Part 18 (1/2)
The three men of the governor's commission stood around in Nail's tomato patch and asked him all kinds of questions about life in the prison. Warden Yeager stood there smiling, and his smile got bigger whenever Nail told how much things had changed lately, and how much better the food was, and all.
”Mr. Chism,” said Governor Donaghey, ”you have been, and still are, under sentence of death. Don't you think it's remarkable that you're allowed out here on the grounds to work in this garden?”
”Yessir, I reckon it is,” Nail replied.
”Do you know the Reverend Lee Tomme?”
”I've met 'im.”
”Do you think there is any substance to the charges he has made against this prison?”
”Well, sir, there was. Things was pretty bad around here before he spoke up. Of course, Warden Yeager was already doin his best to make 'em better, before the Reverend come along.”
Later that afternoon, after supper (everybody got chicken and dumplings), the warden provided a little entertainment for the visiting inspectors: he turned Ernest loose. Nail didn't see it happen, but later Ernest told him about it. First thing, of course, they told Ernest that he would be pursued...and caught. They gave him a couple of extra pairs of pants (as protection, they said, but possibly also to impede his running) and opened the gate of The Walls and told him to take off, not toward the city but southward toward the swamp out behind the pen. They gave him a half-hour head start, and then, for the benefit of Governor Donaghey, the Reverend Monk, and Sheriff Hutton, they pursued him with the warden's pack of bloodhounds: Driver, Slim, Gloom, Dopey, Fetch, Nosey, and Lady. They had suggested the location of some telephone poles that Ernest could climb to get out of reach of the dogs' teeth, but he chose instead a sycamore tree beyond the swamp, a mile out, which was the farthest he could get before the hounds caught up with him, and he was returned, unharmed and unbitten, to the inspectors. The whole business was designed to prove how difficult it was to escape, and every inmate was told about it.
After dark, Nail was called out to help Guy Dempsey give the inspectors the ”lighting ceremony,” as Dempsey called it: a new searchlight had been mounted on a motorized swivel atop each of the four guard towers so that the guards could focus them on any spot inside the grounds or within a half-mile radius outside the grounds, and nothing within the reach of those lights remained in darkness. A half-dozen black trusties, dressed in prison stripes, were turned loose on the understanding that they would voluntarily come back after this demonstration. Apparently, the inspectors were greatly impressed and told the warden they would report that it was impossible, between the dogs and the lights, to escape from The Walls.
After the inspectors were gone, Warden Yeager invited Nail up to his office again and thanked him for the nice things he had said to the inspectors. ”Is there anything else we could do for you to make you happy?” the warden asked.
”Yessir, there is,” Nail said. ”You know there's a awful lot of gra.s.s out there on the west side of the powerhouse. Could I maybe get a couple of sheep and put them out there?”
Warden Yeager laughed. ”You used to be a sheep rancher, didn't you, Chism hee hee?” The warden shook his head in wonder at the idea, but also in refusal of it. ”No, it wouldn't work. We can't even keep a flock of chickens here in The Walls. Now, if you were down at Tucker...” The warden snapped his fingers. ”I got an idea. How about I get the governor to commute you to life and send you down to Tucker to start a sheep farm? I don't mean no two or even three sheep hee hee but a whole big flock of 'em. How about that?”
”I hear it's pretty bad down at Tucker,” Nail observed.
”Not since that G.o.dd.a.m.n preacher, Reverend Tomme, started stirring things up. h.e.l.l, ole Tucker Farm is a country club now hee hee.”
”Could you let me think about it?” Nail requested.
”Hee hee? Think about it? What's to think about? I'm offering you a chance at life instead of a fourth chance at the chair.”
”Right now, Warden,” Nail said, ”I would have to tell you no, because I'd rather be dead than spend my whole life in prison.”
”Aw, it don't mean your whole life. You'd be up for parole in fifteen, twenty years, maybe sooner if you did a real good job raisin them sheep hee hee.”
”Let me think about it?”
”Better not think too long. I need to send the governor a list of names early next month.”
That night Nail tried to tell Ernest about the warden's offer, but the other three condemned men in the hole overheard him. Nail and Ernest had no privacy anymore. The others jumped in on any topic that came up for discussion, even if it was the number of c.o.c.kroaches keeping them company. The guy Sam Bell, who had murdered his in-laws, said he'd a lot rather die than go to Tucker for even fifteen months, let alone fifteen years. The two kids, Clarence Dewein (whom they called Dewey) and Joe Strong, were both of the opinion that a whole life of even eighty years in Tucker would be preferable to the chair, the thought of which gave them nightmares every night-apparently the same ones, because they screamed at the same time in their sleep.
Nail hated the thought of Tucker Farm, but it would have to be an improvement on this crowded death hole. Would Viridis come down to Tucker to see him? It was fifty dusty miles from Little Rock. Would she keep coming for twenty years? No, she had provided him with the means for escape, and he ought to try to escape, even if there was a severe risk of getting caught, as the warden had demonstrated for the inspectors. But maybe Nail would even lose his chance at a life-commute if he was caught trying to escape.
The next time the Reverend Mr. Tomme came to see him, Nail informed him of the choice the warden had offered him and declared he was having some trouble making up his mind.
Lee Tomme nodded. ”I know. Yeager told me he wants to send you to Tucker. It would be a feather in his cap if you did a good job on a sheep farm down there.”
”He says you've improved Tucker the same way you've improved The Walls,” Nail said. ”Is it really better'n it used to be?”
”For a while,” Lee said, but sighed. ”I'm not optimistic that the improvements will last. That governor's committee you talked to-Donaghey, Monk, and Hutton-they'll probably submit a report that things aren't nearly as bad as I said they were, and then everything will go right back to h.e.l.l.”
Nail frowned and considered that. ”I sure hope I didn't say nothing to 'em that would make 'em do that.”
Lee waved the thought away. ”I'm not blaming you. I've got a suspicion these improvements are largely cosmetic: they pretty up the place for the benefit of inspection by the governor's committee, and as soon as the committee reports on how nice everything is, they'll take away the improvements.”
”You think Tucker will fall back to what it was?”
”They'll have to fire me first,” Lee said, ”but I wouldn't be surprised if they did that too.”
”'They' or 'he'?”
”Okay. 'He.' Hays.”
”And one of the first improvements they'll take away from The Walls,” Nail conjectured, ”is me and Ernest having jobs and a little bit of freedom. They'll try to put us in the chair again.”
Lee looked sorrowfully at Nail. ”I hope not. But I'd be a mealymouth to deny it could happen.”
Nail debated with himself whether to tell the preacher he wanted to attempt an escape. He knew that Lee Tomme, who detested snitches would not snitch. And maybe he could help. Or at least give him some spiritual advice. So Nail lowered his voice and said, ”Lee, I don't think I'll take the warden's offer. I don't aim to spend any time at Tucker. I reckon I'll just go over the wall.”
Lee smiled. ”I wish you could.”
”I can,” Nail said.
Lee studied him awhile before asking, ”Didn't you hear about that show they put on for the inspectors? This place is escape-proof.”
”Not to me,” Nail said. ”I'm fixin to-”
”Don't tell me how.” Lee held up his hand. ”I don't want to know. I'll take your word for it. I don't want anybody accusing me of conspiring with you.” The preacher smiled. ”But you could tell me when you plan to go.”
”Soon as I figger out a way to get upstairs in the middle of the night,” Nail said. ”That's the tricky part, as they say.”
”Do you want me to let you know if I can figure out something?” Lee asked in a whisper. ”Or would that be conspiracy?”
”Yeah, I reckon it would, I reckon you better let me figger it out by myself.”
”Okay. Shall we change the subject, and speak louder? Do you know, when I worked in the Colorado prisons, instead of beating a man they would punish him by taking away his privilege of seeing the weekly motion picture.”
Nail smiled. ”That's nice. I aint never seen a motion picture.”
”I thought as much. My next improvement to this facility-possibly my last improvement-will be to have movies shown, each Sat.u.r.day night, and to suggest that violators of prison rules be punished not by the strap but by being forbidden to attend the picture show.”
”The picture shows will be done at night?” Nail asked.
”Of course. The barracks will have to be dark.”
”And somebody who knows something about electricity will have to help 'em run the projector?”
”You catch on very quickly, Brother Chism, but shall we change the subject?”
”Yeah. Tell me what it's like in Colorado. Do they raise a lot of sheep out there?”