Trains and Transformations Page: 59
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R. Neill Hadder / Senior Honors Colloquium
tried to strike deals until the methodical blows from the blackjack crumbled his words into cries which
grew more pained and urgent by the blow. The cries broke into sobs, then assembled words which
begged.
Still shrouded in the blanket, huddled on the floor, George ceased his cries and sensed that his
tormenters, now through the door, had gone away. Painfully George writhed out of the bed clothes and
tore at the moonlight with his eyes. The light discovered nothing but a single hinge straining to support
the door; voices, footsteps, a cough, told George the men had not entirely left.
Air came harshly into his tortured lungs, but he felt better for a while just to feel himself alone
inside the shed despite the presences beyond. Then he felt the damp pool against his face and saw it
staining darkly from gashes along his face and torso. "Claude," he called faintly. "You got me, Claude.
You made your point so don't leave me here like this. Get me a doctor, Claude." There came no
response but the gradual retreating crunch of boots on the gravel road. "Claude! I'm dying! Don't leave
me here like this!" Washington's voice rang around the narrow walls and into the field. Now a laugh
returned on the wind, sounding from naked decaying gums
somewhere under the moon.
"Listen to you now." The voice belonged to one of Verdun's men. "The smart nigger too high
to work the field. Play all night and sleep. Don't worry, George, we'll send someone out for you." jeers
drifted back from the throat as it retreated.
Blood stretched itself darkly across the floor. In time the short breaths grew more ragged and
regular, the eyes closing after the car retreated. To the hum of night birds and frogs and bugs was added
now the neglected screech of metal in the hinge. Swaying, straining, holding, the hinge let in the night
and blocked it again with the broken door.
An hour's slow procession passed within the shed. Wings lifted off the roof and carried a
mockingbird song toward the river.
When smoke and ash drifting down to touch his face finally opened the prone man's eyes, he
Came around to the vision of dancing flames caught among the rafters. A chorus seemed to stand there,
swaying and talking in low tones. In the instant before he was able to move, George began to make sense
of the flames and distinguished their slow dance from the words which came from all-too familiar throats.
Willie was out there, as was the extraordinarily tall boy who drooled, whatever his name was, plus all the
others George had stood drinks for just the night before. Fire crept down the walls now, almost grasping
the floor in its embrace. Even the flames dimmed under a thickness of smoke which sat in Washington's
59
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Hadder, R. Neill. Trains and Transformations, thesis or dissertation, November 1993; Denton, Texas. (https://digital.library.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metadc146427/m1/60/: accessed May 7, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, UNT Digital Library, https://digital.library.unt.edu; crediting UNT Honors College.