The Red Kimono: A Novel

55. Terrence

CHAPTER 55 Terrence MARCH 15, 1943 “Showers!” A guard called from the front of the corridor. Terrence rubbed his forehead and scribbled out his umpteenth attempt at solving an algebra problem. Carter waited at the cell door, scratching his belly. “You coming?” “Nah. You go on. I need to get this homework done before Mr. Blake comes this afternoon.” “You mean I’m gonna have to smell your stink until tomorrow?” Terrence grinned and shook his head. “You preaching to the choir, man. I don’t think there’s enough soap in this whole prison to wash away your white boy smell.” The guard unlocked the cell door and Carter joined the procession of inmates headed to the showers. “See ya,” he said before the door slammed shut. Terrence noticed the clean clothes Carter left on his bunk. “Hey, wait!” he called, but Carter was too far down the corridor. He remembered how Momma always joked about having to remind him of something he’d forgotten. His homework, sack lunch, wallet. “Where’s your mind at, son?” she’d ask. “Don’t know what you gonna do without me one of these days.” His algebra book lay open in front of him, calling to him like a nag. He gazed at the eight circled problems and groaned. Homework! He studied the problem over again. Think! Pencil to paper, he jotted figures on scratch paper, determined to solve the problem. Xs. Ys. As. Bs. His paper was full of a jumble of letters and numbers that looked like a foreign language. Why’d he have to take algebra anyways? Lawyers didn’t need to know algebra. Even Mr. Blake The Red Kimono 241 had told him he was afraid he wouldn’t be much help with that fancy math. So why’d he have to study it? “You’ll need to know it to get into college,” Mr. Blake had said. College. Would he ever really go to college? It was hard to imagine such a thing from inside a jail cell. “Fight!” The call swelled as it ripped down the corridor from the shower. Several guards ran by, guns drawn. Their shrill whistles echoed everywhere. Hoots and taunts came from the direction of the showers, and those that had stayed behind watched from their cells like caged animals he’d seen in the zoo. Their eyes wide with frenzied excitement, they screamed and chanted. Terrence’s heart beat wild, too. He stared at the clothes on Carter’s bed. All that screaming, the guards rushing to the showers . . . he pushed chilling thoughts out of his head. The noises from the inmates went back and forth between murmurs and shouts. First they’d listen for what was going on, then they’d whoop it up. The fight was like gasoline on an ember, and the fire was burning out of control. A new wave of guards rushed in, the rapid clap of their boots on the floor like machine gun fire. They pounded their clubs on the bars with one hand, held guns in the other, as they tried to outshout the raucous inmates. “Quiet!” “Shut up—get over there in that corner!” They didn’t have to tell Terrence twice. He didn’t want any trouble. Only thing he cared about was what was going on with Carter. Something ate at his gut and told him Peachie had started something. Shit! He should have gone to the showers, too. He felt helpless and sat quiet on his bunk. But his mind went rabid with visions of Peachie and his gang beating on Carter. There had to be something he could do. He felt like he was going to puke. He’d gotten to like Carter, but thinking about what was going on made him realize it was more than that. Carter had ignored Peachie’s harassment. He must’ve started to figure it wasn’t right to judge a man by the color of his skin. 242 JAN MORRILL And how did he thank Carter? By letting him go to the showers by himself. The guards lined up at the center, looking ready for action. At the slightest goad of any inmate, a guard rushed the cell door to shut him up. Soon, the corridor quieted. Twenty minutes later, the noise from the brawl in the shower quieted too. But it did nothing to quiet Terrence’s mind...