Blood on the Forge

by William Attaway

  Big Mat wanted to get as far away from home as possible. He started aimlessly walking. His feet were trained to a path and they led him toward the river. That was how he happened to see the new deputies come into town. Walking eight abreast along the river front, they did not swerve for any obstacle that could be kicked out of the way. They were, for the most part, men of indefinite age, neither young nor old. In their faces was a record of hard, undisciplined lives—old scars, broken noses, lantern jaws blued with stubble, lines of dissipation. They looked brutal because they had been brutalized. Each man carried a short club under his arm, the mark of his new trade. Most of them had been drinking; they were unnaturally quick of eye. Riotously they swung along, yelling at one another and laughing at nothing at all. They might have been headed for a party.

  “Never thought I’d come to be a copper,” one sang out.

  “Don’t take no pocketbooks. Remember You’re knockin’ heads for the law now,” sang out another.

  Big Mat swung far out of his way to avoid these men. He did not have sufficient strength in him to dispute the right of way. He was tired in body, but it was not fatigue that weakened him. Sapping him was that old frustration—the problem of Anna that seemed out of reach of his tough muscles. Now, added, was the frustration of his body, a sense of lost manhood, because of the unspent force in his loins. He turned and watched the men disappear into the town. Then he repeated his strange action of a past day: stooping, he lifted a big stone and walked along with it balanced in one palm.

  That was when the sheriff saw him—a giant black man strolling along the river front, balancing a great rock in one hand. The sheriff had been standing with his foot on the running board of a car. There were two well-dressed men in the front seat. They turned at the sheriff’s exclamation and looked with astonished eyes.

  “God A’mighty! Do you see what I see?” asked the sheriff.

  “Damn!” said the driver. “I hope he’s one of our men.”

  “Think he’s gonna throw that at somebody?” nervously asked the other man.

  The driver stepped on the starter of the car.

  “Wait a second,” said the sheriff. He drew a revolver from under his coat. “Hey, you!” he called to Big Mat.

  Big Mat stopped.

  “Drop that boulder,” he commanded.

  Big Mat stared at them and held the stone.

  The sheriff inched his gun forward. His face hardened.

  “I said drop it,” he snapped.

  Big Mat raised the stone up and up. The sheriff’s body quivered and then became like stone. His finger tightened on the trigger. The driver of the car kept his foot pressed on the starter of the car, although the motor had started. A tortured whine came from the engine. Then Big Mat tossed the stone away. It hit and sank slightly into the ground.

  “Yessuh?” said Big Mat mildly.

  The man sitting next to the driver gave a womanish laugh. The driver took his foot off the starter.

  “Come over here,” called the sheriff. He still kept the gun leveled.

  Big Mat walked up to the car. The sheriff touched him lightly on the hips with his free hand. Then he stepped back and lowered the gun.

  “What was you aimin’ to do with that boulder?” he asked.

  Big Mat searched for words. There were none.

  “Jest carryin’ it, I reckon,” was all he could say.

  The driver of the car laughed.

  “Just carryin’ it, huh? That beats everythin’ I ever heard.”

  The sheriff prodded Big Mat with the gun.

  “Well, beat it and stay away from round here.”

  “Wait,” said the driver. “You a steel worker?”

  “Yessuh.”

  The sheriff pushed Big Mat again with the gun barrel.

  “Jest a minute, Sheriff,” ordered the driver. “I’m running things here.”

  The sheriff put up his gun and touched his cap. But he continued to look steadily at Big Mat.

  The driver said, “If this man is a loyal worker he can be a big help around here Monday.”

  His companion said, “Need all the good men we can get. Those deputies from Pittsburgh are all right, but it’s not enough—not enough.”

  “You’re not a striker, are you?” asked the driver.

  “No suh.”

  “That’s good.” He said offhand to the sheriff, “You see?”

  The sheriff scowled and fingered his gun butt.

  “Now,” said the driver, “what shift do you work?”

  “Night shift. Day shift comin’ up.”

  “Would you like four extra dollars a day?”

  “Yessuh.”

  “Good.” He turned to the sheriff. “Deputize this man. Assign him his hours. He won’t need a club. Just give him a couple of boulders. He’ll earn his four dollars on Monday.”

  The sheriff touched his cap. The men waved to Big Mat and drove away. They were laughing.

  “Sure is a mean trick to play on the union.” They laughed.

  The sheriff gestured for Big Mat to follow and started toward the mill gate. Big Mat stepped fast until he came abreast of him.

  “This don’t mean I got to stool-pigeon, do it?”

  “Just you keep quiet and do what I say to do,” snapped the sheriff.

  A line of men were standing in front of an office. The sheriff placed Big Mat in the line. When Big Mat in his turn reached the office he was sworn in and his named added to a list. He was now a full-fledged deputy. He was to report for duty Monday afternoon. That would give him only a half day in the mills, but he was told that nothing would be deducted from his pay envelope on that account.

  It had all been done so quickly that Mat could not organize in his head just what had transpired. He waited to one side for a favorable time to approach the sheriff. At last the sheriff appeared to be doing nothing, so Mat touched him on the arm.

  “What the hell?—you again?” barked the sheriff.

  “I was jest wonderin'—” began Big Mat. “I was jest wonderin’ about this swearing in.”

  “What about it?”

  “Jest what I swear to uphold?”

  “Listen,” said the sheriff, “you git on home. Monday you uphold what I tell you to uphold. That’s all to it. Now git.”

  Big Mat went along the road toward home. He wondered what Melody would think of the entire business. It would probably be all right. They had not said anything about his having to tattle on his fellow workers. Anyway, he was a deputy. It was all down on the books. It could not be changed. He thought of the four extra dollars a day. That was a lot of money. Maybe he would buy Anna a lot of new clothes. Dance-hall dresses and shoes with high heels—she liked those things. It might make things right at home.

  At a road intersection five men in overalls were arguing with one of the new deputies from Pittsburgh. The deputy threatened with his stick. He did not look to be a man for talk. The overalled men argued and kept their hands in their pockets.

  “Ain’t nobody allowed to crowd the street,” the deputy was yelling.

  A man answered, “Since when is five guys mind-in’ their own business a crowd?”

  “I ain’t gonna argue with you,” yelled the deputy. “Them is the orders. Now break it up and git inside.”

  “This is still a free country. People can talk if they want to,” said another man.

  “That’s what you think,” said the deputy. “Now git along or take a taste of this here billy—whichever one you want.”

  The five men began to move slowly away. The deputy became impatient. With a curse he lashed one of the men across the back with the stick. The man staggered forward. His companions turned. For a minute it looked as though they might attack the deputy.

  “Hoo-o-o! Riot!” yelled the deputy, backing against a wall.

  A group of his fellows answered the call. With loud cries they rushed down on the overalled men. The five wheeled and scattered, running with the slow, ponderous tread of steel me
n.

  One fled directly toward Big Mat.

  “Stop him!” cried a couple of the deputies. “Don’t let him get away!” There was almost a sob in their voices.

  The fleeing man saw Big Mat and stopped. For a second he hesitated, then with a bound he leaped a picket fence and was away on a tangent.

  The two deputies did not attempt the fence. They stood sorrowfully looking after their escaped quarry.

  “Damn! If we could just use our guns now,” said one of them.

  “There ’ll be a chance,” said the other. “This ain’t over yet.”

  The first speaker suddenly remembered the big Negro standing so close. He nudged his companion. They came forward.

  “Hey, you!” one cried.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you hear us holler to stop that fellow?”

  “Yeah, I heard it.”

  “How come you didn’t grab him?”

  “He sprung over the fence.”

  “Oh, you a smart bastard! What’s your name?”

  “Mat.”

  “What else?”

  “Moss.”

  “Okay, Mat Moss. What you doin’ out of doors?”

  “Jest come from the mill.”

  “Workin’?”

  “Naw, they make me a deputy.”

  One of the men let out a great guffaw. The other began to snigger. It was a big joke.

  “The laugh’s on us,” said one of them. “So You’re a deputy too.”

  “Yeah, I reckon.”

  “Well, feller, you better tell it faster next time. We was jest about to paste you a couple of times for luck.”

  Big Mat nodded his head.

  “I got to git on home,” he said.

  They walked back down the road with him.

  “When you on duty?” asked one of the men.

  “Starts in Monday.”

  “Yeah? That’s gonna be a tough day.”

  “Guess so.”

  “Plenty of fun though.” He gestured at his companion. “We got a bet on. Bet a week’s pay I lays out more strikers than him.”

  “That’s how come we was so sorry to miss that feller.”

  They stopped at the corner. Big Mat went on alone. He had only taken a couple of steps when one of them called.

  “So long, pal. Just remember Monday that You’re the boss in this here town. Anythin’ you do is all right, ’cause You’re the law. So don’t take no back talk.”

  The nearer Big Mat got to his house the larger that thought loomed in his mind. The words began to take hold of him like a new green whisky, filling him with quick jubilation. All of his old hatreds came back and added flame to his feeling. He had been called “nigger” since childhood. “Nigger, nigger never die . . .” was the chant. The name that they gave to him had become a badge signifying poverty and filth. He had not been allowed to walk like a man. His food had been like the hog slops, and he had eaten. In the fields he had gone to the branch and gotten down on his belly. He had drunk his water like a dog left too long in the heat. They had taken his money and his women. They had made him run for his life. They would have run him with dogs through the swamps. They would have lynched him. He would have been a twisting torch. And he had escaped the South. Now here in the North he was hated by his fellow workers. He was a threat over their heads. The women covered their faces at sight of him, the men spat; the children threw rocks. Always within him was that instinctive knowledge that he was being turned to white men’s uses. So always with him was a basic distrust of a white. But now he was a boss. He was the law. After all, what did right or wrong matter in the case? Those thrilling new words were too much to resist. He was a boss, a boss over whites.

  So Big Mat arrived at a kind of understanding. He would not be able to tell in words what it meant to be a deputy. But he could go home and strut before Anna.

  Melody had been to the place above the dry-goods store at the west end of town. He had made all arrangements with the woman in charge. He was to bring Chinatown back with him on Monday night. The men would be occupied with the strike at that time. Chinatown must come and go without being seen. That was necessary. Trade might be lost by the sobering presence of a blind man.

  Melody had not told Chinatown anything about the plan. It would be best as a surprise, he thought. Chinatown had so little confidence in himself. If he were told too soon he would have time to break himself with doubts.

  However Melody did confide in Big Mat. He had expected Big Mat to be caught up with the idea. Perhaps Mat would argue against it, he thought, and then end by making a trip to the west end of town himself. But Melody had been wrong. This was a different Big Mat these last days before the strike. This Big Mat was entirely taken up with his own idea—an idea that Melody could not share. They were out of tune with each other. For the first time Big Mat became inarticulate before his sensitive brother. All Mat could do was strut before Anna. And all he could say to Melody was:

  “I sworn in as a sheriff’s man now.”

  So each had to keep within himself. And when Monday morning came Big Mat went eagerly to the mills, and Melody stayed home. Melody knew that he would have to prepare Chinatown for what was to happen.

  He had told Big Mat, “Don’t care if they can me for missin’ today. I got more important business than strikes on my mind. Chinatown come first.”

  All that morning Melody walked Chinatown. He wanted him to become used to being away from home. He told Chinatown that they had gone far into the town. But in reality they had walked a circle around and around the house. The town was too dangerous. Every street was patrolled.

  But Chinatown believed that he had been from one end of the town to the other.

  “I done good, huh?” he told Melody when it was finished.

  “You done fine,” said Melody. “Maybe this evenin’ we try to walk out to the west end. That ain’t as far as where we been.”

  “Sure, that be easy,” Chinatown said.

  Melody smiled and was satisfied with this beginning. That afternoon he lay on his back and talked about good times with his brother. Anna was an eager listener.

  “China, you ’member us and the gals?”

  “What gals?”

  “All the good-lookin’ gals—Mexes, hunky gals, gals down from Pittsburgh for the week ends.”

  “Yeah, them was pretty gals, all right.”

  “You was a stud hoss then.”

  “I sure was.”

  “They was always glad to see you come by.”

  “Onliest callin’ card you need was green money,” said Chinatown. “An’ ever’ week I have plenty o’ them.”

  “You spend it all on dice and women and never save a cent.”

  “Don’t reckon I coulda stood it round here no other way,” he said. “Ever’ week I git my pay and start out. I was a big man with the gals, long as my money hold out.”

  “Maybe you still a big man. They ain’t forgit Chinatown so easy—the biggest spender they ever see.”

  “Ain’t nobody want to look at me the way I is now.”

  “That’s where you wrong,” said Melody. “Why, I was walkin’ out west end way jest a couple days ago. I meet some gals. The first thing they want to know is how come Chinatown don’t come round.”

  Anna had been listening hard. At his mention of being at the west end of town she started violently. She had to close her startled eyes to hide her shock. Melody was too tense for Chinatown’s answer to notice Anna. But Anna took no chance. She turned her back to him.

  Chinatown wanted to believe.

  “Aw, you jest funnin’, Melody, ain’t you?”

  “Naw, I ain’t funnin’ at all. It’s true.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Oh, I dunno. Maybe some gals you musta give a break to once.”

  “They ain’t heard about what happen to me. They ain’t heard yet. That’s it.”

  “Oh, sure they hear all about it,” he said. “But that don’t make no diff
erence to them. They still say how come he don’t come round.”

  Chinatown’s permanent grin did not seem out of place now.

  Melody said, “If you don’t believe me, one good day let’s us walk out there. I prove it to you.”

  “Aw, naw!” Chinatown grinned.

  But Melody knew that the victory was almost won. He did not press the issue. He talked around the point, trying to make Chinatown suggest the trip himself. At last he did.

  “Maybe if you ain’t got nothin’ better to do we could walk that-a-way this evenin’,” said Chinatown.

  “Well, I dunno,” pondered Melody.

  “I could make it,” cried Chinatown. “Didn’t I jest walk through the town and back, huh?”

  “Well, I reckon it’s all right,” said Melody. “We go ’bout nine.”

  Chinatown was shivering with excitement. He managed to sit until five o’clock, then he asked them for his good clothes.

  “But it still light out,” said Melody.

  “Yeah, but I had oughta be ready.”

  They had to dress him. Anna pressed one of his shirts and tried to dissuade them.

  “The street is full of bad men,” she said. “It is not good time for going out.”

  “Where my tie? Where my tie?” asked Chinatown, fumbling at his throat.

  She gave him the tie.

  “Big Mat will not let this happen,” she said. “The blind one should wait for Big Mat.”

  “Is my shoes got a shine?” Chinatown wanted to know.

  “West end is a bad place. You should go east end.”

  “But that’s right through the heart o’ town,” said Melody. “We kin git to the west end without goin’ past them deputies.”

  “Somebody tell me that they are shootin’ people in the streets of the west end,” said Anna.

  “That ain’t so,” said Melody. “I was out there myself.”

  “Just the same, you should not go.”

  A thought came to Melody. It was a pleasant thought to have. He turned to Anna and held her by her arms. He thought she trembled a little in his grip.

  “It ain’t nothin’ for me out there,” he whispered in her ear. “This here is strictly Chinatown’s party.”

  She twisted a little, but he held her closer.

  “I ain’t said nothin’,” he told her, “but that don’t mean I forgot you and that night us was together. Sometime I been near to bust, watchin’ you ever’ day, but I hold it back ’cause it ain’t time yet. But one day you, me and Big Mat goin’ to git straight.”