Half of Paradise

“I don’t like nobody listening to what I’m saying,” Billy Jo said.

“I bet the hacks already know about it,” the man across from them said. “They’ll bring you all back on a leash.”

“I’ll be down on Gayoso Street in Memphis greasing in some whore while you’re breaking your back on the line.”

“Jam it.”

“Why don’t you guys quit bitching at each other?”

“We only got twenty-nine days left,” Jeffry said.

“Twenty-nine days and they’re on their way to glory. Right, Brother Samuel?”

“How about a sermon, Brother?”

The truck was almost out to the line, and they wanted to forget the long day that was before them.

“I ain’t got the power to save no more,” Brother Samuel said.

“That don’t matter. Save us, anyway.”

“My powers ain’t the same no more. I tried to heal Jeffry and it didn’t do no good.”

“Why didn’t you let Brother Samuel heal you, Jeffry?”

“That ain’t funny. You guys don’t have a belly full of dysentery,” Jeffry said.

“Kneel down and pray, Jeffry. Let Brother Samuel clamp his hand on your forehead and clean out your belly.”

“It ain’t funny.”

“Let’s wade on the banks of the Jordan, but don’t drink none of the water or you’ll get the runs.”

“You guys don’t have your bellies tied up in knots,” Jeffry said.

“Repent sinners before you catch the runs for all eternity.”

“It ain’t right to make fun of the Word,” Brother Samuel said.

The truck made a sharp turn, stopped, and the back doors were unlocked and opened. The men blinked their eyes in the light. Evans and another guard stood at the tailgate. Evans looked at them from the shade of his sun glasses and cork sun helmet.

“Gang five follow me,” he said.

The men dropped out of the back one by one and walked in single file behind him. The truck was parked by an irrigation canal that was being dug into a flood basin. The canal ended abruptly where yesterday’s work had stopped. Two long banks of dusty red clay were piled on each side of the ditch. The pine trees were green and sweet smelling in the morning air. The trees stretched away over the loam down to the river. The breeze from the river blew through the woods and scattered the pine needles over the ground.

The men in gang five followed Evans to the line shack where the tools were handed out. Two trusties stood at the door of the shack to check out the tools. Each man could ask for either a shovel or a pick. Those who got there first took all the shovels. It was harder work with a pick.

Billy Jo stepped forward in the line.

“Shovel.”

“Ain’t no more. Claxton got the last,” the trusty said.

“My goddamn luck.”

“Move along,” Evans said.

It was Jeffry’s turn.