Authors: John Steinbeck
“You’re kind of funny, Jim,” Mac said kindly. “You’re so God damn serious.”
“I don’t see anything funny.”
“No. Remember the lady that was buying a dog? She asks, ’Are you sure he’s a bloodhound?’ The owner says, ’Sure he is. Bleed for the lady, Oscar.’”
Jim smiled thinly. Mac went on, “No, Jim, you’re more use to the cause than a hundred of these guys.”
“Well, a little loss of blood won’t hurt me.”
Mac stroked his lower lip nervously. “Jim,” he said. “Did you ever see four or five dogs all fighting?”
“No.”
“Well, if one of those dogs gets hurt or goes down, all the rest’ll turn on him and kill him.”
“So what?”
“So—men do that sometimes, too. I don’t know why. It’s kind of like Doc says to me one time, ’Men hate something in themselves.’”
“Doc was a nice guy, but he didn’t get anywhere with his high-falutin’ ideas. His ideas didn’t go anywhere, just around in a circle.”
“All the same, I wish he was here. Your shoulder feel all right?”
“Sure. I’m not using it any more than I can help.”
Mac got up. “Come on, let’s look at it. Take off that
coat.” Jim worked the coat off. Mac pulled the plaster loose and carefully raised the bandage. “Looks pretty good. It’s a little bit angry. I’ll throw away a couple of layers of this gauze. I’ll be glad when we get in town. You can get it taken care of. Now I’ll put this clean part back.” He pressed the plaster down in place and held it firmly until the body heat made it takehold.
“Maybe we’ll find Doc in town,” said Jim. “He talked awful funny just before he disappeared. Maybe he got disgusted, or scared, and beat it.”
“Here, I’ll help you with your coat. You can forget that. If Doc was goin’ to get disgusted, he’d of got years ago. An’ I’ve seen him under fire. He don’t get scared.”
London came in and stood quietly in the doorway. He looked serious and frightened. “I didn’t kill ’im, but damn near. His jaw’s busted terrible. I’m scared he’ll die if he don’t get a doctor.”
“Well, we can ship him to town, but I don’t think they’d take very good care of him in there.”
London went on, “That woman of his is raisin’ hell. Says she’s goin’ to have the whole bunch of us up for murder. Says the whole strike was just to get Burke.”
Mac said, “It’d almost be worth it, at that. I never liked the bastard. I always thought he was the stool-pigeon. How do the guys feel?”
“They’re just sittin’ around, like you said. Look sick, like a bunch of kids that broke into a candy store.”
“Sure,” said Mac. “They used up the juice that should of lasted ’em about a week. We better get some food into ’em if we can. Maybe they’ll sleep it off then. You’re sure right, London. We need a doctor. How’s the guy that hurt his ankle?”
“Well, he’s raisin’ merry hell too. Says it ain’t set right, an’ it hurts. An’ he won’t never be able to walk no more. All this howlin’ around ain’t helpin’ the way the guys feel none.”
“Yeah, an’ there’s Al,” said Mac. “I wonder how Al is? We ought to go over an’ see him. Think the guys you told to stay there stayed?”
London shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, could we get half a dozen guys to go over with us?”
London said, “I don’t think you’ll get none of these guys to go no place. They just want to set there an’ look at their feet.”
“Well, by Christ, I’ll go alone, then. Al’s a good guy.”
“I’ll go with you, Mac,” Jim broke in.
“No. You stay here.”
London said, “I don’t think there’s nobody to bother you.”
Mac begged, “Jim, I wish you’d stay. S’pose they got both of us? There’d be nobody here to go on. Stay here, Jim.”
“I’m going. I’ve sat around here and nursed myself long enough. Why don’t you stay and let me go?”
“All right, kid,” Mac said resignedly. “We’ll just be careful, and keep our eyes open. Try to keep the guys alive till we get back, London. Try to get a little of that beef and beans into ’em. They’re sick of it, but it’s food. We ought to be hearing something about those cars pretty soon.”
London grunted, “I guess I’ll just open me up a can of them peaches, an’ some sardines. The guys said I had a flock of ’em, piled right up to the roof. I’ll have some ready for you when you get back.”
THEY walked out into the clear yellow sunshine. The camp looked bedraggled and grey in the clean light. A litter had accumulated since Burton was gone, bits of paper, strings, overalls hung on the guy-ropes of the tents. Mac and Jim walked out of the camp and across the surrounding field, to the edge of the orchard. At the line of trees Mac stopped. His eyes moved slowly across the horizontal fields of vision. “Look close, Jim,” he advised. “It’s probably a damn fool thing to go over alone. I know it isn’t good sense.” He studied the orchard. The long, sun-spotted aisles were silent. There was no movement. “It’s so quiet. Makes me suspicious. It’s too quiet.” He reached to a limb and took down a small, misshapen apple the pickers had left. “God, that tastes good. I’d forgot about apples. Always forget what’s so easy.”
“I don’t see anybody moving,” said Jim. “Not a soul.”
“Well look, we’ll edge down in line with the trees. Anybody looking down a row won’t see us, then.” They stepped slowly in under the big apple trees. Their eyes moved restlessly about. They walked through shadows of branches and leaves, and the sun struck them with soft, warm blows.
Jim asked, “Mac, do you s’pose we could get a leave of absence some time and go where nobody knows us, and just sit down in an orchard?”
“’Bout two hours of it, and you’d be raring to go again.”
“I never had time to look at things, Mac, never. I never looked how leaves come out. I never looked at the way things happen. This morning there was a whole line of ants on the floor of the tent. I couldn’t watch them. I was thinking about something else. Some time I’d like to sit all day and look at bugs, and never think of anything else.”
“They’d drive you nuts,” said Mac. “Men are bad enough, but bugs’d drive you nuts.”
“Well, just once in a while you get that feeling—I never look at anything. I never take time to see anything. It’s going to be over, and I won’t know—even how an apple grows.”
They moved on slowly. Mac’s restless eyes roved about among the trees. “You can’t see everything,” he said. “I took a leave and went into the woods in Canada. Say, in a couple of days I came running out of there. I wanted trouble, I was hungry for a mess.”
“Well, I’d like to try it sometime. The way old Dan talks about timber——”
“Damn it, Jim, you can’t have everything! We’ve got something old Dan hasn’t got. You can’t have everything. In a few days we’ll be back in town, and we’ll be so damned anxious to get into another fuss we’ll be biting our nails. You’ve got to take it easy till that shoulder heals. I’ll take you to a flop-house where you can watch all the bugs you want. Keep back of the line of trees. You’re standing out like a cow on a side-hill.”
“It’s nice out here,” said Jim.
“It’s too damn nice. I’m scared there’s a trap someplace.”
Through the trees they could see Anderson’s little white house, and its picket fence, and the burning geraniums in the yard. “No one around,” said Jim.
“Well, take it easy.” At the last row Mac stopped again and let his eyes travel slowly across the open. The great black square on the ground, where the barn had been, still sent up a lazy, pungent smoke. The white tank-house looked tall and lonely. “Looks O.K.,” Mac said. “Let’s go in the back way.” He tried to open the picket gate quietly, but the latch clicked and the hinges growled. They walked up the short path to the porch with its yellowing passion vine. Mac knocked on the door.
A voice from inside called, “Who is it?”
“Is that you, Al?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“It’s Mac.”
“Oh, come on in, Mac. The door ain’t locked.”
They went into the kitchen. Al lay on his narrow bed against the wall. He seemed to have grown gaunt in the few days. The skin hung loosely on his face. “Hi, Mac. I thought nobody’d ever come. My old man went out early.”
“We tried to get over before, Al. How’s all the hurts?”
“They hurt plenty,” said Al. “And when you’re all alone they hurt worse. Who burned the barn, Mac?”
“Vigilantes. We’re sorry as hell, Al. We had guards here, but they got a fast one pulled on ’em.”
“My old man just raised hell all night, Mac. Talked
all night. Give me hell about four times an hour, all night.”
“We’re damn sorry.”
Al cleared one hand from the bedclothes and scratched his cheek. “I’m still with you, Mac. But the old man wants to blast you. He went in this morning to get the sheriff to kick you off’’n the place. Says you’re trespassin’, an’ he wants you off. Says he’s punished for listenin’ to guys like you. Says I can go to hell if I string along with you. He was mad as a hornet, Mac.”
“I was scared he would be, Al. Listen, we know you’re with us, see? It don’t do no good to make that old man any sorrier than he is. If it’d do any good, it’d be different. You just pretend to come around to his side. We’ll understand that, Al. You can keep in touch with us. I’m awful sorry for your old man.”
Al sighed deeply. “I was scared you’d think I double-crossed you. If you know I ain’t, I’ll tell him t’hell with you.”
“That’s the stuff, Al. And we’ll give you a boost in town, too. Oh, say, Al, did Doc look in on you last night?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, he started over here before the fire, an’ he ain’t been back.”
“Jesus! What do you think happened to him?”
“I’m scared they snatched the poor devil.”
“They been pushing you all around, ain’t they?”
“Yeah. But our guys got in some good licks this morning. But if your old man turns us in, I guess they’ll roll over us tomorrow.”
“Whole thing flops, huh, Mac?”
“That don’t mean anything. We done what we came to
do. The thing goes right on, Al. You just make peace an’ pretend you ain’t ever goin’ to get burned no more.” He listened. “Is that somebody coming?” He ran through the kitchen and into the front of the house, and looked out a window.
“It’s my old man, I recognize his step,” said Al.
Mac returned. “I wanted to see if anybody was with him. He’s all alone. We could make a sneak, I guess. I’d rather tell him I’m sorry.”
“You better not,” Al advised. “He won’t listen to nothing from you. He hates your guts.”
There were steps on the porch and the door burst open. Anderson stood, surprised and glaring. “God damn it,” he shouted. “You bastards get out of here. I’ve been and turned you in. The sheriffs goin’ kick the whole smear of you off my land.” His chest swelled with rage.
Mac said, “We just wanted to tell you we’re sorry. We didn’t burn the barn. Some of the boys from town did.”
“What th’ hell do I care who burned it? It’s burned, the crop’s burned. What do you damn bums know about it? I’ll lose the place sure, now.” His eyes watered with rage. “You bastards never owned nothing. You never planted trees an’ seen ’em grow an’ felt ’em with your hands. You never owned a thing, never went out an’ touched your own apple trees with your hands. What do you know?”
“We never had a chance to own anything,” Mac said. “We’d like to own something and plant trees.”
Anderson ignored his words. “I listened to your promises. Look what happened. The whole crop’s burned, there’s paper coming due.”
Mac asked, “How about the pointers?”
Anderson’s hands settled slowly to his sides. A look of cold, merciless hatred came into his eyes. He said slowly, softly, “The kennel was—against—the barn.”
Mac turned to Al and nodded. For a moment Al questioned with his eyes, and then he scowled. “What he says goes. You guys get the hell out, and don’t never come back.”
Anderson ran to the bed and stood in front of it. “I could shoot you men now,” he said, “but the sheriff’s goin’ to do it for me, an’ damn quick.”
Mac touched Jim on the arm, and they went out and shut the door. They didn’t bother to look around when they went out the gate. Mac set out so rapidly that Jim had to stretch his stride to keep up. The sun was cutting downward now, and the shadows of whole trees lay between the rows, and the wind was stirring in the branches, so that both trees and ground seemed to quiver nervously.
“It keeps you hopping, keeping the picture,” Mac said. “You see a guy hurt, or somebody like Anderson smashed, or you see a cop ride down a Jew girl, an’ you think, what the hell’s the use of it. An’ then you think of the millions starving, and it’s all right again. It’s worth it. But it keeps you jumping between pictures. Don’t it ever get you, Jim?”
“Not very much. It isn’t long ago I saw my mother die; seems years, but it wasn’t long ago. She wouldn’t speak to me, she just looked at me. She was hurt so bad she didn’t even want a priest. I guess I got something burned out of me that night. I’m sorry for Anderson, but what the hell. If I can give up my whole life, he ought to be able to give up a barn.”
“Well, to some of those guys property’s more important than their lives.”
Jim said, “Slow down, Mac. What’s your hurry? I seem to get tired easy.”
Mac did slow his steps a little. “I thought that’s what he went to town for. I want to get back before anything happens. I don’t know what this sheriff’ll do, but he’ll be happy as hell to split us up.” They walked silently over the soft, dark earth, and the shadows flickered on them. At the clearing they slowed down. Mac said, “Well, nothing’s happened yet, anyway.”
The smoke rose slowly from the stoves. Jim asked, “Where do you s’pose all the guys are?”
“In sleeping off the drunk, I guess. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if we got some sleep, too. Prob’ly be up all night.”
London moved over and met them. “Everything all right?” Mac asked.
“Just the same.”
“Well, I was right. Anderson’s been in and asked the sheriff to kick us off.”
“Well?”
“Well, we wait. Don’t tell the guys about it.”
“Maybe you was right about that,” London said, “but you was sure wrong about what them guys would eat. They cleaned us out. There ain’t a damn drop o’ beans left. I saved you a couple of cans, over in my tent.”