IT WAS after ten the next morning when Creedy arrived at the camp. He passed out the cans of food, then he said impatiently, “You men can eat on the bus. We’re runnin’ late.”
The workers boarded the bus hurriedly, and Jabbo followed the Mark IV back to Belle Glade and then east on Highway 441. Five miles out of town they pulled to the edge of a sweet corn field and stopped. A driver was waiting in a flat-bed truck piled high with empty crates. As soon as the bus was emptied, the workers followed the truck into the field, pulling the ears from the stalks and packing them into crates, then loading the crates on the truck and starting again with empty crates. When the truck was loaded, another took its place, and the loaded truck headed back to the packing house in Belle Glade, where the corn would be pre-chilled and then packed into other trucks to be shipped to markets in the East and the Mid-West and Canada and the Far West.
After work that day they returned to the abandoned camp for the night, and the next day they picked in the same field. It was Saturday, but when Creedy came to the camp late that afternoon, he did not hand out any money. Jared didn’t really expect to receive any, since he had been allowed to keep half the money he earned in the cane fields, which was more than several weeks’ pay at Angel City. The other men in the crew didn’t seem to be concerned one way or another. They took the cans of sardines and beans and went back into the dilapidated shacks.
Jared and Cy sat on the floor of the cabin, eating in silence. Jared was glad there would be no trip to a store that afternoon. He still had some degree of pride left within him, and he was ashamed of the way he looked. Grime and soot were ground into his face and hands, and his clothes were stiff with caked dirt. He longed for a bath even if in a slimy drainage canal, but it was still too cold to risk such exposure.
They had not finished eating when Jabbo came to the cabin and ordered them outside. As they got up, Jared said, “We must be goin’ to move again. Maybe it’s back to Angel City this time.”
Creedy was standing at the front of the bus, his red face flushed even redder with anger. When all the men were outside, he said, “We got a nigger missing. The one called Hoot. Who knows about it?”
The men glanced around at each other, but no one spoke. Creedy walked to the Mark IV and returned with a bottle. He said, “I’ll give this quart of whiskey to the first man who tells me where the bastard went.”
The group remained silent for several moments, then an old man of about sixty-five spoke up and said, “I seen him, Mistuh Creedy. Right after we got to the camp I seen him runnin’ t’ward the highway. I seen him, Mistuh Creedy.”
“Which way did he go when he got to the highway?”
“I don’t know, suh. I couldn't tell fo’ the trees. But I seen him runnin’ t’ward the highway.”
Creedy turned to Jabbo. “He couldn’t have gotten far by now.” Then he handed the bottle to Jabbo and said, “Put this back in the car. I ain't givin’ away a quart of whiskey for no more information than that.”
The old man stepped back into the group and cast his face downward.
Creedy then said, “I want you two men over there to go with Jabbo to Pahokee, and you two there to go with me to Belle Glade. The rest of you stay here at the camp, and you damned well better be here when we get back, or we’ll be out loo kin’ for you next. You understand me?”
The men nodded their heads silently.
The first two men Creedy pointed to were Jared and Cy. All of those he selected to leave the camp and help search for Hoot were ones whose children were at his house.
Jared and Cy followed Jabbo to the bus as Creedy and the two men left in the Mark IV. When the bus reached the highway it turned right and followed the narrow highway which wound past cane and vegetable fields and was bordered on both sides by thick lines of Australian pines.
Darkness was flooding the highway as they arrived at the southern outskirts of Pahokee. This was the Negro section of the town, and on each side of the road, two-story concreteblock apartment buildings were jammed one against another. Some had once been painted in garish colors of pink and red and yellow which were now faded badly. All of them looked as if a stiff wind would send them tumbling down one against another like a line of dominoes. Clothes hung from sagging wooden balconies, and the yards were bare of grass and littered with trash and with rusted junk cars without wheels, propped up on wooden blocks.
Jabbo pulled onto a side street, parked the bus and motioned for Jared and Cy to get out. He said, “You two work the west side an’ I’ll take the east. If’n you find him, bring him back to the bus.”
Jared and Cy walked together for a block. Silent men were huddled against walls and squatting along the sidewalk, some drinking beer and wine and whiskey, and others just looking and spitting into the street.
As they stopped beneath a dim street light, Cy said, “I’ll work this side an’ you work over in the next block. We’ll meet down at the south end.”
Jared touched Cy’s arm and said, “What you gain’ to do with Hoot if you find him?”
“I’m goin’ tell him to run like hell an’ never look back.”
Jared smiled. “That’s what I thought.”
As Jared turned to cross the street, Cy said, “You best be real careful around here. This a bad part o’ town.” Then they walked in different directions.
Jared paused on the next comer and watched the people move about and the flow of traffic along the street. He was not aware of the police car’s presence until it pulled to the curb beside him and stopped. An officer got out and came over to him.
Jared became apprehensive as the officer stared closely at his physical appearance. Finally the officer said, “What are you doing here, fellow?”
For a moment the situation addled Jared, and then he said, “I’m just walkin’ around some.”
“You a migrant?” the officer asked.
“I work in the corn fields. We live in a camp just south of here.”
“What company’s camp?”
Jared hesitated again, then he said, “I don’t know the name of the company. We work for a contractor. He brought us into town in the bus.”
“Is it the red bus parked on the side street over yonder?” the officer asked, pointing across the street.
“Yes, that’s the one. We’re just spendin’ a while in town. We’ll go back to the camp pretty soon.”
The officer looked closely at Jared again and said, “You ain’t got no business in nigger town on Saturday night. Don’t you know that?”
“No, sir, I didn’t know,” Jared said nervously. “I was just walkin’ around some.”
“Well, you better walk in another area. We have enough trouble as it is without you just plain asking for more.”
Jared felt relieved as the officer got back into the patrol car and drove away. He thought of the night he had so desperately wanted to talk to a police officer, and now he had lied to get rid of one. But he knew that if the police in Homestead wouldn’t believe him, an officer in Pahokee would probably think him even crazier. And he was also thinking of Kristy.
As he walked along the street he could feel eyes following him, and finally he turned into a place called the Pastime Cafe. There was a counter along one end of the room, tables jammed along the sides and center, and a constantly flashing Budweiser sign on one wall. The air smelled heavily of smoke and fried fish and onions and hamburgers.
Several black men and women were sitting at the tables, and a fat black woman of about forty was behind the counter. When Jared walked to the counter and leaned against it, the woman gave him a hostile look and said, “What you want, mister? This is nigger town. You ain’t got no business in here.”
Jared was startled by the anger in the woman’s voice. He said, “I’m lookin’ fer a man called Hoot. He’s a black man, ‘bout my age, six feet tall and about a hundred and fifty pounds. Have you seen him tonight?”
“I seen a hundred like him,” the woman said, becoming even more sullen. “What you want with him?”
“I need to talk to him. Has he been in here?”
“You want to buy somethin’? If you don’t want to buy somethin’, why don’t you just get the hell on out o’ here?”
“I’m just loo kin’ fer Hoot,” Jared tried to explain again.
A man at a table by the counter had been watching and listening. He got up and came over to Jared. Suddenly he pulled a knife from his pocket, touched a button and a sixinch blade swished out. He pointed the knife at Jared and said, “Why don’t you quit pesterin’ her? You try in’ to start trouble? You lookin’ fo’ trouble, then you come to the right place.”
Jared eyed the knife and the hostility in the man’s face. He said as calmly as possible, “I’m not lookin’ fer trouble. I just need to find a man called Hoot. I got to talk to him and help him out.”
“I ought to drop yo’ guts on the flo’!” the man said, moving closer as Jared backed away. Others in the room stopped drinking and watched.
Jared backed against the wall and kept his eyes on the glint of the knife blade. He was totally bewildered, not understanding what he had said to cause such trouble. He wanted to run, but now the man had moved between him and the door.
Jared glanced to the side just as Cy entered, and relief flashed through him at the sight of Cy’s muscled body. For a moment Cy froze, and then he said loudly, “Hold up there, fellow! That white man’s a friend o’ mine!”
The man turned and stared at Cy. For a moment he hesitated, then he folded the knife and put it back into his pocket. He said to Cy, “If he’s a friend of yourn, then you tell him to keep his damned mouth shut an’ stop askin’ questions in here!” Then he turned and walked back to his table.
Cy said to Jared, “We better get on outen here now. You just lucky I came in when I did. That fellow looked like he was ‘bout ready to make bacon outen you.”
They went outside and stood by the curb. Jared’s hands were trembling as he said, “I sure don’t know what that was all about. All I did was ask if they’d seen Hoot.”
“It’s best you fo’get it,” Cy said. “But we better stay together from now on.”
They continued down the street and came to a building with a sign on the outside: BEER AND POOL. When they entered, Hoot was standing at a counter alone, drinking a bottle of beer. Cy went to him immediately and said, “What the hell you doin’ in here? Don’t you know Creedy’s out lookin’ fo’ you? He’s got folks here an’ in Belle Glade.”
Hoot wheeled around in surprise. He said, “I wadden runnin’ away. I swear fo’ God I wadden. I just wanted to come into town an’ get me a beer. I was comin’ back.”
“You crazy nigger fool!” Cy snapped harshly. “Don’t you know Creedy’s just as liable to kill you as not?”
“I swear fo’ God I wad den runnin’ away,” Hoot said again, his eyes bulging with fear. “You goin’ take me back now?”
“We ain’t takin’ you nowhere,” Cy said, his voice calmer. “But you better hide sommers the rest of the night an’ then shuck out o’ here as fast as you can in the momin’. You can go up to Avon Park or Frostproof. They’s plenty of work there in the groves, an’ Creedy won’t find you. An’ you better not ever come aroun’ Homestead or here again.”
“I can’t get away lessen I gets back on the road an’ catches a ride,” Hoot said desperately. “I ain’t got a cent left. Mistuh Creedy he goin’ find me fo’ sho’.”
Jared reached into his pocket, took out a ten-dollar bill, handed it to Hoot and said, “This’ll get you on the bus with a little left over.”
Hoot looked surprised. He grabbed the money eagerly and said, “You jus’ givin’ it to me fo’ no thin’?”
“Yes. To help you get away from Creedy. But you better get outa here. Jabbo’s with us.”
Hoot’s eyes flashed with fear again at the mention of Jabbo. As he glanced nervously toward the door, he said to Jared, “I sho’ ‘preciate you doin’ this, I sho’ do. I won’t fo’get you fo’ it.”
Cy said, “I better look outside an’ see if it’s clear.” He walked to the door and glanced down the street, then he came back inside quickly and said, “Jabbo’s comin’ down the sidewalk right now! You better get under the counter quick an’ hide there ‘til we’re gone.”
Hoot ran behind the counter as Cy hurriedly purchased two beers. He motioned for Jared to take a seat at an empty table. Just as they sat down, Jabbo entered. He walked over to them and said, “Mistuh Creedy didn’t say fo’ you to come into town to drink. You supposed to be lookin’ fo’ Hoot, not drinkin’ beer.”
“We done looked ev’rywhere,” Cy said calmly, “an’ we ain’t seen hide or hair o’ him. We thought we’d have a beer befo’ goin’ back to the bus. You want one?”
Jabbo stared at Cy. “You mean you goin’ pay fo’ it?” he questioned.
“That’s what I said, ain’t it?” Cy snapped. “You want one or not?”
Jabbo hesitated for a moment, and then he said, “I guess I’ll have one. Then we got to go.” He took a seat at the table while Cy went back to the counter.
Cy came back and handed Jabbo a bottle of beer. Jabbo took a drink and then said, “Mistuh Creedy goin’ be maddem hell ‘cause we didn’t find that nigger.”
“We looked ev’rywhere, but we didn’t see nothin’ at all of him,” Cy said.
Jabbo’s face became worried. “Maybe Mistuh Creedy find him in Belle Glade,” he said.
“Maybe he will an’ maybe he won’t,” Cy said. “If Hoot caught a ride on a truck, he could ‘a shirt-tailed it halfway to Orlanda by now.”
Cy took another drink, then he looked across the table and said, “Jabbo, how much Creedy payin’ you to do what you doin’ to yo’ own folks? You a nigger too if you don’t know it, just like me an’ just like old Rude an’ just like Hoot. How much he payin’ you?”
Jabbo ignored Cy’s question. He turned up the bottle of beer, drained it, belched twice and said, “We better go now. We got to get back to the camp. Mistuh Creedy goin’ be maddern hell.”
The three of them walked back to the bus in silence. When they reached the camp, Jared and Cy went into the cabin and built a fire in the bucket; then they sat on the floor, eating a can of corned beef and drinking the rest of the wine.
Jared became thoughtful for several minutes, eating in silence. Then he turned to Cy and said, “How come them people back there in the cafe got so mad at me? I didn’t do nothin’ at all to make them mad.”
“How come you so mad at Creedy?”
Cy’s remark puzzled Jared. He said, “What you mean by that? I don’t see that Creedy has anything to do with it.”
Cy stopped eating and looked directly at Jared. “Did you see much diff’rence ‘tween them nigger’ quarters an’ Angel City? Them folks back there works in the fields ev’ry day an’ has to come back to them quarters ev’ry night. They can’t get away no more than you can.”
“You mean they think I’m to blame for it?” Jared asked, still puzzled.
“They don’t think nothin’. They’s just mad, just like you, mad ‘cause they’s trapped an’ can’t get out.”
Jared became silent again for several moments, and then he muttered, “Well damn!”
They finished the can of corned beef as the small fire died, down in the bucket. When the wine was gone, Jared lay down and wrapped himself in the blanket. For a long time he thought of what had happened in the cafe and why Cy said it happened. Although he was very tired, he felt restless. He turned to Cy and said, “You asleep?”
Cy grunted, “I was, but I ain’t now.”
“How come Creedy calls the camp Angel City?” Jared asked.
“I don’t know,” Cy answered, his voice reflecting a disinterest in further conversation. “Maybe he thinks it’s the end o’ the line fo’ ev’rybody.”
“Well, one angel flew the coop tonight, didn’t he?”
Cy chuckled. “He sho’ did. That’s the God’s truth.”
Again Jared became silent for a moment, and then he said, “When my Papa died, they brung him into the house in a coffin, and then they opened it ... I was sittin’ there alone in that cold room, lookin’ at him and feelin’ sorrow fer Papa ... and then all of a sudden I wasn’t seein’ Papa in that box at all ... I was seein’ me ... me myself, right there in that pine box ... not Papa in the coffin but me ... and then I was alone in a city of angels, just like the Bible says ... with nothin’ around me but white forms ... white forms driftin’ all about me, speakin’ in tongues I couldn’t understand .... It was so real it like to have scared the life outen me, and it was a year or two afore I stopped seein’ myself in that coffin ... and that’s the same way I’e felt ever since I come to Angel City ... like as if I’m just sittin’ there loo kin’ at myself in a coffin, and there ain’t no way out of it. I got a real bad feelin’ in my gut, a mountain-bad feelin’, and that’s the worst kind.”
Jared got up, gathered a few twigs from a pile in the comer and put them onto the coals in the bucket. After rolling himself back into the blanket, he said, “When we first come down here, all Kristy wanted was a red bathin’ suit to wear to the beach, and all Bennie wanted was to see the ocean and fish in it. We been in Floridy all this time now and we ain’t seen the ocean yet. I don’t even know if it’s really out there sommer or not.”
“It’s out there,” Cy said. “But why don’t you shut up now an’ let me get some sleep? I’m bone tired, an’ we got tomorrow to face. You ain’t in no coffin yet.”
Jared lay still for a long while, thinking again of the trip into Pahokee and the incident in the cafe and of Hoot escaping and of the things Cy had said to him. It was late in the night when he heard Creedy somewhere out in the darkness. Creedy was screaming wildly and shouting obscenities at Jabbo. Jared listened for several minutes, then he pulled the blanket over his head and went to sleep.