SLOW DEATH

Date: 2015-10-07; view: 538.

After E. Caldwell

We were sitting in the piano box and waiting for the rain to stop.¹ Below us, twenty feet away, the muddy Savannah River flew slowly past. Above our heads the Fifth Street Bridge kept us dry. We had put bricks under the corners of the piano box to keep the floor of it dry, and the water that flew down from the bridge and embankment passed under us on its way to the river.

Now and then² Dave got up on his hands and knees and turned the straw over. The straw was very wet and smelt badly. There was just enough room for the two of us in the box, and the straw made lumps under our backs and sides that were as hard as bricks.

A family of four lived behind us in several boxes. The boxes were joined together and they provided four of five rooms. The woman had two hens. She kept them in the box with her all the time, day and night. There were other boxes, under the bridge. When old men and women died of hunger in one of the boxes, their bodies were carried down to the river and lowered into the muddy water.

At dark the rain stopped, but the sky was still cloudy. Dave was excited, and he could not stay in the box any longer.³

"Come on, Mike," he said. "Let's go out of here and have something to eat somewhere."

I followed him through the red mud up the side of the embankment to the pavement above. We walked through pools and washed the red mud from our feet as we went.

Dave had a half-dollar in his pocket and I did not want to let him buy me anything to eat. He had worked at a fac­tory for two weeks, and when he worked, he earned a half-dollar a day. He had worked the day before at the factory, and he had kept the money all that time.

When we crossed the river, I turned sharply to the right and ran away from Dave. I had gone fifty yards when he caught me by the coat and made me stop. Then he took the fist out of his pocket and showed me the half-dollar.

"Don't worry about me, Dave," I told him. "I'll get by¹ till tomorrow. I've got the promise of a half-day job, so I'll earn a dollar or a half. Go on and buy yourself some good food, Dave."

"No," Dave said. "We'll do it together." He drew me along with him towards the city. We went down the embankment to the pavement. There was a dull yellow light in the low sky in front of us, and the traffic in the streets was heavy.

We walked along together through the pools on the pave­ment towards the city. Suddenly Dave stopped in the middle of a large pool.

"You are young, Mike," he said and caught me by the coat. "I'm old, but you're young. You can find out what to do, and come back and tell me, and we'll do it."

"What's the matter,² Dave?" I asked him. "What are you talking about?"

"Somewhere there are people who know what to do when there is no hope. If you find out from them, and come back, we'll do it."

"It'll take³ more than two of us, Dave. We'll have to get a lot of people on our side first."

"Don't worry about that," he said. "When the people know what to do, and how to do it, we can go up and do away with those who don't give us our jobs back." "Maybe it's not time yet, Dave."

¹ for the rain to stop — пока прекратится дождь

² now and then — время от времени

³ any longer — дольше

¹ I'll get by— я перебьюсь

² What's the matter? — В чем дело?
⁸ it'll take — на это потребуется

"Not time yet! Haven't I been out of my job for two years now? How much time do you want? It is time now, before all of us die of hunger and are carried down into that muddy river."

Before I could say something, he had turned around and went along the street again. I ran and caught up with him, Dave had had agood job in a plant two years before. But they turned him out one day and did not want to take him back. They turned out seventy men that time. Dave never told me what had happened to the rest of them, but I knew what had happened to Dave. After he had not paid the house rent for six or seven months, the owner told him to move out. Dave did not do it. He was going to stay there until he got back his job in the plant. Dave stayed.

Dave stayed in the house for another four months, but long before the end of that time the owner had taken out the window-panes and the doors of the house and carried them away. When winter came, the rain made the house wet. Af­ter that, the cold winds of January blew through the house. There was no coal to burn in the fire. There were only three blankets for Dave and his wife and three children. Two of the children died before the end of January. In February his wife died. In March there was a special service in one of the churches for Dave and his eleven-years-old daughter, but Dave said he had got nothing out of it.

Dave did not know what had happened to his daughter. The last time he had seen her when a policeman came and took her away one morning, and Dave was sitting in a corner of the house with the three blankets round his shoulders.

We had reached Seventh Street by that time. The tall hotels and other houses in the street looked wet and grey.

"Go on and eat, Dave," I told him again. "When you are through,¹ I'll meet you here, and we'll walk back to the river."

"I'll not go till you come with me."

"But I'm not hungry, Dave. I don't lie to you. I'm not hungry."

"I'm not going to eat, then," he said again.

The night was getting colder all the time. The wind was becoming stronger.

"Hurry up, Dave," I said. "It's silly to stand here in the cold. I'll meet you in half an hour."

Dave caught my coat and drew me back. Automobiles and trucks made such a noise in the street that we had to shout to each other.

Just as I was going to try again to make him go to the res­taurant alone, I turned around and saw a black car which was coming around the corner behind us. It was coming fast, more than forty miles an hour. The car cut the corner and in a moment it was on the pavement.

I drew Dave to me to get him out of the way, because his back was turned to the car and he could not see it.

He probably thought I was trying to make him get some­thing to eat for himself, because he stepped backward and I could not reach him. It was too late then to try to catch .him and get him out of the way, and all I could do was to shout at him as loud as I could above the noise in the street. Proba­bly Dave still thought I was trying to make him go to the res­taurant alone, because he stepped backward again. The man who was driving the big car had cut the corner by about three feet. As Dave stepped backward the second time, the car struck him. He was knocked down to the pavement.

The driver stopped, and he walked back to where we were. By that time people had begun to come from all direc­tions, and soon there was a crowd around us.

"Are you hurt, Dave?" I asked him as I got down on the pavement with him.

The driver had come through the crowd, and when I looked up, he was standing at Dave's feet and looking at us.

"Mike," Dave said and turned his face toward me, "Mike,
the half-dollar is in my right-hand pocket."

"Forget the half-dollar, Dave," I said. "Tell me if you are hurt. If you are hurt, I'll bring a doctor at once."

Dave opened his eyes and looked at me. His shoulders moved slightly, and he held my hand tight.

"There's nothing wrong with him,"¹ the driver of the car said. "He is faking."

The man was looking at Dave. His mouth was slightly open. When he spoke, his lips did not move.

"Mike," Dave said, "I think I'll not try to get my job back. It's too late now; I shall not have time enough."

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¹ when are you through — когда ты закончишь

¹ there's nothing wrong with him — ничего с ним не случилось

The man above us was talking to the people in the crowd.

"He's faking," he said again. "He thinks he can get some money out of me, but I know the tricks of these bums. There's nothing wrong with him. He's no more hurt than I am."

People around us were talking. There was one fellow in the crowd behind me who was talking loud enough and every­body could hear him. I could not see his face, but I heard every word he said.

"Sure, he's a bum. That's why they don't take him to the hospital. Who cares about a bum? They will not take him to the hospital, because it will cost them something. They don't want bum's blood in the car."

I put my hand under Dave's shirt. I tried to find out if there were any broken bones in his shoulder. Dave had closed his eyes again, but he still held my hand tight.

"He's faking," the driver said. "These bums try all kinds of tricks to get money. There's nothing wrong with him. He's not hurt. He's faking."

The fellow behind us in the crowd was talking again.

"Why don't you take him to the hospital in your car?" he asked.

The driver looked the crowd over but did not answer.

I drew my hand out from under Dave's shirt and saw blood on my hand. It had not come from his shoulder. It came from the left side of his body where he had struck the pavement when the car knocked him down. I put my hand under the shirt again. Dave's body on that side was soft and wet, and I could feel the beating of his heart.

"Will you take him to the hospital?" I said to the driver who was looking at us. "He's hurt."

"That's the way¹ these bums fake," the driver said and looked from face to face in the crowd. "There's nothing wrong with him. He's not hurt. He isn't groaning, he is just lying. He waits some money from me. If I give him some money, and drive away, he'll jump up before I go out of sight. I know these bums, all they want is money. That fellow is faking just like all the rest of them do. He's no more hurt than I am."

I tried to get up and take Dave in my arms. We could carry him to the hospital, if the driver did not take him in the car.

¹ that's the way — вот так

The driver was looking at the crowd again. He was trying to make the people believe that Dave was faking in order to get some money from him.

"He's faking!" he shouted between his dead lips. "These bums think they can get money if they jump in front of an automobile and then cry that they are hurt. It's a good lesson for them; maybe they'll stop it now. I know these bums. I know when they are faking."

Dave opened his eyes and looked at me.

"Wait a minute, Mike," he said. "Put me down. I want to tell you something."

I put him down on the pavement as carefully as I could. He was still holding my hand.

"I just want to tell you again where the half-dollar is, Mike," he said. "The half-dollar is in my right-hand pocket."

I was going to tell him again that it was all right about the half-dollar when suddenly he let my hand out and his eyes clouded.

During all the time I held him in my arms. I was trying to say something to Dave before it was too late. Before I could tell him something, the driver of the car came closer and looked down at us.

"He's faking," he said. "The dirty bum is faking."

He went out of the crowd and walked towards his car. When he reached it, he shouted back over the heads of the people.

"There's nothing wrong with him! He can't blame me. I know these dirty bums. All they want is some money, and then they get well quickly enough. The dirty bum is faking!"

"Sure, he's a bum," the fellow behind me said, his voice rang as clear as a bell. "He may leave some bum's blood in your car."

Just then a policeman ran up. The crowd had attracted his attention. He went through the crowd and touched me with his billy.

"What's the matter?" he asked. Before I could tell him, he struck me on the back with the billy.

"Why are so many people crowding here?"

I told him Dave was dead.

He bent down and saw Dave for the first time. "That's different," he said.

He turned around and went to the telephone-box and

51

rang up the city hospital. By the time he had come back, the man who was driving the car had left.

"Why didn't you take him to the hospital in the car that knocked him down?" the policeman asked.

"Can't you see he's a bum?" the fellow behind me said. "We didn't want bum's blood in the car."

The policeman stopped and looked at the fellow and me. He came nearer.

"Go away, bums, before I arrest you," he said.

I ran back beside Dave and stood over him. The police­man jumped at me and struck me with his billy.

At once the street lights became black, and when I could see again, the fellow who had stayed with me was drawing me slowly along the street.

As we passed under the last street light, I looked into his face gratefully. Neither I nor he said anything.