One said, "London told us we could sleep today. Soon's I get somethin' in my stomach, I'm goin' to roll in."
"Me too. Roll right in. I got gravel in my skin, like a hop-head. Ever seen a hop-head when he's got bugs in his skin? Make you laugh to watch him."
Mac asked, "Why'n't you come over to the stoves an' warm up?"
"Well, we was just talkin' about doin' that."
Jim said, "I'm going down to the can, Mac. See you over at the stove." He walked down the line of tents, and each tent was a little cave of darkness. Snores came from some, and in the entrances of others men lay on their stomachs and looked out at the morning, and their eyes were full of the inwardness of sleep. As he walked along, some men came into the air and hunched their shoulders and drew down their necks against the cold. He heard an irritable, sleepy voice of a woman detailing how she felt. "I want to get out o' this dump. What good we doin' here? An' I got a lump in my stomach big's your fist. It's a cancer, that's what it is. Card-reader tol' me two years ago I'd get a cancer if I din' watch out. Said I was the cancer type. Sleepin' on the ground, eatin' garbage." An inaudible grumble answered.
As Jim passed another tent, a tousled head stuck out. "Come on in quick, kid. He's gone."
"Can't," said Jim.
Two tents down a man kneeling on his blankets said, "Got the time, buddy?"
"No. Must be after six, I guess, though."
"I heard her give you the come-on. God damn lucky you didn' go. She's caused more trouble in this camp'n the scabs. They ought to run her out. Gets ever'body fightin'. They got a fire goin' over there?"
"Yes," said Jim. He passed out from between the row of tents. Fifteen yards away, in the open, stood the square canvas screen. Inside there was a two-by-four supported at each end, over a hole. There was room on board for three men. Jim picked up a box of chloride of lime and shook it, but it was empty. One man sat hunched up on the board. "Sompin' ought to be done about it," he said. "Where in hell is 'at doctor? He ain't done nothing about it since yesterday."
"Maybe we could shovel in a little dirt," said Jim. "That'd help."
"It ain't my business. That doctor ought to do sompin' about it. The guys are liable t'get sick."
Jim's voice was angry. "Guys like you that won't do anything damn well deserve to get sick." He kicked dirt into the hole with the side of his foot.
"You're a smart punk, ain't you?" the man said. "Wait till you been around a little and got dry behind the ears, 'n'en maybe you'll know sompin'."
"I know enough right now to know you're a lazy bastard."
"You wait till I get my pants up; I'll show you who's a lazy bastard." But he made no move.
Jim looked down at the ground. "I can't take you on. I'm shot in the shoulder."
"Sure, an' when you know you're safe from a sportin' man, you miscall a man. You lousy punks got sompin' comin' to you."
Jim controlled his voice. "I didn't mean to miscall you, mister. I wouldn't fight you. We got all the fighting to do we can take care of, without fighting each other."
"Well, now, that's better," said the man. "I'll he'p you kick some dirt in when I get through. What's goin' on today? You know?"
Jim began, "We're----" and then he remembered. "Damn' if I know. I guess London'll tell us when he gets ready."
"London ain't done nothing yet," said the man. "Hey, don't sit so near the middle. You're liable to break that two-by-four. Get over near the edge. London ain't done nothing. Just walks around lookin' big. Know what a guy told me? London's got cases an' cases of can' goods in his tent--ever'thing. Corn-beef, an' sardines, an' can' peaches. He won't eat what us poor stiffs got to eat, not him. He's too God damn good."
"And that's a God damn lie," said Jim.
"Got smart again, have you? There's plenty guys seen them can' goods. How do you know it's a lie?"
"Because I've been in that tent. He let me sleep in there last night because I was hurt. There's an old mattress and two empty boxes in that tent, and not another damn thing."
"Well, a whole slough o' guys says there's can' peaches an' sardines in there. Some of the boys was goin' to bust in an' get some last night."
Jim laughed hopelessly. "Oh, Jesus, what a bunch of swine! You get a good man, and you start picking him to pieces."
"There you go, miscalling guys again. Wait'll you get well an' somebody's goin' slap that smart puss right off you."
Jim got up from the plank and buttoned his jeans and went outside. The short stove-pipes of the cook stoves puffed grey smoke into the air, still, straight columns that went up fifty feet before they mushroomed at the top and spread out evenly. The eastern sky was yellow now, and the sky overhead had turned eggshell blue. From the tents men came rapidly. The awakening silence of the camp was replaced with the rustling footsteps, the voices, the movement of people.
A dark-haired woman stood in front of a tent, her head thrown back; and her throat was white. She combed her hair with long, beautiful sweeps of her arm. When Jim walked by she smiled wisely and said, "Good morning," and the combing didn't pause. Jim stopped. "No," she said. "Only good morning."
"You make me feel good," he said. For a moment he looked at the long white throat and the sharply defined jaws. "Good morning again," he said, and he saw her lips form to a line of deep and delicious understanding. And when he passed along, and the tousled head darted out and the husky voice whispered, "Come on in, quick, he's gone now," Jim only glanced, and went quickly on without responding.
Men were gathering about the old stoves, stretching their hands to the warmth, waiting patiently until the beef and beans in the big wash-boilers should be hot. Jim stepped to a water-barrel and dipped some water into a tin basin. He threw the cold water into his face, and into his hair, and he rubbed his hands together without soap. He let the water cling in drops to his face.
Mac saw him and walked over, holding out a food can. "I rinsed it out," he said. "What's the matter, Jim? You look tickled to death."
"I saw a woman----"
"You couldn't. Didn't have time."
"I just saw her," said Jim. "She was combing her hair. It's a funny thing--sometimes a person gets into an ordinary position, and it seems wonderful, it just stays in your mind all your life."
"If I saw a decent looking woman, I'd go nuts," said Mac.
Jim looked down into the empty can. "She had her head back. She was combing her hair--she had a funny kind of a smile on her face. You know, Mac, my mother was a Catholic. She didn't go to church Sundays because my old man hated churches as bad as we do. But in the middle of the week, sometimes, she'd go into the church when my old man was working. When I was a little kid she took me in sometimes, too. The smile on that woman--that's why I'm telling you this----Well, there was a Mary in there, and she had the same kind of a smile, wise and cool and sure. One time I asked my mother why she smiled like that. My mother said, 'She can smile because she's in Heaven.' I think she was jealous, a little." His voice tumbled on, "And one time I was there, looking at that Mary, and I saw a ring of little stars in the air, over her head, going around and around, like little birds. Really saw them, I mean. It's not funny, Mac. This isn't religion--it's kind of what the books I've read call wish-fulfillment, I guess. I saw them, all right. They made me feel happy, too. My old man would have been sore if he knew. He never took any position that lasted. Everything was wasted in him."
Mac said, "You're going to be a great talker some time, Jim. You got a kind of a persuasive tone. Jesus, just now you made me think it'd be nice to sit in church. Nice! That's good talking. If you can talk guys over to our side, you'll be good." He took a little clean tin can that hung on a nail on the side of the water-barrel, and he filled the can and drank from it. "Let's go over and see if the slum is hot."
The men were forming in a line, and as they passed the stoves, the cooks ladled lima beans and lumps of boiled beef into the cans. Mac and Jim got on the end of the line and eventually passed the boilers. "Is that all the fo
od?" Mac asked a cook.
"There's beans and beef enough for one more meal. We're out of salt, though. We need more salt."
They drifted along, eating as they went. A lance of sunlight shot over the trees and fell on the ground of the clearing, fell on the tents and made them seem less dingy. At the line of old cars London was talking to a group of men. "Let's see what's doing," Mac suggested. They walked toward the road, where the old cars stood. A light rust was settling on radiators, and some of the worn tires were down, and all of the cars had the appearance of having stood there a long while.
London saluted with a wave of his hand. "Hello, Mac. H'ya, Jim?"
"Fine," said Jim.
"Me and these guys is lookin' over the heaps. Tryin' to see which ones to send out. There ain't none of 'em worth a hoot in hell."
"How many'd you figure to send out?"
" 'Bout five couples. Two together, so if anything went wrong with one the other'd pick our guys up and go on." He pointed down the line. "That old Hudson's all right. There's five four-cylinder Dodges, and them old babies will go to hell on their bellies after you knock the wheels off. My model T's all right--runs, anyway. Let's see, we don't want no closed cars; y'can't heave a rock out of a closed car. Here's a shovel-nose. Think she'll run?"
A man stepped up. "Damn right she'll run. I brung her straight through Louisiana in winter. She never even warmed up, even comin' over the mountains."
They walked down the row, picking out prospects in the line of wrecks. "These guys is squad leaders," London explained. "I'm goin' give one of 'em charge of each bus, an' let 'em pick their own guys, five or six apiece. Guys they can trust, good fighters, see?"
"Sounds swell," said Mac. "I don't see how anybody's goin' to stop 'em."
One of the men turned on him. "And they ain't nobody goin' to stop us, neither," he said.
"Feelin' pretty tough, huh?"
"Just give us a show, an' see."
Mac said, "We'll walk around a little bit, London."
"Oh, wait a minute, the guys come back from Anderson's a little while ago. They says Anderson cussed 'em all night. An' this mornin' he started in town, still cussin'."
"Well, I thought he would. How about Al?"
"Al?"
"Yeah, Anderson's boy, the one that got smacked."
"Well, the guys went in an' seen him. He wanted to come over here, but they didn't want to move him. Couple guys stayed with him."
London stepped close and lowered his voice so the other men could not hear. "Where do you think Anderson's goin', Mac?"
"I guess he's goin' in town to put in a complaint and get us kicked off. He'll probably claim we burned his barn now. He's so scared he'll do anything to get in good with the other side."
"Uh-huh. Think we ought to fight here?"
"I'll tell you how I think it'll be," said Mac. "I think first they might send out a few guys to try to scare us off. We'll stand up to 'em. After that, they'll come out with a mob. We'll see how our guys feel. If they're sore and mean, we'll fight. But if they look yellow, we'll clear out, if we can." He tapped London on the shoulder. "If that happens, you and me and Jim have to go quick and far. That mob's going to want a chicken to kill, and they won't care much who it is."
London called to the men, "Drain the gas out of all the tanks, and put it in them cars we picked out. Start up the motors 'n' see if they're all right, but don't waste no gas." He turned back. "I'll walk along. I want to talk this out. What you think about our guys? Them babies over by the heaps 'll fight. How about the others?"
Mac said, "If I could tell in advance what a bunch of guys'd do, I'd be president. Some things I do know, though. A smell of blood seems to steam 'em up. Let 'em kill somethin', even a cat, an' they'll want to go right on killin'. If there's a fight, an' our guys get first blood, they'll put up a hell of a battle. But if we lose a man first, I wouldn't be surprised to see them hit for the trees."
"I know," London agreed. "Take one guy that you know ever'thing about him, an' take ten more the same, an' you can't tell what in hell they'll do. What you think of doin'? Just waitin' to see?"
"That's it," said Mac. "When you're used to mobs, you can tell, just a little bit ahead of time. You can feel it in the air. But remember, if our guys crack, get under somethin', an' stay there. Listen, under the Torgas River bridge there's a dug-out covered with dead willows. It's got food and blankets in it. That's the place to hit for. A mob don't stay crazy long. When you get in town, go to forty-two Center Avenue and say I sent you."
"I wish they was some way to get the kid and Lisa out. I don't want 'em to get hurt."
Jim broke in on them. "You guys talk like it was sure to happen. Nothing's happened yet, maybe nothing will. Maybe Anderson only went in to stay with somebody."
"I know it sounds like I'm calamity-howling," Mac said apologetically. "Maybe it won't happen. But London's a valuable guy. We need him. I don't like to get these stiffs killed off; they're good guys. But we need London. This whole strike's worth it if London comes over."
London looked pleased. "You been in plenty strikes, Mac. Always do they go this way?"
"Hell, no. This place is organized, I tell you. None of the other workers came out on strike with us. The owners cut us off out here with nothing to eat. If this bunch of raiders gets stopped today, we'll catch it good. You weren't planning to go out, were you, London?"
"Sure. I ain't been in a fight yet."
"I don't think you'd better go," Mac advised. "We're goin' to need you here. They'll try to root us out today. If you aren't here the guys might get scared and beat it. You're still the boss, London. The boss's got to stick in the center of the biggest group till the last minute. Let's get those cars on the move, shall we? There's plenty of scabs out, and they'll be working by now."
London turned and hurried back to the cars. "Come on, you guys. Step on it. Let's get rollin'."
The squad leaders trotted to the tents and picked their men, men armed with rocks and pieces of wood, and here and there a knife. The whole crowd moved out to the edge of the road, talking loudly and giving advice.
"Give 'em hell, Joe."
"Knock their can off."
The motors started and struggled against their age. The chosen men climbed in and took their places. London held up both hands to stop the noise. He shouted, "Three pairs go that way, and two this way." The gears dropped in. The cars crawled across the ditch and lined up in the road. Raiders stood up and waved their hats furiously, and shook their fists and made murderous cuts in the air with their clubs. The cars moved away slowly, in two directions, and the mob left in the camp shrieked after them.
When they had gone, the shouting stopped suddenly. The men stood, wondering and uneasy. They looked down the road and saw the cars jog out of sight. Mac and Jim and London walked back into the camp side by side.
"I hope to Christ they do some damage," Mac said. "If everything happens to us and nothing to anybody else, we aren't goin' to last much longer. Come on, Jim. Let's take a look at the old guy Dan. An' then maybe we can get some guys together and go over and see Al. I promised Al something. He'll need some encouragement."
London said, "I'm goin' to see about gettin' some water. The barrel's low."
Jim led the way to the hospital tent. The flaps were tied back to let in the morning sunshine. In a pool of sun old Dan lay. His face was transparent white and waxen, and heavy black veins puffed out on his cheeks. "How you feeling, Dan?" Jim asked.
The old man mumbled weakly.
"What's that you say?" Mac bent over to hear.
Dan's lips worked carefully this time. "I ain't had nothing to eat."
Jim cried, "You poor devil. I'll get you something." He stepped out of the door. "Mac," he shouted, "they're coming back."
From the direction of the town four cars drew up and stopped in the road. London came running and flung himself through the crowd. "What th' hell's the matter?"
The driver of the first car smil
ed foolishly. The crowd fell completely silent. "We couldn't get through," the driver said, and he smiled again. "There's a barricade across the road."
"I thought I told you to crash it if it was there."
"You don't unda'stan'," the driver said dully. "They was two cars ahead of us. We come to the barricade. There's about twenty guys with guns behind it." He swallowed nervously. "A guy with a star on to him gets up on top an' he says, 'It's unlawful to picket in this county. Get back.' So that old Hudson tries to go around, an' it tips over in a ditch, an' the guys spill out. So, like you said, the guys run an' get in the shovel-nose." The men in the other seats nodded solemnly at his words.
"Go on." London's voice was subdued.
"So then the shovel-nose starts to try to knock over the barricade. So then those guys start the tear gas an' shoot the tires off the shovel-nose. Then our guys start coughin', an' there's so much gas you can't see. So then those guys got on gas masks, an' they come in, an' they got 'bout a thousan' hand-cuffs." He smiled again. "So we come back. We couldn't do nothing. We didn' even have a decent rock to throw. They grabbed all the guys in the shovel-nose. Hell, I never seen so much gas." He looked up. "There's the other bunch comin'," he said hopelessly. "I guess they got the road blocked at both ends."
A curious, long sigh escaped from the crowd. Some of the men turned and walked slowly back toward the tents, walked glidingly, with their heads down, as though they were in deep thought.
London turned to Mac, and his face was perplexed. Mac said, "Do you suppose we could get the cars across the orchard, and out that way? They can't have all the roads blocked."
London shook his head. "Too wet. A car'd squat down in the mud before we could get it ten feet."
Mac leaped on the running-board of one of the cars. "Listen, you guys," he cried. "There's one way we can get through. Let's the whole bunch of us go down there and knock those barricades off the road. They can't block us in, God damn it!" He paused for a response, a quickening. But the men looked away from him, each waiting for another to speak.
In Dubious Battle Page 27