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burning summer months ahead。 He did not feel well。 Recently
a headache had begun to trouble him constantly。 He had
gained weight so that his stomach developed a little pouch。 He
had to leave the top button of his trousers undone。 He knew
that this was alcoholic fat； but he kept on drinking。 Liquor
helped the ache in his head。 He had only to take one small
glass to make it better。 Nowadays one glass was the same to
him as a quart。 It was not the liquor of the moment that gave
him the kick—but the reaction of the first swallow to all the
alcohol which had saturated his blood during these last
months。 A spoonful of beer would help the throbbing in his
head； but a quart of whiskey could not make him drunk。
He cut out liquor entirely。 For several days he drank only
water and Orange Crush。 The pain was h'ke a crawling worm
in his head。 He worked wearily during the long afternoons and
evenings。 He could not sleep and it was agony to try to read。
The damp； sour stink in his room infuriated him。 He lay
restless in the bed and when at last he fell asleep daylight had
come。
A dream haunted him。 It had first come to him four months
ago。 He would awake with terror—but the strange point was
that never could he remember the contents of this dream。 Only
the feeling remained when his eyes were opened。 Each time
his fears at awakening were so identical that he did not doubt
but what these dreams were the same。 He was used to dreams；
the grotesque nightmares240
of drink that led him down into a madman's region of disorder；
but always the morning light scattered the effects of these wild
dreams and he forgot them。
This blank； stealthy dream was of a different nature。 He
awoke and could remember nothing。 But there was a sense of
menace that lingered in him long after。 Then he awoke one
morning with the old fear but with a faint remembrance of the
darkness behind him。 He had been walking among a crowd of
people and in his arms he carried something。 That was all he
could be sure about。 Had he stolen？ Had he been trying to
save some possession？ Was he being hunted by all these
people around him？ He did not think so。 The more he studied
this simple dream the less he could understand。 Then for some
time afterward the dream did not return。
He met the writer of signs whose chalked message he had seen
the past November。 From the first day of their meeting the old
man clung to him like an evil genius。 His name was Simms
and he preached on the sidewalks。 The winter cold had kept
him indoors； but in the spring he was out on the streets all day。
His white hair was soft and ragged on his neck and he carried
around with him a woman's big silk pocketbook full of chalk
and Jesus ads。 His eyes were bright and crazy。 Simms tried to
convert him。
'Child of adversity； I smell the sinful stink of beer on thy
breath。 And you smoke cigarettes。 If the Lord had wanted us
to smoke cigarettes He would have said so in His Book。 The
mark of Satan is on thy brow。 I see it。 Repent。 Let me show
you the light。〃
Jake rolled up his eyes and made a slow pious sign in the air。
Then he opened his oil…stained hand。 'I reveal this only to you；'
he said in a low stage voice。 Simms looked down at the scar in
his palm。 Jake leaned closer and whispered： 'And there's the
other sign。 The sign you know。 For I was born with them。'
Simms backed against the fence。 With a womanish gesture he
lifted a lock of silver hair from his forehead and smoothed it
back on his head。 Nervously his tongue licked the corners of
his mouth。 Jake laughed。
'Blasphemer！' Simms screamed。 'God will get you。 You and all
your crew。 God remembers the scoffers。 He
watches after me。 God watches everybody but He watches me
the most。 Like He did Moses。 God tells me things in the night。
God will get you。
'
He took Simms down to a corner store for Coca…Colas and
peanut…butter crackers。 Simms began to work on him again。
When he left for the show Simms ran along behind him。
'Come to this corner tonight at seven o'clock。 Jesus has
a
message just for you。
'
The first days of April were windy and warm。 White clouds
trailed across the blue sky。 In the wind there was the smell of
the river and also the fresher smell of fields beyond the town。
The show was crowded every day from four in the afternoon
until midnight。 The crowd was a tough one。 With the new
spring he felt an undertone of trouble。
One night he was working on the machinery of the swings
when suddenly he was roused from thought by the sounds of
angry voices。 Quickly he pushed through the crowd until he
saw a white girl fighting with a colored girl by the ticket booth
of the flying…jinny。 He wrenched them apart； but still they
struggled to get at each other。 The crowd took sides and there
was a bedlam of noise。 The white girl was a hunchback。 She
held something tight in her hand。
1 seen you；' the colored girl yelled。 'I ghy beat that hunch off
your back； too。
'
'Hush your mouth； you black nigger！
'
'Low…down factory tag。 I done paid my money and I ghy ride。
White man； you make her give me back my ticket。
'
'Black nigger slut！
'
Jake looked from one to the other。 The crowd pressed close。
There were mumbled opinions on every side。
'I seen Lurie drop her ticket and I watched this here white lady
pick it up。 That the truth；' a colored boy said。
〃No nigger going to put her hands on no white girl while
。
〃You quit that pushing me。 I ready to hit back even if your
skin do be white。
'
Roughly Jake pushed into the thick of the crowd。 'All right！
'
he yelled。 〃Move on—break it up。 Every damn242
one of you。' There was something about the size of his fists
that made the people drift sullenly away。 Jake turned back to
the two girls。
'This here the way it is；' said the colored girl。 1 bet I one of the
few peoples here who done saved over fifty cents till Friday
night。 I done ironed double this week。 I done paid a good
nickel for that ticket she holding。 And now I means to ride。5
Jake settled the trouble quickly。 He let the hunchback keep the
disputed ticket and issued another one to the colored girl。 For
the rest of that evening there were no more quarrels。 But Jake
moved alertly through the crowd。 He was troubled and uneasy。
In addition to himself there were five other employees at the
show—two men to operate the swings and take tickets and
three girls to manage the booths。 This did not count Patterson。
The show…owner spent most of his time playing cards with
himself in his trailer。 His eyes were dull； with the pupils
shrunken； and the skin of his neck hung in yellow； pulpy folds。
During the past few months Jake had had two raises in pay。 At
midnight it was his job to report to Patterson and hand over
the takings of the evening。 Sometimes Patterson did not notice
him until he had been in the trailer for several minutes； he
would be staring at the cards； sunk in a stupor。 The air of the
trailer was heavy with the stinks of food and reefers。 Patterson
held his hand over his stomach as though protecting it from
something。 He always checked over