Original Sins (51 page)

As they stumbled through the woods back to the car, they clung to each other to keep from falling.

“Shoot, Tatro, if anybody was to see us, they'd think we was a couple of faggots!”

They laughed uproariously. Jed threw his shoulder against Hank and knocked him off-balance, then threw a block that brought him down. They lay giggling in the leaves. The arms around you in the huddle, the slaps on the rear, the horseplay in the showers, the frenzied embraces after touchdowns, the blocks and tackles. He missed them.

He jumped up and stood peeing into the creek. Hank joined him. “Boy, that Miller really puts lead in your pencil, don't it?” Jed demanded.

Hank laughed. “I reckon it's about time for a fishing trip, don't you?”

“Sure feels like it.”

As they rode back to town, Jed started whistling.

“See what I mean? You feeling better now, ain't you?”

Jed pulled the Chevy into the garage, got out and surveyed his little house. It contained the people dearest to him in all the world—Sally and their kids.

He strode into the house. And was greeted by Sally, red-eyed, rocking the baby and glaring at him. He bent to kiss her, and she turned her head away.

“Aw, now, baby, don't do me like that.”

“Hush. You'll wake the baby.”

“‘Hush, you'll wake the baby,'” he mimicked, jealous of this tiny creature who was in both her good graces and her warm arms. “Well, put it back in bed.”

“I will when I feel like it.”

“I said put it back to bed! A man works hard all day, he deserves some attention from his wife when he gets home.”

“Yeah, you really smell like you been working hard.”

He grabbed at the baby. Sally hugged it tightly and swept
it
out of his grasp. The baby began whimpering. “Now you've gone and woke her up. You're no bettern a great big baby yourself. Why don't you grow up?”

She disappeared into the children's room.

He sank into a chair. She emerged, babyless, and sat down across from him. “Well! Did you have a good time?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you weren't at work. I phoned the mill.”

He glared at her. “Yes, I did have a good time.”

“Cheating on me's bad enough. Lying about it makes it that much worse.”

“I ain't lying.” He knelt on the floor and laid his head in her lap. “I swear to you I ain't running around on you.”

She began stroking his hair. “I wish I could believe that.” “You can, darlin. I swear you can.” His hands moved inside her housecoat and found her breasts. She moaned as he squeezed her nipples. Jealousy always excited her.

Jed and Mr. Meaker stood before Mr. Mackay's desk. Mr. Mackay sat in a business suit, with Mr. Prince on his right.

“Mr. Meaker, I'd like you to think of good reasons why the following people in your department should be let go: numbers 18045, 63794, and 43572.”

Jed and Mr. Meaker looked at each other and at Mr. Prince blankly.

“Mrs. Pritchard, Mrs. Osborne, and Mr. Grimes,” Mr. Prince interpreted.

There was a long silence.

“They're all three doing their work, sir,” Mr. Meaker mumbled.

“I'm afraid they're all three doing other work, too, Mr. Meaker. Union work, on company time.”

Jed opened his mouth to say he knew Betty Osborne would never do nothing like that, but no words came out. Mr. Mackay terrified him. He was like God—a sweep of his hand and Jed's house, his cars, and TV console would vanish into thin air.

“They got families, sir,” Jed mumbled.

“Yes, I know, Mr. Tatro. So do you. You notice I'm not asking you to get rid of your brother, although I should.”

“Mr. Mackay,” Mr. Prince interrupted, “we don't do business like this down here.”

“Robert, if you people knew how to do business, you wouldn't have had to sell to Arnold, would you?” He raised his eyebrows.

Mr. Prince flushed. “Mrs. Pritchard has been with us for twenty-seven years. Her father was one of our original employees.”

“Robert, I've already told you that this family retainer number doesn't impress me. We're in business to spin thread, not to run a social welfare service. There are government agencies for that. Now, I want those people let go as pleasantly and quietly as possible.”

Mr. Meaker gave Mr. Prince a questioning look. Mr. Prince hung his head.

“But, sir, they haven't done anything wrong to fire them for,” Mr. Meaker said.

Mr. Mackay stared at him wordlessly, until Mr. Meaker lowered his eyes to the floor.

In bed that night Jed felt a need to force himself on Sally. He turned her over roughly, rolled on top of her, pinned open her legs with his knees, and drove himself into her time after time. To his horror, she began moaning and raising her hips to meet his. Betty Boobs used to do this. He froze in mid-thrust, and his erection wilted.

“What's wrong, honey?” she gasped.

“Nothing,” he growled, rolling off and turning his back.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Where did you learn that?”

“What?”

“The way you was moving.”

“I don't know. I made it up.”

“Well, don't do it no more.”

She said nothing.

“It ain't ladylike.”

“I … OK, Jed honey.”

That weekend Jed and Hank went to Hank's cabin on Buck Mountain. They cast for trout all day in rushing streams and at night sat before a campfire with a cooler of Miller's.

“You hear about Betty gettin laid off?”

“Yeah.” Jed felt full of remorse that he hadn't been able to intercede.

“That Mackay's a real fucker.”

“He thought she was working for the union. Was she?”

Hank said nothing.

“If she was, I ain't got no sympathy. If she wasn't, I got all the sympathy in the world.”

“Sympathy don't pay the mortgage, Tatro. But she ain't taking it lying down.”

“She getting her another job?”

“Huh-un. She's filing her an appeal.”

“What's that?”

“With the government. To get her job back.”

Jed digested this. “But it's Mackay's mill. If he don't want her there, she ain't
got
no job. It ain't ‘her' job. It's his job, to give to whoever he wants.”

“That ain't how Betty sees it. Or me. Or the government.”

Jed stared at him. “Hank, that's Communist, thinking like that, buddy.”

“Call it what you want to. We got us bank loans and a mortgage.”

Jed sighed. If he lost his job, they'd be in a real fix. At least Hank was still bringing home a paycheck. But Hank didn't have no babies, Jed's whole entire family depended on him alone. If he got sick or fired or something, they'd go hungry, get kicked out of their house, have their Dodge and TV repossessed. He felt terror. “Shit, life ain't no joke no more, is it?”

“Used to seem like it sometimes in high school.”

“You got to be tough.”

“Yeah, that's the truth. You weak, you don't make it.”

“Thank the Lord I was born tough.”

Hank laughed. “Shit, Tatro, you a creampuff if they ever was one.”

Jed, unamused, unbuttoned his wool shirt, removed it; then took off his thermal undershirt, exposing his hairy chest to the cold night air. The fire popped and crackled. “I'll show you who's tough,” he murmured.

Hank looked at him, then removed his own shirt and undershirt, then his jeans. He hunched on a log by the fire in his long underwear, staring defiantly at Jed.

Jed stood up and removed his trousers and long underwear and sat back down in his jockstrap. A slow shivering began to take over his body.

Hank took the lid off the cooler, removed two ice cubes and put one in each armpit

Jed did the same, and put one inside his jockstrap as well.

Hank put an ice cube in his jockstrap, then planted his feet in the ice water in the cooler. He gazed at Jed with triumph, his arms tight to his sides, hugging the ice cubes.

Sally reported that Mrs. Pritchard arrived on their doorstep one morning and spent an hour drinking coffee and explaining the benefit program a union could bring in. “Now I want you to work on that man of yours, Mrs. Tatro. I know he's a strong company man, but people do change. And a wife's in a position to point out some of these advantages to her husband.”

“Jed honey, don't you think it makes sense?”

“You stay out of this. You don't know nothing about it. Neither does Mrs. Pritchard. You do what you're good at and leave this kind of thing to me.”

“What is it I'm good at?” she asked with a coy smile.

“Cooking and cleaning and taking care of the kids.”

“And?”

“Yeah, that too, darlin.”

One day at lunch Jed read a poster on the employee bulletin board announcing that a majority had signed union cards and that an election would be held over whether or not the ATW would represent employees in negotiating a contract with management. Jed's mouth fell open. A majority of the people he worked with had been taken in by Mrs. Pritchard's Communist bullshit? When he walked into the lunchroom, he saw a banner draped from opposite walls. Everyone was craning their necks to read it. One side was a photo of an Arnold mill in Massachusetts that had shut down because of union demands. Across it was a huge black X. On the other side was a photo of Benson Mill with the caption “It Could Happen Here.” Jed nodded. Mr. Prince wouldn't take this sitting down. Even if the election took place, the union wouldn't stand a chance. All those people must have been threatened into signing cards.

As he opened his lunch box, a note fluttered out: “Just remember I'll love you always.” He wadded it up impatiently. She was so goddam stuck on herself, always demanding his attention. As though he didn't have more important things to think about. Such as which people in this room had signed those blue cards. If only he knew, he personally would punch them out. Or at least try to talk some sense into their ignorant hillbilly heads, like they'd taught him at foreman school.

In the Chevy on the way home he listened to a radio editorial from the station manager, who pointed out that a vote for the union would be a vote against the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Jed couldn't of agreed more. He only hoped the people who'd signed those cards was listening.

As he sat in his Naugahyde La-Z-Boy Lounger waiting for supper, he read the Newland
News.
“Honey,” he yelled into the kitchen, “did you know that that union that's trying to get in over at the mill has made contributions to subversive groups like the NAACP and the Jewish Labor Defense Fund?”

“What's subversive, darlin?”

He hesitated. “It ain't good.”

She came in and put on a record. Stopping behind him, she kneaded his shoulders as Honey Sweet wailed,
“My man holds me in the palm of his hand
…”

“The only thing I can't understand,” he said, “is who around here would fall for their Commie line.”

She continued kneading.

“Am I right?”

“Well, apparently there's some it makes sense to. Not everbody thinks the same.”

“…
he's a king
…”

“Yeah, but they just ain't thinking it through, is how I see it.”

She didn't reply.

“Am I right?”

“Well, they could maybe think it through and still come up with a different conclusion.”

His shoulders began to twitch under her hands.

“…
his arms keep me from harm …”

“Not if they had all the facts, they couldn't. Am I right?”

“Yeah, honey, I guess you're right.”

He relaxed into his chair. “Damn right I am.”

“Supper's almost ready.”

“Good. I'm starved.”

“Smothered pork chops. Is that all right?”

“Yeah. Great.”

“You don't sound very excited.”

“Sure I am. I love pork chops, honey.”

“Do you love them smothered?”

“Especially smothered.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.” Why did she need reassurance all the time? It was irritating having to convince her at every meal that Betty Crocker herself couldn't of did better. Why couldn't she just put it on the table and shut up?

The next morning handbills swirled through the parking lot. They featured the Vulture of Communism being overcome by the American Eagle. Jed folded one up to take home to Sally. He signed a petition in the locker room that supported management. It appeared the next day as a full-page newspaper ad, signed by 93 percent of “our happy Benson workers.”

“If 93 percent is happy,” Jed explained to Sally, “and 51 percent signed union cards, then they's 44 percent is lying. Or else the union's done forged signatures. See what I mean? You can't trust nobody no more.”

No reply. “Am I right, Sally?”

“Right, Jed.”

The day before the election Mr. Mackay appeared in the lunchroom with Mr. Prince and a couple of men in suits whom no one had ever seen before. The room fell silent. Mr. Mackay spoke: “As you know, tomorrow you vote on the future of your mill. Up to this point, the ATW has done us a big service by prodding us into weeding out the people among us who didn't want to work for their living. Instead, these people sneaked around on company time spreading false rumors about those of us in the front office. They attacked us personally, and they attacked how we run your mill. They intimidated a lot of you into signing their little blue cards, with their crazed Communist rhetoric. But with that scum out in the gutter now where they belong …”

Up to this point Jed had been listening in a state of polite boredom. Mackay wasn't blessed with the gift of firing people up with his words. He hadn't even quoted from the Bible yet. But as words like “scum” and “gutter” appeared, as Mackay's face began to turn red, as he began stabbing the air with his index finger, everyone sat up straighter and listened.