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the tyrants were free to get this country in such a fix that
millions of people are ready to do anything—cheat； lie； or
whack off their right arm—just to work for three squares and
a flop。 They have made the word freedom a blasphemy。 You
hear me？ They have made the word freedom stink like a skunk
to all who know。'
The vein in Jake's forehead throbbed wildly。 His mouth
worked convulsively。 Singer sat up； alarmed； Jake tried to
speak again and the words choked in his mouth。 A shudder
passed through his body。 He sat down in the chair and pressed
his trembling lips with his fingers。 Then he said huskily：
'It's this way； Singer。 Being mad is no good。 Nothing we can
do is any good。 That's the way it seems to me。 All we
。
135
can do is go around telling the truth。 And as soon as enough of
the don't knows have learned the truth then there won't be any
use for fighting。 The only thing for us to do is let them know。
All that's needed。 But how？ Huh？'
The fire shadows lapped against the walls。 The dark； shadowy
waves rose higher and the room took on motion。 The room
rose and fell and all balance was gone。 Alone Jake felt himself
sink downward； slowly in wavelike motions downward into a
shadowed ocean。 In helplessness and terror he strained his
eyes； but he could see nothing except the dark and scarlet
waves that roared hungrily over him。 Then at last he made out
the thing which he sought。 The mute's face was faint and very
far away。 Jake closed his eyes。
The next morning he awoke very late。 Singer had been gone
for hours。 There was bread； cheese； an orange； and a pot of
coffee on the table。 When he had finished his breakfast it was
time for work。 He walked somberly； his head bent； across the
town toward his room。 When he reached the neighborhood
where he lived he passed through a certain narrow street that
was flanked on one side by a smoke…blackened brick
warehouse。 On the wall of this building there was something
that vaguely distracted him。 He started to walk on； and then
his attention was suddenly held。 On the wall a message was
written in bright red chalk； the letters drawn thickly and
curiously formed：
Ye shall eat the flesh of the mighty； and drink the blood of the
princes of the earth。
He read the message twice and looked anxiously up and down
the street。 No one was in sight。 After a few minutes of puzzled
deliberation he took from his pocket a thick red pencil and
wrote carefully beneath the inscription：
Whoever wrote the above meet me here tomorrow at noon；
Wednesday； November 29。 Or the next day。
At twelve o'clock the next day he waited before the wall。
。
Now and then he walked impatiently to the corner to look ： up
and down the streets。 No one came。 After an hour he ■ had to
leave for the show。136
The next day he waited； also。
Then on Friday there was a long； slow winter rain。 The wall
was sodden and the messages streaked so that no word could
be read。 The rain continued； gray and bitter and cold。
ICK；' Bubber said。 'I come to believe we all gonna drown。' It
was true that it like to never quit raining。 Mrs。 Wells rode
them back and forth to school in her car； and every afternoon
they had to stay on the front porch or in the house。 She and
Bubber played Parcheesi and Old Maid and shot marbles on
the living…room rug。 It was nearing along toward Christmas
time and Bubber began to talk about the Little Lord Jesus and
the red bicycle he wanted Santa Claus to bring him。 The rain
was silver on the win…dowpanes and the sky was wet and cold
and gray。 The river rose so high that some of the factory
people had to move out of their houses。 Then when it looked
like the rain would keep on and on forever it suddenly
stopped。 They woke up one morning and the bright sun was
shining。 By afternoon the weather was almost warm as
summer。 Mick came home late from school and Bubber and
Ralph and Spareribs were on the front sidewalk。 The kids
looked hot and sticky and their winter clothes had a sour
smell。 Bubber had his slingshot and a pocketful of rocks。
Ralph sat up in his wagon； his hat crooked on his head； and he
was fretful。 Spareribs had bis new rifle with him。 The sky was
a wonderful blue。
'We waited for you a long time； Mick；' Bubber said。 'Where
you been？'
She jumped up the front steps three at a time and threw her
sweater toward the hat rack。 'Practicing on the piano in the
gym。'
Every afternoon she stayed after school for an hour to play。
The gym was crowded and noisy because the girls' team had
basketball games。 Twice today she was hit on the head with
the ball。 But getting a chance to sit at a piano was worth any
amount of knocks and trouble。 She would arrange bunches of
notes together until the sound came
that she wanted。 It was eaiser than she had thought。 After the
first two or three hours she figured out some sets of chords in
the bass that would fit in with the main tune her right hand
was playing。 She could pick out almost any piece now。 And
she made up new music too。 That was better than just copying
tunes。 When her hands hunted out these beautiful new sounds
it was the best feeling she had ever known。
She wanted to learn how to read music already written down。
Delores Brown had taken music lessons for five years。 She
paid Delores the fifty cents a week she got for lunch money to
give her lessons。 This made her very hungry all through the
day。 Delores played a good many fast； runny pieces—but
Delores did not know how to answer all the questions she
wanted to know。 Delores only taught her about the different
scales； the major and minor chords； the values of the notes；
and such beginning rules as those。
Mick slammed the door of the kitchen stove。 〃This all we got
to eat？'
'Honey； it the best I can do for you；' Portia said。 Just
cornpones and margarine。 As she ate she drank a glass of
water to help wash down the swallows。
'Quit acting so greedy。 Nobody going to snatch it out your
hand。'
The kids still hung around in front of the house。 Bubber had
put his slingshot in his pocket and now he played with the
rifle。 Spareribs was ten years old and his father had died the
month before and this had been his father's gun…All the
smaller kids loved to handle that rifle。 Every few minutes
Bubber would haul the gun up to his shoulder。 He took aim
and made a loud pow sound。
'Don't monkey with the trigger；' said Spareribs。 1 got the gun
loaded。'
Mick finished the cornbread and looked around for something
to do。 Harry Minowitz was sitting on his front porch banisters
with the newspaper。 She was glad to see him。 For a joke she
threw up her arm and hollered to him； 'Heil！'
But Harry didn't take it as a joke。 He went into his front hall
and shut the door。 It was easy to hurt his feelings。 She was
sorry； because lately she and Harry had been right good
friends。 They had always played in the same gang138
when they were kids； but in the last three years he had been at
Vocational while she was still in grammar school。 Also he
worked at part…time jobs。 He grew up very sudd