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held his hand over his stomach as though protecting it from
something。 He always checked over the accounts very
thoroughly。
Jake and the two operators had a squabble。 These men were
both former doffers at one of the mills。 At first he had tried to
talk to them and help them to see the truth。 Once he invited
them to a pool room for a drink。 But they were so dumb he
couldn't help them。 Soon after this he overheard the
conversation between them that caused the trouble。 It was an
early Sunday morning； almost two o'clock； and he had been
checking the accounts with Patterson。 When he stepped out of
the trailer the grounds seemed empty。 The moon was bright。
He was thinking of Singer and the free day ahead。 Then as he
passed by the swings he heard someone speak his name。 The
two oper
I
ators had finished work and were smoking together。 Jake
listened。
'If there's anything I hate worse than a nigger it's a Red。'
'He tickles me。 I don't pay him no mind。 The way he struts
around。 I never seen such a sawed…off runt。 How tall is he； you
reckon？'
'Around five foot But he thinks he got to tell everybody so
much。 He oughta be in jail。 That's where。 The Red Bolshivik。'
'He just tickles me。 I can't look at him without laughing。'
'He needn't act biggity with me。'
Jake watched them follow the path toward Weavers Lane。 His
first thought was to rush out and confront them； but a certain
shrinking held him back。 For several days he fumed in silence。
Then one night after work he followed the two men for several
blocks and as they turned a corner he cut in front of them。
'I heard you；' he said breathlessly。 'It so happened I heard
every word you said last Saturday night。 Sure I'm a Red。 At
least I reckon I am。 But what are you？' They stood beneath a
street light。 The two men stepped back from him。 The
neighborhood was deserted。 'You pasty…faced； shrunk…gutted；
ricket…ridden little rats！ I could reach out and choke your
stringy necks—one to each hand。 Runt or no； I could lay you
on this sidewalk where they'd have to scrape you up with
shovels。'
The two men looked at each other； cowed； and tried to walk
on。 But Jake would not let them pass。 He kept step with them；
walking backward； a furious sneer on his face。
'All I got to say is this： In the future I suggest you come to me
whenever you feel the need to make remarks about my height；
weight； accent； demeanor； or ideology。 And that last is not
what I take a leak with either—case you don't know。 We will
discuss it together。'
Afterward Jake treated the two men with angry contempt。
Behind his back they jeered at him。 One afternoon he found
that the engine of the swings had been deliberately damaged
and he had to work three hours overtime to fix it。 Always he
felt someone was laughing at him。 Each time he heard the girls
talking together he drew himself up straight and laughed
carelessly aloud to himself as though thinking of some private
joke。244
The warm southwest winds from the Gulf of Mexico were
heavy with the smells of spring。 The days grew longer and the
sun was bright。 The lazy warmth depressed him。 He began to
drink again。 As soon as work was done he went home and lay
down on his bed。 Sometimes he stayed there； fully clothed and
inert； for twelve or thirteen hours。 The restlessness that had
caused him to sob and bite his nails only a few months before
seemed to have gone。 And yet beneath his inertia Jake felt the
old tension。 Of all the places he had been this was the
loneliest town of all。 Or it would be without Singer。 Only he
and Singer understood the truth。 He knew and could not get
the don't…knows to see。 It was like trying to fight darkness or
heat or a stink in the air。 He stared morosely out of his
window。 A stunted； smoked…blackened tree at the corner had
put out new leaves of a bilious green。 The sky was always a
deep； hard blue。 The mosquitoes from a fetid stream that ran
through this part of the town buzzed in the room。
He caught the itch。 He mixed some sulphur and hog fat and
greased his body every morning。 He clawed himself raw and it
seemed that the itching would never be soothed。 One night he
broke loose。 He had been sitting alone for many hours。 He had
mixed gin and whiskey and was very drunk。 It was almost
morning。 He leaned out of the window and looked at the dark
silent street。 He thought of all the people around him。
Sleeping。 The don't…knows。 Suddenly he bawled out in a loud
voice： 〃This is the truth！ You bastards don't know anything。
You don't know。 You don't know！1
The street awoke angrily。 Lamps were lighted and sleepy
curses were called to him。 The men who lived in the house
rattled furiously on his door。 The girls from a cat…house across
the street stuck their heads out of the windows。
'You dumb dumb dumb dumb bastards。 You dumb dumb
dumb dumb'
'Shuddup！ ShuddupF
The fellows in the hall were pushing against the door： 。You
drunk bull！ You'll be a sight dumber when we get thu with
you。'
'How many out there？' Jake roared。 He banged an
empty bottle on the windowsill。 'Come on； everybody。 Come
one； come all。 I'll settle you three at a time。'
'That's right； Honey；' a whore called。
The door was giving way。 Jake jumped from the window and
ran through a side alley。 'Hee…haw！ Hee…haw！' he yelled
drunkenly。 He was barefooted and shirtless。 An hour later he
stumbled into Singer's room。 He sprawled on the floor and
laughed himself to sleep。
On an April morning he found the body of a man who had
been murdered。 A young Negro。 Jake found him in a ditch
about thirty yards from the showgrounds。 The Negro's throat
had been slashed so that the head was rolled back at a crazy
angle。 The sun shone hot on his open； glassy eyes and flies
hovered over the dried blood that covered his chest。 The dead
man held a red…and…yellow cane with a tassel like the ones
sold at the hamburger booth at the show。 Jake stared gloomily
down at the body for some time。 Then he called the police。 No
clues were found。 Two days later the family of the dead man
claimed his body at the morgue。
At the Sunny Dixie there were frequent fights and quarrels。
Sometimes two friends would come to the show arm in arm；
laughing and drinking—and before they left they would be
struggling together in a panting rage。 Jake was always alert。
Beneath the gaudy gaiety of the show； the bright lights； and
the lazy laughter； he felt something sullen and dangerous。
Through these dazed； disjointed weeks Simms nagged his
footsteps constantly。 The old man liked to come with a
soapbox and a Bible and take a stand in the middle of the
crowd to preach。 He talked of the second coming of Christ。 He
said that the Day of Judgment would be October 2； 1951。 He
would point out certain drunks and scream at them in his raw；
worn voice。 Excitement made his mouth fill with water so that
his words had a wet； gurgling sound。 Once he had slipped in
and set up his stand no arguments could make him budge。 He
made Jake a present of a Gideon Bible； and told him to pray
on his knees for one hou