Regus said.
“Hydee,” Harmon said.
“Hydee,” Music said, and all at once he knew exactly how he felt: he felt like a man who had been falling and was anxious to hit bottom and have it over. When he’d caught himself going through those garbage cans behind the hotel in Salt Lake City, he had known the fabric of his ambitions simply could no longer hold him up, and he was going to land back in Shulls Mills, where his father and brothers scratched out a living on their ragtag farm as though they couldn’t conceive of anything better, as though they had never even thought of another way to live. He had made, at last, a kind of peace with that. He would hit bottom and start all over again, new and humble. He didn’t like being fetched up in Switch County with the sensation of falling still in his bones. But how could he explain that to Regus or anyone? He wasn’t sure it made any proper sense. Perhaps it was only that, being a man who didn’t like to leave a thing half done, he wanted to fail completely if failure was what fate had marked him for.
Regus showed him the bunk where they would take turns sleeping on the night shift and handed him a copy of the new contract which Grady had told him they were to take around for the miners to sign. The Burnsides had gotten the niggers in Mink Slide all signed up the evening before, Regus explained. They would have to sign up the rest.
“You ort to read her over if ye can, so’s you can tell them that asks what they’re signin. Ain’t many of em that won’t know, but they’s some will forever have to hear it.”
Music sat down on the bunk to read the document. It was full of legal-sounding words he could only guess at from the context; still, the message was clear enough. The miners agreed to join no union. They agreed that no one but members of their immediate families had the right to “ingress” or “egress” to and from the company houses they occupied. The contract made it clear that all streets, alleys, or lanes about the premises were private property subject to any police regulation Hardcastle Coal Company might make. It warned that a miner’s employment could be terminated for breaking any regulation and that on termination of his employment, the employee forfeited all rights to occupy company housing immediately. The company had the right to enter at any time the premises of any “domicile,” and the lessee expressly waived any benefit or protection to which he might otherwise be entitled by law.
“Sons of a bitch,” Music said, “this thing even claims, if a man owes the company any money when he gets evicted …”
“The company can keep all his truck,” Regus finished. “Sure,” he went on, “I can’t handle the fancy words in it myself, but I know what she boils down to. I’ve signed my share of them things. Hit ain’t nuthin but a simple ole yeller-dog contract; and what with cold weather comin on, and the National Miners Union organizing whomsoever they can, I reckon ole Hardcastle wants to remind everybody that he means business.” Regus ran his finger back and forth under his nose and laughed. “Hit ain’t like they ain’t signed nearly the same thing before. Come on,” he said, “let’s us get started.”
They left the insistent heat and noise of the powerhouse, Music with the contracts and Regus with a checklist of names. Outside, Elkin looked like a picture drawn in black, sepia, and shades of grey. The cold, silver sunlight polished the surface of the river, windows scummed over with coal dust, and fingers of frost retreating into the shade. No one gave them much trouble.
Even with most of the children in school, the small, four-room dwellings they entered were often crowded, and Music wondered where so many could lie down to sleep. Even the cleanest of the houses smelled like a fart in a paper sack from the coal being burned for cooking and upon grates for heat. Often the sulfurous odor of coal was complicated by the
“Hydee,” Harmon said.
“Hydee,” Music said, and all at once he knew exactly how he felt: he felt like a man who had been falling and was anxious to hit bottom and have it over. When he’d caught himself going through those garbage cans behind the hotel in Salt Lake City, he had known the fabric of his ambitions simply could no longer hold him up, and he was going to land back in Shulls Mills, where his father and brothers scratched out a living on their ragtag farm as though they couldn’t conceive of anything better, as though they had never even thought of another way to live. He had made, at last, a kind of peace with that. He would hit bottom and start all over again, new and humble. He didn’t like being fetched up in Switch County with the sensation of falling still in his bones. But how could he explain that to Regus or anyone? He wasn’t sure it made any proper sense. Perhaps it was only that, being a man who didn’t like to leave a thing half done, he wanted to fail completely if failure was what fate had marked him for.
Regus showed him the bunk where they would take turns sleeping on the night shift and handed him a copy of the new contract which Grady had told him they were to take around for the miners to sign. The Burnsides had gotten the niggers in Mink Slide all signed up the evening before, Regus explained. They would have to sign up the rest.
“You ort to read her over if ye can, so’s you can tell them that asks what they’re signin. Ain’t many of em that won’t know, but they’s some will forever have to hear it.”
Music sat down on the bunk to read the document. It was full of legal-sounding words he could only guess at from the context; still, the message was clear enough. The miners agreed to join no union. They agreed that no one but members of their immediate families had the right to “ingress” or “egress” to and from the company houses they occupied. The contract made it clear that all streets, alleys, or lanes about the premises were private property subject to any police regulation Hardcastle Coal Company might make. It warned that a miner’s employment could be terminated for breaking any regulation and that on termination of his employment, the employee forfeited all rights to occupy company housing immediately. The company had the right to enter at any time the premises of any “domicile,” and the lessee expressly waived any benefit or protection to which he might otherwise be entitled by law.
“Sons of a bitch,” Music said, “this thing even claims, if a man owes the company any money when he gets evicted …”
“The company can keep all his truck,” Regus finished. “Sure,” he went on, “I can’t handle the fancy words in it myself, but I know what she boils down to. I’ve signed my share of them things. Hit ain’t nuthin but a simple ole yeller-dog contract; and what with cold weather comin on, and the National Miners Union organizing whomsoever they can, I reckon ole Hardcastle wants to remind everybody that he means business.” Regus ran his finger back and forth under his nose and laughed. “Hit ain’t like they ain’t signed nearly the same thing before. Come on,” he said, “let’s us get started.”
They left the insistent heat and noise of the powerhouse, Music with the contracts and Regus with a checklist of names. Outside, Elkin looked like a picture drawn in black, sepia, and shades of grey. The cold, silver sunlight polished the surface of the river, windows scummed over with coal dust, and fingers of frost retreating into the shade. No one gave them much trouble.
Even with most of the children in school, the small, four-room dwellings they entered were often crowded, and Music wondered where so many could lie down to sleep. Even the cleanest of the houses smelled like a fart in a paper sack from the coal being burned for cooking and upon grates for heat. Often the sulfurous odor of coal was complicated by the
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