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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 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