VIII
It was to be expected that a thirteen-year old boy would grow weary of such a wrangle; so no one paid the least attention when J. Arnold Ross, junior, made his way to the front door and went out. He reached the back door just as Paul Watkins was closing it softly behind him. "Thanks, kid," whispered the latter, and stole away to the wood-shed, with Bunny close behind him. Paul's first sentence was: "I got a piece of ham and two slices of bread, and one piece of pie." He already had his mouth full. "That's all right, I guess," said Bunny, judiciously. He waited, and for a while there was no sound, save that of a hungry creature chewing. The stranger was only a shadow with a voice; but outside, in the starlight, Bunny had noted that the shadow was a head taller than himself, and thin. "Gee, it's tough to be starvin'!" said the voice, at last. "Do you want any of this?" "Oh no, I had my supper," said Bunny. "And I'm not supposed to eat at night." The other went on chewing, and Bunny found it mysterious and romantic; it might have been a hungry wolf there in the darkness! They sat on boxes, and when the sounds of eating ceased, Bunny said: "What made you run away from home?" The other answered with another question, a puzzling one: "What church do you belong to?" "How do you mean?" countered Bunny. "Don't you know what it means to belong to a church?" "Well, my grandmother takes me to a Baptist church sometimes, and my mother takes me to a 'Piscopal one when I'm visiting her. But I don't know as I belong to any." "My Gosh!" said Paul. It was evident he was deeply impressed by this statement. "You mean your father don't make you belong to no church?" "I don't think Dad believes in things like that very much." "My Gosh! And you ain't scared?" "Scared of what?" "Why, hell fire and brimstone. Of losin' your soul." "No, I never thought about it." "Say, kid, you dunno how queer that hits me. I just been makin' up my mind to go to hell, and not give a damn. Do you cuss?" "Not very often." "Well, I cussed God." "How do you do that?" "Why, I said, 'Damn God!' I said it half a dozen times, see, and I thought sure the lightnin' would come down and strike me. I said: I don't believe, and I ain't a-goin' to believe, and I don't give a damn." "Well, but if you don't believe, why should you be scared?" Bunny's mind was always logical like that. "Well, I guess I didn't know whether I believed or not. I don't know now. It didn't seem like I could set my poor frail mind up against the Rock of Ages. I didn't know there was anybody had ever been that wicked before. Pap says I'm the wickedest boy was ever born." "Pap is your father?" "Yes." "What does he believe?" "The Old Time Religion. It's called the Four Square Gospel. It's the Apostolic Church, and they jump." "Jump!" "The Holy Spirit comes down to you, see, and makes you jump. Sometimes it makes you roll, and sometimes you talk in tongues." "What is that?" "Why, you make noises, fast, like you was talkin' in some foreign language; and maybe it is—Pap says it's the language of the arch-angels, but I don't know. I can't understand it, and I hate it." "And your father does that?" "Any time, day or night, he's liable to. It's his way of foilin' the tempter. If you say anything at meal times, like there ain't enough to eat in the house, or you mention how the interest on the mortgage will be due, and he hadn't ought to give all the money for the missions, then Pap will roll up his eyes, and begin to pray out loud and let go, as he calls it; and then the Holy Spirit seizes him and he begins to jump and shake all over, and he slides down out of his chair and rolls on the floor, and begins to talk in tongues, like it says in the Bible. And then Mom starts to cry, 'cause it scares her, she knows she's got things to do for the kids, but she dassn't resist the Spirit, and Pap shouts, Let go, let go—real loud, in the Voice of Sinai, as he says, and then Mom's shoulders begin to jerk, and her mouth pops down, and she begins to roll in the chair, and shout for the Pentecostal Baptism. And that turns the kids loose, they all begin to jump and to babble; and gee, it scares you, some-thin' starts to grab you, and make you jerk whether you want to or not. I rushed out of the house, and I shook my fist up at the sky and I yelled: 'Damn God! Damn God!' And then I waited for the sky to fall in, and it didn't, and. I said, I don't believe it, and I ain't a-goin' to make myself believe it, not if I get sent to hell for it." "Is that the reason you ran away?" "That's one of the reasons. You can't get nowhere, livin' like we do. We got a big ranch, but it's mostly rocks, and we'd have a hard time anyhow; you plant things, and the rain fails, and nothin' but weeds come up. Why, if there's a God, and he loves his poor human creatures, why did he have to make so many weeds? That was when I first started to cussin'—I was hoin' weeds all day, and I just couldn't help it, I found myself sayin', over and over: 'Damn weeds! Damn weeds! Damn weeds!' Pap says it wasn't God that made 'em, it was the devil; but then, God made the devil, and God knew what the devil was goin' to do, so ain't God to blame?" "It seems like it to me," said Bunny. "Gee, kid, but you're lucky! You never knew you had a soul at all! You sure missed a lot of trouble!" There was a pause, and then Paul added: "I had a hard time runnin' away, and I 'spose I'll go back in the end—it's tough to think of your brothers and sisters starvin' to death, and I don't see what else can happen to 'em." "How many are there?" "There's four, besides me; and they're all younger'n me." "How old are you?" "I'm sixteen. The next is Eli, he's fifteen; and the Holy Spirit has blessed him—he has the shivers, and they last all day sometimes. He sees the angels, comin' down in clouds of glory; and he healed old Mrs. Bugner, that had complications, by the layin' on of his hands. Pap says the Lord plans great blessings through him. Then there's Ruth, she's thirteen, and she had visions too, but she's be-ginnin' to think like I do; we have sensible talks—you know how it is, you can sometimes talk to people that's your own age, things you can't ever say to grown-ups." "Yes, I know," said Bunny. "They think you don't understand anything. They'll talk right in front of you, and what do they think is the matter with your brains? It makes me tired." "Ruth is what makes it hard for me to stay away," continued the other. "She said for me to go, but gee, what'll they all do? They can't do hard work like I can. And don't you think I'd run away from hard work; it's only that I want to get somewhere, else what's the use of it? There ain't any chance for us. Pap hitches up the wagon and drives us all to Paradise, where the Pentecostal Mission is, and there they all roll and babble all day Sunday, most, and the Spirit commands them to pledge all the money they've got to convert the heathen—you see, we've got missions in England and France and Germany and them godless nations, and Pap'll promise more than he's got, and then he's got to give it, 'cause it don't belong to him no more, it's the Holy Spirit's, see. That's why I quit." There was silence for a space; then Paul asked: "What's that big crowd of folks in there for?" "That's the oil lease; didn't you know about the oil?" "Yes, we heard about the strike. We're supposed to have oil on our ranch—at least, my Uncle Eby used to say he'd come onto signs of it; but he's dead, and I never seen 'em, and I never expected no luck for our family. But they say Aunt Allie here is a-goin' to be rich." A sudden vision flashed over Bunny—of Mrs. Groarty, in her shiny robe of yellow satin, and her large bare arms and bosom. "Tell me," he said, "does your aunt roll?" "Gosh, no!" said the other. "She married a Romanist, and Pap calls her the Whore of Babylon, and we're not supposed to speak to her no more. But she's kind, and I knew she'd gimme some grub, so when I found I couldn't get a job, I come here." "Why couldn't you get a job?" "'Cause everybody lectures you and tells you to go back home." "But why do you tell them about it?" "You have to. They ask where you live, and why ain't you at home; and I ain't a-goin' to lie." "But you can't starve!" "I can before I'll go crooked. I had a fuss with Pap, and he says, if you depart from the Holy Word, the devil gets you, and you lie and cheat and steal and fornicate; and I says, 'Well, sir, I'll show you. I think a fellow can be decent without no devil.' I made up my mind, and I'm a-goin' to show him. I'll pay back Aunt Allie, so I'm only borrowin' this grub." Bunny held out his hand in the darkness. "You take this," he said. "What is it?" "Some money." "No, sir, I don't want no money, not till I earn it." "But listen, Paul, my Dad's got a lot of money, and he gives me what I ask him for. He's come here to lease this block from your aunt, and he won't miss
this little bit." "No, sir, I ain't a-goin' to turn into no bum; I didn't run away for that. You think 'cause I took some food out of my aunt's pantry—" "No, I don't think that at all! And you can call this a loan, if you want to." "You put up your money," said the other, with a note of harshness in his voice. "I ain't a-goin' to call no loans, and you done enough for me already; so forget it." "Well, but Paul—" "Do what I say, now!" "But then, you'll come to the hotel tomorrow and have lunch with me?" "No, I can't come to no hotel, I don't look decent." "But that don't matter, Paul." "Sure it matters! Your Dad's a rich man, and he wouldn't want no ranch-boy at his hotel." "Dad wouldn't care—honest, he wouldn't! He says I don't know enough boys, I stay by myself and read too much." "Yes, but he don't want no boys like me." "He says I've got to work, Paul—honest, you don't know Dad. He'd like to have you come; he'd like us to be friends." There was a pause, while Paul weighed this proposition, and Bunny waited anxiously as if it were the sentence of a court. He liked this boy! He had never met any boy he liked so much as this one! And did the boy like him? As it happened, the sentence of the court was never pronounced. Paul suddenly started to his feet crying, "What's that?" Bunny also sprang up. From the direction of Mrs. Groarty's house had come a clamor of voices, rising above the pounding of hammers and the sounds of labor in the neighborhood. The yells grew louder, and yet louder, and the boys dashed to the open window of the house. Everybody in the room was on his or her feet, and all seemed to be shouting at once. It was impossible to see many in the crowd, but two men close by the window made a little drama all by themselves. They were Mr. Sahm, the plasterer, owner of one of the "little little lots," and Mr. Hank, the ex-gold-miner, owner of one of the "big little lots"; they were shaking their fists at each other, and Mr. Sahm, the party of the first part, was shouting at Mr. Hank, the party of the second part, "You're a dirty, lying, yellow skunk!" To which the party of the second part answered, "Take that, you white-livered puppy!" and hit the party of the first part, Biff! a crack on the nose. The party of the first part countered with a nasty upper-cut to the jaw of the party of the second part, Bang! And so they went to it, Biff, bang! Bang, biff!—and the two boys gazed through the open window, horrified, enraptured. Whoopee! A scrap!
IX
There was a general appearance as if everybody in the room were fighting; but that could not have been the case, for there were several left to separate Messrs. Sahm and Hank, and to shove them into opposite corners. Before this process was entirely completed, Bunny heard a voice calling his name from the front of the house. "All right, Dad!" he answered, and ran to meet his father. The three men of the Ross party were descending the front steps, and proceeding down the walk. "Come on," said the father; "we're a-goin' back to the hotel." "Gee, Dad! What happened?" "They're a bunch of boobs, and you can't do anything with them. I wouldn't take their lease if they offered it as a gift. Let's get out of here." They were walking towards their car, which was parked a little way down the road. Suddenly Bunny halted. "Oh, Dad," he cried; "wait just a minute! Please, Dad, there's a boy I met, and I want to tell him something. Wait for me, please!" "Well, be quick," said Dad. "I got another lease to see about tonight." Bunny raced back, as fast as his legs could move. A panic had seized him. "Paul! Paul!" he shouted. "Where are you?" There was no sound, and no sign of the other boy. Bunny ran to the wood-shed, he ran all the way round the house, shouting, "Paul! Paul!" He dashed into the screen-porch, and opened the back door, and peered into the empty, white-enameled kitchen; he ran back to the wood-shed, and then to the garage in front of it; he stood gazing across the dark cabbage fields and calling at the top of his lungs: "Paul! Paul! Where are you? Please don't go away!" But there was no reply. Then Bunny heard his father's voice again, in a tone that was not to be neglected; so he went, with sinking heart, and climbed into his place in the automobile. All the way back to the hotel, while the men were discussing the new lease they planned to make, Bunny sat in silence, with tears stealing down his cheeks. Paul was gone! He might never see Paul again! And oh, such a wonderful boy! Such a wise boy—he knew so many things! A clear-sighted boy, and so interesting to talk to! And an honest boy—he wouldn't lie or steal! Bunny was ashamed, recollecting several times in his life when he had told lies—nothing very serious, but little things, that seemed so petty and mean, in the sudden clear light of Paul's uprightness. And Paul wouldn't take any of Dad's money! Dad thought that everybody in the world would be glad to get his money; but this boy had refused it! He must have been angry with Bunny for pressing it upon him, else he wouldn't have run away like that! Or else, for whatever reason, he didn't like Bunny; and so Bunny would never see him again!
CHAPTER III THE DRILLING
1
Once more the valleys and gorges of Guadalupe Grade resounded to the flying echoes of honking horns. This time it was not one car, but a whole fleet of them, a dozen seven-ton trucks, broad and solid, with broad and solid double wheels, and trailers on behind, that carried even more tons. The first load towered high, a big stationary engine, held in place by heavy timbers bolted fast at the sides; that truck went carefully round the curves, you bet! Behind it came the "mud-hogs" and the "draw-works"; and then the "string" of drilling tools, hollow tubes of the best steel, that were screwed end to end and went down into the earth, a mile or more, if need be. These tubes extended over the end of the trailers, where red flags waved in warning; on the short curves they swept the road, and if you met a car coming in the opposite direction, you had to stop while the other car crept carefully by; if there was not room enough, the other car would have to back up to a place where the road was straighter. All this required continuous clamor of horns; you would have thought some huge flock of prehistoric birds—did the pterodactyls make noises?—had descended upon Guadalupe Pass, and were hopping along, crying: "Honk! Honk! Honk!" What they were really saying was: "Dad is waiting for us! Dad has signed his lease, and the derrick is under way, and his 'rig' must be on time! Clear the road!" Dad would not trust to railroads for a rush job like this; they switched your stuff onto sidings, and you spent a week telephoning and interviewing dumb officials. But when you hired motor-trucks, you owned them for the time being, and they came right through. There was insurance to cover all possible accidents—including the value of any man you might chance to send rolling down a mountain-side in a Ford car! So here came the dozen valiant tooters, toiling slowly up the grade, at far less than the ordained speed of fifteen miles per hour. Their radiators were hissing with steam, and every mile or so they would have to stop and cool off. But they got to the summit all right; and then came the slow crawl downwards, a man going ahead with a red flag, warning other cars into safe pockets on the road, to wait till the whole fleet had got by. So they got out of the pass, and onto the straight road, where they could go flying like any other cars; then it was a mighty roaring and a jolly sight. "Honk! Honk! Get out of the way! Dad is waiting!" Perched on top of the drilling-tools were young fellows in blue-jeans and khaki, giving abundant evidence that their last well had not been a dry hole, but had given its due yield of smeary treasures. However, they had got their faces clean, and they met the sunny landscape with no less sunny smiles. They sang songs, and exchanged jollifications with the cars they passed, and threw kisses to the girls in the ranch-houses and the filling-stations, the orange-juice parlors and the "good eats" shacks. Two days the journey took them, and meantime they had not a care in the world; they belonged to Old Man Ross, and it was his job to worry. First of all things he saw that they got their pay-envelopes every other Saturday night—and that the envelopes contained one dollar per day more than anybody else nearby was getting; moreover, you got this pay, not only while you were drilling, but while you were sitting on top of a load of tools, flying through a paradise of orange-groves at thirty miles an hour, singing songs about the girl who was waiting for you in the town to which you were bound.
Oil (filmed as There Will Be Blood) Page 6