There was a new waitress behind the counter—straw hair and fish belly white like the other Slav girl that used to sling the food across the counter. A wad of gum popped in her jaws. Because she was new all of the men who came in kept up a constant chatter for her benefit. It was hard to think, with all of the talk going on. He sat three full hours and got nowhere with himself.
Back in the bunkhouse, Chinatown was cleaning an old .22. He was going to take pot shots at the scaly-tailed rats that scampered around the ash piles. He spat on the oiled stock of the rifle and rubbed it in with the heel of his hand. Melody was close before he took notice.
“How they git along without me today?”
“I seen Big Mat,” Melody told him.
“Naw!” He laughed. “So the ol’ boy decided he got enough at last!”
“Enough of what?”
“Enough of young stuff.” He winked. “Mat ain’t no chicken no more like he was.”
“China.”
“Yeah?”
“What you reckon goin’ to happen out of all this? What you reckon?”
“What I reckon what?”
“This Mex gal and everything.”
“Aw, stuff!” He laughed. “That ain’t nothin’. We been tellin’ Mat he had oughta loosen up.”
“Yeah, but this here different.”
“How different?”
“Well, it ain’t like jest goin’ out to raise some hell with the gals. This here is like he married or something.”
Chinatown looked serious for a second, then he poked Melody with an elbow.
“Naw, you jest too young to know ’bout these here things,” he said. “A man gotta do what devilment in him—that’s all.”
There was no use talking to Chinatown. He did not feel like Melody. All of his life he had been around Big Mat, and they had never been much more than faces to each other.
Melody tried again. “China, you know what you tell me once?”
“I say lotsa things once.”
“We was walkin’ down the river-front road—you, me and Mat.”
“So what I say?”
“You say somethin’ like, ‘Big Mat ain’t never laugh in his life.’ You ’member? It was jest after the dog-fights.”
“Boy, that was some dogfight! I got two guys at once—two of ’em—and Big Mat have his back turned.”
“Yeah,” Melody broke in, “but, like I was sayin’, you was right. Things is a joke a lotsa times to us but things ain’t never a joke to Big Mat.”
“Man and sweet Jesus!” Chinatown laughed. “I never forgit how them fellas scamper when us start turnin’ out that place.”
“So this gal, Anna, ain’t no joke to Mat neither,” Melody continued.
Chinatown was laughing.
“Them guys sure lit for the tall weeds. You’d of thought the devil show up at prayer meetin’.”
Melody gave up and began to roll a smoke. Sitting there on the edge of his bunk, he smoked and thought about Hattie back home in the doorway. To him she was still in the doorway, and it was early spring. He thought about her, and Chinatown’s chatter was like smoke in the air around his head. He ought to write Hattie a letter about it, he thought. He couldn’t make up his mind, so he said the thing aloud.
“Maybe I ought to write Hattie a letter about it.”
Chinatown touched him on the leg.
“I forgit,” he said. “There a letter for Mat. It’s on his old bunk. Come from Kentucky.”
Melody ran to the bunk and picked up the heavy envelope. He knew it was from Hattie.
“What you goin’ to do with it?” asked Chinatown.
“Give it to Mat.”
“But he at the mill.”
He reached down and pulled Chinatown. Chinatown stood up, grunting with unwillingness and cramp.
“Take it easy on a sick fella.” He grinned.
“We goin’ to Mat’s shack and wait for him,” said Melody. “We wait all night maybe but we got to talk Mat out of what he’s doin’. He got to send for Hattie.”
“Aw, stuff! Mat’s all right.”
“C’mon,” he said, and started through the doorway.
Chinatown caught him outside.
“Ain’t no use in us runnin’ up there right now,” said Chinatown. “Mat ain’t there.”
“We goin’ now,” he told him. “If I lays down it be time to go to work ’fore I git up again.”
Dragging his rifle, Chinatown followed. Somehow Melody hadn’t believed his own reasons for going directly to Mat’s place. Still, it didn’t seem possible that he would want to see Anna. Suddenly Chinatown’s rifle cracked. Melody almost jumped from under his hat. Turning, he saw Chinatown grinning and blowing down the barrel of the gun.
“Got that sonofabitch,” Chinatown yelled. “Got him with his head in a old tomato can.” He spat.
Anna saw them coming. She was at the door. Already she was walking on the sides of the shoes and she still had on the dance-hall dress. It was fuzzy and wrinkled now, but out of the sagging straps her shoulders rose like soft words from loose, bearded lips. She held her ground at the door, looking at them as though she knew they had come evilly.
Waves of heat beat them through the half-opened door. They could see the oil stove behind her. It was red hot. It was like coming up behind the open hearth during a heat.
“Hallo,” said Melody.
Anna looked past him and did not say a word. He had to follow her eyes to know that she was fearful of Chinatown’s gun.
“He shoots at scaly tails,” he told her. “He hate them.”
“Got one with his head in a old tomato can.” Chinatown grinned.
“Leave the gun go,” he told Chinatown.
“Somebody might steal it,” argued Chinatown.
“Leave it go, I say.”
Chinatown leaned the rifle against the doorjamb and grinned at Anna.
“We come to wait for Big Mat,” he told her.
“He go to mill,” she said. “Mat work the whole night at the mill.”
Chinatown pulled at Melody’s arm.
“Aw, C’mon! We can’t wait all that time for Mat.”
“Naw, we waitin’,” said Melody. He pushed past her. Chinatown followed.
Anna closed the door. Her back against it, she watched them as they sat down on the cot. Under her eyes they could not keep their hands and feet still. After a little Anna left her place at the door and sat on the edge of a chair, her hands folded in her lap.
The room was too hot to breathe in. Melody did not complain. The tension left his body. Satisfied, he stole a look at her every now and then. Her broad, flat face expanded. It grew to the size of the room. He was very drowsy.
“Where do Big Mat keep his corn?”
Chinatown was looking around as he asked the question. There were not many places corn could be kept in the one-room shack. He looked around until it became plain that Anna was not going to answer.
“Man, the heat goin’ full blast”—he laughed—“but there more chill in here than outside.” He looked full at Anna and laughed again. Chinatown’s laughter was always good to hear.
Anna had to warm to Chinatown. Nobody ever stayed inside himself when he laughed. She got up and went out the back door. She came back with two milk bottles full of corn whisky.
“This for you,” she said to Chinatown, and set the bottles and one glass in front of him.
“Don’t you want none, Melody?” asked Chinatown.
“Naw, I ain’t drinkin’,” he said. “Not until I see Big Mat and say what I got to say.”
“Aw, stuff!” he growled. “C’mon, git a glass.”
“Naw.”
Chinatown started to drink all by himself. One glass of corn in that hot room, and his mouth loosened and sagged. He forgot Melody dozing stiffly at his side. He forgot Anna. Suddenly he began to recite the verse that one of the men had brought from the Georgia chain gang.
“It ain’t quite day, but it’s four o’
clock,
So wake up, niggers, an’ piss on the rock.”
Anna laughed. That started Melody to laughing a little. Laughing loosened them. Talk started. Anna and Melody did not talk to each other. Each of them talked to Chinatown. In a short while the talk stopped, because Chinatown fell asleep. A long time passed. Chinatown began snoring.
Melody was very still, struggling to keep his eyes open. Little beads of warm sweat formed on his face and tickled as they rolled down the collar of his jacket. At last he had to move. He jumped when his body touched the cold of his sweat-soaked shirt. Anna had pushed off her shoes and pulled the skirt of the long dress up to her knees. He could see the tawny shine on her bare legs. She felt his eyes on her and dropped her skirt. She tucked her feet out of sight.
Then, without knowing why, he felt like saying something that would make her angry, make her do or say something to show herself a little Mex whore.
“I got a letter here from Big Mat’s wife,” he blurted.
She turned very slowly.
He couldn’t stop himself. “Big Mat got to throw you out and send for Hattie.”
Her eyes got big in her damp face.
“He read this letter and throw you out,” he whispered fiercely.
She said nothing.
He wanted crazily to make her yell, curse and call him names. The letter was in his jacket pocket. He yanked it out and shook it.
“He read this and send for Hattie. He throw you out.”
With a snarling noise she came close to him and snatched the letter from his hand. He grabbed for her arm and held her from the open flame of the oil-stove. She was wild and strong. He had to wait a long time for her strength to break before he could get to his feet without losing the hold on her wet arm. They fought without a sound, locked in each other’s arms. Her hands were behind his back. It took all his force to keep her from getting a grip to tear up the letter. They swayed over the table and then moved away. It was as though both had the same desire not to wake Chinatown.
Even while he was struggling Melody’s mind went back to the little hunky girl coming out of an outhouse, fighting as she was dragged away to the tall weeds. She had not made one sound. Anna fought, and there was no sound but her sobbing breath.
Close to each other, they strained until he could feel his muscles trembling. He was getting weak and must give up. Suddenly she went limp against him. Off balance, he swayed. She was making no effort to stand by herself. They swayed forward and fell together. She was underneath. He put out one arm to break his weight. The letter was loose in her hand. He was not trying to take it back. He did not know what he was trying to do but he felt her body quivering under him. He felt the arm she clamped around his neck. He saw her free hand reach up to turn out the kerosene lamp.
He did not know when he began to hear Chinatown’s slow snore again. Lying on his side, he listened to the soft sound and saw the changing shadows that the oilstove threw onto the ceiling. Under his outstretched arm Anna was quiet and limp. He was resting for the first time in a long while. He did not think about what had happened. He did not think about Big Mat. He lay stretched like a satisfied animal, a long, lean dog that this day has killed a deer.
Later Anna began to talk. She spoke in a whisper, her voice so low that he could hardly hear. This is what she said:
“All the time I am not in Vaughan. Sometimes I am in Mexico with my old people. They are very old, but I would like to be with them. The young fella in Mexico do not pay for love. They come in from watching the goats and digging in the fields and they do not give me money. There is a baby in my mother’s house, but that is nothing. My mother will keep the little one, and I will not marry with fella who has no house and watches the neighbor’s goats for his bread. All the time I am barefooted, and my mother and my old folks are barefooted. The peons are all barefooted and do not even have white bread to eat. There are many cars pass with Americanos, and the cars stop sometimes, and the men have cameras and take pictures of the goats and peons. The women in the cars wear shoes with high heels. The Americano get many things for the women. And so I say that I will not marry with the fella who has no house and watches the neighbor’s goats. He cannot buy shoes with high heels. All the time I dream of high-heel shoes with bright stones in the heels that will make me like the Americanos, and nobody will take my picture along with the goats.
“One day Sugar Mama send for me. She tell me I make plenty money from the Americanos. She tell me I make enough money to have high-heel shoes and go to Mexico and be the finest woman in Mexico City. She tell me that I will be finer than the Americanos who ride in the cars. So I come to this place. But that old she-devil goat take all the money and do not let Anna keep out one little piece of money even. I do not have shoes. I look like the peon, only there are no goats around the house. I do not mind the men bouncing on my belly. That is nothing, Anna grand like the Americano. I look, and one day at the dogfights there is one fella who fight for me and beat up many men. He is strong and is like a black thundercloud over the mountains in New Mexico. He is the one.
“Making love in the fields is nothing. A man who have a house and will buy high-heel shoes and grand things for Anna is big thing. Because I know I will find him and be no more peon I learn to speak good. I learn to do everything right. And I wait. So now I burn my old dress in the fire. First I tear it in little bits, but that is not enough. So I burn it in the fire. That is so I never put it on again. I will always wear these things that make me very grand, because there are no others . . .”
The oilstove had burned out. There was a light from the sky, graying the windows. All Melody’s tiredness was on him. It was a weight too heavy to bear. He couldn’t think. Desire was gone. Sleep was close. He wanted to give in. But Big Mat would be coming in before very long. Without a word to Anna, he got up and tried to pull Chinatown off the cot. Chinatown began to mumble but he was not awake. Leaving him, Melody walked alone to the door. He looked back at Anna and was too tired to tell her much.
“Maybe China tell Mat about the letter,” he said.
The fresh air was sour to his nose as he went away.
Big Mat could hear Anna’s laugh when he mounted the stoop. Then he heard Chinatown’s high voice singing snatches of mill songs. He listened awhile before he opened the door. They were sitting on the floor. With a pair of scissors Chinatown cut at an old newspaper.
“Hallo, straw boss,” said Chinatown. He was looking up with a sheepish grin.
“We are playing,” said Anna.
“Aw, we jest messin’ round,” apologized Chinatown.
“He show me how to make doll,” said Anna. “They stretch—so.” And she stretched a row of them between her hands.
Chinatown brightened up. “Them’s dance-hall gals.”
“They dance—so,” she said. And she shook her hands. The strip of newspaper dolls danced.
“That little one in the middle look kinda good,” said Chinatown. “Man, she got a mean wiggle!”
Big Mat grunted, “Git somethin’ to eat on the table.”
She crumbled the strip of dolls in her hands and stood up.
“Too much foolin’ round here,” he said. “Somethin’ to eat shoulda been on the table.”
Chinatown was accustomed to Big Mat. He knew that his brother did not know how to play. With a foot he dragged a chair within reach. Tilting it against the wall, he sat and watched Anna’s broad hips sway in front of the stove.
Big Mat started out of the back door.
Chinatown said, “Melody come with me but he gone now. Brung a letter.”
Anna rattled the pots on the stove.
“What sort of letter?” Big Mat stopped.
“Come from Kentucky,” said Chinatown. “Reckon Melody took it with him.”
Big Mat hesitated. Then he started for the outhouse.
“It don’t make no difference,” he called. “I ain’t readin’ no letters from Kentucky no more.”
Anna rattled
the pots again. There was a clink of glass from the outhouse.
“Big Mat hittin’ the booze early,” commented Chinatown.
She did not answer. With a spoon she stirred the leftover beans. A side of bacon was on the table. She left the beans and began to slice the bacon. Every movement was studied. She knew Chinatown’s eyes were on her.
“Sure is a crime to take you outa circulation,” said Chinatown.
Anna smiled. She glanced toward the back door.
“There is a dogfight tonight,” she said. “You are going?”
“Dunno.”
“Melody is going maybe?”
“Dunno.”
“He is funny.”
“Who?”
“Melody. He cannot play Mexican tune.”
“Maybe I see you and Mat at the fights tonight,” said Chinatown.
“I will not be there.”
“How come?”
“Mat, he don’t let me out. We don’t go no place.”
“Mat jest ain’t the kind to have no fun.” Chinatown laughed.
“All my fine clothes stay at home.” She sighed.
There was a rustling under the house. Rats played under the floor. Chinatown picked up his rifle and sighted down the barrel. He clicked his tongue when he had drawn a bead on the sound.
“Maybe you will come here tonight,” she said casually. “Big Mat will be at the mill.”
“What’s that?” said Chinatown with a start.
“Oh, you will bring Melody,” she said. “He will bring the guitar. There will be corn whisky for you.”
“Boy, I can’t git no straight on you,” puzzled Chinatown. “Jest last night you don’t want no part of Melody.”
“That is a lie,” said Anna.
“It ain’t no lie,” he argued.
Suddenly Anna was very angry. “I say it is a lie.”
Chinatown backed down. “What you so heated up about? Maybe I got things all wrong, but you don’t have to git all heated up.”
She was sulky. “What the hell it matter to you?”
“It ain’t nothin’ to me,” said Chinatown. Then he added under his breath, “Dunno how come I leave folks pick on me.”
Anna swept the beans off the stove. The pot tilted and spilled onto the floor. She swore and got down on her knees to wipe up the mess.
Blood on the Forge Page 11