Cy in Chains (15 page)

“So you're awake.” He couldn't see Prescott, but he felt the man standing over him, and he smelled whiskey.

“Answer me!”

“I's awake.”

“How'd you like your little lesson?”

“I didn't, sir.”

“I didn't think you would. You sure had it comin', though. Now I got a lesson for you, too. Stand up!”

As he struggled to his feet, Cy heard the click of a knife blade springing from its holder.

“I wouldn't want to have to cut your pretty black throat,” Prescott whispered, “but if you give me any trouble, that's what I'll do. All I'd have to tell Cain is that I come here to check up on you and you jumped me. Then I had to fight back. You don't want to die tonight, do you?” He pressed the blade against Cy's neck.

“No, sir. Please, sir!”

“You say a word to anyone, I'll tear out your heart. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You gonna cooperate?”

Cy nodded.

“Good. Then I won't have to use this.”

The knife blade snapped shut.

“Now drop them pants and turn around.”

T
HINGS HE WANTED:

Something—anything—to drink. He'd emptied the small water bucket long ago.

To wash himself all over.

His father.

His mother.

To die.

To forget.

To destroy Prescott. He dreamed . . .

“Tie him.”

Ring and Billy put the ropes around Prescott's wrists
.

“Tighter!”

Ring pulled until the ropes cut deep into the white skin
.

“On the ground,” Cy commanded
.

Billy shoved Prescott off his feet. He fell backwards and landed with a thud
.

“You boys better quit right now!” Prescott shouted. “It ain't too late. You let me go, I won't say nothing to Cain.”

“Down!” Cy ordered
.

Prescott obeyed
.

“His arms.”

Ring and Billy yanked the man's arms out from his sides and tied the ropes to the stakes in the ground
.

“Now his legs.”

“You niggers are crazy!” Prescott cried
.

“Bring it!”

Mouse came forward, a cloth sack in his hands
.

Ring tore open Prescott's shirt, baring his scrawny, hairy chest
.

“Now.”

Mouse got down beside Prescott, opened the sack, and pulled out the snake. Eastern diamondback rattler. Big one, five foot long, at least
.

“Jesus God!” Prescott cried
.

“One bite kill you dead,” Mouse intoned
.

“Do it!” Cy ordered
.

Mouse lowered the snake onto Prescott's body. The man began to scream. “No! Oh, God, help me! Help me!”

“They ain't no God,” Cy informed him, “and the sooner you get that through your dumb cracker head, the better off you gonna be—”

Cy roused.

Somewhere outside in the darkness, Prescott and Stryker were laughing. Cy put his hands over his ears. He slept again.

When he woke next, light was filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls of the icehouse. Cy pushed himself to his feet. He groaned. His back was on fire from the beating Cain had given him. His body ached where Prescott had torn him. He had to piss, but where? A corner was the only place, and he used it.

A spider hung from its web in the corner above his head, lit by a bar of yellow light. Cy went to touch it, make it move—something alive to keep him company. It fell from the web and dropped onto the dirt floor.

Dead . . .

He crumpled into the corner, and sobbing took him, until sleep blessed him again.

Someone was knocking on the door. It was daylight, but which day?

“Cy? You all right in there?” Rosalee.

Cain's woman
.

He didn't answer.

“Cy?”

“Lemme alone.”

“I got to tell you somethin'.”

“How long I been in here?” Cy croaked.

“Two days. Cain say he gonna let you out tonight. You all right?”

“What you think?”

“I got to tell you somethin'.”

“What?”

“That man—the one what brung you back to camp—”

“What about him?”

“I hear Cain tell Stryker that he dead. Shot. Cain laugh and say somethin' 'bout gettin' his two dollar back. Thought you want to know.”

That made him glad. He was only sorry he hadn't had a chance to kill Arnold himself.

He wanted to ask Rosalee if she knew anything about his father. He almost spoke, then shut his mouth. Why should he trust this woman?

“What time is it?” he asked instead.

“After dinner. They all gone. Only Sudie and me here.”

“I got to have water.”

“I know. You hungry too, I reckon.”

Tears flooded his eyes. “Please bring me some water!”

“They ain't no way to get it to you. Cain got the key, and they ain't no room to get a cup under this door.”

“Please!”

“Hold on. I be right back.”

In a couple minutes, she returned. “I got water and a cloth. I gon' wet the cloth and push it under the door.”

Cy pulled the cloth through the crack and twisted it over his mouth. Several drops dripped down. He swallowed them, then began to suck on the cloth.

“Send it back,” Rosalee told him.

After she'd wet the cloth many times, Rosalee pushed some slices of bread under the door, and Cy gobbled them. Then Rosalee left him in the shadows of the icehouse, sucking on a ragged piece of feed sack and wishing for his own mother.

 

Rosalee was right: that evening, Cain appeared at the icehouse. It was dark, but he held a lantern.

“Ready to get outta here and behave yourself?” he asked.

Cy kept his eyes fixed on the dirt. “Yes, sir.”

“You'd die in here if I wanted you to. You know that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Or I could bring you out in front of them others and whip you to death.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I ain't gonna do that,” Cain assured him. “You never gave me no trouble before, so I've decided to show you mercy.”

Cy knew all about that kind of mercy now. “Thank you, sir.”

There was a sound behind Cain, and the lantern light showed Prescott.

Cy pushed himself farther back into the corner.

“Is he tamed?” Prescott asked.

“Appears so. Never can tell with 'em, though. Look at me,” Cain ordered.

Cy raised his eyes.

“You got two choices. Mind yourself from now on, let the others know how sorry you are for what you done, warn 'em about tryin' any such foolishness themselves, and you'll be all right. No more whippings. Maybe even be a leader again one day. I got Jess to take charge in your bunk again, since you let me down. And that was after
he
messed up. I'm all for giving folks a second chance. You'd like another chance, wouldn't you?”

“Yes, sir,” Cy lied.

“Or you can be a troublemaker. Let the other boys look up to you like some kind of martyr.”

He didn't know what Cain meant.

“If that's what you choose, you're gonna find yourself digging coal before you know what hit you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have him wash up, and get him a clean uniform,” Cain told Prescott.

“What gang you want him with?”

“Same one.”

“With his pals? You think that's a good idea?”

Cain turned on him. “You let me do the thinking, Onnie. Hell, yes, it's a good idea! Give him a chance to show if he can keep his word. If he's tempted to get sympathy, it'll be from his buddies—Jess, Mouse, that idiot Billy.”

“Right, Cap'n.”

“Let him clean up and get to bed.” Cain walked off.

Prescott smirked. “You smell like just what you are. Remember what I told you the other night. You ever say one word, I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do.”

You wrong
, Cy thought.
You the one gonna die
.

 

Prescott took him to the washtubs. Cy hated undressing in front of him. If Prescott said one more word, he'd go for him, no matter what. But his tormentor was silent.

Things in camp looked the same, but Cy was seeing through different eyes. It was between supper and bedtime, and the boys were spending the time like they usually did—some standing and talking, a few gambling for pebbles with dice they had made from bits of wood. The whipping post was gone.

“Cain says for you to eat,” Prescott said. “Rosalee got somethin' for you. Then you're free until bedtime.”

Free
.

“Cain wasn't jokin' about what he said. You've had your last chance.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don't want no more nights in the icehouse.”

“No, sir.”

“Remember, I got my eye on you.”

At the kitchen, Rosalee handed him a plate of cold rice and neck bones and a slice of bread. She filled a cup with water and waited while he drank it dry three times.

“Thanks for comin' to help me,” Cy told her.

“I didn't mind.”

“Pook all right?” Not that he cared. It was something to say, nothing more.

“He okay. Good as he
can
be in a place like this.”

Cy wasn't sure why he asked the next question. “Why you stay here, Miss Rosalee?”

“That ain't none of yo' business. Now, go and behave yo'self.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Don't say ma'am to me! I ain't yo' mama.”

“Thank you for the food.”

“I tell you to git!”

He did.

 

Cy wandered away from the kitchen. He desperately wanted sleep, but for some reason he wanted to see Jess too.

Something touched him, and he jumped. Mouse took his hand, but Cy pulled away. “Where Jess?” he asked.

“With Billy. I show you.”

Mouse led him to the fire where Jess and Billy sat. Jess's arm lay over Billy's shoulder.

Cy sat down next to Jess, who glanced at him, then looked away. If Billy realized Cy was there, he gave no sign.

“What's with him?” Cy asked, gesturing toward Billy.

“He gone away for a while.”

“What you talkin' about?”

“In his mind. He ain't spoke much since Cain whip you.” Jess kept his eyes on the fire.

“They let me out of the icehouse.”

“So I see.”

“Thought you be happy to see me.”

“Should I be?”

Cy didn't expect the cold shoulder—especially not from Jess. It hurt. He realized he'd come looking for sympathy. “If I could of got away, would you be glad?”

“Glad that you tried to escape without botherin' to tell yo' friends goodbye, without carin' how Cain would take it out on the rest of us?”

“That ain't the way it was! I can explain—”

“They ain't no point goin' over all that mess now,” Jess said. “Maybe you should go somewheres else. Billy an' me don't want no more trouble.”

So that was how it was. Cy started to get up. He didn't need Jess to feel sorry for him. But then he sat down again. There was something he had to talk about, something more important than his hurt feelings. Could he trust Jess not to betray him, the way Arnold had?

“Jess?”

“What?”

“We
got
to get out of here.”

Jess moved to get up. “Come on, Billy.”

“No, wait. Just listen, all right?”

Jess sat down again. “I told you, Cy. They ain't no way. And I don't want to hear nothin' more about it. Understand? You keep bringin' this up to me, I won't be able to talk to you no more.”

“Don't say that! We
got
to talk about it. Gettin' away'd be easy, only we can't see it! Daddy say Cain run a sorry operation. Our chains ain't strong. We could get 'em off easy.”

Jess started to his feet again, but Cy grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Three men ain't enough to stop us. We got to try! If we don't, we all gonna end up dead.”

Jess looked him in the eyes. “You wrong. You think Cain and his men gonna stand by while we try and break these chains? They gonna give us nice new clothes, hand us some fried chicken and biscuits, and wave goodbye as we head down the road, singin'? We'd have to kill 'em first, and I don't want nothin' to do with that mess.”

Billy must have heard, but he didn't move. Jess was right. He'd gone far away, somewhere deep into his own mind.

“Killin' ain't a bad idea,” Cy told Jess. “Question is, do we got the guts to try it?”

“You don't mean that. Bible say the one who live by the sword, die by the sword. One day, I got to stand before the judgment throne o' God, an' I rather not have the blood o' any man, black or white, on me. I come too close to killin' once before, and I ain't takin' no more risks.”

“The man who beat you so bad?”

Jess nodded. “Prettyman. I tried to kill him. I
wanted
to kill him. Would have, but he too strong for me.”

“That's why you here! If you'd of killed him, you could of got away.”

“Maybe. Maybe I could of escaped, gone up north or somethin'. But I didn't. So I's here, and I know it ain't fair. But my hands is clean, and I won't dirty 'em with no man's blood. I got to be ready to meet God when that day come.”

“Please, Jess!”

“If we
could
get outta here, what then? What about the sheriff? And men on horses with dogs? Where you think forty runaway black boys gon' go and
be
safe? The whole world against us.”

Maybe Jess was right, but Cy didn't want to hear it, and he didn't like being talked to as if he were a child. “I don't care,” he shot back. “What you rather do—stay here and wait to die?”