“No, this’ll do,” Joe Ptak replied.
Lee sat up, looking gaunt and battered. “I want a lawyer,” he said.
“We have our union lawyers right here,” Smitty replied. “Hannegan, Dawson, this is Lee Gordon.”
Both shook hands with Lee and Hannegan said: “How are you, Lee?”
“Not so hot”
“So I see. Just tell us what happened.”
“Well, we were driving out to San Pedro to get a sound truck when four deputy sheriffs in a county car pulled up and ordered us to stop. They made us get out the car and after they’d searched us they began calling us Reds and abusing us in the worst way. I didn’t mind that so much because you expect that from these ignorant bastards. But then one of them, Paul was his name, offered me twenty-five dollars to double-cross the union—”
“Prodigal bastard,” Dawson murmured.
“—then he raised it to one hundred,” Lee continued. “When I told him I couldn’t sell out the union, he said that Luther had sold it out and why couldn’t I—”
All eyes turned toward Luther for an instant then back to Lee.
“Luther didn’t say anything, and then Paul put his gun on him and said: ‘How much did Foster give you?’ Luther said that Foster had given him five hundred dollars. Paul didn’t believe that Foster had given him that much, so Luther said one hundred. Then I said something, I forget now what it was. And they jumped on me. I remember Luther standing there not helping me in any way, and the next thing I remember I was here in the hospital.”
In the silence following the sound of his voice, Dawson said nervously to break the strain: ‘There wasn’t much else he could do, was there?”
“I didn’t expect him to do anything else. I’m just telling it like it was.”
“You said Luther, who is Luther?” Hannegan asked.
“I’m Luther.”
Hannegan looked around. “You!” Then he turned back to Lee, “You said Luther admitted to the deputy name Paul that Foster had given him five hundred dollars to sell out the union?”
“That’s right,” Lee said.
“Aw, man, goddamnit, you know that ain’t so!” Luther denied. “Why don’t you tell the truth? You cussed the mens and they jumped on you.”
Hannegan looked at Smitty. But it was Joe Ptak who spoke. “Let’s get one story at a time.”
“You said one of the deputies was named Paul. Do you recall the names of any of the others?”
“Yes, all of them: Ed, Paul, Walter, and Ray. I didn’t hear any of the last names.”
Hannegan turned to Dawson. “You can check that now, can’t you?”
Dawson nodded and went out. Smitty blew air into his cheeks, then said slowly to Lee: “Are you certain you remember what this guy Paul asked Luther, and what Luther said in reply?”
“I’m certain,” Lee replied.
“It could have been a gag to work on you, couldn’t it?”
“No, it couldn’t.”
“Aw, Smitty, goddamnit, ain’t nothing like that happened at all,” Luther again denied.
Joe turned toward him. “Keep quiet.”
Luther looked at him again but made no reply. Smitty’s face set in a deep, troubled frown. “But Luther brought you to the hospital? He took care of you after you were beaten up? Does that sound as if he was your enemy?”
“Maybe not.”
“It’s hard to believe that about Luther, Lee. That’s why I want you to be certain.”
“I am certain.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like Luther. He’s been out there in the field working for the union for a long time and no one’s ever charged him with anything like this. We’ve always considered him very reliable. A few years back he was up at Bakersfield trying to organize the agricultural workers almost singlehanded, and he could have sold out then to the owners for plenty.”
“Listen, Smitty, I’m telling it just like it happened.”
Hannegan turned to Smitty and asked: “What’s Luther’s official connection with the union.”
But it was Joe who replied: “He has none. The Commies sent him out to work on Lee.”
“Well, he’s a sort of volunteer,” Smitty said, trying to soften it. “While he hasn’t any official connection, we’ve always appreciated his assistance.”
“That’s what’s the trouble with this goddamned drive now,” Joe said. “We got too many unofficial assistants.”
“Well, we need more than we have,” Smitty said, turning on him angrily.
“If we didn’t have this one we wouldn’t be fighting the goddamned sellout story,” Joe snapped back.
Hannegan looked up inquiringly at this, but Dawson entered at the moment and interrupted what might have been an argument. “There’s an Edward Gillespie, Paul Dixon, Walter Thomas, and Ray Young listed as deputy sheriffs,” he announced.
“Is that the Paul you know?” Hannegan hurled at Luther, trying to catch him unawares.
But Luther was not to be caught unawares. “I don’t know nobody by the name of Paul.”
“Did you hear any of their names called?” Hannegan persisted.
“Naw, I didn’t.”
“That’s odd. Lee hears all four names correctly and you hear none.”
“He was listening better than I was.”
“No doubt of it.”
“Shall we make a charge against them?” Smitty asked Hannegan.
“Smitty, it’s tough—there’s that business of false arrest.” He turned back to Luther. “Can you identify the four deputies by sight.”
“Sure.”
“But not by the names of Ed, Paul, Walter, and Ray?”
“Not by no names ‘cause I didn’t hear no names.”
“I see.” Hannegan turned back to Smitty. “Without this boy testifying, we don’t have much to go on. We wouldn’t have much even if he testified, but this way we don’t have anything.”
“I believe Luther will identify the deputies if he sees them.”
“He ain’t done it,” Joe Ptak put in.
“He hasn’t seen them, either.”
“He heard their names.”
“But he doesn’t know their names.”
“It’s hardly conceivable that Lee heard the names of all four and Luther did not hear the name of any,” Hannegan said.
“Lee could be mistaken,” Smitty said persistently. “Luther’s always been honest to the letter ‘t’.”
“Well, what we can do is give the sheriff a little call and put some political pressure on him,” Hannegan suggested.
“When?”
“Now, if he’s at his office. And if he isn’t, we can call his home and have him meet us at his office.”
But Hannegan could not locate the sheriff, either at his office or at his home. The chief deputy suggested that Hannegan try to contact the sheriff at his office at eleven o’clock the next morning.
So Smitty called a taxi to take Lee home. “I know how you must feel, Lee,” he began as soon as they were seated.
“I don’t think you do, Smitty.”
“You feel pretty badly over this now, and you want to get even with Luther—”
“No, Smitty, that’s not it. You see, I know Luther is the person who sold the union out. I know that this was what started all the stories. Smitty, I know this beyond all doubt. Not just by what happened today, but by many things. And if we hope to save the campaign, he should be exposed. The workers should know who’s guilty, then all this talk will stop.”
Now Smitty was stumped. He did not doubt that Lee wanted to save the campaign. But he felt that what Lee wanted more at just the moment was simply to be believed. The bitter part about it was that he did implicitly believe him. But if he admitted this to Lee, he would have to join him in a battle royal against the Communists. And while such a battle would hurt himself, he felt that it would hurt Lee immeasurably more.
He believed that Lee Gordon could be hurt more easily than the average person. Since th
e night of their discussion, which was memorable for him, he had come to believe that to be hurt was Lee Gordon’s destiny. Though at the time he had been annoyed by most of what Lee had said, now he was just beginning to understand what Lee had been trying to say. And while he still did not accept the logic of all Lee’s conclusions, he was profoundly touched by their undercurrent of longing. He was especially moved by Lee’s confession that whenever a Negro came to believe that full equality was his just due, he would have to die for it, as would any other man. It was as if Lee Gordon was searching for this moment when he would have to die, and at the same time fearing its discovery. And yet he felt that Lee would be hurt terribly before he discovered it, if he ever did.
It was partly this that made him want to protect Lee from the almost certain hurt of fighting with the Communists. And another statement from the same discussion that restrained him from revealing it: “Is it necessary that we know?…Does what you do for us have on it the price that we recognize it and feel grateful?”
No, he would have to do it and brave Lee’s displeasure. For it was almost a certainty that Lee would not understand.
“One thing you must remember, Lee,” he said, “is that the organization of the plant is the main objective. It’s bigger than any one person, bigger than personal differences, bigger than us all.”
“So you don’t believe me.”
“It’s not a question of whether I believe you or not, Lee. It’s not even important. But I believe in you, and I want you to stay with us and fight this thing through. But to do that you’ll have to rise above your personal emotions. I am exceedingly sorry this happened, and I say this sincerely. But you’ll have to forget about it, about your injuries. And you will have to forget about Luther also. Luther’s not important, but you are.”
“Well, Smitty, I’ll tell you. I’ll go ahead and do my best if you want me to—”
“We do want you to, Lee.”
“But that’s all.”
Chapter 20
“OH, LEE! Lee! You’re hurt!” Ruth exclaimed, rushing forward to help him as he came into the house.
He turned to look at her, his bruised, bandaged face set in somberness, and his stare passed through her into nothing. In that moment the motion ran out of her and she stopped as if turned to stone, for more terrible than a Gorgon’s head was the hurt in Lee Gordon’s eyes.
“Lee! Oh, Lee!” she cried, and now it was a prayer as her first shocked concern for his physical condition gave way to a gripping fear.
Without removing his hat he went to the davenport and sat down. His face held that naked look of protest seen in the face of a young girl just ravished trying to absorb the effects of the brutality, and his body looked more beaten than by guns alone.
Across the room where she had stopped Ruth Gordon stood helplessly, her heart mobile with the impulse to hold him in her arms but her body crucified by the fear of his repulsing her.
“Lee, is there anything I can do?” she finally asked across a distance far greater than the room.
As if her words released the motion, he slowly raised a hand and removed his hat. “No thanks, Ruth, I’m fine,” he said, and in his voice there were only the words.
She started toward the bedroom, turned toward the kitchen, came back to stand hesitantly in the room again. “Would you like your dinner now?”
“No thanks, Ruth, I’m not hungry now,” he said in that same dead voice.
Her hand came up in a lost gesture and dropped to her side in defeat. As silence held the tableau imprisoned in a hopelessness, she fought against his closed mind with all her might and will. Gone now was her rigid resolution of the past that she was through with worrying about Lee Gordon, through with abasing herself for his ego, through with absorbing his hurts. For in this tearing urgency she would have sacrificed all that she held dear in life to alleviate his hurt.
“Would you like a drink?” she continued to try. “I bought a bottle of whisky today.”
He looked up, slightly frowning as if trying to interpret her meaning, and for the first time sight of her came into the focus of his vision. “Yes, I would like a drink, Ruth. Thank you.” There was the slow, groping falter in his voice now as if he found it difficult to enunciate the words.
“With soda?” she asked, her voice singing with a gratefulness that this much she could do.
Again he seemed to consider his reply. “Yes, I would like soda—fine.”
Turning quickly toward the kitchen, she halted with the thought. “Oh, do you think a drink would be good for you? I mean—”
“If you thought it wouldn’t be good for me,” he asked in his slow, faltering voice, “why did you mention it, Ruth?”
“Oh, I just mean—I thought—” She turned quickly away from his fixed, blank stare and hurried into the kitchen.
But as she mixed the drinks she began crying softly, feeling shut off from him by the days of apprehension, the row of frightened years. For a long time—ever since she had first learned a little of the fear inside of him—she had expected Lee to be hurt, dreading it and yet convinced that it would happen, because she did not see how Lee Gordon could live in the society of America and escape being hurt. And she had feared that when it happened, there would be nothing she could do; that he would be hurt and that he would be alone with it.
Yet, somehow she had still retained a faith in him even while disclaiming it; perhaps because she loved him, she thought with self-effacing bitterness. And the hope that he would find himself had never died. For paradoxically she saw within him a quality of belief in human nature that kept this hope alive; a slender thread of integrity between him and his God that she had seen conditions bend but had never thought would break.
But what she now saw in his eyes made her so terribly afraid that his belief was lost and his integrity broken, she hoped against hope not irremediably. And she knew that whatever there was to be salvaged it was hers to save. The occasion was here, hers to rise or fall to it.
She brought two drinks and sat quietly across from him, sipping hers, until the slight sound seemed to widen the distance between her heart and his hurt, and then she put it down.
“That son of a bitch!” he said as if the words tore loose from the bottom of his stomach.
She sat perfectly still, fearful that the slightest motion might profane him. After a time he asked for another drink, and when she brought it, he told her what had happened, covering the nakedness of his hurt with a hard, brutal indifference.
“Now you may as well say you don’t believe me either and make it a perfect day,” he concluded.
“I believe you, Lee,” she said from behind a look of faith.
“Then you’re the only one,” he muttered disbelievingly, without even seeing it.
“But Smitty believes you, doesn’t he?”
“No.”
“He’s not a Communist, is he, Lee?”
“I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t Joe Ptak believe you?”
“He didn’t say he did.”
“You’ve spoken rather well of Smitty in the past. You always said that he tried to be fair about most things.”
“That’s what I thought then.”
“Maybe he was just upset and didn’t know what he was saying. I feel almost certain, without even knowing him, that he must believe you.”
“You’re more certain than I am,” he said.
“Luther’s not important, is he?” she asked. “I thought you said that he was just flunkying around for you.”
“That’s where I was a fool. I was just flunkying around for him, it seems like now.”
“Unless all of them as dishonest, some of them must believe in you, Lee.”
“I don’t understand it, myself. They ought to know I wouldn’t tell a lie on the bastard. What the hell would I get out of lying on him?”
“It was just that they wanted time to think it over, Lee. They’re like that in all organizations—afraid to take any immedi
ate action on one person’s accusation of another even though they are absolutely convinced of its truth.”
“But they didn’t even say anything to the son of a bitch.” And now she knew that this was what rankled him.
She arose to refill his glass and when she returned sat beside him, timidly resting her head on his chest. Absently he put his arm about her shoulders and she looked up at him, hoping he would kiss her. But his gaze was focused on the wall across the room and his thoughts were gone.
“You can beat me, darling, if that will make you feel any better,” she said half seriously, trying to make him smile.
But when his gaze came back to her it was laden with resentment. “At least you were sensible in keeping your job,” he said bitterly. “The way it looks now, I might be out of mine any day.”
“Lee, please try not to think about it,” she begged.
“What the hell do you expect me to think about?” he asked harshly.
She put her hand on his thigh and willed its gentle pressure into his consciousness. “Remember how we used to get drunk on wine,” she recalled, moving her hand to make him conscious of it. “You’d be angry at someone and then we’d quarrel, and afterwards we’d make love and you were always so passionately—”
But he cried: “Ruth, goddamnit, no!” out of other memories.
In his desire for revenge against white men who denied his honor and doubted his integrity, there was nothing Ruth Gordon could give him, no incentive or release. And now since she had sold her own honor and integrity to these same people, he thought condemningly, he did not even want her body since that also, she was sooner or later to learn, was included in the bargain with the rest. And even though he suspected that this was a lying thought, he did not care since she had nothing for him anyway.
She got slowly to her feet, giving him a chance to say he didn’t mean it, and when he did not do so, she went into the bedroom and to bed. But not to sleep. She heard him go back to get another drink, straining her ears to catch the sound of his slightest motion, holding her breath in suspended fear until he had returned and was seated again, tortured by the aching of her lungs. And when she could no longer hear the sound of any motion, she could hear the silence of his brooding and she wondered at his thoughts, so hurt by his loneliness that she could feel but could not help.
Lonely Crusade Page 26
