In Dubious Battle (24 page)

“You were doin’ swell till this busted,” Mac said.

“Sure I was. I had some trouble with one old dame. She wanted to help the cause somethin’ terrible.”

Mac laughed. “I never knew no maiden modesty to keep you out of the feed bag. S’pose she
did
want to give her all to the cause?”

Dick shuddered. “Her all was sixteen axe-handles acrost,” he said.

“Well, we’ll get your paper for you, and then I want you to get the hell out of here. They ain’t got you spotted yet, have they?”

“I don’t know,” said Dick. “I kind of think they have. I wrote in for Bob Schwartz to come down. I got a feeling I’m going to get vagged pretty soon. Bob can take over then.”

London rooted in a box and brought out a tablet of paper and a pencil. Mac took them from him and wrote out the statement. “You write nice,” London said admiringly.

“Huh? Oh, sure. Can I sign it for you, London?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Hell,” said Dick. “I could of done that myself.” He
took the paper and folded it carefully. “Oh, say, Mac. I heard about one of the guys gettin’ bumped.”

“Didn’t you know, Dick? It was Joy.”

“Th’ hell!”

“Sure, he come down with a bunch of scabs. He was tryin’ to bring ’em over when he got it.”

“Poor bastard.”

“Got him quick. He didn’t suffer more’n a minute.”

Dick sighed. “Well, it was in the books for Joy. He was sure to get it sooner or later. Going to have a funeral?”

“Tomorrow.”

“All the guys goin’ to march in it?”

Mac looked at London. “Sure they are,” he said. “Maybe we can drag public sympathy our way.”

“Well, Joy would like that,” Dick said. “Nothing he’d like better. Too bad he can’t see it. Well, so long. I got to go.” He turned to leave the tent. Lisa raised her eyes. “Bye, baby. See you sometime,” said Dick. The spots of color came into her cheeks again. Her lips parted a little and, when the tent flaps dropped behind Dick, her eyes remained there for some time.

Mac said, “Jesus, they got an organization here. Dick’s a good man. If he can’t get stuff to eat, it ain’t to be got.”

Jim asked, “How about that platform for the speech?”

Mac turned to London, “Yeah, did you get at it, London?”

“The guys’ll put it up tomorrow mornin’. Couldn’t get nothing but some old fence posts to make it. Have to be just a little one.”

“Don’t matter,” Mac said, “just as long as it’s high enough so every guy here can see Joy, that’s enough.”

A worried look came on London’s face. “What t’hell am I goin’ to say to the guys? You said I ought to make a speech.”

“You’ll get steamed up enough,” said Mac. “Tell ’em this little guy died for ’em. And if he could do that they can at least fight for themselves.”

“I never made no speeches much,” London complained.

“Well, don’t make a speech. Just talk to the guys. You done that often enough. Just tell ’em. That’s better’n a speech, anyway.”

“Oh. Like that. O.K.”

Mac turned to the girl. “How’s the kid?”

She blushed and pulled the blanket closer over her shoulders. Her lashes shadowed her cheeks. “Pretty good,” she whispered. “He don’t cry none.”

The tent-flap jerked open and the doctor entered, his quick, brusque movements at variance with the sad, doglike eyes. “I’m going over to see young Anderson, Mac,” he said. “Want to come?”

“Sure I do, Doc.” And to London, “Did you send the guys over to guard Anderson’s place?”

“Yeah. They didn’t want to go none, but I sent ’em.”

“All right. Let’s go, Doc. Come on, Jim, if you can make it.”

“I feel all right,” said Jim.

Burton looked steadily at him. “You should be in bed.”

Mac chuckled. “I’m scared to leave him. He raises hell when I leave him alone for a minute. See you later, London.”

Outside the darkness was thick. The big cloud had spread until it covered the sky, and all the stars were gone. A muffled quietness lay on the camp. Those men who sat
around a few little fires spoke softly. The air was still and warm and damp. Doc and Mac and Jim picked their way carefully out of the camp and into the blackness that surrounded it. “I’m afraid it’s going to rain,” Mac said. “We’ll have one hell of a time with the guys when they get wet. It’s worse than gun-fire for taking the hearts out of men. Most of those tents leak, I guess.”

“Of course they do,” said Burton.

They reached the line of the orchard and walked down between two rows of trees. And it was so dark that they put their hands out in front of them.

“How do you like your strike now?” Doc asked.

“Not so good. They’ve got this valley organized like Italy. Food supply’s cut off now. We’re sunk if we can’t get some food. And if it rains good and hard tonight the men’ll be sneaking out on us. They just won’t take it, I tell you. It’s a funny thing, Doc. You don’t believe in the cause, and you’ll probably be the last man to stick. I don’t get you at all.”

“I don’t get myself,” Doc said softly. “I don’t believe in the cause, but I believe in men.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just believe they’re men, and not animals. Maybe if I went into a kennel and the dogs were hungry and sick and dirty, and maybe if I could help those dogs, I would. Wouldn’t be their fault they were that way. You couldn’t say, ’Those dogs are that way because they haven’t any ambition. They don’t save their bones. Dogs always are that way.’ No, you’d try to clean them up and feed them. I guess that’s the way it is with me. I have some skill in helping men, and when I see some who need help, I just do it. I don’t think about
it much. If a painter saw a piece of canvas, and he had colors, well, he’d want to paint on it. He wouldn’t figure why he wanted to.”

“Sure, I get you. In one way it seems cold-blooded, standing aside and looking down on men like that, and never getting yourself mixed up with them; but another way, Doc, it seems fine as the devil, and clean.”

“Oh, Mac, I’m about out of disinfectant. You’ll get no more fine smell if I don’t get some more carbolic.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Mac.

A hundred yards away a yellow light was shining. “Isn’t that Anderson’s house?” Jim asked.

“I guess it is. We ought to pick up a guard pretty soon.” They walked on toward the light, and they were not challenged. They came to the gate of the house-yard without being challenged. Mac said, “God-damn it, where
are
the guys London sent over? Go on in, Doc. I’m going to see if I can’t find ’em.” Burton walked up the path and into the lighted kitchen. Mac and Jim went toward the barn, and inside the barn they found the men, lying down in the low bed of hay smoking cigarettes. A kerosene lamp hung on a hook on the wall and threw a yellow light on the line of empty stalls and on the great pile of boxed apples—Anderson’s crop, waiting to be moved.

Mac spluttered with anger, but he quickly controlled himself, and when he spoke his voice was soft and friendly. “Listen, you guys,” he argued. “This isn’t any joke. We got word the damn vigilantes is goin’ to try something on Anderson to get back at him for lettin’ us stay on his place. S’pose he never let us stay? They’d be kickin’ us all over hell by now. Anderson’s a nice guy. We hadn’t ought to let nobody hurt him.”

“There ain’t nobody around,” one of the men protested. “Jesus, mister, we can’t hang around all night. We was out picketin’ all afternoon.”

“Go on, then,” Mac cried angrily. “Let ’em raid this place. Then Anderson’ll kick us off. Then where in hell would we be?”

“We could jungle up, down by the river, mister.”

“You
think
you could. They’d run you over the county line so quick your ass’d smoke, and you know it!”

One of the men got slowly to his feet. “The guy’s right,” he said. “We better drag it out of here. My old woman’s in the camp. I don’t want to have her get in no trouble.”

“Well, put out a line,” Mac suggested. “Don’t let nobody through. You know what they done to Anderson’s boy—burned his lunch wagon, kicked hell out of Al.”

“Al put out a nice stew,” said one of the men. They stood up tiredly. When they were all out of the barn Mac blew out the lantern. “Vigilantes like to shoot at a light,” he explained. “They take big chances like that. We better have Anderson pull down his curtains, too.”

The guards filed off into the darkness. Jim asked, “You think they’ll keep watch now, Mac?” he asked.

“I wish I thought so. I think they’ll be back in that barn in about ten minutes. In the army they can shoot a guy if he goes to sleep. We can’t do a thing but talk. God, I get sick of this helplessness! If we could only use guns! If we could only use punishment to keep discipline!” The sound of the guards’ footsteps died away in the darkness. Mac said, “I’ll rouse ’em out once more before we go back.” They walked up on the kitchen porch and knocked on the door. Barking and growling dogs answered
them. They could hear the dogs leaping around inside the house, and Anderson quieting them. The door opened a crack. “It’s us, Mr. Anderson.”

“Come on in,” he said sullenly.

The pointers weaved about, whipping their thin, hard tails and whining with pleasure. Mac leaned over and patted each one and pulled the leathers. “You ought to leave the dogs outside, Mr. Anderson, to watch the place,” he said. “It’s so dark the guards can’t see anything. But the dogs could smell anybody coming through.”

Al lay on a cot by the stove. He looked pale and weak. He seemed to have grown thin, for the flesh on his jowls was loose. He lay flat on his back, and one arm was strapped down in front of him. Doc sat in a chair beside the cot.

“Hello, Al,” Mac said quietly. “How’s she go, boy?”

The eyes brightened. “O.K.,” said Al. “It hurts quite a lot. Doc says it’ll keep me down some time.” Mac leaned over the cot and picked up Al’s good hand. “Not too hard,” Al said quickly. “There’s busted ribs on that side.”

Anderson stood by; his eyes were burning. “Now you see,” he said. “You see what comes of it. Lunch wagon burned, Al hurt, now you see.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dad,” Al said weakly. “Don’t start that again. They call you Mac, don’t they?”

“Right.”

“Well, look, Mac. D’you think I could get into the Party?”

“You mean you want to go in active work?”

“Yeah. Think I could get in?”

“I think so—” Mac said slowly. “I’ll give you an application card. What you want to come in for, Al?”

The heavy face twisted in a grimace. Al swung his head back and forth. “I been thinkin’,” he said. “Ever since they beat me up I been thinkin’. I can’t get those guys outa my head—my little wagon all burned up, an’ them jumpin’ on me with their feet; and two cops down on the corner watchin’, and not doin’ a thing! I can’t get that outa my head.”

“And so you want to join up with us, huh, Al?”

“I want to be against ’em,” Al cried. “I want to be fightin’ ’em all my life. I want to be on the other side.”

“They’ll just beat you up worse, Al. I’m tellin’ you straight. They’ll knock hell out of you.”

“Well, I won’t care then, because I’ll be fightin’ ’em, see? But there I was, just runnin’ a little lunch wagon, an’ givin’ bums a handout now an’ then——” His voice choked and tears squeezed out of his eyes.

Dr. Burton touched him gently on the cheek. “Don’t talk any more, Al.”

“I’ll see you get an application card,” Mac said. And he continued, “By God, it’s funny. Guy after guy gets knocked into our side by a cop’s night stick. Every time they maul hell out of a bunch of men, we get a flock of applications. Why, there’s a Red Squad cop in Los Angeles that sends us more members than a dozen of our organizers. An’ the damn fools haven’t got sense enough to realize it. O.K., Al. You’ll get your application. I don’t know whether it’ll go through, but it will if I can push it through.” He patted Al’s good arm. “I hope it goes through. You’re a good guy, Al. Don’t blame me for your wagon.”

“I don’t, Mac. I know who to blame.”

Burton said, “Take it easy, Al. Just rest; you need it.”

Anderson had been fidgeting about the room. The dogs circled him endlessly, putting up their liver-colored noses and sniffing, waving their stiff tails like little whips. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” he said helplessly. “You break up everything I’ve got. You even take Al away. I hope you take good joy of it.”

Jim broke in, “Don’t worry, Mr. Anderson. There’s guards around your house. You’re the only man in the Valley that has his apples picked.”

Mac asked, “When are you going to move your apples?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Well, do you want some guards for the trucks?”

“I don’t know,” Anderson said uneasily.

“I guess we better put guards on the trucks,” said Mac, “just in case anybody tried to dump your crop. We’ll get going now. Good night, Mr. Anderson. ’Night, Al. In one way I’m glad it happened.”

Al smiled.” ’Night, you guys. Don’t forget that card, Mac.”

“I won’t. Better pull your curtains down, Mr. Anderson. I don’t think they’ll shoot through your windows, but they might; they’ve done it before, other places.”

The door closed instantly behind them. The lighted spot on the ground, from the window, shrank to darkness as the curtain was pulled down. Mac felt his way to the gate, and when they were out, shut it after them. “Wait here a minute,” he said. “I’m going to look at those guards again.” He stepped away into the darkness.

Jim stood beside the doctor. “Better take good care of
that shoulder,” Burton advised. “It might cause you some trouble later.”

“I don’t care about it, Doc. It seems good to have it.”

“Yes, I thought it might be like that.”

“Like what?”

“I mean you’ve got something in your eyes, Jim, something religious. I’ve seen it in you boys before.”

Jim flared, “Well, it isn’t religious. I’ve got no use for religion.”

“No, I guess you haven’t. Don’t let me bother you, Jim. Don’t let me confuse you with terms. You’re living the good life, whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m happy,” said Jim. “And happy for the first time. I’m full-up.”

“I know. Don’t let it die. It’s the vision of Heaven.”

“I don’t believe in Heaven,” Jim said. “I don’t believe in religion.”