he said. “We’d elect a president and first thing we knowed, he’d be kissing the ass of the superintendent, and then he’d sell us out. We’d pay dues, and the treasurer’d run out on us. I don’ know. Maybe you young squirts can figure something out. We done what we could.”
“You all ready to give up?” Jim asked, glancing at him again.
The old man squatted down on his limb and held himself there with one big skinny hand. “I got feelings in my skin,” he said. “You may think I’m a crazy old coot; them other things was planned; nothing come of ’em; but I got feelings in my skin.”
“What kind of feelings?”
“It’s hard to say, kid. You know quite a bit before water boils, it gets to heavin’ around? That’s the kind of feeling I got. I been with workin’ stiffs all my life. There ain’t a plan in this at all. It’s just like that water heavin’ before it boils.” His eyes were dim, seeing nothing. His head rose up so that two strings of skin tautened between his chin and his throat. “Maybe there’s been too much goin’ hungry; maybe too many bosses’ve kicked hell out of the men. I dunno. I just feel it in my skin.”
“Well, what is it?” Jim asked.
“It’s anger,” the old man cried. “That’s what it is. You know when you’re about to get fightin’, crazy mad, you get a hot, sick, weak feelin’ in your guts? Well, that’s what it is. Only it ain’t just in one man. It’s like the whole bunch, millions and millions was one man, and he’s been beat and starved, and he’s gettin’ that sick feelin’ in his guts. The stiffs don’t know what’s happenin’, but when the big guy gets mad, they’ll all be there; and by Christ, I hate to think of it. They’ll be bitin’ out throats with their teeth, and clawin’ off lips. It’s anger, that’s what it is.” He swayed on his limb, and tightened his arms to steady himself. “I feel it in my skin,” he said. “Ever’ place I go, it’s like water just before it gets to boilin’.”
Jim trembled with excitement. “There’s got to be a plan,” he said. “When the thing busts, there’s got to be a plan all ready to direct it, so it’ll do some good.”
The old man seemed tired after his outburst. “When that big guy busts loose, there won’t be no plan that can hold him. That big guy’ll run like a mad dog, and bite anything that moves. He’s been hungry too long, and he’s been hurt too much; and worst thing of all, he’s had his feelings hurt too much.”
“But if enough men expected it and had a plan——” Jim insisted.
The old man shook his head. “I hope I’m dead before it happens. They’ll be bitin’ out throats with their teeth. They’ll kill each other off an’ after they’re all wore out or dead, it’ll be the same thing over again. I want to die and get shut of it. You young squirts got hopes.” He lifted his full bucket down. “I got no hope. Get out of the way, I’m comin’ down the ladder. We can’t make no money talkin’: that’s for college boys.”
Jim stood aside on a limb and let him down the ladder. The old man emptied his bucket and then went to another tree. Although Jim waited for him, he did not come back. The sorting belt rumbled on its rollers in the packinghouse, and the hammers tapped. Along the highway the big transport trucks roared by. Jim picked his bucket full and took it to the box pile. The checker made a mark in his book.
“You’re going to owe us money if you don’t get off your dime,” the checker said.
Jim’s face went red and his shoulders dropped. “You keep to your God-damn book,” he said.
“Tough guy, huh?”
Then Jim caught himself and grinned in embarrassment. “I’m tired,” he apologized. “It’s a new kind of work to me.”
The blond checker smiled. “I know how it is,” he said. “You get pretty touchy when you’re tired. Why don’t you get up in a tree and have a smoke?”
“I guess I will.” Jim went
“You all ready to give up?” Jim asked, glancing at him again.
The old man squatted down on his limb and held himself there with one big skinny hand. “I got feelings in my skin,” he said. “You may think I’m a crazy old coot; them other things was planned; nothing come of ’em; but I got feelings in my skin.”
“What kind of feelings?”
“It’s hard to say, kid. You know quite a bit before water boils, it gets to heavin’ around? That’s the kind of feeling I got. I been with workin’ stiffs all my life. There ain’t a plan in this at all. It’s just like that water heavin’ before it boils.” His eyes were dim, seeing nothing. His head rose up so that two strings of skin tautened between his chin and his throat. “Maybe there’s been too much goin’ hungry; maybe too many bosses’ve kicked hell out of the men. I dunno. I just feel it in my skin.”
“Well, what is it?” Jim asked.
“It’s anger,” the old man cried. “That’s what it is. You know when you’re about to get fightin’, crazy mad, you get a hot, sick, weak feelin’ in your guts? Well, that’s what it is. Only it ain’t just in one man. It’s like the whole bunch, millions and millions was one man, and he’s been beat and starved, and he’s gettin’ that sick feelin’ in his guts. The stiffs don’t know what’s happenin’, but when the big guy gets mad, they’ll all be there; and by Christ, I hate to think of it. They’ll be bitin’ out throats with their teeth, and clawin’ off lips. It’s anger, that’s what it is.” He swayed on his limb, and tightened his arms to steady himself. “I feel it in my skin,” he said. “Ever’ place I go, it’s like water just before it gets to boilin’.”
Jim trembled with excitement. “There’s got to be a plan,” he said. “When the thing busts, there’s got to be a plan all ready to direct it, so it’ll do some good.”
The old man seemed tired after his outburst. “When that big guy busts loose, there won’t be no plan that can hold him. That big guy’ll run like a mad dog, and bite anything that moves. He’s been hungry too long, and he’s been hurt too much; and worst thing of all, he’s had his feelings hurt too much.”
“But if enough men expected it and had a plan——” Jim insisted.
The old man shook his head. “I hope I’m dead before it happens. They’ll be bitin’ out throats with their teeth. They’ll kill each other off an’ after they’re all wore out or dead, it’ll be the same thing over again. I want to die and get shut of it. You young squirts got hopes.” He lifted his full bucket down. “I got no hope. Get out of the way, I’m comin’ down the ladder. We can’t make no money talkin’: that’s for college boys.”
Jim stood aside on a limb and let him down the ladder. The old man emptied his bucket and then went to another tree. Although Jim waited for him, he did not come back. The sorting belt rumbled on its rollers in the packinghouse, and the hammers tapped. Along the highway the big transport trucks roared by. Jim picked his bucket full and took it to the box pile. The checker made a mark in his book.
“You’re going to owe us money if you don’t get off your dime,” the checker said.
Jim’s face went red and his shoulders dropped. “You keep to your God-damn book,” he said.
“Tough guy, huh?”
Then Jim caught himself and grinned in embarrassment. “I’m tired,” he apologized. “It’s a new kind of work to me.”
The blond checker smiled. “I know how it is,” he said. “You get pretty touchy when you’re tired. Why don’t you get up in a tree and have a smoke?”
“I guess I will.” Jim went
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