At last a man said, "We got nothing to fight with, mister. We can't fight guns an' gas with our han's. Give us guns, an' we'll fight."
Mac's speech turned into fury. "You let 'em shoot our guys, an' burn the buildings of our friends, an' you won't fight. Now they got you trapped, an' still you won't fight. Why even a God damn rat'll fight when he's in a trap."
The hopelessness hung in the air like a gas itself. The same man repeated, "Mister, we can't fight guns and gas with our han's."
Mac's voice broke with rage. "Will any six of you yellow bastards fight me with your hands? Will you?" His mouth worked helplessly. "Try to help you--try to get something for you----" he shrieked.
London reached up and pulled him firmly off the running-board. Mac's eyes were mad. He tried to jerk free. "I'll kill the yellow bastards myself," he cried.
Jim stepped over and took his other arm. "Mac," he said. "Mac, for Christ's sake, you don't know what you're saying." Between them, Jim and London turned him and led him through the crowd, and the men looked shamefacedly at the ground. They told each other softly, "But we can't fight guns and gas with our hands."
The raiders climbed stiffly down from their cars and joined the crowd, and left the automobiles standing in the road.
Mac was limp now. He allowed himself to be led into London's tent, and settled down on the mattress. Jim soaked a rag in the water bucket and tried to wash his face, but Mac took the cloth from him and did it for himself. "I'm all right now," he said quietly. "I'm no good. The Party ought to get rid of me. I lose my head."
"You're dead for sleep," said Jim.
"Oh, I know. But it isn't that. They won't help themselves. Sometimes I've seen men just like these go through a machine-gun nest with their hands. And here today they won't fight a few green deputy-sheriffs. Just scared to death." He said, "Jim, I'm as bad as they are. I'm supposed to use my head. When I got up on that running-board, I was going to try to steam them up. An' then the God damn sheep made me mad. I didn't have any right to get mad. They ought to kick me out of the Party."
London said in sympathy, "I got pretty damn mad myself."
Mac looked at each of his fingers carefully. "Makes me want to run away," he said ruefully. "I'd like to crawl down in a haystack and go to sleep, and to hell with the whole damn bunch of them."
Jim said, "Just as soon as you get rested up, you'll feel strong again. Lie down and get some sleep, Mac. We'll call you if we need you, won't we, London?"
"Sure," said London. "You just stretch out. There ain't nothing you can do now. I'm goin' to go out an' talk to them squad leaders. Maybe we could take a few good guys an' sneak up on the barricades."
"I'm scared they've got us now," Mac said. "They took the heart out of the guys before they could get going." He lay down on the mattress. "What they need is blood," he muttered. "A mob's got to kill something. Oh, Christ, I guess I've bungled everything right from the start." He closed his eyes, then suddenly opened them again. "Listen, they'll pay us a visit pretty soon, the sheriff or somebody. Be sure and wake me up. Don't let 'em get away with anything. Be sure and call me." He stretched like a cat and clasped his hands over his head. His breathing became regular.
The sun threw shadows of the tent-ropes on the canvas, and in the open entrance a piece of sunlight lay on the foot-beaten earth. Jim and London walked quietly outside. "Poor guy," London said. "He needs it. I never seen a guy so far gone for sleep. I heard how the cops keep a guy awake till he goes crazy."
"He'll be different when he wakes up," said Jim. "Lord, I said I'd take something to old Dan. An' then those cars came up. I better do it now."
"I'll go see how Lisa's getting along. Maybe she better go an' take care of the old duck."
Jim walked to the stove and ladled some beans into a can and carried them to the hospital tent. The idle men, standing about, had collected into little groups. Jim looked into the hospital tent. The triangular sunny place had shortened and fallen off the cot. Old Dan's eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and light. A curious musty, rancid odor filled the tent, the breath from a congested and slowly dying body. Jim leaned over the cot. "Dan, I brought you something to eat."
Dan opened his eyes slowly. "I don't want none. I ain't got the strength to chew."
"You have to eat, Dan. Have to eat to get strong. Look, I'll put a pillow under your head, and I'll feed you."
"Don't want to get strong." His voice was langorous. "Just want to lay here. I been a top-faller." His eyes closed again. "You'd go up the stick, way up, way up, an' you could see all the little trees, second, third growth timber down below. Then you fix your safety belt." He sighed deeply, and his mouth went on whispering. A shadow fell in the spot of sunlight. Jim looked up.
Lisa stood in the door of the tent, and her baby was under the shoulder blanket. "I got enough to do, takin' care of the baby. He says I got to come an' take care of a old man, too."
Jim said, "Sh-h." He stood from the cot so she could see Dan's sunken face.
She crept in and sat down on the extra cot. "Oh, I di'n' know. What you want me to do?"
"Nothing. Just stay with him."
She said, "I don't like 'em like that. I can smell 'em. I know that smell." She shifted nervously, covered the baby's round face to protect it from the smell.
"Shh-h," Jim said. "Maybe he's going to be all right."
"Not with that smell. I know that smell. Part of 'im's dead already."
"Poor devil!" Jim said.
Something in the words caught at her. Her eyes grew wet with tears. "I'll stay. I seen it before. It don't hurt nobody."
Jim sat down beside her. "I like to be near you," he said softly.
"Don't you come none of that."
"No, I won't. I just wondered why it was warm beside you."
"I ain't cold."
He turned his face away. "I'm going to talk to you, Lisa. You won't understand, and it won't matter, not a bit. Everything's crumbling down and washing away. But this is just a little bit of the whole thing. This isn't anything, Lisa. You and I aren't much in the whole thing. See, Lisa? I'm telling it to myself, but I understand it better with you listening. You don't know what I'm talking about, do you, Lisa?"
He saw a blush creep up the side of her neck. "I jus' had a baby," she said. "Besides, I ain't that kind." She lifted her shamed eyes. "Don't talk that way. Don't get that tone on you," she begged. "You know I ain't that kind." He reached out his hand to pat her, but she shrank away from him. "No."
He stood up. "Be nice to the old guy. See? There's water and a spoon on the table. Give him a little, now and then." He raised his head tensely to listen to a stir of voices in the camp, a gradually increasing stir. And then, over the bass of voices, a haranguing voice sounded, a voice that rose and fell angrily. "I've got to go," Jim said. "Take care of him." He hurried out of the tent.
By the stoves he saw men collecting around some central object, all faces inward. The angry voice came from the center. As Jim watched, the crowd moved sideways toward the naked little stand that had been built for Joy's body. The mob touched the stand and flowed around it, but out of the group one man shot up and took his position in the stand. Jim ran over. He could see, now. It was the sullen, scowling Burke. His arms gesticulated. His voice bellowed over the heads of the crowd. Jim saw London hurrying in from the road.
Burke grasped the hand-rail. "There he is now," he shouted. "Look at 'im. That's the guy that's spoiled ever'thing. What the hell's he done? Set in his tent an' et canned peaches while we got wet and lived on garbage a pig wouldn' touch."
London's mouth was open with astonishment. "What's goin' on here?" he cried.
Burke leaned forward over the rail. "I'll tell you what's goin' on. Us guys decided we wanted a real leader. We decided we want a guy that won't sell out for a load o' canned goods."
London's face paled, and his shoulders dropped. With a roar he charged the unresisting crowd, flung men aside, burrowed through the mass of men. He came to the stand an
d grasped the hand-rail. As he pulled himself up, Burke kicked at his head, missed, struck the shoulder and tore one hand loose from the rail. London roared again. He was under the rail and on his feet. Burke struck at his face, and missed. And then, with the terrible smooth speed of a heavy man, London lanced with his left hand and, as Burke ducked, the great right fist caught him on the side of the jaw, lifted him clear, and dropped him. His head hung over the edge of the platform, broken jaw torn sideways, shattered teeth hanging loosely between his lips. A thin stream of blood flowed from his mouth, beside his nose and eye, and disappeared into his hair.
London stood, panting, over him, looking down. He raised his head slowly. "Does any more sons-of-bitches think I double-crossed 'em?"
The men nearest Burke's hanging head stared, fascinated. From the other sides of the stared the people began to mill, to press in, standing on tip-toes for a look. Their eyes were bright and angry. A man said, "Bust his jaw clean off. That's blood out o' his brain." Another shouted hysterically, "Killed 'um. Busted his head off."
Women swam through the crowd and looked woodenly at the hanging head. A heavy, sobbing gasp went up from the mob. The eyes flared. All the shoulders were dropped, and the arms bowed dangerously. London still stood panting, but his face was perplexed. He looked down at his fist, at the split and bleeding knuckles. Then he looked out over the crowd for help, and he saw Jim standing on the outskirts. Jim shook his clasped hands together over his head. And then he pointed to the road, where the cars stood, and down the road, and to the cars again, and down the road again. London looked back at the snarling mob. The perplexity left his face and he scowled.
"All right, you guys," he yelled. "Why ain't I done nothing? Because you ain't helped me. But by Christ, now you're ready! Nothin' can stop you now." A long, throaty animal howl went up. London held up his hands. "Who'll follow now, and knock hell out o' that barricade?" The crowd was changing rapidly. The eyes of the men and women were entranced. The bodies weaved slowly, in unison. No more lone cries came from lone men. They moved together, looked alike. The roar was one voice, coming from many throats.
"Some of you bring cars," London shouted. "Come on, the rest of you. Come on, we'll see. Come, come on." He vaulted down from the stand and fought his way through to the head of the mob. Quickly the cars were started. The crowd poured into the road, and it was no longer loose and listless. It had become a quick, silent and deadly efficient machine. It swung down the road at a dog-trot, controlled and directed. And behind it the cars moved slowly along.
Jim had watched the start. He commanded himself aloud, "Don't get caught. Don't get caught. Don't let it catch you. Use your head."
Most of the women were running with the departing men, but a few who remained behind looked strangely at Jim, for his eyes, too, were entranced as he stared down the road after the terrible mechanism. When it had disappeared he sighed shudderingly and turned away. His hand went up to the hurt shoulder and pressed it, to make a steadying pain. He walked slowly to London's tent, went in silently, and sat down on a box.
Mac looked at him under lowered eyelids. Only a shiny slit showed that he was awake. "How long've I been sleeping, Jim?"
"Just a little while. I don't think it's even noon yet, near noon."
"I dreamed a lot, but I'm rested. I think I'll get up now."
"Better get some more sleep if you can."
"What's the use? I'm rested now." He opened his eyes wide. "Lost the sandy feeling. You sleep hard when you're that tired. I dreamed commotion."
"Better go to sleep again."
"No." He sat up and stretched. "Anything happen while I was asleep? It's awful quiet out there."
"Plenty happened," Jim said. "Burke tried to kick London out, and London smashed him--nearly killed him, and--Christ! I forgot Burke." He ran to the door, and around the back to the tent, and looked toward the stand. Then he went into the tent again. "Somebody took him in," he said.
Mac was up now, and excited. "Tell me."
"Well, when the crowd saw the blood they went nuts, and London started 'em down to break the barricade."
Mac cried, "Didn't I tell you? They need blood. That works. That's what I told you. Well then--what?"
"They're down there now. God, Mac, you ought to of seen them. It was like all of them disappeared, and it was just one big--animal, going down the road. Just all one animal. I nearly was there. I wanted to go, and then I thought, 'You can't. You've got to use your head.'"
"Right!" said Mac. "People think a mob is wasteful, but I've seen plenty; and I tell you, a mob with something it wants to do is just about as efficient as trained soldiers, but tricky. They'll knock that barricade, but then what? They'll want to do something else before they cool off." And he went on, "That's right, what you said. It is a big animal. It's different from the men in it. And it's stronger than all the men put together. It doesn't want the same things men want--it's like Doc said--and we don't know what it'll do."
"It'll get that barricade," said Jim.
"That's not what I mean. The animal don't want the barricade. I don't know what it wants. Trouble is, guys that study people always think it's men, and it isn't men. It's a different kind of animal. It's as different from men as dogs are. Jim, it's swell when we can use it, but we don't know enough. When it gets started it might do anything." His face was alive and excited, and slightly fearful.
Jim said, "Listen, I think I hear----" He ran to the entrance. "Coming back," he cried. "It's different now. It's spread out now, not the same."
Mac stood beside him. The road was full of the returning men. London broke out ahead and trotted heavily toward them. And when he came near enough he yelled, "Get back in the tent. Get back in the tent."
"What's he mean?" Jim asked. But Mac pushed him inside the tent, untied the strings and dropped the flaps.
"He knows," Mac said. "Just keep quiet and let him handle it. No matter what happens, don't go out there."
They heard the rain of footsteps on the ground, and shouting voices. Then they saw London's squat black shadow on the canvas and heard him yell, "Now you guys cool off."
"We'll show 'im who's yellow bastards!"
London cried, "You're sore because we told you off. Now you go an' get a drink an' cool down. You just done fine, but you ain't a'gonna get my friend. He's your friend, too. I tell you he's been workin' for you till he's dead tired."
Mac and Jim, in the tent, could feel the thrust change, break up, lose itself in a hundred cries. "We know, London."
"Sure, but he called us yellow."
Mac's breath came out, heavily. "That was close, Jim. Jesus, that was close." London's square shadow still stood on the tent wall, but the many excited voices drifted and lost their impact.
London stretched the subject. "If any of you guys think I got canned peaches, you can come in and look."
"Hell, no, London. We never thought that."
"It was that son-of-a-bitch Burke."
"He's been workin' against you, London. I heard him."
"Well, you guys clear out, then. I got work to do." The shadow stayed still on the tent wall until the voices had dwindled until no crowd faced the tent. London lifted the flap and stepped tiredly inside.
"Thanks," said Mac. "You don't know how close it was any better than I do. You handled 'em, London. Oh, you handled 'em."
London said, "I was scared. You won't think no worse of me, Mac, for that. On the way back I caught myself wantin' to come an' kill you myself." He grinned. "I don't know why."
"Nobody does," said Mac. "But that's the way it is. Tell us what happened down the road."
"We ironed 'em out," said London. "We just rolled over 'em like they wasn't there. They give us the gas, an' some of the guys coughed an' cried, but, hell, them green cops didn't stand a chance. Some of 'em got away--I guess most of 'em did. But the rest of 'em got kicked to pieces like cheese. God, the guys was sore."
"Any shooting?"
"No. Too quick for
'em. They shot over us, thought we'd stop, I guess. But we come right on. Some cops like to shoot guys, but most of 'em don't, I guess. An' then we just rolled 'em out, an' tore down the barricade."
"Well, did the cars get out?"
"Hell, yes, eight of 'em went through, loaded with guys cuttin' hell loose."
"Kill any of the cops?" Mac demanded.
"Huh? Kill 'em? I don't know. I didn't look. Maybe we did. We might of. I bet machine-guns wouldn't of stopped us."
"That's swell," said Mac. "If we could turn on the heat like that when we wanted it, and turn it off when we were through, we'd have our God damn revolution tomorrow, and all over tomorrow night. The guys got over it pretty quick."
"It was all that runnin' that did it," London said. "Damn near a mile. Time they got back, they was clear winded. I feel sick myself. I ain't used to runnin'."
"I know," said Mac. "It's not the running, so much, though. A thing like that gets you all messed up inside. I bet a lot of the guys are losing their breakfast right now."
London seemed suddenly to see Jim. He went over and banged him a clap on the back. "You pulled it, Jim. I was standin' up there after I cold-cocked Burke; I didn't know what the hell to do. An' them guys in the circle didn't know what to do, neither. They was all ready to get me, or anybody. An' I look out, and I seen you pointin', an' I know what to do with 'em."
Jim's face was alight with pleasure. "I'm not much use, with my bum shoulder. I was thinking what Mac said about a little blood setting the guys off. You remember saying that, Mac?"
"Sure I remember. But I'm not sure I would of thought of it out there. I don't know how you do it, Jim. Everybody loses their head except you. I heard about your old man; he wasn't a genius, all he knew was fight. I don't know where you learned to use your bean and keep clear."
"I've got to be some use," Jim said. "My father was like you say, but my mother was so cool she'd make you shiver."
London flexed his hand at his side, and then he looked in astonishment at his crushed knuckles. "Holy Christ! Look at that!"
"You sure smashed 'em," said Mac.
"I smashed 'em on that son-of-a-bitch Burke. How is he, Jim? Felt like I knocked his head clear off when I socked 'im."
Jim said, "I don't know how he is. Somebody took 'im off the stand."
In Dubious Battle Page 28