East of Eden

by John Steinbeck

  She opened the box and looked down on a small, dark green jade button, and carved on its surface was a human right hand, a lovely hand, the fingers curved and in repose. Abra lifted the button out and looked at it, and then she moistened it with the tip of her tongue and moved it gently over her full lips, and pressed the cool stone against her cheek.

  Lee said, "That was my mother's only ornament."

  Abra got up and put her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, and it was the only time such a thing had ever happened in his whole life.

  Lee laughed. "My Oriental calm seems to have deserted me," he said. "Let me make the tea, darling. I'll get hold of myself that way." From the stove he said, "I've never used that word--never once to anybody in the world."

  Abra said, "I woke up with joy this morning."

  "So did I," said Lee. "I know what made me feel happy. You were coming."

  "I was glad about that too, but--"

  "You are changed," said Lee. "You aren't any part a little girl any more. Can you tell me?"

  "I burned all of Aron's letters."

  "Did he do bad things to you?"

  "No. I guess not. Lately I never felt good enough. I always wanted to explain to him that I was not good."

  "And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good. Is that it?"

  "I guess so. Maybe that's it."

  "Do you know about the mother of the boys?"

  "Yes. Do you know I haven't tasted a single one of the tarts?" Abra said. "My mouth is dry."

  "Drink some tea, Abra. Do you like Cal?"

  "Yes."

  Lee said, "He's crammed full to the top with every good thing and every bad thing. I've thought that one single person could almost with the weight of a finger--"

  Abra bowed her head over her tea. "He asked me to go to the Alisal when the wild azaleas bloom."

  Lee put his hands on the table and leaned over. "I don't want to ask you whether, you are going," he said.

  "You don't have to," said Abra. "I'm going."

  Lee sat opposite her at the table. "Don't stay away from this house for long," he said.

  "My father and mother don't want me here."

  "I only saw them once," Lee said cynically. "They seemed to be good people. Sometimes, Abra, the strangest medicines are effective. I wonder if it would help if they knew Aron has just inherited over a hundred thousand dollars."

  Abra nodded gravely and fought to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. "I think it would help," she said. "I wonder how I could get the news to them."

  "My dear," said Lee, "if I heard such a piece of news I think my first impulse would be to telephone someone. Maybe you'd have a bad connection."

  Abra nodded. "Would you tell her where the money came from?"

  "That I would not," said Lee.

  She looked at the alarm clock hung on a nail on the wall. "Nearly five," she said. "I'll have to go. My father isn't well. I thought Cal might get back from drill."

  "Come back very soon," Lee said.

  4

  Cal was on the porch when she came out.

  "Wait for me," he said, and he went into the house and dropped his books.

  "Take good care of Abra's books," Lee called from the kitchen.

  The winter night blew in with frosty wind, and the street lamps with their sputtering carbons swung restlessly and made the shadows dart back and forth like a runner trying to steal second base. Men coming home from work buried their chins in their overcoats and hurried toward warmth. In the still night the monotonous scattering music of the skating rink could be heard from many blocks away.

  Cal said, "Will you take your books for a minute, Abra? I want to unhook this collar. It's cutting my head off." He worked the hooks out of the. eyes and sighed with relief. "I'm all chafed," he said and took her books back. The branches of the big palm tree in Berges's front yard were lashing with a dry clatter, and a cat meowed over and over and over in front of some kitchen door closed against it.

  Abra said, "I don't think you make much of a soldier. You're too independent."

  "I could be," said Cal. "This drilling with old Krag-Jorgensens seems silly to me. When the time comes, and I take an interest, I'll be good."

  "The tarts were wonderful," said Abra. "I left one for you."

  "Thanks. I'll bet Aron makes a good soldier."

  "Yes, he will--and the best-looking soldier in the army. When are we going for the azaleas?"

  "Not until spring."

  "Let's go early and take a lunch."

  "It might be raining."

  "Let's go anyway, rain or shine."

  She took her books and went into her yard. "See you tomorrow," she said.

  He did not turn toward home. He walked in the nervous night past the high school and past the skating rink--a floor with a big tent over it, and a mechanical orchestra clanging away. Not a soul was skating. The old man who owned it sat miserably in his booth, flipping the end of a roll of tickets against his forefinger.

  Main Street was deserted. The wind skidded papers on the sidewalk. Tom Meek, the constable, came out of Bell's candy store and fell into step with Cal. "Better hook that tunic collar, soldier," he said softly.

  "Hello, Tom. The damn thing's too tight."

  "I don't see you around the town at night lately."

  "No."

  "Don't tell me you reformed."

  "Maybe."

  Tom prided himself on his ability to kid people and make it sound serious. He said, "Sounds like you got a girl."

  Cal didn't answer.

  "I heard your brother faked his age and joined the army. Are you picking off his girl?"

  "Oh, sure--sure," said Cal.

  Tom's interest sharpened. "I nearly forgot," he said. "I hear Will Hamilton is telling around you made fifteen thousand dollars in beans. That true?"

  "Oh, sure," said Cal.

  "You're just a kid. What are you going to do with all that money?"

  Cal grinned at him. "I burned it up."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Just set a match to it and burned it."

  Tom looked into his face. "Oh, yeah! Sure. Good thing to do. Got to go in here. Good night." Tom Meek didn't like people to kid him. "The young punk son of a bitch," he said to himself. "He's getting too smart for himself."

  Cal moved slowly along Main Street, looking in store windows. He wondered where Kate was buried. If he could find out, he thought he might take a bunch of flowers, and he laughed at himself for the impulse. Was it good or was he fooling himself? The Salinas wind would blow away a tombstone, let along a bunch of carnations. For some reason he remembered the Mexican name for carnations. Somebody must have told him when he was a kid. They were called Nails of Love--and marigolds, the Nails of Death. It was a word like nails--claveles. Maybe he'd better put marigolds on his mother's grave. "I'm beginning to think like Aron," he said to himself.

  Chapter 54

  1

  The winter seemed reluctant to let go its bite. It hung on cold and wet and windy long after its time. And people repeated, "It's those damned big guns they're shooting off in France--spoiling the weather in the whole world."

  The grain was slow coming up in the Salinas Valley, and the wildflowers came so late that some people thought they wouldn't come at all.

  We knew--or at least we were confident--that on May Day, when all the Sunday School picnics took place in the Alisal, the wild azaleas that grew in the skirts of the stream would be in bloom. They were a part of May Day.

  May Day was cold. The picnic was drenched out of existence by a freezing rain, and there wasn't an-open blossom on the azalea trees. Two weeks later they still weren't out.

  Cal hadn't known it would be like this when he had made azaleas the signal for his picnic, but once the symbol was set it could not be violated.

  The Ford sat in Windham's shed, its tires pumped up, and with two new dry cells to make it start easily on Bat. Lee was alerted to make san
dwiches when the day came, and he got tired of waiting and stopped buying sandwich bread every two days.

  "Why don't you just go anyway?" he said.

  "I can't," said Cal. "I said azaleas."

  "How will you know?"

  "The Silacci boys live out there, and they come into school every day. They say it will be a week or ten days."

  "Oh, Lord!" said Lee. "Don't overtrain your picnic."

  Adam's health was slowly improving. The numbness was going from his hand. And he could read a little--a little more each day.

  "It's only when I get tired that the letters jump," he said. "I'm glad I didn't get glasses to ruin my eyes. I knew my eyes were all right."

  Lee nodded and was glad. He had gone to San Francisco for the books he needed and had written for a number of separates. He knew about as much as was known about the anatomy of the brain and the symptoms and severities of lesion and thrombus. He had studied and asked questions with the same unwavering intensity as when he had trapped and pelted and cured a Hebrew verb. Dr. H. C. Murphy had got to know Lee very well and had gone from a professional impatience with a Chinese servant to a genuine admiration for a scholar. Dr. Murphy had even borrowed some of Lee's news separates and reports on diagnosis and practice. He told Dr. Edwards, "That Chink knows more about the pathology of cerebral hemorrhage than I do, and I bet as much as you do." He spoke with a kind of affectionate anger that this should be so. The medical profession is unconsciously irritated by lay knowledge.

  When Lee reported Adam's improvement he said, "It does seem to me that the absorption is continuing--"

  "I had a patient," Dr. Murphy said, and he told a hopeful story.

  "I'm always afraid of recurrence," said Lee.

  "That you have to leave with the Almighty," said Dr. Murphy. "We can't patch an artery like an inner tube. By the way, how do you get him to let you take his blood pressure?"

  "I bet on his and he bets on mine. It's better than horse racing."

  "Who wins?"

  "Well, I could," said Lee. "But I don't. That would spoil the game--and the chart."

  "How do you keep him from getting excited?"

  "It's my own invention," said Lee. "I call it conversational therapy."

  "Must take all your time."

  "It does," said Lee.

  2

  On May 28, 1918, American troops carried out their first important assignment of World War I. The First Division, General Bullard commanding, was ordered to capture the village of Cantigny. The village, on high ground, dominated the Avre River valley. It was defended by trenches, heavy machine guns, and artillery. The front was a little over a mile wide.

  At 6:45 A.M., May 28, 1918, the attack was begun after one hour of artillery preparation. Troops involved were the 28th Infantry (Col. Ely), one battalion of the 18th Infantry (Parker), a company of the First Engineers, the divisional artillery (Summerall), and a support of French tanks and flame throwers.

  The attack was a complete success. American troops entrenched on the new line and repulsed two powerful German counterattacks.

  The First Division received the congratulations of Clemenceau, Foch, and Petain.

  3

  It was the end of May before the Silacci boys brought the news that the salmon-pink blossoms of the azaleas were breaking free. It was on a Wednesday, as the nine o'clock bell was ringing, that they told him.

  Cal rushed to the English classroom, and just as Miss Norris took her seat on the little stage he waved his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. Then he went down to the boys' toilet and waited until he heard through the wall the flush of water on the girlside. He went out through the basement door, walked close to the red brick wall, slipped around the pepper tree, and, once out of sight of the school, walked slowly along until Abra caught up with him.

  "When'd they come out?" she asked.

  "This morning."

  "Shall we wait till tomorrow?"

  He looked up at the gay yellow sun, the first earth-warming sun of the year. "Do you want to wait?"

  "No," she said.

  "Neither do I."

  They broke into a run--bought bread at Reynaud's and joggled Lee into action.

  Adam heard loud voices and looked into the kitchen. "What's the hullabaloo?" he asked.

  "We're going on a picnic," said Cal.

  "Isn't it a school day?"

  Abra said, "Sure it is. But it's a holiday too."

  Adam smiled at her. "You're pink as a rose," he said.

  Abra cried, "Why don't you come along with us? We're going to the Alisal to get azaleas."

  "Why, I'd like to," Adam said, and then, "No, I can't. I promised to go down to the ice plant. We're putting in some new tubing. It's a beautiful day."

  "We'll bring you some azaleas," Abra said.

  "I like them. Well, have a good time."

  When he was gone Cal said, "Lee, why don't you come with us?"

  Lee looked sharply at him. "I hadn't thought you were a fool," he said.

  "Come on!" Abra cried.

  "Don't be ridiculous," said Lee.

  4

  It's a pleasant little stream that gurgles through the Alisal against the Gabilan Mountains on the east of the Salinas Valley. The water bumbles over round stones and washes the polished roots of the trees that hold it in.

  The smell of azaleas and the sleepy smell of sun working with chlorophyll filled the air. On the bank the Ford car sat, still breathing softly from its overheating. The back seat was piled with azalea branches.

  Cal and Abra sat on the bank among the luncheon papers. They dangled their feet in the water.

  "They always wilt before you get them home," said Cal.

  "But they're such a good excuse, Cal," she said. "If you won't I guess I'll have to--"

  "What?"

  She reached over and took his hand. "That," she said.

  "I was afraid to."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know."

  "I wasn't."

  "I guess girls aren't afraid of near as many things."

  "I guess not."

  "Are you ever afraid?"

  "Sure," she said. "I was afraid of you after you said I wet my pants."

  "That was mean," he said. "I wonder why I did it," and suddenly he was silent.

  Her fingers tightened around his hand. "I know what you're thinking. I don't want you to think about that."

  Cal looked at the curling water and turned a round brown stone with his toe.

  Abra said, "You think you've got it all, don't you? You think you attract bad things--"

  "Well--"

  "Well, I'm going to tell you something. My father's in trouble."

  "How in trouble?"

  "I haven't been listening at doors but I've heard enough. He's not sick. He's scared. He's done something."

  He turned his head. "What?"

  "I think he's taken some money from his company. He doesn't know whether his partners are going to put him in jail or let him try to pay it back."

  "How do you know?"

  "I heard them shouting in his bedroom where he's sick. And my mother started the phonograph to drown them out."

  He said, "You aren't making it up?"

  "No. I'm not making it up."

  He shuffled near and put his head against her shoulder and his arm crept timidly around her waist.

  "You see, you're not the only one--" She looked sideways at his face. "Now I'm afraid," she said weakly.

  5

  At three o'clock in the afternoon Lee was sitting at his desk, turning over the pages of a seed catalogue. The pictures of sweet peas were in color.

  "Now these would look nice on the back fence. They'd screen off the slough. I wonder if there's enough sun." He looked up at the sound of his own voice and smiled to himself. More and more he caught himself speaking aloud when the house was empty.

  "It's age," he said aloud. "The slowing thoughts and--" He stopped and grew rigid for a moment. "That's fu
nny--listening for something. I wonder whether I left the teakettle on the gas. No--I remember." He listened again. "Thank heaven I'm not superstitious. I could hear ghosts walk if I'd let myself. I could--"

  The front doorbell rang.

  "There it is. That's what I was listening for. Let it ring. I'm not going to be led around by feelings. Let it ring."

  But it did not ring again.

  A black weariness fell on Lee, a hopelessness that pressed his shoulders down. He laughed at himself. "I can go and find it's an advertisement under the door or I can sit here and let my silly old mind tell me death is on the doorstep. Well, I want the advertisement."

  Lee sat in the living room and looked at the envelope in his lap. And suddenly he spat at it. "All right," he said. "I'm coming--goddam you," and he ripped it open and in a moment laid it on the table and turned it over with the message down.

  He stared between his knees at the floor. "No," he said, "that's not my right. Nobody has the right to remove any single experience from another. Life and death are promised. We have a right to pain."

  His stomach contracted. "I haven't got the courage. I'm a cowardly yellow belly. I couldn't stand it."

  He went into the bathroom and measured three teaspoons of elixir of bromide into a glass and added water until the red medicine was pink. He carried the glass to the living room and put it on the table. He folded the telegram and shoved it in his pocket. He said aloud, "I hate a coward! God, how I hate a coward!" His hands were shaking and a cold perspiration dampened his forehead.

  At four o'clock he heard Adam fumbling at the doorknob. Lee licked his lips. He stood up and walked slowly to the hall. He carried the glass of pink fluid and his hand was steady.

  Chapter 55

  1

  All of the lights were on in the Trask house. The door stood partly open, and the house was cold. In the sitting room Lee was shriveled up like a leaf in the chair beside the lamp. Adam's door was open and the sound of voices came from his room.

  When Cal came in he asked, "What's going on?"

  Lee looked at him and swung his head toward the table where the open telegram lay. "Your brother is dead," he said. "Your father has had a stroke."

  Cal started down the hall.

  Lee said, "Come back. Dr. Edwards and Dr. Murphy are in there. Let them alone."