Chapter 31 Part Three-3

Out in the street again he saw that the clouds had turned a deep, angry purple. In the stagnant air there was a storm smell. The vivid green of the trees along the sidewalk seemed to steal into the atmosphere so that there was a strange greenish glow over the street. All was so hushed and still that Jake paused for a moment to sniff the air and look around him. Then he grabbed his suitcase under his arm and began to run toward the awnings of the main street. But he was not quick enough. There was one metallic crash of thunder and the air chilled suddenly. Large silver drops of rain hissed on the pavement.

An avalanche of water blinded him. When he reached the New York Cafe his clothes clung wet and shriveled to his body and his shoes squeaked with water. Brannon pushed aside his newspaper and leaned his elbows on the counter. Now, this is really curious. I had this intuition you would come here just after the rain broke. I knew in my bones you were coming and that you would make it just too late. He mashed his nose with this thumb until it was white and flat. And a suitcase?' It looks like a suitcase, Jake said. And it feels like a suitcase. So if you believe in the actuality of suitcases I reckon this is one, all right.'

You ought not to stand around like this. Go on upstairs and throw me down your clothes. Louis will run over them with a hot iron.' Jake sat at one of the back booth tables and rested his head in his hands. No, thanks. I just want to rest here and get my wind again.' But your lips are turning blue. You look all knocked up.' Im all right. What I want is some supper.' Supper won't be ready for half an hour, Brannon said patiently. Any old leftovers will do. Just put them on a plate. You dont even have to bother to heat them.' The emptiness in him hurt. He wanted to look neither backward nor forward. He walked two of his short, chunky fingers across the top of the table. It was more than a year now since he had sat at this table for the first time. And how much further was he now than then? No further. Nothing had happened except that he had made a friend and lost him. He had given Singer everything and then the man had killed himself. So he was left out on a limb. now it was up to him to get out of it by himself and make a new start again. At the thought of it panic came in him. He was tired. He leaned his head against the wall and put his feet on the seat beside him .

Here you are, Brannon said. This ought to help out.' He put down a glass of some hot drink and a plate of chicken pie. The drink had a sweet, heavy smell. Jake inhaled the steam and closed his eyes. Whats in it?' Lemon rind rubbed on a lump of sugar and boiling water with rum. Its a good drink.' How much do I owe you?' I dont know offhand, but Ill figure it out before you leave.' Jake took a deep draft of the toddy and washed it around in his mouth before swallowing. You'll never get the money, he said. I dont have it to pay you—and if I did I probably wouldn't anyway.'

Well, have I been pressing you? Have I ever made you out a bill and asked you to pay up?' No, Jake said. You have been very reasonable. And since I think about it youre a right decent guy—from the personal perspective, that is.' Brannon sat across from him at the table. Something was on his mind. He slid the salt-shaker back and forth and kept smoothing his hair. He smelled like perfume and his striped blue shirt was very fresh and clean. held in place by old-fashioned blue sleeve garters. At last he cleared his throat in a hesitating way and said: I was glancing through the afternoon paper just before you came. It seems you had a lot of trouble at your place today. That's right. What did it say?'

"Wait. Ill get it. Brannon fetched the paper from the counter and leaned against the partition of the booth. It says on the front page that at the Sunny Dixie Show, located so and so, there was a general disturbance. Two Negroes were Fatally injured with wounds inflicted by knives. Three others suffered minor wounds and were taken for treatment to the city hospital. The dead were Jimmy Macy and Lancy Davis. The wounded were John Hamlin, white, of Central Mill City, Various Wilson, Negro, and so forth and so on. Quote: "A number of arrests were made. It is alleged that the disturbance was caused by labor agitation, as papers of a subversive nature were found on and about the site of disturbance. Other arrests are expected shortly ." Brannon clicked his teeth together. The set-up of this paper gets worse every day. Subversive spelled with au in the second syllable and arrests with only one r.'

"Theyre smart, all right, Jake said sneeringly. * "Caused by labor agitation." That's remarkable." Anyway, the whole thing is very unfortunate.' Jake held his hand to his mouth and looked down at his empty plate. What do you mean to do now?* Tm leaving. Im getting out of here this afternoon.' Brannon polished his nails on the palm of his hand. "Well, of course its not necessary—but it might be a good thing. Why so headlong? No sense in starting out this time of day." I just father.' I do not think it behooves you to make a new start. At v the same time why dont you take my advice on this? Myself—Im a conservative and of course I think your opinions are radical.

But at the same time I like to know all sides of a matter. Anyway, I want to see you straighten out. So why dont you go some place where you can meet a few people more or less like yourself? And then settle down?' Jake pushed his plate irritably away from him. I dont know where Im going. Leave mealone. Im tired.' Brannon shrugged his shoulders and went back to the counter. He was tired enough. The hot rum and the heavy sound of the rain made him drowsy. It felt good to be sitting safe in a booth and to have just eaten a good meal. If he wanted to he could lean over and take a nap —a short one. Already his head felt swollen and heavy and he was more comfortable with his eyes closed. But it would have to be a short sleep because soon he must get out of here.

How long will this rain keep on?' Brannons voice had drowsy overtones. You cant tell— a tropical cloudburst. Might clear up suddenly—or— might thin a little and set in for the night.' Jake laid his head down on his arms. The sound of the rain was nice the swelling sound of the sea. He heard a clock tick and the far-off rattle of dishes. Gradually his hands relaxed. They lay open, palm upward, on the table. Then Brannon was shaking him by the shoulders and looking into his face. A terrible dream was in his mind. Wake up, Brannon was saying. here and your mouth was open and you were groaning and shuffling your feet on the floor. I never saw anything to equal it.'

The dream was still heavy in his mind. He felt the old terror that always came as he awakened. He pushed Brannon away and stood up. You dont have to tell me I had a nightmare. I remember just how it was. And Fve had the same dream for about fifteen times before.' He did remember now. Every other time he had been unable to get the dream straight in his waking mind. He had been walking among a great crowd of people—like at the show. But there was also something Eastern about the people around him. There was a terrible bright sun and the people were half-naked. They were silent and slow and their faces had a look in them of starvation. There was no sound, only the sun, and the silent crowd of people. and he carried a huge covered basket. He was taking the basket somewhere but he could not find the place to leave it And in the dream there was a peculiar horror in wandering on and on through the crowd and not knowing where to lay down the burden he had carried in his arms so long.

What was it? Brannon asked. Was the devil chasing you? Jake stood up and went to the mirror behind the counter. His face was dirty and sweaty. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. off his face. Then he took out a pocket comb and neatly combed his mustache. The dream was nothing. You got to be asleep to understand why it was such a nightmare.' The clock pointed to five-thirty. The rain had almost stopped. Jake picked up his suitcase and went to the front door. So long. Ill send you a postcard maybe.' Wait, Brannon said. You cant go now. Its still raining a little.' Just dripping off the awning. I rather get out of town before dark.' But hold on. Do you have any money? Enough to keep going for a week?' I dont need money. I been broke before. Brannon had an envelope ready and in it were two twenty-dollar bills. Jake looked at them on both sides and put them in his pocket. God knows why you do it. Youll never smell them again. let me hear from you. Adios. Good-bye.' The door closed behind him. When he looked back at the end of the block, Brannon was watching from the sidewalk. He walked until he reached the railroad tracks. On either side there were rows of dilapidated two-room houses. Yards were rotted privies and lines of torn, smoky rags hung out to dry. For two miles there was not one sight of comfort or space or cleanliness. Even the earth itself seemed filthy and abandoned. Now and then there were signs that a vegetable row had been attempted, but only a few withered collards had survived. And a few fruitless, smutty fig trees. Little younguns swarmed in this filth, the smaller of them stark naked. The sight of this poverty was so cruel and hopeless that Jake snarled and cleaned his fists. He reached the edge of town and turned off on a highway. Cars passed him by. His shoulders were too wide and his arms too long. He was so strong and ugly that no one wanted to take him in. But maybe a truck would stop before long. The late afternoon sun was out again. steam rise from the wet pavement. Jake walked steadily. As soon as the town was behind a new surge of energy came to him. But was this flight or was it onslaught? Anyway, he was going. All this to begin another time. The road ahead lay to the north and slightly to the west But he would not go too far away. He would not leave the South. That was one clear thing. There was hope in him, and soon perhaps the outline of his journey would take form. EveningW HAT good was it? That was the question she would like to know. What the hell good was it. All the plans she had made, and the music. When all that came of it was this trap—the store, then home to sleep, and back at the store again. The clock in front of the place where Mister Singer used to work pointed to seven. And she was just getting off. Whenever there was overtime the manager always told her to stay. Because she could stand longer on her feet and work harder before giving out than any other girlThe heavy rain had left the sky a pale, quiet blue. Dark was coming. Already the lights were turned on. Automobile horns honked in the street and the newsboys hollered out the headlines in the papers. She didnt want to go home. If she went home now she would lie down on the bed and bay. That was how tired she was. But if she went into the New York Café and ate some ice cream she might feel OK And smoke and be by herself a little while. The front part of the café was crowded, so she went to the very last booth. It was the small of her back and her face that got so tired. Their motto was supposed to be Keep on your toes and smile. Once she was out of the store she had to frown a long time to get her face natural again. Even her ears were tired. She took off the dangling green earrings and pinched the lobes of her ears. She had bought the earrings the week before—and also a silver bangle bracelet. At first she had worked in Pots and Pans, but now they had changed her to Costume Jewelry. Good evening, Mick, Mister Brannon said. He wiped the bottom of a glass of water with a napkin and set it on the table. I want me a chocolate sundae and a nickel glass of draw beer.' Together? He put down a menu and pointed with Ms little finger that wore a ladys gold ring. See—here's some nice roast chicken or some veal stew. Why dont you have a little supper with me?' No, thanks. All I want is the sundae and the beer. Both plenty cold.' Mick raked her hair from her forehead. Her mouth was open so that her cheeks seemed hollow. There were these two things she could never believe. That Mister Singer had killed himself and was dead. And that she was grown and had to work at Woolworths . She was the one who found him. They had thought the noise was a backfire from a car, and it was not until the next day that they knew. She went in to play the radio. The blood was all over his neck and when her Dad came he pushed her out of the room. She had run into the dark and hit herself with her fists. And then the next night he was in a coffin in the living-room. The undertaker had put rouge and lipstick on his face to make him look natural. But he didnt look natural. He was very dead. And mixed with the smell of flowers there was this other smell so that she couldn't stay in the room. But through ail those days she held down the job. She wrapped packages and handed them across the counter and rung the money in the till. She walked when she was supposed to walk and ate when she sat down to the table. Only at first when she went to bed at night she couldn't sleep. But now she slept like she was supposed to, also.