Brannon sat across from him at the table. Something was on his mind. He slid the salt-shaker back and forth and kept smoothing his hair. He smelled like perfume and his striped blue shirt was very fresh and clean. The sleeves were rolled and held in place by old-fashioned blue sleeve garters.
At last he cleared his throat in a hesitating way and said: ‘I was glancing through the afternoon paper just before you came. It seems you had a lot of trouble at your place today. ‘That’s right. What did it say?’
‘Wait. I’ll get it.’ Brannon fetched the paper from the counter and leaned against the partition of the booth. ‘It says on the front page that at the Sunny Dixie Show, located so and so, there was a general disturbance. Two Negroes were fatally injured with wounds inflicted by knives. Three others suffered minor wounds and were taken for treatment to the city hospital. The dead were Jimmy Macy and Lancy Davis. The wounded were John Hamlin, white, of Central Mill City, Various Wilson, Negro, and so forth and so on. Quote: ‘A number of arrests were made. It is alleged that the disturbance was caused by labor agitation, as papers of a subversive nature were found on and about the site of disturbance. Other arrests are expected shortly.’ Brannon clicked his teeth together. ‘The setup of this paper gets worse every day. Subversive spelled with a u in the second syllable and arrests with only one r.’
‘They’re smart, all right,’ Jake said sneeringly. ‘Caused by labor agitation.’
‘That’s remarkable.’
‘Anyway, the whole thing is very unfortunate.’ Jake held his hand to his mouth and looked down at his empty plate. ‘What do you mean to do now? Tm leaving. I’m getting out of here this afternoon.’ Brannon polished his nails on the palm of his hand. ‘Well, of course it’s not necessary--but it might be a good thing. Why so headlong? No sense in starting out this time of day.’
‘I just father.’
‘I do not think it behooves you to make a new start. At the same time why don’t you take my advice on this? Myself--I’m a conservative and of course I think your opinions are radical. But at the same time I like to know all sides of a matter. Anyway, I want to see you straighten out. So why don’t you go some place where you can meet a few people more or less like yourself? And then settle down? ‘ Jake pushed his plate irritably away from him. ‘I don’t know where I’m going. Leave me’alone. I’m tired.’ Brannon shrugged his shoulders and went back to the counter. He was tired enough. The hot rum and the heavy sound of the rain made him drowsy. It felt good to be sitting safe in a booth and to have just eaten a good meal. If he wanted to he could lean over and take a nap--a short one. Already his head felt swollen and heavy and he was more comfortable with his eyes closed. But it would have to be a short sleep because soon he must get out of here.
‘How long will this rain keep on?’
Brannon’s voice had drowsy overtones. ‘You can’t tell--a tropical cloudburst. Might clear up suddenly--or might thin a little and set in for the night.’
Jake laid his head down on his arms. The sound of the rain was nice the swelling sound of the sea. He heard a clock tick and the far-off rattle of dishes. Gradually his hands relaxed.
They lay open, palm upward, on the table.
Then Brannon was shaking him by the shoulders and looking into his face. A terrible dream was in his mind. ‘Wake up,’ Brannon was saying. ‘You’ve had a nightmare. I looked over here and your mouth was open and you were groaning and shuffling your feet on the floor. I never saw anything to equal it.’
The dream was still heavy in his mind. He felt the old terror that always came as he awakened. He pushed Brannon away and stood up. ‘You don’t have to tell me I had a nightmare. I remember just how it was. And I’ve had the same dream for about fifteen times before.’
He did remember now. Every other time he had been unable to get the dream straight in his waking mind. He had been walking among a great crowd of people--like at the show. But there was also something Eastern about the people around him. There was a terrible bright sun and the people were half-naked. They were silent and slow and their faces had a look in them of starvation. There was no sound, only the sun, and the silent crowd of people. He walked among them and he carried a huge covered basket. He was taking the basket somewhere but he could not find the place to leave it And in the dream there was a peculiar horror in wandering on and on through the crowd and not knowing where to lay down the burden he had carried in his arms so long.
‘What was it?’ Brannon asked. ‘Was the devil chasing you?’ Jake stood up and went to the mirror behind the counter. His face was dirty and sweaty. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. He wet his handkerchief under the fountain faucet and wiped off his face. Then he took out a pocket comb and neatly combed his mustache.
‘The dream was nothing. You got to be asleep to understand why it was such a nightmare.’
The clock pointed to five-thirty. The rain had almost stopped.
Jake picked up his suitcase and went to the front door. ‘So long. I’ll send you a postcard maybe.’
‘Wait,’ Brannon said. ‘You can’t go now. It’s still raining a little.’
‘Just dripping off the awning. I rather get out of town before dark.’
‘But hold on. Do you have any money? Enough to keep going for a week?’
‘I don’t need money. I been broke before.’ Brannon had an envelope ready and in it were two twenty-dollar bills. Jake looked at them on both sides and put them in his pocket. ‘God knows why you do it. You’ll never smell them again. But thanks. I won’t forget.’
‘Good luck. And let me hear from you.’
‘Adios! ‘Goodbye.’
The door closed behind him. When he looked back at the end of the block, Brannon was watching from the sidewalk. He walked until he reached the railroad tracks. On either side there were rows of dilapidated two-room houses. In the cramped back yards were rotted privies and lines of torn, smoky rags hung out to dry. For two miles there was not one sight of comfort or space or cleanliness. Even the earth itself seemed filthy and abandoned. Now and then there were signs that a vegetable row had been attempted, but only a few withered collards had survived. And a few fruitless, smutty fig trees. Little younguns swarmed in this filth, the smaller of them stark naked. The sight of this poverty was so cruel and hopeless that Jake snarled and clenched his fists.
He reached the edge of town and turned off on a highway.
Cars passed him by. His shoulders were too wide and his arms too long. He was so strong and ugly that no one wanted to take him in. But maybe a truck would stop before long. The late afternoon sun was out again. Heat made the steam rise from the wet pavement. Jake walked steadily.
As soon as the town was behind a new surge of energy came to him. But was this flight or was it onslaught? Anyway, he was going. All this to begin another time. The road ahead lay to the north and slightly to the west. But he would not go too far away. He would not leave the South. That was one clear thing. There was hope in him, and soon perhaps the outline of his journey would take form.
Evening.
WHAT good was it? That was the question she would like to know. What the hell good was it. All the plans she had made, and the music. When all that came of it was this trap--the store, then home to sleep, and back at the store again. The clock in front of the place where Mister Singer used to work pointed to seven. And she was just getting off. Whenever there was overtime the manager always told her to stay.
Because she could stand longer on her feet and work harder before giving out than any other girl. The heavy rain had left the sky a pale, quiet blue. Dark was coming. Already the lights were turned on. Automobile horns honked in the street and the newsboys hollered out the headlines in the papers. She didn’t want to go home. If she went home now she would lie down on the bed and bawl. That was how tired she was. But if she went into the New York Cafe and ate some ice cream she might feel O.K. And smoke and be by herself a little while.