Hours passed slowly.
Joe had been writing and reading, trying not to look up at Dubois’s sad face. Dubois hadn’t said a word to him all day. Hadn’t even looked at him.
The insult hung between them like a soiled sheet.
Cocksucker.
The bell rang. It was dinner time. Joe stood and got ready to be let out. To his surprise, Dubois stood up as well and came to the gate. Joe looked over at him, at his upraised face, his determine profile. “Remember what I told you,” he couldn’t help saying to Dubois, “about fighting back―”
“What do you care?” Dubois stared straight ahead. “I’m just a little cocksucker.’’
“Stop it.’’
Guard Crawford turned the key in the lock. Crawford was an older man with no interest in the inmates at all. He escorted them like a man would escort cattle up and down a hall;
