Authors: John Steinbeck
“I know,” London agreed. “Take one guy that you know ever’thing about him, an’ take ten more the same,
an’ you can’t tell what in hell they’ll do. What you think of doin’? Just waitin’ to see?”
“That’s it,” said Mac. “When you’re used to mobs, you can tell, just a little bit ahead of time. You can feel it in the air. But remember, if our guys crack, get under somethin’, an’ stay there. Listen, under the Torgas River bridge there’s a dug-out covered with dead willows. It’s got food and blankets in it. That’s the place to hit for. A mob don’t stay crazy long. When you get in town, go to forty-two Center Avenue and say I sent you.”
“I wish they was some way to get the kid and Lisa out. I don’t want ’em to get hurt.”
Jim broke in on them. “You guys talk like it was sure to happen. Nothing’s happened yet, maybe nothing will. Maybe Anderson only went in to stay with somebody.”
“I know it sounds like I’m calamity-howling,” Mac said apologetically. “Maybe it won’t happen. But London’s a valuable guy. We need him. I don’t like to get these stiffs killed off; they’re good guys. But we need London. This whole strike’s worth it if London comes over.”
London looked pleased. “You been in plenty strikes, Mac. Always do they go this way?”
“Hell, no. This place is organized, I tell you. None of the other workers came out on strike with us. The owners cut us off out here with nothing to eat. If this bunch of raiders gets stopped today, we’ll catch it good. You weren’t planning to go out, were you, London?”
“Sure. I ain’t been in a fight yet.”
“I don’t think you’d better go,” Mac advised. “We’re goin’ to need you here. They’ll try to root us out today. If you aren’t here the guys might get scared and beat it. You’re still the boss, London. The boss’s got to stick in
the center of the biggest group till the last minute. Let’s get those cars on the move, shall we? There’s plenty of scabs out, and they’ll be working by now.”
London turned and hurried back to the cars. “Come on, you guys. Step on it. Let’s get rollin’.”
The squad leaders trotted to the tents and picked their men, men armed with rocks and pieces of wood, and here and there a knife. The whole crowd moved out to the edge of the road, talking loudly and giving advice.
“Give ’em hell, Joe.”
“Knock their can off.”
The motors started and struggled against their age. The chosen men climbed in and took their places. London held up both hands to stop the noise. He shouted, “Three pairs go that way, and two this way.” The gears dropped in. The cars crawled across the ditch and lined up in the road. Raiders stood up and waved their hats furiously, and shook their fists and made murderous cuts in the air with their clubs. The cars moved away slowly, in two directions, and the mob left in the camp shrieked after them.
When they had gone, the shouting stopped suddenly. The men stood, wondering and uneasy. They looked down the road and saw the cars jog out of sight. Mac and Jim and London walked back into the camp side by side.
“I hope to Christ they do some damage,” Mac said. “If everything happens to us and nothing to anybody else, we aren’t goin’ to last much longer. Come on, Jim. Let’s take a look at the old guy Dan. An’ then maybe we can get some guys together and go over and see Al. I promised Al something. He’ll need some encouragement.”
London said, “I’m goin’ to see about gettin’ some water. The barrel’s low.”
Jim led the way to the hospital tent. The flaps were tied back to let in the morning sunshine. In a pool of sun old Dan lay. His face was transparent white and waxen, and heavy black veins puffed out on his cheeks. “How you feeling, Dan?” Jim asked.
The old man mumbled weakly.
“What’s that you say?” Mac bent over to hear.
Dan’s lips worked carefully this time. “I ain’t had nothing to eat.”
Jim cried, “You poor devil. I’ll get you something.” He stepped out of the door. “Mac,” he shouted, “they’re coming back.”
From the direction of the town four cars drew up and stopped in the road. London came running and flung himself through the crowd. “What th’ hell’s the matter?”
The driver of the first car smiled foolishly. The crowd fell completely silent. “We couldn’t get through,” the driver said, and he smiled again. “There’s a barricade across the road.”
“I thought I told you to crash it if it was there.”
“You don’t unda’stan’,” the driver said dully. “They was two cars ahead of us. We come to the barricade. There’s about twenty guys with guns behind it.” He swallowed nervously. “A guy with a star on to him gets up on top an’ he says, ‘It’s unlawful to picket in this county. Get back.’ So that old Hudson tries to go around, an’ it tips over in a ditch, an’ the guys spill out. So, like you said, the guys run an’ get in the shovel-nose.” The men in the other seats nodded solemnly at his words.
“Go on.” London’s voice was subdued.
“So then the shovel-nose starts to try to knock over the barricade. So then those guys start the tear gas an’ shoot
the tires off the shovel-nose. Then our guys start coughin’, an’ there’s so much gas you can’t see. So then those guys got on gas masks, an’ they come in, an’ they got ’bout a thousan’ hand-cuffs.” He smiled again. “So we come back. We couldn’t do nothing. We didn’ even have a decent rock to throw. They grabbed all the guys in the shovel-nose. Hell, I never seen so much gas.” He looked up. “There’s the other bunch comin’,” he said hopelessly. “I guess they got the road blocked at both ends.”
A curious, long sigh escaped from the crowd. Some of the men turned and walked slowly back toward the tents, walked glidingly, with their heads down, as though they were in deep thought.
London turned to Mac, and his face was perplexed. Mac said, “Do you suppose we could get the cars across the orchard, and out that way? They can’t have all the roads blocked.”
London shook his head. “Too wet. A car’d squat down in the mud before we could get it ten feet.”
Mac leaped on the running-board of one of the cars. “Listen, you guys,” he cried. “There’s one way we can get through. Let’s the whole bunch of us go down there and knock those barricades off the road. They can’t block us in, God damn it!” He paused for a response, a quickening. But the men looked away from him, each waiting for another to speak.
At last a man said, “We got nothing to fight with, mister. We can’t fight guns an’ gas with our han’s. Give us guns, an’ we’ll fight.”
Mac’s speech turned into fury. “You let ’em shoot our guys, an’ burn the buildings of our friends, an’ you won’t
fight. Now they got you trapped, an’ still you won’t fight. Why even a God damn rat’ll fight when he’s in a trap.”
The hopelessness hung in the air like a gas itself. The same man repeated, “Mister, we can’t fight guns and gas with our han’s.”
Mac’s voice broke with rage. “Will any six of you yellow bastards fight
me
with your hands?
Will you?"
His mouth worked helplessly. “Try to help you—try to get something for you——” he shrieked.
London reached up and pulled him firmly off the running-board. Mac’s eyes were mad. He tried to jerk free. “I’ll kill the yellow bastards myself,” he cried.
Jim stepped over and took his other arm. “Mac,” he said. “Mac, for Christ’s sake, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Between them, Jim and London turned him and led him through the crowd, and the men looked shamefacedly at the ground. They told each other softly, “But we can’t fight guns and gas with our hands.”
The raiders climbed stiffly down from their cars and joined the crowd, and left the automobiles standing in the road.
Mac was limp now. He allowed himself to be led into London’s tent, and settled down on the mattress. Jim soaked a rag in the water bucket and tried to wash his face, but Mac took the cloth from him and did it for himself. “I’m all right now,” he said quietly. “I’m no good. The Party ought to get rid of me. I lose my head.”
“You’re dead for sleep,” said Jim.
“Oh, I know. But it isn’t that. They won’t help themselves. Sometimes I’ve seen men just like these go through a machine-gun nest with their hands. And here today they won’t fight a few green deputy-sheriffs. Just
scared to death.” He said, “Jim, I’m as bad as they are. I’m supposed to use my head. When I got up on that running-board, I was going to try to steam them up. An’ then the God damn sheep made me mad. I didn’t have any right to get mad. They ought to kick me out of the Party.”
London said in sympathy, “I got pretty damn mad myself.”
Mac looked at each of his fingers carefully. “Makes me want to run away,” he said ruefully. “I’d like to crawl down in a haystack and go to sleep, and to hell with the whole damn bunch of them.”
Jim said, “Just as soon as you get rested up, you’ll feel strong again. Lie down and get some sleep, Mac. We’ll call you if we need you, won’t we, London?”
“Sure,” said London. “You just stretch out. There ain’t nothing you can do now. I’m goin’ to go out an’ talk to them squad leaders. Maybe we could take a few good guys an’ sneak up on the barricades.”
“I’m scared they’ve got us now,” Mac said. “They took the heart out of the guys before they could get going.” He lay down on the mattress. “What they need is blood,” he muttered. “A mob’s got to kill something. Oh, Christ, I guess I’ve bungled everything right from the start.” He closed his eyes, then suddenly opened them again. “Listen, they’ll pay us a visit pretty soon, the sheriff or somebody. Be sure and wake me up. Don’t let ’em get away with anything. Be sure and call me.” He stretched like a cat and clasped his hands over his head. His breathing became regular.
The sun threw shadows of the tent-ropes on the canvas, and in the open entrance a piece of sunlight lay on the
foot-beaten earth. Jim and London walked quietly outside. “Poor guy,” London said. “He needs it. I never seen a guy so far gone for sleep. I heard how the cops keep a guy awake till he goes crazy.”
“He’ll be different when he wakes up,” said Jim. “Lord, I said I’d take something to old Dan. An’ then those cars came up. I better do it now.”
“I’ll go see how Lisa’s getting along. Maybe she better go an’ take care of the old duck.”
Jim walked to the stove and ladled some beans into a can and carried them to the hospital tent. The idle men, standing about, had collected into little groups. Jim looked into the hospital tent. The triangular sunny place had shortened and fallen off the cot. Old Dan’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and light. A curious musty, rancid odor filled the tent, the breath from a congested and slowly dying body. Jim leaned over the cot. “Dan, I brought you something to eat.”
Dan opened his eyes slowly. “I don’t want none. I ain’t got the strength to chew.”
“You have to eat, Dan. Have to eat to get strong. Look, I’ll put a pillow under your head, and I’ll feed you.”
“Don’t want to get strong.” His voice was langorous. “Just want to lay here. I been a top-faller.” His eyes closed again. “You’d go up the stick, way up, way up, an’ you could see all the little trees, second, third growth timber down below. Then you fix your safety belt.” He sighed deeply, and his mouth went on whispering. A shadow fell in the spot of sunlight. Jim looked up.
Lisa stood in the door of the tent, and her baby was under the shoulder blanket. “I got enough to do, takin’
care of the baby. He says I got to come an’ take care of a old man, too.”
Jim said, “Sh-h.” He stood from the cot so she could see Dan’s sunken face.
She crept in and sat down on the extra cot. “Oh, I di’n’ know. What you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Just stay with him.”
She said, “I don’t like ’em like that. I can smell ’em. I know that smell.” She shifted nervously, covered the baby’s round face to protect it from the smell.
“Shh-h,” Jim said. “Maybe he’s going to be all right.”
“Not with that smell. I know that smell. Part of ’im’s dead already.”
“Poor devil!” Jim said.
Something in the words caught at her. Her eyes grew wet with tears. “I’ll stay. I seen it before. It don’t hurt nobody.”
Jim sat down beside her. “I like to be near you,” he said softly.
“Don’t you come none of that.”
“No, I won’t. I just wondered why it was warm beside you.”
“I ain’t cold.”
He turned his face away. “I’m going to talk to you, Lisa. You won’t understand, and it won’t matter, not a bit. Everything’s crumbling down and washing away. But this is just a little bit of the whole thing. This isn’t anything, Lisa. You and I aren’t much in the whole thing. See, Lisa? I’m telling it to myself, but I understand it better with you listening. You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you, Lisa?”
He saw a blush creep up the side of her neck. “I jus’
had a baby,” she said. “Besides, I ain’t that kind.” She lifted her shamed eyes. “Don’t talk that way. Don’t get that tone on you,” she begged. “You know I ain’t that kind.” He reached out his hand to pat her, but she shrank away from him. “No.”
He stood up. “Be nice to the old guy. See? There’s water and a spoon on the table. Give him a little, now and then.” He raised his head tensely to listen to a stir of voices in the camp, a gradually increasing stir. And then, over the bass of voices, a haranguing voice sounded, a voice that rose and fell angrily. “I’ve got to go,” Jim said. “Take care of him.” He hurried out of the tent.
By the stoves he saw men collecting around some central object, all faces inward. The angry voice came from the center. As Jim watched, the crowd moved sideways toward the naked little stand that had been built for Joy’s body. The mob touched the stand and flowed around it, but out of the group one man shot up and took his position in the stand. Jim ran over. He could see, now. It was the sullen, scowling Burke. His arms gesticulated. His voice bellowed over the heads of the crowd. Jim saw London hurrying in from the road.
Burke grasped the hand-rail. “There he is now,” he shouted. “Look at ’im. That’s the guy that’s spoiled ever’thing. What the hell’s he done? Set in his tent an’ et canned peaches while we got wet and lived on garbage a pig wouldn’ touch.”
London’s mouth was open with astonishment. “What’s goin’ on here?” he cried.
Burke leaned forward over the rail. “I’ll tell you what’s goin’ on. Us guys decided we wanted a real leader. We
decided we want a guy that won’t sell out for a load o’ canned goods.”