DAYS MERGED into each other as the buses left the camp each morning before dawn and returned in late afternoon. The routine was broken twice when the workers were shifted from tomato fields into bean fields; and for three other days they planted tomatoes instead of picking them. They did not know what they were being paid as planters, and the money Creedy gave them each week remained the same.
When the month changed to December, the daylight hours were shorter, and sometimes the light did not come until a half-hour after they entered the fields. Dusk settled before supper was finished, and the wind at night was strong and piercing. Flights of ducks and geese passed overhead as they headed out into the vast marshlands of the Everglades. Rain came more often, and sometimes the ground inside the camp turned into a quagmire that sucked at shoes and covered the concrete floors of the rooms.
Since Kristy was no longer in the fields, Jared received only two dollars each day for food, and this, combined with the four dollars he received on Saturdays, gave him sixteen dollars each week for food and all the other necessities. He ate less and gave Cloma and Bennie more, and at night he bathed without soap in order to divert every possible penny into additional cans of sardines and Vienna sausage. He brought tomatoes from the fields, and sometimes he would slip from the fields into adjoining orange groves and steal fruit, which he brought back to the camp in a brown paper sack he kept inside his shirt. He also asked the store manager for waste beef and pork bones, which he boiled into broth each night and left for Cloma to drink during the day.
Kristy came for visits on Sunday afternoons, and each visit they saw a change in her personality. The constant smile she once wore was now gone, and she showed little interest in anything. Jared tried to question her about how she was being treated, but she would not answer. Instead, she would turn and walk away alone, ignoring his pleading calls for her to come back and be with the family. Sometimes she would stand for hours clinging to the fence, gazing out across the empty fields; and when it came time to leave the camp, she would walk away without saying goodbye to any of them. This caused both Jared and Cloma great anguish and concern, but there was nothing they could do but hope that the change was only temporary.
Jared made no further plans for escape. Instead, he decided to do as Cy suggested and bide his time, waiting for something unexpected to come from some unknown somewhere and set him free. He wanted to get out of Angel City as badly as ever, but his spirit was shattered, and he was determined to do nothing more so long as Kristy remained outside the camp, and so long as his actions might endanger her life. Each day was lived as it came, and his life slipped into a routine just as regimented and drab and as accepted as that known by any of the workers who had spent lifetimes in the camps.
He began to think and feel and act more as Cy did. Sometimes he hated himself for letting his life become so totally controlled and guided by Creedy. When he became angry enough because of this, he would share Cy’s bottle of whiskey on Saturday nights. He would look forward to those few hours on Sunday afternoons when all of his family could be together, although most of the time Kristy was not with them at all; then on Monday mornings he would go into the fields and lose all conception of hours and days until another weekend came again.
It was on a Saturday night that Jabbo came down the line of rooms on the north side of the barracks. Jared and Cy were sitting on the ground outside Cy’s room, and they were immersed in darkness except for a narrow shaft of light drifting through the partially closed door. Hoot was inside, passed out on his bunk. Jabbo suddenly appeared out of the shadows and said, “Mistuh Creedy say fo’ you to be on the bus at six in the mornin’.”
“What fer?” Jared asked harshly, startled and annoyed by Jabbo’s unexpected presence on a Saturday night. “We ain’t never picked on Sunday.”
“Mistuh Creedy say we takin’ one bus full o’ men to work in Belle Glade fo’ awhile. He say all men on the north side be on the bus at six.”
It took a moment for the meaning of Jabbo’s words to register on Jared, and when they did, Jared said, “I ain’t goin’ to do it! I’m not leavin’ this camp with my wife the way she is!”
Jabbo repeated, “Mistuh Creedy say fo’ you to be on the bus at six. An’ you leave the boy. We ain’t takin’ nothin’ but men on the bus.” Then he walked on down the line of rooms.
Jared turned to Cy and said, “What’s this all about? How come they’d take us to Belle Glade?”
“To pick,” Cy said, without surprise or concern because of the sudden order. “Up there they grows sweet com an’ celery an’ lettuce. He might even put us in the sugar cane fields. If he puts us in them cane fields, then you sho’ goin’ need you a bottle ev’ry night.”
“I thought we stayed here all the time. Creedy didn’t tell me nothin’ about goin’ some place else.”
“We goes where they’s work,” Cy said. “Beans an’ cukes in Carolina, peaches in Georgie, ’taters in Alabam, oranges anywhere he wants us to go. If them buses wadden so old an’ rattly, we’d go up to Noo Yawk an’ pick grapes an’ apples, but Creedy ain’t goin’ spend the money to fix ’em up to go that far.”
Jared became silent for a moment, “I ain’t goin’ to go! They’ll have to drag me on that bus feet first an’ kickin’!”
Cy shook his head with exasperation and said, “I thought you’d done learnt better. You don’t go, all you goin’ do is make things worse fo’ yo’self an’ bring on a heap o’ trouble fo’ yo’ girl.”
Jared realized that again Cy was right. He asked, “How long will we be gone?”
“It’s hard to say. Depends on the crops an’ how many folks is already workin’ up there. Most times it’s two-three weeks or a month, but the crops lasts all winter up there. Could be a long time, but sometimes the pickin’ gets better down here, an’ he brings us back. We follow the crops anywhere they points that old bus.”
“I can’t leave Cloma that long, the baby is due soon.”
“They ain’t nothin’ you can do ’cepin’ get yo’ head bashed in or yo’ girl in trouble. That wouldn’t help yo’ woman none, would it?”
“Maybe Creedy would let Kristy come back to the camp and stay with her.”
“They’s a woman called Bertha in the other side of the buildin’. She’s a midwife, an’ she’s a good woman, too. I’ll speak to her ’bout lookin’ out fo’ yo’ wife.”
“What if she needs a doctor?” Jared asked.
“She won’t get no doctor even if you’s here. An’ you knows that. I’ll go speak to Bertha.”
Cy got up and went around the side of the building.
Before he went in to tell Cloma, Jared decided that he would see if Creedy was still in the camp. He walked to the trailer, and the Mark IV was there. When he knocked on the door, Creedy came out.
Jared said, “Mr. Creedy, will you bring my girl back to the camp when we leave for Belle Glade tomorrow?”
“What for?” Creedy asked.
“My wife’s expectin’ soon. Kristy could look out fer her while I’m gone.”
“You must think I’m crazy!” Creedy snapped. “I wouldn’t let you go four feet outside the gate with that girl back here. You’d probably shuck out for West Virginia.”
“Let her come back to the camp,” Jared pleaded. “If you do, I swear ’fore God I won’t do nothin’. I ain’t caused no trouble lately. Let her come back, Mr. Creedy.”
For a moment Creedy seemed hesitant, then he said, “I ain’t going to do it! You got a boy to look after your woman. You ought not to have gotten her belly swelled up like that noway. She ain’t been to the fields a day since she’s been here.”
“Who’ll be here if she needs help?” Jared asked, realizing that Creedy would never grant his request.
“Clug is stayin’ here with the south crew. While ev’ry-body’s in the fields, the cook will be here during the day. Ain’t that enough? And besides that, they’s some nigger women who can help out. Hell, them nigger women knows how to handle it. They has babies out in the fields, then goes on picking the rest of the day.”
Jared knew it was useless even talking to Creedy. Without speaking further, he turned and walked back to the room. He dreaded telling Cloma.