To a God Unknown

by John Steinbeck

  Martha wore a secret look. She cautioned the others to silence in a whisper. They heard three faint smacks, and instantly Martha cried, "I hear it." And even a little after, they all heard the baby cry. They stood in awe, looking at Martha.

  "How did you know when to say it?"

  Martha was tantalizing. "I'm the oldest, and I've been good for a long time. And mother told me how to listen."

  "How?" they demanded. "How did you listen?"

  "For the spank!" she said in triumph. "They always spank the baby to make it cry. I won, and I want a hair-doll for a present."

  A little later Joseph came out on the porch and leaned over the porch-rail. The children moved over and stood in front of him and looked up. They were disappointed that his hands were not still red. His face was so drawn and haggard and his eyes so listless that they hated to speak to him.

  Martha began, lamely, "I heard the first cry," she said. "I want a hair-doll for a present."

  He looked down on them and smiled slightly. "I'll get it for you," he said. "I'll have presents for all of you when I go to town."

  Martha asked politely, "Is it a boy-baby, or a girl-baby?"

  "A boy," Joseph said. "Maybe you can see it after a while." His hands were clenched tightly over the porch-rail, and his stomach still racked with the pains he had received from Elizabeth. He took a deep breath of the hot midday air and went back into the house.

  Rama was washing out the baby's toothless mouth with warm water while Alice set the safety pins in the strip of muslin that would bind Elizabeth's hips after the placenta came. "Only a little while yet," Rama said. "It will be over in an hour."

  Joseph sat heavily in a chair and watched the women, and he watched the dull, pained eyes of Elizabeth, filled with suffering. The baby lay in its basket-crib, dressed in a gown twice as long as itself.

  When the birth was all over, Joseph lifted Elizabeth and held her in his lap while the women took up the foul birth pad and made the bed again. Alice took out all the rags and burned them in the kitchen stove, and Rama pinned the bandage around Elizabeth's hips as tightly as she could pull it.

  Elizabeth lay wanly in the clean bed after the women had gone. She put out her hand for Joseph to take. "I've been dreaming," she said weakly. "Here's a whole day gone and I've been dreaming."

  He caressed her fingers, one at a time. "Would you like me to bring the baby to you?"

  Her forefinger wrinkled in a tired frown. "Not yet," she said. "I still hate it for making so much pain. Wait until I've rested a while." Soon after that she fell asleep.

  Late in the afternoon Joseph walked out to the barn.

  He barely looked at the tree as he passed it. "You are the cycle," he said to himself, "and the cycle is too cruel." He found the barn carefully cleaned, and every stall deep with new straw. Thomas was sitting in his usual place, on the manger of Blue's stall. He nodded shortly to Joseph.

  "My coyote bitch has a tick in her ear," he observed. "Devil of a place to get it out."

  Joseph walked into the stall and sat down beside his brother. He rested his chin heavily in his cupped hands.

  "What luck?" Thomas asked gently.

  Joseph stared at a sun-sheet cutting the air from a crack in the barn wall. The flies blazed through it like meteors plunging into the earth's air. "It's a boy," he said absently. "I cut the cord myself. Rama told me how. I cut it with a pair of scissors and I tied a knot, and I bound it up against his chest with a bandage."

  "Was it a hard birth?" Thomas asked. "I came out here to keep from going in to help."

  "Yes, it was hard, and Rama said it was easy. God, how the little things fight against life!"

  Thomas plucked a straw from the rack behind him and stripped it with his bared teeth. "I never saw a human baby born Rama would never let me I've helped many a cow when she couldn't help herself."

  Joseph moved restlessly down from the manger and walked to one of the little windows He said over his shoulder, "It's been a hot day. The air's dancing over the hills yet." The sun, sinking behind the hills, was melting out of shape. "Thomas, we've never been over the ridge to the coast. Let's go when we have time. I'd like to see the ocean over there."

  "I've been to the ridge and looked down," Thomas said. "It's wild over there, redwoods taller than anything you ever saw, and thick undergrowth, and you can see a thousand miles out on the ocean. I saw a little ship going by, halfway up the ocean."

  The evening was setting quickly toward night. Rama called, "Joseph, where are you?"

  He walked quickly to the barn door. "I'm here. 'What is it?"

  "Elizabeth is awake again. She wants you to sit with her a while. Thomas, your dinner will be ready in a little."

  Joseph sat beside Elizabeth's bed in the half-dark, and again she put out her hand to him. "You wanted me?" he asked.

  "Yes, dear. I haven't slept enough, but I want to talk to you before I go to sleep again. I might forget what it is I want to say. You must remember for me."

  It was getting dark in the room. Joseph lifted her hand to his lips and she wriggled her fingers slightly against his mouth.

  "What is it, Elizabeth?"

  "Well, when you were away, I drove up to the pine grove on the ridge. And I found a clear place inside, and a green rock in the place."

  He sat forward tensely. "Why did you go?" he demanded.

  "I don't know. I wanted to. The green rock frightened me, and later I dreamed of it. And Joseph, when I am well, I want to go back and look at the rock again. When I am well it won't frighten me any more, and I won't dream about it any more. Will you remember, dear? You're hurting my fingers, Joseph."

  "I know the place," he said. "It's a strange place."

  "And you won't forget to take me there?"

  "No," he said after a pause. "I won't forget. I'll have to think whether you should go."

  "Then sit for a while, I'll go to sleep in a few moments," she said.

  19

  THE summer dragged wearily on, and even when the autumn months came the heat did not grow less. Burton came back exalted from the camp-meeting town of Pacific Grove. He described with enthusiasm the lovely peninsula and the blue bay, and he told how the preachers had given the word to the people. "Some time," he said to Joseph, "I'll go up there and build a little house, and I'll live there all the year around. A number of people are settling there. It will be a fine town some day."

  He was pleased with the baby. "It's our stock," he said, "just a little changed." And he boasted to Elizabeth, "Ours is a strong stock. It comes out every time. For nearly two hundred years now the boys have had those eyes."

  "They aren't far from the color of my eyes," Elizabeth protested. "And besides, babies' eyes change color as they get older."

  "It's the expression," Burton explained. "There's always the Wayne expression in the eyes. When will you have him baptized?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Maybe we'll be going to San Luis Obispo before very long, and of course I'd like to go home to Monterey for a visit some time."

  The day's heat came early over the mountains and drove the chickens from their morning talking on manure piles. By eleven it was unpleasant to be out in the sun, but before eleven, Joseph and Elizabeth often took chairs out of the house and sat under the shading limbs of the great oak. Elizabeth engaged in the morning nursing then, for Joseph liked to watch the baby sucking at the breast.

  "It doesn't grow as fast as I thought it would," he complained.

  "You're too used to the cattle," she reminded him. "They grow so much more quickly, and they don't live very long."

  Joseph silently contemplated his wife. "She's grown so wise," he thought. "Without any study she has learned so many things." It puzzled him. "Do you feel very much different from the girl who came to teach school in Nuestra Senora?" he asked.

  She laughed. "Do I seem different, Joseph?"

  "Why, of course."

  "Then I suppose I am." She changed the breast and shifted the baby to the ot
her knee, and he struck hungrily at the nipple, like a trout at a bait. "I'm split up," Elizabeth went on. "I hadn't really thought of it. I used to think in terms of things I had read. I never do now. I don't think at all. I just do things that occur to me. What will his name be, Joseph?"

  "Why," he said, "I guess it will be John. There has always been either a Joseph or a John. John has always been the son of Joseph, and Joseph the son of John. It has always been that way."

  She nodded, and her eyes looked far away. "Yes, it's a good name. It won't ever give him any trouble or make him embarrassed. It hasn't even much meaning. There have been so many Johns--all kinds of men, good and bad." She took the breast away and buttoned her dress, and then turned the baby to pat the air bubbles out of him. "Have you noticed, Joseph, Johns are either good or bad, never neutral? If a neutral boy has that name, he doesn't keep it. He becomes Jack." She turned the baby around, to look in its face, and it squinted its eyes like a little pig. "Your name is John, do you hear?" she said playfully. "Do you hear that? I hope it never gets to be Jack. I'd rather you were very bad than Jack."

  Joseph smiled amusedly at her. "He has never sat in the tree, dear. Don't you think it's about time?"

  "Always your tree!" she said. "You think everything moves by order of your tree."

  He leaned back to look up into the great tender branches. "I know it now, you see," he said softly. "I know it now so well that I can look at the leaves and tell what kind of a day it will be. I'll make a seat for the baby up in the crotch. When he's a little older I may cut steps in the bark for him to climb on."

  "But he might fall and hurt himself."

  "Not from that tree. It wouldn't let him fall."

  She looked penetratingly at him. "Still playing the game that isn't a game, Joseph?"

  "Yes," he said, "still playing. Give the baby to me now. I'll put him in the arms." The leaves had lost their shine under a coat of summer dust. The bark was pale grey and dry.

  "He might fall, Joseph," she warned him. "You forget he can't sit up by himself."

  Burton strolled up from the vegetable-patch and stood with them, wiping his wet forehead with a bandana. "The melons are ripe," he said. "The 'coons are getting at them, too. We'd better set some traps."

  Joseph leaned toward Elizabeth with his hands outstretched.

  "But he might fall," she protested.

  "I'll hold him. I won't let him fall."

  "What are you going to do with him?" Burton asked.

  "Joseph wants to sit him in the tree."

  Instantly Burton's face grew hard, and his eyes sullen. "Don't do it, Joseph," he said harshly. "You must not do it."

  "I won't let him fall. I'll hold him all the time."

  The perspiration stood in large drops on Burton's forehead. Into his eyes there came a look of horror and of pleading. He stepped forward and put a restraining hand on Joseph's shoulder. "Please don't do it," he begged.

  "But I won't let him fall, I tell you."

  "It isn't that. You know what I mean. Swear to me that you won't ever do it."

  Joseph turned on him irritably. "I'll swear nothing," he said. "Why should I swear? I see nothing wrong in what I do."

  Burton said quietly, "Joseph, you have never heard me beg for anything. It isn't the manner of our family to beg. But now I am begging you to give up this thing. If I am willing to do that, you must see how important it is." His eyes were wet with emotion.

  Joseph's face softened "If it bothers you so much, I won't do it," he said.

  "And will you swear never to do it?"

  "No, I won't swear. I won't give up my thing to your thing. "Why should I?"

  "Because you're letting evil in," Burton cried passionately. "Because you are opening the door to evil. A thing like this will not go unpunished."

  Joseph laughed. "Then let me take the punishment," he said.

  "But don't you see, Joseph, it isn't only you! All of us will be in the ruin."

  "You're protecting yourself, then, Burton?"

  "No. I'm trying to protect all of us. I'm thinking of the baby, and of Elizabeth here."

  Elizabeth had been staring from one to the other of them. She stood up and held the baby against her breast. "What are you two arguing about?" she demanded. "There's something in this I don't know about."

  "I'll tell her," Burton threatened.

  "Tell her what? What is there to tell?"

  Burton sighed deeply. "On your head, then. Elizabeth, my brother is denying Christ. He is worshipping as the old pagans did. He is losing his soul and letting in the evil."

  "I'm denying no Christ," Joseph said sharply. "I'm doing a simple thing that pleases me."

  "Then the hanging of sacrifices, the pouring of blood, the offering of every good thing to this tree is a simple thing? I've seen you sneak out of the house at night, and I've heard you talk to this tree. Is that a simple thing?"

  "Yes, a simple thing," Joseph said. "There's no hurt in it."

  "And the offering of your own first-born child to the tree--is that a simple thing, too?"

  "Yes, a little game."

  Burton turned away and looked out over the land, where the heat waves were so intense that they were blue in color and their twisting made the hills seem to writhe and shudder. "I've tried to help you," he said sadly. "I've tried harder than Scripture tells us to." He swung back fiercely. "You won't swear, then?"

  "No," Joseph replied. "I won't swear to anything that limits me, that cuts down my activity. Surely I won't swear."

  "Then I cast you out." Burton's hands hid in his pockets. "Then I won't stay to be involved."

  "Is what he says true?" Elizabeth asked. "Have you been doing what he says?"

  Joseph gazed moodily at the ground. "I don't know:"

  His hand arose to caress his beard. "I don't think so. It doesn't sound like the thing I have been doing."

  "I've seen him," Burton cut in. "Night after night I've seen him come out into the dark under the tree. I've done what I can. Now I am going away from this wrong."

  "Where will you go, Burton?" Joseph asked.

  "Harriet has three thousand dollars. We'll go to Pacific Grove and build a house there. I'll sell my part of the ranch. Maybe I'll open a little store. That town will grow, I tell you."

  Joseph stepped forward, as though to intercept his resolve. "I'll be sorry to think I've driven you away," he said.

  Burton stood over Elizabeth and looked down at the child. "It isn't only you, Joseph. The rot was in our father, and it was not dug out. It grew until it possessed him. His dying words showed how far he had gone. I saw the thing even before you ever started for the West. If you had gone among people who knew the Word and were strong in the Word, the thing might have died--but you came here."

  His hands swept out to indicate the country. "The mountains are too high," he cried. "The place is too savage. And all the people carry the seed of this evil thing in them. I've seen them, and I know. I saw the fiesta, and I know. I can only pray that your son will not inherit the rot."

  Joseph resolved quickly. "I will swear if you will stay. I don't know how I'll keep it, but I'll swear. Sometimes, you see, I might forget and think in the old way."

  "No, Joseph, you love the earth too much. You give no thought to the hereafter. The force of an oath is not strong in you." He moved away toward his house.

  "Don't go at least until we talk this over," Joseph called, but Burton did not turn nor answer him.

  Joseph looked after him for a minute before he turned to Elizabeth. She was smiling with a kind of contemptuous amusement. "I think he wants to go," she said.

  "Yes, that's partly it. And he really is afraid of my sins, too."

  "Are you sinning, Joseph?" she asked.

  He scowled in thought. "No," he said at last. "I'm not sinning. If Burton were doing what I am, it would be sin. I only want my son to love the tree." He stretched out his hands for the baby, and Elizabeth put the swathed little body in his hands. Burton
looked back as he was entering his house, and he saw that Joseph was holding the baby within the crotch of the tree, and he saw how the gnarled limbs curved up protectingly about it.

  20

  BURTON did not stay long on the ranch after his mind was made up. Within a week he had his things packed and ready. On the night before his departure he worked late, nailing the last of the boxes. Joseph heard him walking about in the night, chopping and hammering, and before daylight he was up again. Joseph found him in the barn, currying the horses he was to take, while Thomas sat nearby on a pile of hay and offered some short advice.

  "That Bill will tire soon. Let him rest every little while until he gets well warm. This team has never been through the pass. You may have to lead them through--but maybe not, now that the water is so low."

  Joseph strolled in and leaned against the wall, under the lantern. "I'm sorry you're going, Burton," he said.

  Burton arrested his curry-comb on the horse's broad rump. "There are a good many reasons for going. Harriet will be happier in a little town where she can have friends to drop in on. We were too cut off out here. Harriet has been lonely."

  "I know," Joseph said gently, "but we'll miss you, Burton. It will cut the strength of the family."

  Burton dropped his eyes uneasily and went back to currying. "I've never wanted to be a farmer," he said lamely. "Even at home I thought of opening a little store in town." His hands stopped working. He said passionately, "I've tried to lead an acceptable life. What I have done I have done because it seemed to me to be right. There is only one law. I have tried to live in that law. What I have done seems right to me, Joseph. Remember that. I want you to remember that."

  Joseph smiled affectionately at him. "I'm not trying to keep you here if you want to go, Burton. This is a wild country. If you do not love it, there's only hatred left. You've had no church to go to. I don't blame you for wanting to be among people who carry your own thoughts."

  Burton moved to the next stall. "It's turning light," he said nervously. "Harriet is getting breakfast. I want to start as soon after daylight as I can.".

  The families and the riders came out into the dawn to watch Burton start away.