker game was being organized on the floor between the two rows of bunks. Jeffry’s foot locker had been pushed out into the aisle to be used as a table, and an army blanket was spread over the top. The men played with pocket change, although it was against camp regulations for any inmate to have money. A visitor would slip a prisoner a few crumpled, hand-soiled bills, and they would eventually circulate through the entire camp by way of poker and dice games and bribes to the trusties and guards for favors. Billy Jo ran the poker game in Toussaint’s barracks on a house system, by which he took a nickel out of every pot for the use of his candles and cards. He would cover any bet up to five dollars, and allow credit if the player could put up security.

“We need two more guys,” Billy Jo said.

“We got four already,” Benoit said.

“We need a couple more. You want in, Claxton?”

“Will you give me something on next tobacco ration?”

“You already owe it to me. What else you got?”

“Nothing.”

“Brother Samuel.”

“I ain’t a gambling man.”

“Who wants to play. We need two more guys.”

“Get Jeffry.”

“He’s in the latrine.”

“You ain’t doing nothing, Toussaint.”

“I only got a quarter.”

“That’s enough. Move over and let him sit down, Benoit.”

Toussaint sat down on the floor in front of the trunk and changed his quarter for five nickels.

“Start dealing,” Benoit said.

“We need another guy. You want to play?”

“I’m broke,” Avery said.

“I’ll give you two-bits on your first tobacco ration.”

They made room for Avery. Billy Jo dropped two dimes and a nickel on the blanket.

“They pass out the tobacco on Monday. Bring me yours as soon as you get it,” he said.

“Let’s start playing,” Benoit said.

“Five-card draw, no ante, jacks to open.” Billy Jo dealt the cards around. The men looked at their cards in the light of the two candles melted to each end of the trunk.

“I can’t open,” the man on Billy Jo’s left said.

“Me neither.”

“Open for a nickel,” Toussaint said.

“I’m out.”

“Out.”

Two more coins thumped on the blanket.

“Give me three,” Toussaint said.

“One,” Benoit said. His pig-eyes studied his hand thoughtfully.

“Two for the dealer,” Billy Jo said.

“Your bet.”

“Ten cents,” Toussaint said.

“Bump you a dime more,” Benoit said.

“Call,” Billy Jo said.

Toussaint had opened on a pair of queens and had drawn another one.

“Call,” he said.

“What you got?” Benoit said.

“Three queens.”

“Fuck. I had two pair, ace high.”

They threw in their cards and Billy Jo took a nickel out of the pot. Toussaint scraped in his winnings. They played four more hands; Toussaint won two of them. One man had dropped out and gone to bed, leaving five in the game. The deal went around again. Toussaint won the next hand on a straight. He had a dollar and a half in coins before him. Benoit dealt the cards.

“Open for a nickel,” Avery said.

Everyone stayed.

“How many you want?”

“I’m pat,” Avery said.

“You ain’t taking no cards?”

“No.”

“Three,” Toussaint said.

The discards were scattered across the blanket. The man across from Toussaint drew one card.

“I’ll take the same,” Billy Jo said.

Benoit snapped two cards off the deck for himself. He mixed them in his hand and fanned them out slowly.

“Your bet, opener,” he said.

“My last nickel,” Avery said.

Toussaint had drawn to a pair of kings and missed. He threw in his cards.

“I’m out,” the man across from him said.

“I’ll see you,” Billy Jo said.

“Call and raise it a quarter,” Benoit said.

“That was my last nickel. I got to go in the side pot,” Avery said.

“No side pot and no drawing light,” Benoit said. “It’s a house rule.”

“I can’t cover it, then.”

“I’ll back him,” Toussaint said. He dropped three quarters in front of Avery.

Avery picked them up and threw them in the pot.

“Call and raise you fifty cents,” he said.

“You splitting with him, Toussaint?” Benoit said.

“I got no part in this.”

“How come you giving your money away?”

“I don’t like to see nobody play freeze out.”

“Call his raise or fold,” Billy Jo said.

“Give me time.”

Benoit ruffled the cards in his hands.

“Do one thing or another,” Billy Jo said.

“He’s playing on somebody else’s money.”

“You don’t care whose it is when you put it in your pocket.”

He waited, his pig-eyes studying the backs of Avery’s cards. “All right, I fold,” he said.

Avery tossed a nickel out of the pot to Billy Jo and took the rest in.

“Here’s openers,” he said. He showed a pair of aces.

“What else you got?” Benoit said.

“You didn’t pay to see.”

“I got a right to know.”

“No, you don’t,” Toussaint said.

Benoit flipped over Avery’s other cards, a pair of eights and a seven of clubs.

“You didn’t have nothing but two pair. I was holding three tens.”

“You should have paid to see those cards.”

“Listen, kid,” Benoit began.

“I don’t like that crap, neither,” Billy Jo said. “I run a straight game, and we play like the rules says. You got to put up before you see a guy’s hand.”

Benoit glared at the discards and was quiet.

“Hey, you guys, look here.” It was Jeffry. He was coming from the latrine, barefooted, his belt unhitched and hanging loose, and his trousers half buttoned. He had the piece of string in his hand.

“You’ll wake up the guys sleeping,” Billy Jo said.

“Look at the string. Them knots is gone. It’s like Brother Samuel said. There ain’t one of them left!”

“Shut up,” a voice said from one of the bunks.

“I went into the latrine and I was waiting to get rid of my supper, like I do every night, and I waited and nothing happened. My belly was all right. I didn’t have to crap at all. I was hitching up my trousers and I took out this piece of string and them knots was gone. I don’t feel sick no more. I swear to God I don’t. Wake up, Brother Samuel! You healed my belly. It’s like you said. No more runs.”

Brother Samuel stirred in his bunk. He sat up and looked at Jeffry. His face was heavy with sleep.

“You done it,” Jeffry said.

“I ain’t sure you want to be obliged.”

“This is the first time I held my food down since I come to camp.”

“I healed you through the Black Man. Sometimes the spirits come back and make it bad for you in another way.”

“I ain’t worrying about no more spirits. They can do anything they got a mind to as long as they don’t give me no more dysentery.”

“You guys shut up,” a voice said from the darkness.

“I told you there was something in that ball of hair,” Benoit said.

“You guys been in stir too long. It’s got to you,” Billy Jo said.

“Look at the string. There ain’t a knot in it.”

“Who untied them? That Belial guy?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to shake his hand, whoever he is,” Jeffry said.

“Them spirits can come back,” Brother Samuel said.

“They ain’t coming around me no more,” Jeffry said. “I swear to God I never thought nothing like this could happen.”

“Button up your pants. You’re hanging out,” Billy Jo said.

“I knowed that ball of hair jumped in my hand,” Benoit said. “I felt it, just like a frog leg jumps.”

“Spread this around camp and you’ll all go to the nut house,” Billy Jo said.

“The spirits can put a grigri on you,” Brother Samuel said.

“What the hell is a grigri?”

“It’s a spell. It makes you have bad luck.”

“I ain’t worrying about no grigri. It couldn’t be no worse than the runs.”

“I ain’t got the power to take it off. It takes a man that’s sold his soul to get rid of a grigri.”