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the front steps。 A pale yellow light from inside the house
shone on them。 Two of the men wore overalls but no shirts
and were barefooted。 One of these was tall and loose…jointed。
The other was small and he had a running sore on the corner
of his mouth。 The third man was dressed in shirt and trousers。
He held a straw hat on his knee。
'Hey；' Jake said。
The three men stared at him with mill…sallow； dead…pan faces。
They murmured but did not change their positions。 Jake pulled
the package of Target from his pocket and passed it around。
He sat down on the bottom step and took off his shoes。 The
cool； damp ground felt good to his feet。
'Working now？'56
。Yeah；' said the man with the straw hat。 'Most of the time。'
Jake picked between his toes。 'I got the Gospel in me；* he
said。 'I want to tell it to somebody。'
The men smiled。 From across the narrow street there was the
sound of a woman singing。 The smoke from their cigarettes
hung close around them in the still air。 A little youngun
passing along the street stopped and opened bis fly to make
water。
'There's a tent around the corner and it's Sunday；' the small
man said finally。 'You can go there and tell all the Gospel you
want。'
'It's not that kind。 It's better。 It's the truth。'
'What kind？'
Jake sucked his mustache and did not answer。 After a while he
said； 'You ever have any strikes here？'
'Once；' said the tall man。 They had one of these here strikes
around six years ago。'
'What happened？'
The man with the sore on his mouth shuffled his feet and
dropped the stub of his cigarette to the ground。 'Well —they
just quit work because they wanted twenty cents a hour。 There
was about three hundred did it。 They just hung around the
streets all day。 So the mill sent out trucks； and in a week the
whole town was swarming with folks come here to get a job。'
Jake turned so that he was facing them。 The men sat two steps
above him so that he had to raise his head to look into their
eyes。 'Don't it make you mad？' he asked。
'How do you mean—mad？'
The vein in Jake's forehead was swollen and scarlet。
'Christamighty； man！ I mean mad—m…a…d—mad。1 He scowled
up into their puzzled； sallow faces。 Behind them； through the
open front door he could see the inside of the house。 In the
front room there were three beds and a wash…stand。 In the back
room a barefooted woman sat sleeping in a chair。 From one of
the dark porches near…by there was the sound of a guitar。
'I was one of them come in on the trucks；' the tall man said。
'That makes no difference。 What I'm trying to tell you
57
is plain and simple。 The bastards who own these mills are
millionaires。 While the doffers and carders and all the people
behind the machines who spin and weave the cloth can't
hardly make enough to keep their guts quiet。 See？ So when
you walk around the streets and。 think about it and see hungry；
worn…out people and ricket…legged young…uns； don't it make
you mad？ Don't it？'
Jake's face was flushed and dark and his lips trembled。 The
three men looked at him warily。 Then the man in the straw hat
began to laugh。
'Go on and snicker。 Sit there and bust your sides open。'
The men laughed in the slow and easy way that three men
laugh at one。 Jake brushed the dirt from the soles of his feet
and put on his shoes。 His fists were closed tight and his mouth
was contorted with an angry sneer。 'Laugh —that's all you're
good for。 I hope you sit there and snicker 'til you rot！' As he
walked stiffly down the street； the sound of their laughter and
catcalls still followed him。
The main street was brightly lighted。 Jake loitered on a corner；
fondling the change in his pocket。 His head throbbed； and
although the night was hot a chill passed through his body。 He
thought of the mute and he wanted urgently to go back and sit
with him awhile。 In the fruit and candy store where he had
bought the newspaper that afternoon he selected a basket of
fruit wrapped in cellophane。 The Greek behind the counter
said the price was sixty cents； so that when he had paid he was
left with only a nickel。 As soon as he had come out of the
store the present seemed a funny one to take a healthy man。 A
few grapes hung down below； the cellophane； and he picked
them off hungrily。
Singer was at home when he arrived。 He sat by the window
with the chess game laid out before him on the table。 The
room was just as Jake had left it； with the fan turned on and
the pitcher of ice water beside the table。 There was a panama
hat on the bed and a paper parcel； so it seemed that the mute
had just come in。 He jerked his head toward the chair across
from him at the table and pushed the chessboard to one side。
He leaned back with his hands in his pockets； and his face
seemed to question Jake about what had happened since he
had left。58
Jake put the fruit on the table。 'For this afternoon；' he said。
'The motto has been： Go out and find an octopus and put socks
on it。'
The mute smiled； but Jake could not tell if he had caught what
he had said。 The mute looked at the fruit with surprise and
then undid the cellophane wrappings。 As he handled the fruits
there was something very peculiar in the fellow's face。 Jake
tried to understand this look and was stumped。 Then Singer
smiled brightly。
'I got a job this afternoon with a sort of show。 I'm to run the
flying…jinny。'
The mute seemed not at all surprised。 He went into the closet
and brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses。 They drank
in silence。 Jake felt that he had never been in such a quiet
room。 The light above his head made a queer reflection of
himself in the glowing wineglass he held before him—the
same caricature of himself he had noticed many times before
on the curved surfaces of pitchers or tin mugs—with his face
egg…shaped and dumpy and his mustache straggling almost up
to his ears。 Across from him the mute held his glass in both
hands。 The wine began to hum through Jake's veins and he felt
himself entering again the kaleidoscope of drunkenness。
Excitement made his mustache tremble jerkily。 He leaned
forward with his elbows on his knees and fastened a wide；
searching gaze on Singer。
'I bet I'm the only man in this town that's been mad— I'm
talking about really mean mad—for ten solid long years。 I
damn near got in a fight just a little while ago。 Sometimes it
seems to me like I might even be crazy。 I just don't know。'
Singer pushed the wine toward his guest。 Jake drank from the
bottle and rubbed the top of his head。
'You see； it's like I'm two people。 One of me is an educated
man。 I been in some of the biggest libraries in the country。 I
read。 I read all the time。 I read books that tell the pure honest
truth。 Over there in my suitcase I have books by Karl Marx
and Thorstein Veblen and such writers as them。 I read them
over and over； and the more I study the madder I get。 I know
every word printed on every page。 To begin with I like words。
Dialectic materialism—Jesuitical prevarication'— Jake rolled
the syllables
59
in his mouth with loving solemnity—'teleological propensity。'
The mute wiped his forehead with a neatly folded
handkerchief。
'But what I'm getting at is this。 When a person knows and can't
make the others understand； what does he do？'
Singer reached for a wineglass； filled it to the brim； and put it
firmly into Jake's bruised hand。 'Get drunk； huh？' Jake said
with a jerk of his arm that spilled drops of wine on his white
trousers。 'But listen！ Wherever you look there's meanness and
corruption。 This room； this bottle of grape wine； these fruits in
the basket； are all products of profit and loss。 A fellow can't
live without giving his passive acceptance to meanness。
Somebody wears his tail to a frazzle for every mouthful we eat
and every stitch we wear —and nobody seems to know。
Everybody is blind； dumb； and blunt…headed—stupid and
mean。'
Jake pressed his fists to his temples。 His thoughts had
careened in several directions and he could not get control of
them。 He wanted to go berserk。 He wanted to get out and fight
violently with someone in a crowded street。
Still looking at him with patient interest； the mute took out his
silver pencil。 He wrote very carefully on a slip of paper； Are
you Democrat or Republican？ and passed the paper across the
table。 Jake crumpled it in his hand。 The room had begun to
turn around him again and he could not even read。
He kept his eyes on the mute's face to steady himself。 Singer's
eyes were the only things in the room that did not seem to
move。 They were varied in color； flecked with amber； gray；
and a soft brown。 He stared at them so long that he almost
hypnotized himself。 He lost the urge to be riotous and felt
calm again。 The eyes seemed to understand all that he had
meant to say and to hold some message for him。 After a while
the room was steady again。
'You get it；' he said in a blurred voice。 'You know what I
mean。'
From afar off there was the soft； silver ring of church bells。
The moonlight was white on the roof next door and the sky
was a gentle