The Hanging on Union Square
Page 13
They entered the house.
* * *
—
“Father! Father!” Stubborn called.
There was no answer.
The Comrade found her father in the kitchen.
* * *
—
“Comrade Stubborn! Comrade Stubborn! I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you—Your father—your father—blood—the kitchen knife!—Your father—his throat. Oh!—Blood!”
* * *
—
Stubborn stepped into the kitchen. She ran away from the kitchen. She found that her dead mother was a better companion than the companion in the kitchen—even the face of her comrade was paler than the dead woman’s, not to say the face of her father lying on the floor with blood coming out of his cut throat.
* * *
—
Stubborn was not excited now.
She thought it was all a story she had been reading.
No.
This was no fiction.
Real!
* * *
—
Stubborn should not have been surprised that her mother and father died, both within the last hour.
She should have been glad that she had gone to the Block Committee. Because Stubborn had left her father, he had not had the chance, before he killed himself, to kill her, too, in order to save her from future suffering.
A note from her father indicated that.
* * *
—
Stubborn was lucky, however.
XXX:
A MONKEY RAN AWAY FROM THE ZOO
“Try my pill—New Deal!
Hello,
Everybody:
How do you feel?”
The New Deal didn’t help Stubborn’s family very much.
It helped Mr. Nut a great deal. For yesterday, at this time—2:30 in the cafeteria—he was five cents short on a cafeteria check and was a prisoner in that cafeteria. Now he had two nickels all by himself and he was a free man.
* * *
—
While walking in the lower East Side to see what chance there was of a job, Nut saw lots of shabbily-dressed people marching in the street, four in a row. Some of the marchers carried placards. Nut was attracted by the placards and could read the slogans on them easily, for there were not so many and they were wisely distributed.
* * *
—
Some of the placards read:
* * *
—
“Ten Dollars Weekly Cash Relief for Each Unemployed Couple!”
“Three Dollars for Each Dependent!”
“Seven Dollars Cash Relief for Single Workers!”
(Nut asked himself, “Are they going to get it?”)
“Stop Wage Cuts—Make Bankers Pay!”
* * *
—
Nut was deeply impressed by these slogans.
Yet these poorly-dressed marchers impressed him more.
* * *
—
One couple was so skinny that you would have thought the pair had just walked out of the grave. The woman was wheeling a baby-carriage in front of her. The man carried a stick with an empty milk-bottle upside-down on top of it. Attached to the stick was a waving white cloth. The cloth was a handmade placard and it read: “We Want Milk for Our Baby!” It was not artistic, but Nut knew that their baby needed milk.
Nut could not understand why the marchers were so serious, so different from the people in parades on other occasions. The paraders shouted while marching. They acted very militantly. But their militancy could not hide their sadness. And some of the women-marchers were weeping—No, they only looked as if they were weeping!
* * *
—
When Nut turned from watching the marchers and looked at the bystanders he noticed something different in them, too. The bystanders, the poor and old men and women, seemed eagerly interested in the parade. Nut understood this: he expected such behavior from them. For he knew that the poor and aged were always good-hearted or sentimental. But he could not understand what made the well-dressed young fellows among the watchers appear so grave and concerned. Where were their wisecracks of the past?
He heard someone say: “Did you see the face of that dead woman? The eviction on Fourteenth Street, just this morning, killed her. How could a sick woman stand cold and excitement at the same time? The landlord, Mr. System, is a bastard—if you ask me.”
“I saw the dead husband too. His blood was oozing from his neck. God, you should have seen the bed he was on,” said another man.
‘‘I’m very sorry for that girl. Her father and mother both died together—both in an hour,” sighed yet another of the bystanders.
“I can’t understand things. This is a funny country. Starvation right in the midst of plenty,” said a fourth person.
Nut heard all that these people said. But he didn’t know what they were talking about.
He pushed forward through the closely-packed sidewalk. He pushed and pushed. He pushed and walked. He went the same way as the marchers went and he went faster. He came to the head of the parade.
Right in front of the parade, Nut saw two beds—one by the side of the other. One of the beds was deeply colored with blood.
He could not see who were in the beds. But he could see the leather-jacketed girl, Stubborn, walking behind the beds. Two girls, supporting Stubborn, walked beside her.
Nut thought that Stubborn’s sick mother might be on one of the beds. But he wondered who was in the other.
He joined the marchers.
Right behind Stubborn.
He touched Stubborn lightly.
Stubborn looked at him with weeping eyes.
“I am glad to see you here,” she said.
As Stubborn talked to him, there was a smile on her face.
No. It was not a smile.
Nor was it weeping.
Maybe it was both.
From the words of the two girls, Nut learned the whole story.
There was nothing Nut could do.
He went with the marchers. He marched with them to City Hall.
* * *
—
It was exactly five o’clock when the whole crowd assembled on City Hall Plaza. Along with the factory workers, white-collar slaves from Wall Street offices participated in the demonstration.
After the speech of the leaders, two girls helped the leather-jacket girl, Stubborn, to the platform.
No, Stubborn could not speak.
But the beds with the two dead people on them and the tearful eyes of the daughter of the two dead, said everything.
On the platform, Stubborn did not speak.
Nor did she weep.
* * *
—
At this moment two other girls wondered where the little Pioneer was. When they started from Fourteenth Street, this Pioneer was with them. Where had he gone?
There he was!
The crowd cheered.
It was the Russian Brat, as Nut had called him when he had tried to sell Nut a Communist Children’s Magazine in the Fourteenth Street Cafeteria.
Nut looked at the Russian Brat who, with a Red Flag, was standing on the porch of City Hall.
The City Hall guards and the police tried to get him down. But they could not reach him. Everyone was surprised how this little boy could have passed through the heavy guard and got where he was. It was a mystery.
The flag which the little boy was carrying was not a regular red flag. It was a starred cloth with a kind of red paper pasted on it.
It might have been a comic feature. In comparison with so big a building as the City Hall, the little boy seemed just like a monkey that had run away from the Bronx Zoological Garden. It was very interesting.
Yet because of those two dead bodies the sight was not comic. And on the Flag Mr. Nut placed his hopes.
A new world.
A better day.
XXXI:
HE WAS PHILOSOPHIZING
. . . There is heat in the sun.
Vertically, at any time,
Horizontally, in any space,
Things must be done.
Out of millions and millions of years,
This universe came;
After millions and millions of years,
It will end.
Yet
The world is turning and turning.
And four-legged monkeys and two-legged monkeys are breeding and breeding.
The world is turning on.
The monkeys are breeding on.
On and on.
Tides must rise and tides must go;
Rivers dry as rivers flow.
Flowers bloom and flowers must fall—
Death comes to all.
Yet
Life is going on.
Going on and on.
We have lived days, months and years;
We have had both joys and tears.
But the joys of the past are in vain.
And sorrows remain.
Yet
Life is going on,
Going on and on.
We had joys in days before tomorrow,
So, there must be joys in days of tomorrow.
But tomorrow’s joy belongs to tomorrow—
Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Will there be tomorrow?
Yet
Life is going on.
Going on and on.
We had days before tomorrow,
There must be days of tomorrow.
Since we can remember only the sorrow of the past,
Who knows if our coming joy will last?
Yet
Life is going on,
Going on and on.
If we cannot remember the sorrow of the past,
We shall not make tomorrow’s joy last.
If we can make tomorrow’s joy last,
How can our memories in days of tomorrow forget our sorrows of the past?
Yet
Life is going on.
Going on and on.
We see the flowers of tomorrow.
We hear the birds of tomorrow.
But tomorrow, where will be the flowers of before tomorrow?
Tomorrow, where will be the birds of before tomorrow?
Yet
Life is going on.
Going on and on.
Grave-Diggers with high hats on.
Their Buryers with Overalls on—
Faster and faster these Grave-Diggers are digging on,
Deeper and deeper these Grave-Diggers will go down.
Yet
They are digging on,
Digging on and on.
Grave-Diggers with high-hats on,
There must be Buryers around to help them;
If these Buryers are your helpers,
Why should Grave-Diggers let their stomachs be empty?
If these Buryers are your enemies,
Why should you dig your grave and not leave your bodies above ground to feed the vultures?
By leaving your bodies
To the vultures
Your left-overs
Will be
A worse curse to the Buryers with overalls on.
Yet
The high-hat Grave-Diggers are digging on.
Digging on and on.
It’s under this system!
It’s under this system!
Mr. System
Beware:
The Hanging
On
Union Square! . . .
ACT IV
XXXII:
A MAN WALKED ON HIS HANDS
“There is heat in the sun.
Vertically, at any time,
Horizontally, in any space,
Things must be done.”
It was Mr. Nut philosophizing.
* * *
—
Half past six when the City Hall demonstration was over. Nut came back to Union Square.
* * *
—
On the Square a fellow approached him.
“How did you like the demonstration?”
“What do you mean—‘like the demonstration?’ With two dead persons in front, do you think it was a picnic?”
“You are very revolutionary, I see! I’m sorry—I’m awfully sorry. Are you a communist? Are you a Party member? What unit do you belong to, comrade?” The fellow spoke to Nut in an intimate tone.
Nut looked at him, looked at him carefully.
The fellow wore a pair of old, wornout shoes and a pair of expensive socks, which could be seen underneath his raised trousers. And the suspicious eyes of that fellow’s freshly-trimmed head, resting on a policeman’s neck, looked at Mr. Nut attentively.
It was the same fellow who had been in the cafeteria on Fourteenth Street last night. But when the fight had started, Nut had seen him talking with the police, and signaling with his eyes to some other fellows who had the same suspicious appearance.
While Nut was looking at him, the fellow spoke again: “What do you think of this?—you know, about two or three months ago, someone tried to shoot the President?1 Talkin’ for myself, I’m awfully sorry the guy missed.”
Nut still looked at him.
“If you’re interested in my face,” continued the fellow, “I’ve got to tell you I haven’t shaved yet. In the capitalist system, the razors are fake too. You know we should kill all those capitalist guys.” And the fellow smiled at Nut intimately, and he looked at Nut from head to foot.
“If you want to kill somebody,” asked Nut, “why don’t you go ahead? What do you have to tell me for?”
“You see, I saw you today in the Communist demonstration. I think I can call you my comrade.” The fellow lifted his lower lip a little and turned it to the left of his mouth. By this, he meant to show that something must be done and that he was confident he had found a real friend in Nut.
“Look here—what did you tell the police, last night, in the cafeteria?” asked Nut.
“I say—do you think there’ll be rain tonight?” The fellow swiftly changed the subject.
Nut kept on looking at him.
“I think,” continued the fellow, “you must be very different from those so-called Communists! Parades! Demonstrations! Those guys are just a bunch of cowards. They’re all yellow! Russia is no good, either. Why didn’t it send a Red army here to crush the Capitalists—dammit—blow up Wall Street and kill all the guys down in Washington? Cowards, that’s what they are, Yellow! They’re yellow I tell you!”
“Is that what the police told you last night in the cafeteria?”
“Say, don’t be so suspicious! If you’re a coward and yellow, too, just say so. Don’t throw mud at me.” The fellow again looked at Nut from head to foot.
“Were you in the demonstration?” inquired Nut.
“Of course! I saw two dead bodies on the beds. I saw a girl stand on the platform. Beg your pardon!—she was just on a table. And I saw a boy on the City Hall porch waving a red flag. I saw you too. You were right after that leather-jacket girl—Heh?”
“Your shoes are rather clean—you must have walked on your hands,” Nut observed. He was getting mad.
“Take it easy! I know you’re a good Communist, fellow-worker—a good comrade!” The fellow took an even more intimate air with Nut. He patted him on the back.
“I’m not a Party member,” said Nut. “But I don’t like the way you discredit the Communists.
You have a pair of clean shoes, so you haven’t any right to kick.”
“This is what I tell you—because those Communists are so damn yellow, I don’t care to be mixed up with them. I like action. I want to . . .”—the fellow here made a gesture of chopping someone’s head off.
“Is there anything else you’ve got to tell me?” asked Nut.
“Come here!”
“What is it? I can hear you,” answered Nut.
“It’s a secret!” the fellow whispered.
Nut got closer.
“If you want a weapon, I have it.”
“Where is it?” asked Nut.
“Somewhere.”
“Will you go with me?”
“That’s why I talked to you, you see,” the fellow replied with a hearty smile.
“Let’s go,” Nut whispered.
“You’re a good guy. You’re some guy.” The fellow looked at Nut with a cold and artificial air of intimacy.
“What’s that? What’s that?” Nut suddenly exclaimed.
Nut had turned over the overcoat collar of the fellow, and a badge was revealed.
The fellow walked away. As he walked, he looked back at Nut and warned him: “If you hang around Union Square and mix up with those dirty Russian Reds, I’ll get you some day.” And after these words, he looked back at Nut once or twice more.
The plainclothesman finally disappeared from the scene.
* * *
—
But something remained in Nut’s mind.
Nut was thinking.
Because the fellow was a plainclothesman, Nut did not join him.
But because of what the fellow told him, Nut got an idea. He would, by himself, kill somebody.
“Zangara! Only fifty-nine capitalists rule us!”2
* * *
—
“Murder! Kill! Go!”