The Beetle Leg Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: John Hawkes
the middle of the narrow stone room where dried cigarettes lay strewn on the faded blotter of the half open desk, where a winter coat hung from a peg, and the arm of each was made easy by touching the other’s. A thin light hung above their heads from a long cord more rope than wire. Separately they stared at the floor, pausing a moment in those outer, less confining parts of a jail. They smiled.
“I guess someone will send for you, if there’s need at all.”
“No. I think you better get him, Wade.”
Slowly, without looking back, they walked toward the center of the building, down a corridor to the complete darkness of the cell. They reached the coolness of that last room, divided in half and from the glow of the night by bars, and could be no longer hailed from the street. One side cell, the other bare, with iron rods embedded in the floor and ceiling, it was a room in which two men might meet out of town and in which, once before, a hanging had occurred from scarce planks, a hasty rope, and behind a canvas sheet still wet with turpentine and daubs of paint.
Smoke hardly rose from burning corn silk, no smell of tar or soap. Yet by the tank door—locked—the large shadows of the Sheriff and his friend, allowed owners of the cage, were free to lean against the metal, hold to greasy iron and hear the tinkering of jacknife, the strapping of wrists and tying of the hood. Wind, sand, bugs and daily voices rose and fell sealed beyond the walls of tin and whitewashed brick. The two of them were spread, like men leaning over a fence, against the open slender rails of the tank.
“Wade, let’s take a look at her.” The voice, the rubbing, creasingsounds of the Sheriff drifted away from bars cool to the forehead. He stepped backwards, groped toward the wall and light cord. “She don’t change.” A match flared on his trousers, sulphur fumed in the darkness and for a moment Wade saw the bodies of sleeping prisoners on the tank room floor.
“Twelve years ago, Wade, I left this cell unguarded. And that night, when a break or most anything could have blown, I saw Luke Lampson. I spoke to him; I went along to see his brother married. And the jail held. She’s just as strong tonight.” He pulled the cord and both of them, waiting, rubbed their eyes. The Sheriff looked up, saw the gleam, specks of brown and black in the iron, the square slab of the lock. Wade interrupted.
“Sheriff, is them convicts?”
“Sure. But you know, Wade,” again the hand lay on the other’s arm, “I can’t be in this room and touch these shining bars but what that wedding comes to mind and I see him.”
“Sheriff. Tell me about these men. They’re not just borrowing a place to sleep?”
“I caught them little devils tonight, Wade. Others are still loose. I think I’ll let them go in the morning. They ain’t much use to hold.” He turned slowly, raised his eyes and settled his shoulder tightly between the bars, thrust his body into the pen. A swift prisoner could have caught and twisted the fat arm, an animal torn it with one slash. “I think of Luke right here. This is where I come back to, where I could remember straight, after the wedding. He wanted to come too; I didn’t bring him. I wouldn’t let him further than the office. There’s not many like you, Wade, who want to hang around a jail, who have that need for the taste of lime and light that’s different through ordinary window glass. I didn’t know if to trust him. But ever after, Wade, this room’s been full of fire. I like stone, a man of thelaw has got to like things hard; he’s got to like the extra weight of a gun and the sound of a closing door. He’s got to watch the men he guards when they’re shaving from a basin on their knees. I was alone for weeks at that time. I didn’t even leave the jail to eat.
“Wade, I wasn’t the man to witness marriage. But he wanted it. We stood together, we pushed through all them women. And if I wanted I could have
“I guess someone will send for you, if there’s need at all.”
“No. I think you better get him, Wade.”
Slowly, without looking back, they walked toward the center of the building, down a corridor to the complete darkness of the cell. They reached the coolness of that last room, divided in half and from the glow of the night by bars, and could be no longer hailed from the street. One side cell, the other bare, with iron rods embedded in the floor and ceiling, it was a room in which two men might meet out of town and in which, once before, a hanging had occurred from scarce planks, a hasty rope, and behind a canvas sheet still wet with turpentine and daubs of paint.
Smoke hardly rose from burning corn silk, no smell of tar or soap. Yet by the tank door—locked—the large shadows of the Sheriff and his friend, allowed owners of the cage, were free to lean against the metal, hold to greasy iron and hear the tinkering of jacknife, the strapping of wrists and tying of the hood. Wind, sand, bugs and daily voices rose and fell sealed beyond the walls of tin and whitewashed brick. The two of them were spread, like men leaning over a fence, against the open slender rails of the tank.
“Wade, let’s take a look at her.” The voice, the rubbing, creasingsounds of the Sheriff drifted away from bars cool to the forehead. He stepped backwards, groped toward the wall and light cord. “She don’t change.” A match flared on his trousers, sulphur fumed in the darkness and for a moment Wade saw the bodies of sleeping prisoners on the tank room floor.
“Twelve years ago, Wade, I left this cell unguarded. And that night, when a break or most anything could have blown, I saw Luke Lampson. I spoke to him; I went along to see his brother married. And the jail held. She’s just as strong tonight.” He pulled the cord and both of them, waiting, rubbed their eyes. The Sheriff looked up, saw the gleam, specks of brown and black in the iron, the square slab of the lock. Wade interrupted.
“Sheriff, is them convicts?”
“Sure. But you know, Wade,” again the hand lay on the other’s arm, “I can’t be in this room and touch these shining bars but what that wedding comes to mind and I see him.”
“Sheriff. Tell me about these men. They’re not just borrowing a place to sleep?”
“I caught them little devils tonight, Wade. Others are still loose. I think I’ll let them go in the morning. They ain’t much use to hold.” He turned slowly, raised his eyes and settled his shoulder tightly between the bars, thrust his body into the pen. A swift prisoner could have caught and twisted the fat arm, an animal torn it with one slash. “I think of Luke right here. This is where I come back to, where I could remember straight, after the wedding. He wanted to come too; I didn’t bring him. I wouldn’t let him further than the office. There’s not many like you, Wade, who want to hang around a jail, who have that need for the taste of lime and light that’s different through ordinary window glass. I didn’t know if to trust him. But ever after, Wade, this room’s been full of fire. I like stone, a man of thelaw has got to like things hard; he’s got to like the extra weight of a gun and the sound of a closing door. He’s got to watch the men he guards when they’re shaving from a basin on their knees. I was alone for weeks at that time. I didn’t even leave the jail to eat.
“Wade, I wasn’t the man to witness marriage. But he wanted it. We stood together, we pushed through all them women. And if I wanted I could have