In Dubious Battle (39 page)

“Maybe we won’t need anything more to eat,” said Mac.

“How do you mean?”

“We prob’ly won’t any of us be here tomorrow.”

In the tent London pointed to the two food cans on the
box. “D’you s’pose the sheriff’ll try to kick us off?” he asked.

“Damn right. He won’t let a chance like that go by.”

“Well, will he come shootin’, d’you suppose? Or will he give the guys a warnin’?”

Mac said, “Hell, I don’t know. Where’s all the men?”

“All under cover, asleep.”

Mac said, “I heard a car. May be our guys coming back.”

London cocked his head. “Too big,” he said. “That’s one of them big babies.”

They ran outside. Up the road from Torgas a huge Mack dump-truck rolled. It had a steel bed and sides, supported by two sets of double tires. It pulled up in front of the camp and stopped. A man stood up in the steel bed, and in his hands he held a submachine-gun with a big cartridge cylinder behind the forward grip. The heads of other men showed above the truck sides. Strikers began to boil out of the tents.

The standing man shouted, “I’m sheriff o’ this county. If there’s anyone in authority I want to see him.” The mob approached closer and looked curiously at the truck.

Mac said softly, “Careful, London. They may pop us off. They could do it now if they wanted to.” They walked forward, to the edge of the road, and stopped; and the mob was lining the road now, too.

London said, “I’m the boss, mister.”

“Well, I’ve got a trespass complaint. We’ve been fair to you men. We’ve asked you to go back to work, or, if you wanted to strike, to do it peacefully. You’ve destroyed property and committed homicide. This morning you sent out men to destroy property. We had to shoot some of
those men, and we caught the rest.” He looked down at the men in the truck, and then up again. “Now we don’t want any bloodshed, so we’re going to let you out. You have all night tonight to get out. If you head straight for the county line, nobody’ll bother you. But if this camp is here at daylight tomorrow, we’re going through it.”

The men stood silently and watched him. Mac whispered to London. London said, “Trespassin’ don’t give you no right to shoot guys.”

“Maybe not, but resisting officers does. Now I’m talking fair with you, so you’ll know what to expect. At daylight tomorrow a hundred men, in ten trucks like this, are coming out. Every man will have a gun, and we have three cases of Mills bombs. Some of you men who know can tell the others what a Mills bomb is. That’s all. We’re through fooling with you. You have till daylight to get out of the county. That’s all.” He turned forward. “Might as well drive along, Gus.” He sank from sight behind the steel truck side. The wheels turned slowly, and gathered speed.

One of the strikers leaped into the shallow ditch and picked up a rock. And he stood holding it in his hand and looking at it as the truck rolled away. The men watched the truck go, and then they turned back into the camp.

London sighed. “Well, that sounds like orders. He didn’t mean no funny business.”

Mac said impatiently, “I’m hungry. I’m going to eat my beans.” They followed him back into the tent. He gobbled his food quickly and hungrily. “Hope you got some, London.”

“Me? Oh, sure. What we goin’ to do now, Mac?”

“Fight,” said Mac.

“Yeah, but if he brings the stuff he said, pineapples an’ stuff, it ain’t goin’ to be no more fight than the stockyards.”

“Bull,” said Mac, and a little jet of chewed beans shot from his mouth. “If he had that stuff, he wouldn’t need to tell us about it. He just hopes we’ll get scattered so we can’t put up a fight. If we move out tonight, they’ll pick us off. They never do what they say.”

London looked into Mac’s face, hung on to his eyes. “Is that straight, Mac? You said I was on your side. Are you puttin’ somethin’ over?”

Mac looked away. “We got to fight,” he said. “If we get out without a scrap ever’thing we’ve been through’ll be wasted.”

“Yeah, but if we fight, a lot of guys that ain’t done no harm is goin’ get shot.”

Mac put his unfinished food down on the box. “Look,” he said. “In a war a general knows he’s going to lose men. Now this is a war. If we get run out o’ here without a fight, it’s losing ground.” For a moment he covered his eyes with his hand. “London,” he said. “It’s a hell of a responsibility. I know what we should doj you’re the boss; for Christ’s sake, do what you want. Don’t make me take all the blame.”

London said plaintively, “Yeah, but you know about things. You think we ought to fight, really?”

“Yes, we ought.”

“Well, hell then, we’ll fight—that is, if we can get the guys to fight.”

“I know,” said Mac. “They may run out on us, every one of ’em. The ones that heard the sheriff will tell the
others. They may turn on us and say we caused the trouble.”

London said, “Some ways, I hope they clear out. Poor bastards, they don’t know nothing. But like you say, if they’re ever goin’ to get clear, they got to take it now. How about the hurt guys?” London went on, “Burke and old Dan, and the guy with the busted ankle?”

“Leave ’em,” said Mac. “It’s the only thing we can do. The county’ll have to take care of ’em.”

“I’m going to take a look around,” London said. “I’m gettin’ nervous as a cat.”

“You ain’t the only one,” said Mac.

When he was gone, Jim glanced at Mac, and then began to eat the cold beans and strings of beef. “I wonder if they’ll fight?” he asked. “D’you think they’d really let the guys through if they wanted to run?”

“Oh, the sheriff would. He’d be only too damn glad to get rid of ’em, but I don’t trust the vigilante boys.”

“They won’t have anything to eat tonight, Mac. If they’re scared already, there won’t be any dinner to buck ’em up.”

Mac scraped his can and set it down. “Jim,” he said, “If I told you to do something, would you do it?”

“I don’t know. What is it?”

“Well, the sun’s going down pretty soon, and it’ll be dark. They’re going to lay for you and me, Jim. Don’t make any mistake about that. They’re going to want to get us, bad. I want you to get out, soon as it gets dark, get clear and go back to town.”

“Why in hell should I do that?”

Mac’s eyes slid over Jim’s face and went to the ground again. “When I came out here, I thought I was hell on
wheels. You’re worth ten of me, Jim. I know that now. If anything happened to me, there’s plenty of guys to take my place, but you’ve got a genius for the work. We can’t spare you, Jim. If you was to get knocked off in a two-bit strike—well, it’s bad economy.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Jim. “Our guys are to be used, not saved. I couldn’t run out. Y’said yourself this was a part of the whole thing. It’s little, but it’s important.”

“I
want
you to go, Jim. You can’t fight with that arm. You’d be no damn good here. You couldn’t help at all.”

Jim’s face was rigid. “I won’t go,” he said. “I might be of some use here. You protect me all the time, Mac. And sometimes I get the feeling you’re not protecting me for the Party, but for yourself.”

Mac reddened with anger. “O.K. then. Get your can knocked off. I’ve told you what I think’s the best thing. Be pig-headed, if you want. I can’t sit still. I’m going out. You do anything you damn please.” He went out angrily.

Jim looked up at the back wall of the tent. He could see the outline of the red sun on the canvas. His hand stole up and touched his hurt shoulder, and pressed it gently, all around, in a circle that narrowed to the wound. He winced a little as his exploring fingers neared the hurt. For a long time he sat quietly.

He heard a step in the door and looked around. Lisa stood there, and her baby was in her arms. Jim could see past her, where the line of old cars stood against the road; and on the other side of the road the sun was on the tree-tops, but in the rows the shade had come. Lisa looked in, with a bird-like interest. Her hair was damp, plastered against her head, and little, uneven finger-waves were pressed into it. The short blanket that covered her shoulders
was draped and held to one side with a kind of coquetry. “I seen you was alone,” she said. She went to the mattress and sat down and arranged her gingham dress neatly over her legs. “I heard guys say the cops’ll throw bombs, an’ kill us all,” she said lightly.

Jim was puzzled. “It doesn’t seem to scare you much.”

“No. I ain’t never been ascared o’ things like that.”

“The cops wouldn’t hurt you,” Jim said. “I don’t believe they’ll do all that. It’s a bluff. Do you want anything?”

“I thought I’d come an’ set. I like to—just set here.”

Jim smiled. “You like me, don’t you Lisa?’

“Yes.”

“I like you, too, Lisa.”

“You he’ped me with the baby.”

Jim asked, “How’s old Dan? Did you take care of him?”

“He’s all right. Just lays there mumblin’.”

“Mac helped you more than I did.”

“Yes, but he don’t look at me—nice. I like t’hear you talk. You’re just a young kid, but you talk nice.”

“I talk too much, Lisa. Too much talk, not enough doing things. Look how the evening’s coming. We’ll light the lantern before long. You wouldn’t like to sit here in the dark with me.”

“I wouldn’ care,” she said quickly.

He looked into her eyes again, and his face grew pleased. “Did you ever notice, in the evening, Lisa, how you think of things that happened a long time ago—not even about things that matter? One time in town, when I was a little kid, the sun was going down, and there was a board fence. Well, a grey cat went up and sat on that
fence for a moment, long-haired cat, and that cat turned gold for a minute, a gold cat.”

“I like cats,” Lisa agreed softly. “I had two cats onct, two of them.”

“Look. The sun’s nearly gone, Lisa. Tomorrow we’ll be somewhere else. I wonder where? You’ll be on the move, I guess. Maybe I’ll be in jail. I’ve been in jail before.”

London and Mac came quietly into the tent together. London looked down at the girl. “What you doing here, Lisa? You better get out. We got business.” Lisa got up and clutched her blanket close. She looked sideways at Jim as she passed. London said, “I don’t know what’s goin’ on. There’s about ten little meetin’s out there, an’ they don’t want me at none o’ them.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mac said. “The guys’re scared. I don’t know what they’ll do, but they’ll want to scram tonight.” And then the conversation died. London and Mac sat down on boxes, facing Jim. They sat there while the sun went down and the tent grew a little dusky.

At last Jim said softly, “Even if the guys get out, it won’t all be wasted. They worked together a little.”

Mac roused himself. “Yeah, but we ought to make a last stand.”

“How you goin’ to get guys to fight when they want to run?” London demanded.

“I don’t know. We can talk. We can try to make ’em fight talkin’ to ’em.”

“Talk don’t do much good when they’re scared.”

“I know.”

The silence fell again. They could hear the low talk of many voices outside, scattered voices that gradually
drew together and made a babble like water. Mac said, “Got a match, London? Light the lantern.”

“It ain’t dark yet.”

“Dark enough. Light it up. This God damn half-light makes me nervous.”

The shade screeched as London raised it, and screeched when he let it down.

Mac looked startled. “Something happened. What’s wrong?”

“It’s the men,” said Jim. “They’re quiet now. They’ve all stopped talking.” The three men sat listening tensely. They heard footsteps coming closer. In the doorway the two short Italian men stood. Their teeth showed in self-conscious grins.

“C’n we come in?”

“Sure. Come on in, boys.”

They stood in the tent like pupils preparing to recite. Each looked to the other to begin. One said, “The men out there—they want to call a meeting.”

“Yeah? What for?”

The other answered quickly, “Those men say they vote the strike, they can vote again. They say What’s the use all the men get killed?’ They say they can’t strike no more.” They were silent, waiting for London’s answer.

London’s eyes asked advice from Mac. “Of course you’ll call a meeting,” Mac said. “The men are the bosses. What they say goes.” He looked up at the waiting emissaries. “Go out and tell the guys London calls a meeting in about half an hour, to vote whether we fight or run.”

They looked at London for corroboration. He nodded his head slowly. “That’s right,” he said. “In a half hour.
We do what the guys vote to do.” The little men made foreign bows, and wheeled and left the tent.

Mac laughed loudly. “Why that’s fine,” he said. “Why that makes it better. I thought they might sneak out. But if they want to vote, that means they’re still working together. Oh, that’s fine. They can break up, if they do it by their own consent.”

Jim asked, “But aren’t you going to try to make them fight?”

“Oh, sure. We have to make plans about that. But if they won’t fight, well anyway they don’t just sneak off like dogs. It’s more like a retreat, you see. It isn’t just getting chased.”

“What’ll we do at the meeting?” London demanded.

“Well, let’s see. It’s just about dark now. You talk first, London. Tell ’em why they should fight, not run. Now I better not talk. They don’t like me too well since I told ’em off this morning.” His eyes moved to Jim. “You’re it,” he said. “Here’s your chance. You do it. See if you can bring ’em around. Talk, Jim. Talk. It’s the thing you’ve been wanting.”

Jim’s eyes shone with excitement. “Mac,” he cried, “I can pull off this bandage and get a flow of blood. That might stir ’em up.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed and he considered the thought. “No—” he decided. “Stir ’em up that way, an’ they got to hit something quick. If you make ’em sit around, they’ll go way down. No, just talk, Jim. Tell ’em straight what a strike means, how it’s a little battle in a whole war. You can do it, Jim.”

Jim sprang up. “You’re damn right I can do it. I’m
near choking, but I can do it.” His face was transfigured. A furious light of energy seemed to shine from it.

They heard running footsteps. A young boy ran into the tent. “Out in the orchard,” he cried. “There’s a guy says he’s a doctor. He’s all hurt.”