Chapter 22

by Upton Sinclair

　　Jurgis took the news in a peculiar way. He turned deadly pale,but he caught himself, and for half a minute stood in the middleof the room, clenching his hands tightly and setting his teeth.Then he pushed Aniele aside and strode into the next room andclimbed the ladder.In the corner was a blanket, with a form half showing beneath it;and beside it lay Elzbieta, whether crying or in a faint, Jurgiscould not tell. Marija was pacing the room, screaming andwringing her hands. He clenched his hands tighter yet, and hisvoice was hard as he spoke."How did it happen?" he asked.Marija scarcely heard him in her agony. He repeated thequestion, louder and yet more harshly. "He fell off thesidewalk!" she wailed. The sidewalk in front of the house was aplatform made of half-rotten boards, about five feet above thelevel of the sunken street."How did he come to be there?" he demanded."He went--he went out to play," Marija sobbed, her voice chokingher. "We couldn't make him stay in. He must have got caught inthe mud!""Are you sure that he is dead?" he demanded."Ai! ai!" she wailed. "Yes; we had the doctor."Then Jurgis stood a few seconds, wavering. He did not shed atear. He took one glance more at the blanket with the littleform beneath it, and then turned suddenly to the ladder andclimbed down again. A silence fell once more in the room as heentered. He went straight to the door, passed out, and starteddown the street.When his wife had died, Jurgis made for the nearest saloon, buthe did not do that now, though he had his week's wages in hispocket. He walked and walked, seeing nothing, splashing throughmud and water. Later on he sat down upon a step and hid his facein his hands and for half an hour or so he did not move. Now andthen he would whisper to himself: "Dead! Dead!"Finally, he got up and walked on again. It was about sunset, andhe went on and on until it was dark, when he was stopped by arailroad crossing. The gates were down, and a long train offreight cars was thundering by. He stood and watched it; and allat once a wild impulse seized him, a thought that had beenlurking within him, unspoken, unrecognized, leaped into suddenlife. He started down the track, and when he was past thegate-keeper's shanty he sprang forward and swung himself on toone of the cars.By and by the train stopped again, and Jurgis sprang down and ranunder the car, and hid himself upon the truck. Here he sat, andwhen the train started again, he fought a battle with his soul.He gripped his hands and set his teeth together--he had not wept,and he would not--not a tear! It was past and over, and he wasdone with it--he would fling it off his shoulders, be free of it,the whole business, that night. It should go like a black,hateful nightmare, and in the morning he would be a new man. Andevery time that a thought of it assailed him--a tender memory, atrace of a tear--he rose up, cursing with rage, and pounded itdown.He was fighting for his life; he gnashed his teeth together inhis desperation. He had been a fool, a fool! He had wasted hislife, he had wrecked himself, with his accursed weakness; and nowhe was done with it--he would tear it out of him, root andbranch! There should be no more tears and no more tenderness;he had had enough of them--they had sold him into slavery! Now hewas going to be free, to tear off his shackles, to rise up andfight. He was glad that the end had come--it had to come sometime, and it was just as well now. This was no world for womenand children, and the sooner they got out of it the better forthem. Whatever Antanas might suffer where he was, he couldsuffer no more than he would have had he stayed upon earth.And meantime his father had thought the last thought about him thathe meant to; he was going to think of himself, he was going tofight for himself, against the world that had baffled him andtortured him!So he went on, tearing up all the flowers from the garden of hissoul, and setting his heel upon them. The train thundereddeafeningly, and a storm of dust blew in his face; but though itstopped now and then through the night, he clung where he was--he would cling there until he was driven off, for every mile that hegot from Packingtown meant another load from his mind.Whenever the cars stopped a warm breeze blew upon him, a breezeladen with the perfume of fresh fields, of honeysuckle andclover. He snuffed it, and it made his heart beat wildly--he wasout in the country again! He was going to live in the country!When the dawn came he was peering out with hungry eyes, gettingglimpses of meadows and woods and rivers. At last he could standit no longer, and when the train stopped again he crawled out.Upon the top of the car was a brakeman, who shook his fist andswore; Jurgis waved his hand derisively, and started across thecountry.Only think that he had been a countryman all his life; and forthree long years he had never seen a country sight nor heard acountry sound! Excepting for that one walk when he left jail,when he was too much worried to notice anything, and for a fewtimes that he had rested in the city parks in the winter timewhen he was out of work, he had literally never seen a tree!And now he felt like a bird lifted up and borne away upon a gale;he stopped and stared at each new sight of wonder--at a herd ofcows, and a meadow full of daisies, at hedgerows set thick withJune roses, at little birds singing in the trees.Then he came to a farm-house, and after getting himself a stickfor protection, he approached it. The farmer was greasing awagon in front of the barn, and Jurgis went to him. "I wouldlike to get some breakfast, please," he said."Do you want to work?" said the farmer."No," said Jurgis. "I don't.""Then you can't get anything here," snapped the other."I meant to pay for it," said Jurgis."Oh," said the farmer; and then added sarcastically, "We don'tserve breakfast after 7 A.M.""I am very hungry," said Jurgis gravely; "I would like to buysome food.""Ask the woman," said the farmer, nodding over his shoulder. The"woman" was more tractable, and for a dime Jurgis secured twothick sandwiches and a piece of pie and two apples. He walkedoff eating the pie, as the least convenient thing to carry. In afew minutes he came to a stream, and he climbed a fence andwalked down the bank, along a woodland path. By and by he founda comfortable spot, and there he devoured his meal, slaking histhirst at the stream. Then he lay for hours, just gazing anddrinking in joy; until at last he felt sleepy, and lay down inthe shade of a bush.When he awoke the sun was shining hot in his face. He sat up andstretched his arms, and then gazed at the water sliding by.There was a deep pool, sheltered and silent, below him, and asudden wonderful idea rushed upon him. He might have a bath!The water was free, and he might get into it--all the way intoit! It would be the first time that he had been all the way intothe water since he left Lithuania!When Jurgis had first come to the stockyards he had been as cleanas any workingman could well be. But later on, what withsickness and cold and hunger and discouragement, and thefilthiness of his work, and the vermin in his home, he had givenup washing in winter, and in summer only as much of him as wouldgo into a basin. He had had a shower bath in jail, but nothingsince--and now he would have a swim!The water was warm, and he splashed about like a very boy in hisglee. Afterward he sat down in the water near the bank, andproceeded to scrub himself--soberly and methodically, scouringevery inch of him with sand. While he was doing it he would doit thoroughly, and see how it felt to be clean. He even scrubbedhis head with sand, and combed what the men called "crumbs" outof his long, black hair, holding his head under water as long ashe could, to see if he could not kill them all. Then, seeingthat the sun was still hot, he took his clothes from the bankand proceeded to wash them, piece by piece; as the dirt and greasewent floating off downstream he grunted with satisfaction andsoused the clothes again, venturing even to dream that he mightget rid of the fertilizer.He hung them all up, and while they were drying he lay down inthe sun and had another long sleep. They were hot and stiff asboards on top, and a little damp on the underside, when heawakened; but being hungry, he put them on and set out again.He had no knife, but with some labor he broke himself a good stoutclub, and, armed with this, he marched down the road again.Before long he came to a big farmhouse, and turned up the lanethat led to it. It was just suppertime, and the farmer waswashing his hands at the kitchen door. "Please, sir," saidJurgis, "can I have something to eat? I can pay." To which thefarmer responded promptly, "We don't feed tramps here. Get out!"Jurgis went without a word; but as he passed round the barn hecame to a freshly ploughed and harrowed field, in which thefarmer had set out some young peach trees; and as he walked hejerked up a row of them by the roots, more than a hundred treesin all, before he reached the end of the field. That was hisanswer, and it showed his mood; from now on he was fighting,and the man who hit him would get all that he gave, every time.Beyond the orchard Jurgis struck through a patch of woods, andthen a field of winter grain, and came at last to another road.Before long he saw another farmhouse, and, as it was beginningto cloud over a little, he asked here for shelter as well as food.Seeing the farmer eying him dubiously, he added, "I'll be gladto sleep in the barn.""Well, I dunno," said the other. "Do you smoke?""Sometimes," said Jurgis, "but I'll do it out of doors." When theman had assented, he inquired, "How much will it cost me? Ihaven't very much money.""I reckon about twenty cents for supper," replied the farmer. "Iwon't charge ye for the barn."So Jurgis went in, and sat down at the table with the farmer'swife and half a dozen children. It was a bountiful meal--therewere baked beans and mashed potatoes and asparagus chopped andstewed, and a dish of strawberries, and great, thick slices ofbread, and a pitcher of milk. Jurgis had not had such a feastsince his wedding day, and he made a mighty effort to put in histwenty cents' worth.They were all of them too hungry to talk; but afterward they satupon the steps and smoked, and the farmer questioned his guest.When Jurgis had explained that he was a workingman from Chicago,and that he did not know just whither he was bound, the othersaid, "Why don't you stay here and work for me?""I'm not looking for work just now," Jurgis answered."I'll pay ye good," said the other, eying his big form--"a dollara day and board ye. Help's terrible scarce round here.""Is that winter as well as summer?" Jurgis demanded quickly."N--no," said the farmer; "I couldn't keep ye after November--Iain't got a big enough place for that.""I see," said the other, "that's what I thought. When you getthrough working your horses this fall, will you turn them out inthe snow?" (Jurgis was beginning to think for himself nowadays.)"It ain't quite the same," the farmer answered, seeing the point."There ought to be work a strong fellow like you can find to do,in the cities, or some place, in the winter time.""Yes," said Jurgis, "that's what they all think; and so theycrowd into the cities, and when they have to beg or steal tolive, then people ask 'em why they don't go into the country,where help is scarce." The farmer meditated awhile."How about when your money's gone?" he inquired, finally."You'll have to, then, won't you?""Wait till she's gone," said Jurgis; "then I'll see."He had a long sleep in the barn and then a big breakfast ofcoffee and bread and oatmeal and stewed cherries, for which theman charged him only fifteen cents, perhaps having beeninfluenced by his arguments. Then Jurgis bade farewell, and wenton his way.Such was the beginning of his life as a tramp. It was seldom hegot as fair treatment as from this last farmer, and so as timewent on he learned to shun the houses and to prefer sleeping inthe fields. When it rained he would find a deserted building,if he could, and if not, he would wait until after dark and then,with his stick ready, begin a stealthy approach upon a barn.Generally he could get in before the dog got scent of him, andthen he would hide in the hay and be safe until morning; if not,and the dog attacked him, he would rise up and make a retreat inbattle order. Jurgis was not the mighty man he had once been,but his arms were still good, and there were few farm dogs heneeded to hit more than once.Before long there came raspberries, and then blackberries, tohelp him save his money; and there were apples in the orchardsand potatoes in the ground--he learned to note the places andfill his pockets after dark. Twice he even managed to capture achicken, and had a feast, once in a deserted barn and the othertime in a lonely spot alongside of a stream. When all of thesethings failed him he used his money carefully, but without worry--for he saw that he could earn more whenever he chose. Half anhour's chopping wood in his lively fashion was enough to bringhim a meal, and when the farmer had seen him working he wouldsometimes try to bribe him to stay.But Jurgis was not staying. He was a free man now, a buccaneer.The old wanderlust had got into his blood, the joy of the unboundlife, the joy of seeking, of hoping without limit. There weremishaps and discomforts--but at least there was always somethingnew; and only think what it meant to a man who for years had beenpenned up in one place, seeing nothing but one dreary prospect ofshanties and factories, to be suddenly set loose beneath the opensky, to behold new landscapes, new places, and new people everyhour! To a man whose whole life had consisted of doing onecertain thing all day, until he was so exhausted that he couldonly lie down and sleep until the next day--and to be now his ownmaster, working as he pleased and when he pleased, and facing anew adventure every hour!Then, too, his health came back to him, all his lost youthfulvigor, his joy and power that he had mourned and forgotten!It came with a sudden rush, bewildering him, startling him; it wasas if his dead childhood had come back to him, laughing andcalling! What with plenty to eat and fresh air and exercise thatwas taken as it pleased him, he would waken from his sleep andstart off not knowing what to do with his energy, stretching hisarms, laughing, singing old songs of home that came back to him.Now and then, of course, he could not help but think of littleAntanas, whom he should never see again, whose little voice heshould never hear; and then he would have to battle with himself.Sometimes at night he would waken dreaming of Ona, and stretchout his arms to her, and wet the ground with his tears. But inthe morning he would get up and shake himself, and stride awayagain to battle with the world.He never asked where he was nor where he was going; the countrywas big enough, he knew, and there was no danger of his coming tothe end of it. And of course he could always have company forthe asking--everywhere he went there were men living just as helived, and whom he was welcome to join. He was a stranger at thebusiness, but they were not clannish, and they taught him alltheir tricks--what towns and villages it was best to keep awayfrom, and how to read the secret signs upon the fences, and whento beg and when to steal, and just how to do both. They laughedat his ideas of paying for anything with money or with work--forthey got all they wanted without either. Now and then Jurgiscamped out with a gang of them in some woodland haunt, andforaged with them in the neighborhood at night. And then amongthem some one would "take a shine" to him, and they would go offtogether and travel for a week, exchanging reminiscences.Of these professional tramps a great many had, of course, beenshiftless and vicious all their lives. But the vast majority ofthem had been workingmen, had fought the long fight as Jurgishad, and found that it was a losing fight, and given up. Lateron he encountered yet another sort of men, those from whose ranksthe tramps were recruited, men who were homeless and wandering,but still seeking work--seeking it in the harvest fields. Ofthese there was an army, the huge surplus labor army of society;called into being under the stern system of nature, to do thecasual work of the world, the tasks which were transient andirregular, and yet which had to be done. They did not know thatthey were such, of course; they only knew that they sought thejob, and that the job was fleeting. In the early summer theywould be in Texas, and as the crops were ready they would follownorth with the season, ending with the fall in Manitoba. Thenthey would seek out the big lumber camps, where there was winterwork; or failing in this, would drift to the cities, and liveupon what they had managed to save, with the help of suchtransient work as was there the loading and unloading ofsteamships and drays, the digging of ditches and the shovelingof snow. If there were more of them on hand than chanced to beneeded, the weaker ones died off of cold and hunger, againaccording to the stern system of nature.It was in the latter part of July, when Jurgis was in Missouri,that he came upon the harvest work. Here were crops that men hadworked for three or four months to prepare, and of which theywould lose nearly all unless they could find others to help themfor a week or two. So all over the land there was a cry forlabor--agencies were set up and all the cities were drained ofmen, even college boys were brought by the carload, and hordes offrantic farmers would hold up trains and carry off wagonloads ofmen by main force. Not that they did not pay them well--any mancould get two dollars a day and his board, and the best men couldget two dollars and a half or three.The harvest-fever was in the very air, and no man with any spiritin him could be in that region and not catch it. Jurgis joined agang and worked from dawn till dark, eighteen hours a day, fortwo weeks without a break. Then he had a sum of money that wouldhave been a fortune to him in the old days of misery--but whatcould he do with it now? To be sure he might have put it in abank, and, if he were fortunate, get it back again when he wantedit. But Jurgis was now a homeless man, wandering over acontinent; and what did he know about banking and drafts andletters of credit? If he carried the money about with him, hewould surely be robbed in the end; and so what was there for himto do but enjoy it while he could? On a Saturday night hedrifted into a town with his fellows; and because it was raining,and there was no other place provided for him, he went to asaloon. And there were some who treated him and whom he had totreat, and there was laughter and singing and good cheer;and then out of the rear part of the saloon a girl's face,red-cheeked and merry, smiled at Jurgis, and his heart thumpedsuddenly in his throat. He nodded to her, and she came and satby him, and they had more drink, and then he went upstairs into aroom with her, and the wild beast rose up within him andscreamed, as it has screamed in the Jungle from the dawn of time.And then because of his memories and his shame, he was glad whenothers joined them, men and women; and they had more drink andspent the night in wild rioting and debauchery. In the van ofthe surplus-labor army, there followed another, an army of women,they also struggling for life under the stern system of nature.Because there were rich men who sought pleasure, there had beenease and plenty for them so long as they were young andbeautiful; and later on, when they were crowded out by othersyounger and more beautiful, they went out to follow upon thetrail of the workingmen. Sometimes they came of themselves,and the saloon-keepers shared with them; or sometimes they werehandled by agencies, the same as the labor army. They were inthe towns in harvest time, near the lumber camps in the winter,in the cities when the men came there; if a regiment wereencamped, or a railroad or canal being made, or a greatexposition getting ready, the crowd of women were on hand, livingin shanties or saloons or tenement rooms, sometimes eight or tenof them together.In the morning Jurgis had not a cent, and he went out upon theroad again. He was sick and disgusted, but after the new plan ofhis life, he crushed his feelings down. He had made a fool ofhimself, but he could not help it now--all he could do was to seethat it did not happen again. So he tramped on until exerciseand fresh air banished his headache, and his strength and joyreturned. This happened to him every time, for Jurgis was stilla creature of impulse, and his pleasures had not yet becomebusiness. It would be a long time before he could be like themajority of these men of the road, who roamed until the hungerfor drink and for women mastered them, and then went to work witha purpose in mind, and stopped when they had the price of aspree.On the contrary, try as he would, Jurgis could not help beingmade miserable by his conscience. It was the ghost that wouldnot down. It would come upon him in the most unexpectedplaces--sometimes it fairly drove him to drink.One night he was caught by a thunderstorm, and he sought shelterin a little house just outside of a town. It was a working-man'shome, and the owner was a Slav like himself, a new emigrant fromWhite Russia; he bade Jurgis welcome in his home language, andtold him to come to the kitchen-fire and dry himself. He had nobed for him, but there was straw in the garret, and he could makeout. The man's wife was cooking the supper, and their childrenwere playing about on the floor. Jurgis sat and exchangedthoughts with him about the old country, and the places wherethey had been and the work they had done. Then they ate, andafterward sat and smoked and talked more about America, and howthey found it. In the middle of a sentence, however, Jurgisstopped, seeing that the woman had brought a big basin of waterand was proceeding to undress her youngest baby. The rest hadcrawled into the closet where they slept, but the baby was tohave a bath, the workingman explained. The nights had begun tobe chilly, and his mother, ignorant as to the climate in America,had sewed him up for the winter; then it had turned warm again,and some kind of a rash had broken out on the child. The doctorhad said she must bathe him every night, and she, foolish woman,believed him.Jurgis scarcely heard the explanation; he was watching the baby.He was about a year old, and a sturdy little fellow, with softfat legs, and a round ball of a stomach, and eyes as black ascoals. His pimples did not seem to bother him much, and he waswild with glee over the bath, kicking and squirming and chucklingwith delight, pulling at his mother's face and then at his ownlittle toes. When she put him into the basin he sat in the midstof it and grinned, splashing the water over himself and squealinglike a little pig. He spoke in Russian, of which Jurgis knewsome; he spoke it with the quaintest of baby accents--and everyword of it brought back to Jurgis some word of his own deadlittle one, and stabbed him like a knife. He sat perfectlymotionless, silent, but gripping his hands tightly, while a stormgathered in his bosom and a flood heaped itself up behind hiseyes. And in the end he could bear it no more, but buried hisface in his hands and burst into tears, to the alarm andamazement of his hosts. Between the shame of this and his woeJurgis could not stand it, and got up and rushed out into therain.He went on and on down the road, finally coming to a black woods,where he hid and wept as if his heart would break. Ah, whatagony was that, what despair, when the tomb of memory was rentopen and the ghosts of his old life came forth to scourge him!What terror to see what he had been and now could never be--tosee Ona and his child and his own dead self stretching out theirarms to him,calling to him across a bottomless abyss--and to knowthat they were gone from him forever, and he writhing andsuffocating in the mire of his own vileness!