East of Eden

by John Steinbeck

  He knew about how long it would take his brother to find the box. He could see in his mind what would happen. Aron would try to wash the blood off the rabbit, and this would take time. Finding string would take more time, and the careful tying of the bow knots still more time. And meanwhile Cal knew he was beginning to win. He felt Abra's certainty wavering and he knew that he could prod it further.

  Abra looked away from him at last and said, "What do you stare at a person for?"

  Cal looked at her feet and slowly raised his eyes, going over her as coldly as if she were a chair. This, he knew, could make even an adult nervous.

  Abra couldn't stand it. She said, "See anything green?"

  Cal asked, "Do you go to school?"

  "Of course I do."

  "What grade?"

  "High fifth."

  "How old are you?"

  "Going on eleven."

  Cal laughed.

  "What's wrong with that?" she demanded. He didn't answer her. "Come on, tell me! What's wrong with that?" Still no answer. "You think you're mighty smart," she said, and when he continued to laugh at her she said uneasily, "I wonder what's taking your brother so long. Look, the rain's stopped."

  Cal said, "I guess he's looking around for it."

  "You mean, for the rabbit?"

  "Oh, no. He's got that all right--it's dead. But maybe he can't catch the other. It gets away."

  "Catch what? What gets away?"

  "He wouldn't want me to tell," said Cal. "He wants it to be a surprise. He caught it last Friday. It bit him too."

  "Whatever are you talking about?"

  "You'll see," said Cal, "when you open the box. I bet he tells you not to open it right off." This was not a guess. Cal knew his brother.

  Abra knew she was losing not only the battle but the whole war. She began to hate this boy. In her mind she went over the deadly retorts she knew and gave them all up in helplessness, feeling they would have no effect. She retired into silence. She walked out of the door and looked toward the house where her parents were.

  "I think I'll go back," she said.

  "Wait," said Cal.

  She turned as he came up with her. "What do you want?" she asked coldly.

  "Don't be mad with me," he said. "You don't know what goes on here. You should see my brother's back."

  His change of pace bewildered her. He never let her get set in an attitude, and he had properly read her interest in romantic situations. His voice was low and secret. She lowered her voice to match his.

  "What do you mean? What's wrong with his back?"

  "All scars," said Cal. "It's the Chinaman."

  She shivered and tensed with interest. "What does he do? Does he beat him?"

  "Worse than that," said Cal.

  "Why don't you tell your father?"

  "We don't dare. Do you know what would happen if we told?"

  "No. What?"

  He shook his head. "No"--he seemed to think carefully--"I don't even dare tell you."

  At that moment Lee came from the shed leading the Bacons' horse hitched to the high spindly rig with rubber tires. Mr. and Mrs. Bacon came out of the house and automatically they all looked up at the sky. Cal said, "I can't tell you now. The Chinaman would know if I told."

  Mrs. Bacon called, "Abra! Hurry! We're going." Lee held the restive horse while Mrs. Bacon was helped up into the rig.

  Aron came dashing around the house, carrying a cardboard box intricately tied with string in fancy bow knots. He thrust it at Abra. "Here," he said. "Don't untie it until you get home."

  Cal saw revulsion on Abra's face. Her hands shrank away from the box.

  "Take it, dear," her father said. "Hurry, we're very late." He thrust the box into her hands.

  Cal stepped close to her. "I want to whisper," he said. He put his mouth to her ear. "You've wet your pants," he said. She blushed and pulled the sunbonnet up over her head. Mrs. Bacon picked her up under the arms and passed her into the buggy.

  Lee and Adam and the twins watched the horse pick up a fine trot.

  Before the first turn Abra's hand came up and the box went sailing backward into the road. Cal watched his brother's face and saw misery come into Aron's eyes. When Adam had gone back into the house and Lee was moving out with a pan of grain to feed the chickens, Cal put his arm around his brother's shoulders and hugged him reassuringly.

  "I wanted to marry her," Aron said. "I put a letter in the box, asking her."

  "Don't be sad," said Cal. "I'm going to let you use my rifle."

  Aron's head jerked around. "You haven't got a rifle."

  "Haven't I?" Cal said. "Haven't I though?"

  Chapter 28

  1

  It was at the supper table that the boys discovered the change in their father. They knew him as a presence--as ears that heard but did not listen, eyes that looked and did not notice. He was a cloud of a father. The boys had never learned to tell him of their interests and discoveries, or of their needs. Lee had been their contact with the adult world, and Lee had managed not only to raise, feed, clothe, and discipline the boys, but he had also given them a respect for their father. He was a mystery to the boys, and his word, his law, was carried down by Lee, who naturally made it up himself and ascribed it to Adam.

  This night, the first after Adam's return from Salinas, Cal and Aron were first astonished and then a little embarrassed to find that Adam listened to them and asked questions, looked at them and saw them. The change made them timid.

  Adam said, "I hear you were hunting today."

  The boys became cautious as humans always are, faced with a new situation. After a pause Aron admitted, "Yes, sir."

  "Did you get anything?"

  This time a longer pause, and then, "Yes, sir."

  "What did you get?"

  "A rabbit."

  "With bows and arrows? Who got him?"

  Aron said, "We both shot. We don't know which one hit."

  Adam said, "Don't you know your own arrows? We used to mark our arrows when I was a boy."

  This time Aron refused to answer and get into trouble. And Cal, after waiting, said, "Well, it was my arrow, all right, but we think it might have got in Aron's quiver."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "I don't know," Cal said. "But I think it was Aron hit the rabbit."

  Adam swung his eyes. "And what do you think?"

  "I think maybe I hit it--but I'm not sure."

  "Well, you both seem to handle the situation very well."

  The alarm went out of the faces of the boys. It did not seem to be a trap.

  "Where is the rabbit?" Adam asked.

  Cal said, "Aron gave it to Abra as a present."

  "She threw it out," said Aron.

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. I wanted to marry her too."

  "You did?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How about you, Cal?"

  "I guess I'll let Aron have her," said Cal.

  Adam laughed, and the boys could not recall ever having heard him laugh. "Is she a nice little girl?" he asked.

  "Oh, yes," said Aron. "She's nice, all right. She's good and nice."

  "Well, I'm glad of that if she's going to be my daughter-in-law."

  Lee cleared the table and after a quick rattling in the kitchen he came back. "Ready to go to bed?" he asked the boys.

  They glared in protest. Adam said, "Sit down and let them stay a while."

  "I've got the accounts together. We can go over them later," said Lee.

  "What accounts, Lee?"

  "The house and ranch accounts. You said you wanted to know where you stood."

  "Not the accounts for over ten years, Lee!"

  "You never wanted to be bothered before."

  "I guess that's right. But sit a while. Aron wants to marry the little girl who was here today."

  "Are they engaged?" Lee asked.

  "I don't think she's accepted him yet," said Adam. "That may give us some time."
>
  Cal had quickly lost his awe of the changed feeling in the house and had been examining this anthill with calculating eyes, trying to determine just how to kick it over. He made his decision.

  "She's a real nice girl," he said. "I like her. Know why? Well, she said to ask you where our mother's grave is, so we can take some flowers."

  "Could we, Father?" Aron asked. "She said she would teach us how to make wreaths."

  Adam's mind raced. He was not good at lying to begin with, and he hadn't practiced. The solution frightened him, it came so quickly to his mind and so glibly to his tongue. Adam said, "I wish we could do that, boys. But I'll have to tell you. Your mother's grave is clear across the country where she came from."

  "Why?" Aron asked.

  "Well, some people want to be buried in the place they came from."

  "How did she get there?" Cal asked. "We put her on a train and sent her home--didn't we, Lee?"

  Lee nodded. "It's the same with us," he said. "Nearly all Chinese get sent home to China after they die."

  "I know that," said Aron. "You told us that before."

  "Did I?" Lee asked.

  "Sure you did," said Cal. He was vaguely disappointed.

  Adam quickly changed the subject. "Mr. Bacon made a suggestion this afternoon," he began. "I'd like you boys to think about it. He said it might be better for you if we moved to Salinas--better schools and lots of other children to play with."

  The thought stunned the twins. Cal asked, "How about here?"

  "Well, we'd keep the ranch in case we want to come back."

  Aron said, "Abra lives in Salinas." And that was enough for Aron. Already he had forgotten the sailing box. All he could think of was a small apron and a sunbonnet and soft little fingers.

  Adam said, "Well, you think about it. Maybe you should go to bed now. Why didn't you go to school today?"

  "The teacher's sick," said Aron.

  Lee verified it. "Miss Gulp has been sick for three days," he said. "They don't have to go back until Monday. Come on, boys."

  They followed him obediently from the room.

  2

  Adam sat smiling vaguely at the lamp and tapping his knee with a forefinger until Lee came back. Adam said, "Do they know anything?"

  "I don't know," said Lee.

  "Well, maybe it was just the little girl."

  Lee went to the kitchen and brought back a big cardboard box. "Here are the accounts. Every year has a rubber band around it. I've been over it. It's complete."

  "You mean all accounts?"

  Lee said, "You'll find a book for each year and receipted bills for everything. You wanted to know how you stood. Here it is--all of it. Do you really think you'll move?"

  "Well, I'm thinking of it."

  "I wish there were some way you could tell the boys the truth."

  "That would rob them of the good thoughts about their mother, Lee."

  "Have you thought of the other danger?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, suppose they find out the truth. Plenty of people know."

  "Well, maybe when they're older it will be easier for them."

  "I don't believe that," said Lee. "But that's not the worst danger."

  "I guess I don't follow you, Lee."

  "It's the lie I'm thinking of. It might infect everything. If they ever found out you'd lied to them about this, the true things would suffer. They wouldn't believe anything then."

  "Yes, I see. But what can I tell them? I couldn't tell them the whole truth."

  "Maybe you can tell then a part truth, enough so that you won't suffer if they find out."

  "I'll have to think about that, Lee."

  "If you go to live in Salinas it will be more dangerous."

  "I'll have to think about it."

  Lee went on insistently, "My father told me about my mother when I was very little, and he didn't spare me. He told me a number of times as I was growing. Of course it wasn't the same, but it was pretty dreadful. I'm glad he told me though. I wouldn't like not to know."

  "Do you want to tell me?"

  "No, I don't want to. But it might persuade you to make some change for your own boys. Maybe if you just said she went away and you don't know where."

  "But I do know."

  "Yes, there's the trouble. It's bound to be all truth or part lie. Well, I can't force you."

  "I'll think about it," said Adam. "What's the story about your mother?"

  "You really want to hear?"

  "Only if you want to tell me."

  "I'll make it very short," said Lee. "My first memory is of living in a little dark shack alone with my father in the middle of a potato field, and with it the memory of my father telling me the story of my mother. His language was Cantonese, but whenever he told the story he spoke in high and beautiful Mandarin. All right then. I'll tell you--" And Lee looked back in time.

  "I'll have to tell you first that when you built the railroads in the West the terrible work of grading and laying ties and spiking the rails was done by many thousands of Chinese. They were cheap, they worked hard, and if they died no one had to worry. They were recruited largely from Canton, for the Cantonese are short and strong and durable, and also they are not quarrelsome. They were brought in by contract, and perhaps the history of my father was a fairly typical one.

  "You must know that a Chinese must pay all of his debts on or before our New Year's day. He starts every year clean. If he does not, he loses face; but not only that--his family loses face. There are no excuses."

  "That's not a bad idea," said Adam.

  "Well, good or bad, that's the way it was. My father had some bad luck. He could not pay a debt. The family met and discussed the situation. Ours is an honorable family. The bad luck was nobody's fault, but the unpaid debt belonged to the whole family. They paid my father's debt and then he had to repay them, and that was almost impossible.

  "One thing the recruiting agents for the railroad companies did--they paid down a lump of money on the signing of the contract. In this way they caught a great many men who had fallen into debt. All of this was reasonable and honorable. There was only one black sorrow.

  "My father was a young man recently married, and his tie to his wife was very strong and deep and warm, and hers to him must have been--overwhelming. Nevertheless, with good manners they said good-by in the presence of the heads of the family. I have often thought that perhaps formal good manners may be a cushion against heartbreak.

  "The herds of men went like animals into the black hold of a ship, there to stay until they reached San Francisco six weeks later. And you can imagine what those holes were like. The merchandise had to be delivered in some kind of working condition so it was not mistreated. And my people have learned through the ages to live close together, to keep clean and fed under intolerable conditions.

  "They were a week at sea before my father discovered my mother. She was dressed like a man and she had braided her hair in a man's queue. By sitting very still and not talking, she had not been discovered, and of course there were no examinations or vaccinations then. She moved her mat close to my father. They could not talk except mouth to ear in the dark. My father was angry at her disobedience, but he was glad too.

  "Well, there it was. They were condemned to hard labor for five years. It did not occur to them to run away once they were in America, for they were honorable people and they had signed the contract."

  Lee paused. "I thought I could tell it in a few sentences," he said. "But you don't know the background. I'm going to get a cup of water--do you want some?"

  "Yes," said Adam. "But there's one thing I don't understand. How could a woman do that kind of work?"

  "I'll be back in a moment," said Lee, and he went to the kitchen. He brought back tin cups of water and put them on the table. He. asked, "Now what did you want to know?"

  "How could your mother do a man's work?"

  Lee smiled. "My father said she was a strong woman, and I believe
a strong woman may be stronger than a man, particularly if she happens to have love in her heart. I guess a loving woman is almost indestructible."

  Adam made a wry grimace.

  Lee said, "You'll see one day, you'll see."

  "I didn't mean to think badly," said Adam. "How could I know out of one experience? Go on."

  "One thing my mother did not whisper in my father's ear during that long miserable crossing. And because a great many were deadly seasick, no remark was made of her illness."

  Adam cried, "She wasn't pregnant!"

  "She was pregnant," said Lee. "And she didn't want to burden my father with more worries."

  "Did she know about it when she started?"

  "No, she did not. I set my presence in the world at the most inconvenient time. It's a longer story than I thought."

  "Well, you can't stop now," said Adam.

  "No, I suppose not. In San Francisco the flood of muscle and bone flowed into cattle cars and the engines puffed up the mountains. They were going to dig hills aside in the Sierras and burrow tunnels under the peaks. My mother got herded into another car, and my father didn't see her until they got to their camp on a high mountain meadow. It was very beautiful, with green grass and flowers and the snow mountains all around. And only then did she tell my father about me.

  "They went to work. A woman's muscles harden just as a man's do, and my mother had a muscular spirit too. She did the pick and shovel work expected of her, and it must have been dreadful. But a panic worry settled on them about how she was going to have the baby."

  Adam said, "Were they ignorant? Why couldn't she have gone to the boss and told him she was a woman and pregnant? Surely they would have taken care of her."

  "You see?" said Lee. "I haven't told you enough. And that's why this is so long. They were not ignorant. These human cattle were imported for one thing only--to work. When the work was done, those who were not dead were to be shipped back. Only males were brought--no females. The country did not want them breeding. A man and a woman and a baby have a way of digging in, of pulling the earth where they are about them and scratching out a home. And then it takes all hell to root them out. But a crowd of men, nervous, lusting, restless, half sick with loneliness for women--why, they'll go anywhere, and particularly will they go home. And my mother was the only woman in this pack of half-crazy, half-savage men. The longer the men worked and ate, the more restless they became. To the bosses they were not people but animals which could be dangerous if not controlled. You can see why my mother did not ask for help. Why, they'd have rushed her out of the camp and--who knows?--perhaps shot and buried her like a diseased cow. Fifteen men were shot for being a little mutinous.