In Dubious Battle (13 page)

“It’s the wind, maybe,” said Jim. “I guess it’s the wind. Makes people nervous when the wind blows.”

The checker glanced quickly at him, for his tone had been satiric. “You too?”

“Me too.”

“What’s in the air, Nolan? Something up?”

“What you mean, ‘something’?”

“You know God-damn well what I mean.”

Jim knocked his bucket lightly against his leg. He stepped aside as a truck went by, and a dust wall covered him for a moment. “Maybe the little black book keeps you ignorant,” he said. “You might turn in the little book, and then see if you can find out.”

“So that’s it. Organizing for trouble, are you? Well, the air’s full of it.”

“Air’s full of dust,” said Jim.

“I’ve seen that kind of dust before, Nolan.”

“Well, then you know all about it.” He started to move away.

“Wait a minute, Nolan.” Jim stopped and turned.

“You’re a good man, Nolan, a good worker. What’s going on?”

“I can’t hear you,” said Jim. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ll put the black mark on you.”

Jim took two fierce steps toward him. “Put down your black mark and be damned,” he cried. “I never said a thing. You’ve built all this up because a kid got smart with you.”

The checker glanced away uneasily. “I was just kidding,” he said. “Listen, Nolan, they need a checker up on the north end. I thought you might do for the job. You could go to work tomorrow. It would be better pay.”

Jim’s eyes darkened in anger for a second, and then he smiled and stepped close to the checker again. “What do you want?” he asked softly.

“I’ll tell you straight, Nolan. There’s something going on. The ‘super’ told me to try and find out. You get the dope for me and I’ll put in a word for you on that checker’s job, fifty cents an hour.”

Jim seemed to study. “I don’t know anything,” he said slowly. “I might try to find out if there was anything in it for me.”

“Well, would five bucks say anything?”

“Sure would.”

“O.K. You circulate around. I’ll check you in on buckets so you won’t lose anything today. See what you can dig up for me.”

Jim said, “How do I know you won’t double-cross me? Maybe I find something out and tell you. If the men ever found I told you, they’d skin me.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Nolan. If the ‘super’ can
get a good man like you, he won’t throw him over. There might be a steady job here for you when the picking’s over, running a pump or something.”

Jim thought for a moment. “I don’t promise anything,” he said. “I’ll keep my ears open, and if I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Good boy. There’s five in it, and a job.”

“I’ll try that tough kid,” Jim said. “He seemed to know something.” He walked down the row toward the fourth tree. Just as he reached it the boy came down the ladder with a full bucket.

“Hi,” he said. “I’ll dump these and be back.”

Jim went up the ladder and sat down on a limb. The muttering of a sorting belt at the packing-plant blew clearly on the wind, and the smell of fresh cider came from the presses. From a long way off Jim could hear the hiss and bark of a switch-engine making up a train.

The sullen boy came running up the ladder like a monkey. He said angrily, “When we get down to business I’m gonna get me a nice big rock, and I’m gonna sock that bastard.”

Jim used Mac’s method. “A nice guy like that? What you want to hurt him for? What do you mean ‘when we get down to business’?”

The boy squatted down beside him. “Ain’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“You ain’t a rat?”

“No, I won’t rat.”

The boy cried, “We’re goin’ to strike, that’s what!”

“Strike? With nice jobs? What you want to strike for?”

“’Cause we’re gettin’ screwed, that’s why. The bunk houses is full of pants rabbits, and the company’s store is
takin’ five per cent house-cut, and they drop the pay after we get here, that’s why! And if we let ’em get by with it, we’ll be worse in the cotton. We’ll get screwed there, too; and you know it damn well.”

“Sounds reasonable,” said Jim. “Who’s strikin’ besides you?”

The boy squinted at him with his hot eyes. “Gettin’ smart, ain’t you?”

“No. I’m trying to find out something, and you aren’t telling me.”

“I can’t tell you nothing. We can’t let nothing out yet. You’ll find out when it’s time. We got the men all organized. We got ever’thing about ready, and we’re gonna raise hell. There’s gonna be a meetin’ tonight for a few of us, then we’ll let the rest of you guys in on it.”

“Who’s in back of it?” Jim asked.

“I ain’t tellin’. Might spoil ever’thing if I was to tell.”

“O.K.,” said Jim, “if that’s the way you feel about it.”

“I’d tell you if I could, but I promised not to. You’ll know in time. You’ll go out with us, won’t you?”

“I don’t know,” said Jim. “I won’t if I don’t know any more about it than I do now.”

“Well, by Christ, we’ll kill anybody that scabs on us; I’m tellin’ you that now.”

“Well, I don’t ever like to get killed.” Jim hung his bucket on a limb and slowly set about filling it. “What’s chances of goin’ to that meeting?”

“Not a chance. That’s going to be only the big guys.”

“You a big guy?”

“I’m on the in,” said the boy.

“Well, who are these big guys?”

The sullen eyes peered suspiciously at Jim. “You ask
too damn many questions. I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’. You act to me like a pigeon.”

Jim’s bucket was full. He lifted it down. “Are the guys talking it up in the trees?”

“Are they?
Where you been all morning?”

“Working,” said Jim. “Making my daily bread. It’s a nice job.”

The boy blazed at him. “Don’t you get pushin’ me around unless you’d like to step down on the ground with me.”

Jim winked at him the way he’d seen Mac do. “Turn off the heat, kid. I’ll be along when the stuff starts.”

The boy grinned foolishly. “You catch a guy off balance,” he said.

Jim carried his bucket down the row and emptied it gently into a box. “Got the time?”

The checker looked at his watch. “Eleven-thirty. Find out anything?”

“Hell, no. That kid’s just shooting off his face. He thinks he’s a newspaper. I’ll mix around some after dinner and see.”

“Well, get the dope as quick as you can. Can you drive a truck?”

“Why not?”

“We might be able to put you on a truck.”

“That’d be swell.” Jim walked away, down the row. The men in the trees and on the ladders were talking. He went up a heavy-laden tree where two men were.

“Hello, kid. Come on up and join the party.”

“Thanks.” Jim settled to picking. “Lots of talk this morning,” he observed.

“Sure is. We was just doin’ some. Everybody’s talkin’ strike.”

Jim said, “When enough guys talk strike, a strike usually comes off.”

The second man, high up in the tree, broke in. “I was just tellin’ Jerry, I don’t like it. Christ knows we ain’t makin’ much, but if we strike, we don’t make nothin’.”

“Not right now we don’t,” said Jerry. “But later we make more. This damn apple pickin’ don’t last long, but cotton pickin’ lasts longer. The way I figure it out, the cotton people is watchin’ this thing. If we take dirt like a bunch of lousy sheep then the cotton people will nick us deeper. That’s the way I figure it out, anyway.”

Jim smiled. “Sounds reasonable.”

The other man said, “Well, I don’t like it. I don’t like no trouble if I can get out of it. Lot of men’ll get hurt. I can’t see no good in it at all. I never yet seen a strike raise wages for long.”

Jerry said, “If the guys go out, you goin’ to be a scab?”

“No, Jerry, I wouldn’t do that. If the men go out, I’ll go too. I won’t scab, but I don’t like it.”

Jim asked, “They got any organization going yet?”

“Not that I heard,” said Jerry. “Nobody’s called a meeting up yet. We’ll just sit tight; but the way I got it figured, if the guys go out, I’m goin’ out too.”

A wheezy whistle tooted at the packing plant. “Noon,” said Jerry. “I got some sanriches under that pile of boxes there. Want some?”

“No, thanks,” said Jim. “I got to meet the guy I travel with.”

He left his bucket at the checker’s post and walked toward the packing plant. Through the trees he could see
a tall, white-washed building with a loading platform along one side. The sorting belt was still now. As Jim drew near he saw men and women sitting on the platform, hanging their legs over while they ate their lunches. A group of about thirty men had collected at one end of the building. Someone in the center of the crowd was talking excitedly. Jim could hear the rise and fall of his voice, but not his words.

The wind had fallen now, so that the warmth of the sunshine got through. As Jim approached, Mac detached himself from the group and came toward him carrying two paper-wrapped parcels. “Hi, Jim,” he said. “Here’s lunch, french bread and some sliced ham.”

“Swell. I’m hungry.”

Mac observed, “More of our men go out with stomach ulcers than with firing squads. How’re things out your way?”

“Buzzing,” said Jim. “Buzzing to beat hell. I met a kid who knows all about it. There’s going to be a meeting of the big guys tonight.”

Mac laughed. “That’s good. I wondered whether the men with secret knowledge had got working yet. They can do us a lot of good. Men out your way getting mad?”

“They’re talking a lot, anyway. Oh, say, Mac, the checker’s going to give me five bucks and a permanent job if I find out what’s going on. I told him I’d keep my ears open.”

“Nice work,” said Mac. “Maybe you can make a little money on the side.”

“Well, what do you want me to tell him?”

“Well, let’s see—tell him it’s just a splash, and it’ll blow over. Tell him it’s nothing to get excited about.”

He swung his head. A man had approached quietly, a heavy man dressed in dirty overalls, with a face nearly black with dirt. He came close and glanced about to see that they were alone.

“The committee sent me down,” he said softly. “How’re things going?”

Mac looked up at him in surprise. “What things you talkin’ about, mister?”

“You know what I mean. The committee wants a report.”

Mac looked helplessly at Jim. “The man’s crazy,” he said. “What committee’s this?”

“You know what I mean—” the voice sank, “comrade.”

Mac stepped stiffly forward, his face black with anger. “Where you get this ‘comrade’ stuff,” he growled. “If you’re one of them lousy radicals, I got no use for you. Now you get on your way before I call some of the boys.”

The intruder’s manner changed. “Watch your step, baby,” he said. “We’ve got the glass on you.” He moved slowly away.

Mac sighed. “Well, these apple boys think quick even if they don’t think awful good,” he said.

“That guy a dick?” Jim asked.

“Hell, yes. A man couldn’t get his face that dirty without giving nature a lift. They lined us up quick, though, didn’t they? Sit down and have something to eat.”

They sat in the dirt and made thick ham sandwiches. “There goes your chance for a bribe,” Mac said. He turned a serious face to Jim and quoted, “‘Watch your step, baby,’ and that’s straight. We can’t afford to drop out now. And just remember that a lot of these guys will
sell out for five bucks. Make other people talk, but keep pretty quiet yourself.”

“How’d they make us, d’you s’pose?” Jim asked.

“I don’t know. Some bull from town put the finger on us, I guess. Maybe I better get some help down here in case you or I go out. This thing’s coming off, and it needs direction. It’s a pretty good layout, too.”

“Will they jail us?” Jim asked.

Mac chewed a thick crust before he answered. “First they’ll try to scare us,” he said. “Now listen, if any time when I’m not around somebody tells you you’re going to be lynched, you just agree to anything. Don’t let ’em scare you, but don’t go to using Joy’s tricks. Jesus, they got moving quick! Oh, well, we’ll get moving tomorrow, ourselves. I sent off last night for some posters. They should be here by tomorrow morning if Dick got off his dime. There ought to be some kind of word by mail tonight.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jim asked. “All I do is just listen. I want to do something.”

Mac looked around at him and grinned. “I’ll use you more and more,” he said. “I’ll use you right down to the bone. This is going to be a nice mess, from the looks of it. That crack of yours about the cotton was swell. I’ve heard half a dozen guys use it for their own idea this morning.”

“Where we going tonight, Mac?”

“Well, you remember Al, the fellow in the lunch wagon? He said his old man had a little orchard. I thought we might go out and see Al’s father.”

“Is that what you meant about getting a place for the guys when they go out?”

“I’m going to try to work it, anyway,” Mac said. “This thing’s going to break any time now. It’s like blowing up
a balloon. You can’t tell when it’s going to bust. No two of ’em bust just the same.”

“You figure the big meeting for tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, that’s what I figure; but you can’t ever tell. These guys are plenty steamed up. Something might set ’em off before. You can’t tell. I want to be ready. If I can get that place for the guys, I’ll send for Doc Burton. He’s a queer kind of a duck, not a Party man, but he works all the time for the guys. He’ll lay out the place and tend to the sanitation, so the Red Cross can’t run us off.”

Jim lay back in the dirt and put his arms under his head. “What’s the big argument over by the packinghouse?”

“I don’t know. The men just feel like arguing, that’s all. By now maybe it’s Darwin versus Old Testament. They’d just as soon fight over that. When they get to feeling like this, they’ll fight about anything. Be pretty careful for yourself, Jim. Some guy might slug you just because he’s feeling nervous.”

“I wish it would start,” Jim said. “I’m anxious for it to get going. I think I can help more when it once gets going.”

“Keep your pants on,” said Mac.

They rested in the dirt until the wheezy whistle blew a short toot for one o’clock. As they parted, Mac said, “Come running when we quit. We’ve got to cover some ground tonight. Maybe Al’ll give us a hand-out again.”