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off for a while and study。 It was like being born a second time。
Just us who know can understand what it means。 We have
opened our eyes and have seen。 We're like people from way
off yonder somewhere。'
Singer agreed with him。 The room was comfortable in a
homey way。 Singer brought out from the closet the tin box in
which he kept crackers and fruit and cheese。 He se
lected an orange and peeled it slowly。 He pulled off shreds
' of pith until the fruit was transparent in the sun。 He sec…i
tioned the orange and divided the plugs between them。 *
Jake ate two sections at a time and with a loud whoosh spat
the seeds into the fire。 Singer ate his share slowly and
deposited his seeds neatly in the palm of one hand。 They
opened two more ales。
'And how many of us are there in this country？ Maybe ten
thousand。 Maybe twenty thousand。 Maybe a lot more。 I been
to a lot of places but I never met but a few of us。 But say a
man does know。 He sees the world as it is and he looks back
thousands of years to see how it all come about。
129
He watched the slow agglutination of capital and power and
he sees its pinnacle today。 He sees America as a crazy house。
He sees how men have to rob their brothers in order to live。
He sees children starving and women working sixty hours a
week to get to eat。 He sees a whole damn army of unemployed
and billions of dollars and thousands of miles of land wasted。
He sees war coming。 He sees how when people suffer just so
much they get mean and ugly and something dies in them。 But
the main thing he sees is that the whole system of the world is
built on a lie。 And although it's as plain as the shining sun—
the don't…knows have lived with that lie so long they just can't
see it。'
The red corded vein in Jake's forehead swelled angrily。 He
grasped the scuttle on the hearth and rattled an avalanche of
coal on the fire。 His foot had gone to sleep； and he stamped it
so hard that the floor shook。
'I been all over this place。 I walk around。 I talk。 I try to explain
to them。 But what good does it do？ Lord God！'
He gazed into the fire； and a flush from the ale and heat
deepened the color of his face。 The sleepy tingling in his foot
spread up his leg。 He drowsed and saw the colors of the fire；
the tints of green and blue and burning yellow。 'You're the
only one；' he said dreamily。 〃The only one。'
He was a stranger no longer。 By now he knew every street；
every alley； every fence in all the sprawling slums of the town。
He still worked at the Sunny Dixie。 During the fall the show
moved from one vacant lot to another； staying always within
the fringes of the city limit； until at last it had encircled the
town。 The locations were changed but the settings were alike
—a strip of wasteland bordered by rows of rotted shacks； and
somewhere near a mill； a cotton gin； or a bottling plant。 The
crowd was the same； for the most part factory workers and
Negroes。 The show was gaudy with colored lights in the
evening。 The wooden horses of the flying…jinny revolved in
the circle to the mechanical music。 The swings whirled； the
rail around the penny throwing game was always crowded。
From the two booths were sold drinks and bloody brown
hamburgers
and cotton candy。
He had been hired as a machinist； but gradually the range of
his duties widened。 His coarse； bawling voice called out
through the noise； and continually he was loung…130
ing from one place on the show grounds to another。 Sweat
stood out on his forehead and often his mustache was soaked
with beer。 On Saturday his job was to keep the people in
order。 His squat； hard body pushed through the crowd with
savage energy。 Only his eyes did not share the violence of the
rest of him； Wide gazing beneath his massive scowling
forehead； they had a withdrawn and distracted appearance。
He reached home between twelve and one in the morning。 The
house where he lived was squared into four rooms and the rent
was a dollar fifty per person。 There was a privy in the back
and a hydrant on the stoop。 In his room the walls and floor had
a wet； sour smell。 Sooty； cheap lace curtains hung at the
window。 He kept his good suit in his bag and hung his overalls
on a nail。 The room had no heat and ho electricity。 However； a
street light shone outside the window and made a pale
greenish reflection inside。 He never lighted the oil lamp by his
bed unless he wanted to read。 The acrid smell of burning oil in
the cold room nauseated him。
If he stayed at home he restlessly walked the floor。 He sat on
the edge of the unmade bed and gnawed savagely at the
broken； dirty ends of his fingernails。 The sharp taste of grime
lingered in his mouth。 The loneliness in him was so keen that
he was filled with terror。 Usually he had a pint of bootleg
white lightning。 He drank the raw liquor and by daylight he
was warm and relaxed。 At five o'clock the whistles from the
mills blew for the first shift。 The whistles made lost； eerie
echoes； and he could never sleep until after they had sounded。
But usually he did not stay at home。 He went out into the
narrow； empty streets。 In the first dark hours of the morning
the sky was black and the stars hard and bright。 Sometimes the
mills were running。 From the yellow…lighted buildings came
the racket of the machines。 He waited at the gates for the early
shift。 Young girls in sweaters and print dresses came out into
the dark street。 The men came out carrying their dinner pails。
Some of them always went to a streetcar caf6 for Coca…Cola
or coffee before going home； and Jake went with them。 Inside
the noisy mill the men could hear plainly every word that was
spoken； but for the first hour outside they were deaf。
I
131
In the streetcar Jake drank Coca…Cola with whiskey added。 He
talked。 The winter dawn was white and smoky and cold。 He
looked with drunken urgency into the drawn； yellow faces of
the men。 Often he was laughed at； and when this happened he
held his stunted body very straight and spoke scornfully hi
words of many syllables。 He stuck his little finger out from his
glass and haughtily twisted his mustache。 And if he was still
laughed at he sometimes fought。 He swung his big brown fists
with crazed violence and sobbed aloud。
After such mornings he returned to the show with relief。 It
eased him to push through the crowds of people。 The noise；
the rank stinks； the shouldering contact of human flesh
soothed his jangled nerves。
Because of the blue laws hi the town the show closed for the
Sabbath。 On Sunday he got up early in the morning and took
from the suitcase his serge suit。 He went to the main street。
First he dropped into the New York Cafe and bought a sack of
ales。 Then he went to Singer's room。 Although he knew many
people in the town by name or face； the mute was his only
friend。 They would idle in the quiet room and drink the ales。
He would talk； and the words created themselves from the
dark mornings spent in the streets or hi his room alone。 The
words were formed and spoken with relief。
The fire had died down。 Singer was playin