7: THE BOY WHO DIDN'T KNOW GOD
Handbills blew around the adobe village, announcing that fivehundred cotton-pickers were wanted at once in Arizona. The Reo,full of Beechams and trailing Carrie, headed south.
The surprisingly large grocery bill had been paid, a few clothesbought, Daddy's ulcerated tooth pulled, and the Reo's patchedtires replaced with better used ones. The result was that theBeecham pocketbooks were as flat as pancakes.
"Yet we've worked like horses," Daddy said heavily. "And, worsethan that, we've let Gramma and the kids work as I never thoughtBeechams would."
"But we can't blame Farmer Lukes," said Grandpa. "With all theplanting and digging and hauling he's done, he says he hasn't acent to show for it, once he's paid for his seed. It's too deepfor me."
Down across Colorado, where the names were Spanish, Daddy said,because it used to be part of Mexico. Down across New Mexico,where the air smelled of cedar; where scattered adobe houses hadbright blue doors and strings of scarlet chili peppers fringingtheir roofs; where Indians sat under brush shelters by thehighway and held up pottery for sale. Down into Arizona, whereGrandma had to admit that the colors she'd seen on the picturepostcards of it were not too bright. Here were red rocks, pink,blue-gray, white, yellow, purple; and the morning and evening sunset their colors afire and made them flower gardens of flame.Here the Indian women wore flounced skirts and velvet tunics andsilver jewelry. They herded flocks of sheep and goats and livedin houses like inverted brown bowls.
"We've had worse homes, this year," Grandma said. "I'd neverhold up my head if they knew back home." Along the road with theReo ran an endless parade of old cars and trailers. There weresnub-nosed Model T's, packed till they bulged; monstrous Packardswith doors tied shut; yellow roadsters that had been smart tenyears ago, jolting along with mattresses on their tops and youngfamilies jammed into their luggage compartments. Once in a whilethey met another goat, like Carrie, who wasn't giving as muchmilk as before.
"All this great country," Grandma marveled some more, "and noroom for these folks. Half a million of us, some say, without aplace to go."
Dick said, "The kid in that Oklahoma car said the drought driedup their farm and the wind blew it away. Nothing will grow inthe ground that's left."
"He's from the Dust Bowl," Grandpa assented. "Thousands of thesefolks are from the Dust Bowl."
The parade of old cars limped along for two weeks, growingthicker as it drew near the part of Arizona where the pickers hadbeen called for. The Beechams saw more and more signs on fencesand poles: FIVE HUNDRED PICKERS WANTED!
"They don't say how much they pay," Grandma noticed.
"Ninety cents a hundred pounds is usual this year, and a fellowcan make a bare living at that," said Daddy.
Soon the procession turned off the road, the Beechams with it.The place was swarming with pickers.
"How much are you paying?" Daddy asked.
"Fifty cents a hundred."
"Why, man alive, we'd starve on that pay," Daddy growled, thecorners of his jaws white with anger.
"You don't need to work if you don't want to," the manager barkedat him. "Here's two thousand folks glad to work at fifty cents."
Leaving Jimmie to mind Sally in the car, the Beechams went topicking at once. Grandma had saved their old cotton sacks,fortunately, since they cost a dollar apiece.
Rose-Ellen's heart thumped as if she were running a race.Everyone was picking at top speed, for there were far too manypickers and they all tried to get more than their share. TheBeechams started at noon. At night, when they weighed in, Grandpaand Daddy each got forty cents, Grandma twenty-five, Dick twenty,and Rose-Ellen fifteen.
When he paid them, the foreman said, "No more work here. Allcleaned up."
"Good land," Grandma protested, her voice shaking, "bring us fromColoraydo for a half day's work?"
"Sorry," said the foreman. "First come, first served."
In a blank quietness, the Beechams went on to hunt a camp. Andhere they were fortunate, for they came upon a neat tent citywith a sign declaring it a Government Camp. Tents set on firmplatforms faced inward toward central buildings, and everythingwas clean and orderly. They drove in. Yes, they could pitchtheir tent there, the man in the office said; there was onevacant floor. The rent was a dollar a week, but they could workit out, if they would rather, cleaning up the camp. Grandpa saidthey'd better work it out, since it might be hard to find jobsnear by.
Even Rose-Ellen, even Dick and Jimmie, were excited over thelaundry tubs in the central building, and more interested in theshower baths. Twice a day they washed themselves, and theirclothes were kept fresher than they had been for a long time.Neighbors came calling, besides; and there were entertainmentsevery week, with the whole camp taking part.
"Seems like home," said Grandpa. "If only we could find work."
The nurse on duty found that the sore on Dick's hand wasscabies--the itch--picked up in some other camp, and she treatedand bandaged it carefully.
Every day the men went out hunting jobs, taking others with themto share the cost of gasoline; and every day they came backdiscouraged. Even in the fine camp, money leaked out steadilyfor food. At last the Beechams gave up hope of finding work.They set out for California, the fairyland of plenty, as theythought.
At first California looked like any other state, but soon thechildren began naming their discoveries aloud. "Lookit! Orangeson trees!" "Roses! And those red Christmas flowers growing highas the garage!" "Palm trees--like feather dusters stuck ontelegraph poles!"
"Little white houses and gardens!" crooned Grandma.
Soon, too, they saw the familiar posters: PICKERS WANTED; andthe Reo followed the signs to the fields.
They were pea-fields, this time, but Grandma, peering at thepea-pickers' camp, cried, "My land, if this ain't Floridy allover again!"
"Maybe the owner ain't got the cash to put up decentchicken-coops for folks to live in," Grandpa sputtered, "but if Iwas him I'd dig ditches for a living before I'd put humans intopigpens like these."
"Let's go a piece farther," Grandma urged.
Grandpa fingered his old wallet. "Five dollars is the least wecan keep against the car breaking down. We've got six-fiftynow."
So for long months they worked in the peas and lived in the"jungle" camp, pitching their tent at the very edge of its dirtand smell.
Shacks of scrap tin, shingled with rusty pail covers, stood nextto shacks made of burlap and pasteboard cartons. Ragged tentshuddled behind the shacks, using the same back wall. Mattressesthat looked as if they came from the dump lay on the ground withtarpaulins stretched above them as roofs, and these were the onlyhomes of whole families who lived and slept and ate in swarms ofstinging flies.
One of the few pleasant things was the Christian Center not veryfar away. Every morning its car chugged up to the jungle andcarried off a load of children. Jimmie and Sally were always inthe load. The back seat was crowded, and a helper sat in frontwith the driver and held Sally, while Jimmie sat between. Heliked to sit there, for the driver looked like Her! Only shortinstead of tall, and plump instead of thin, and with curly darkhair, but with the same kind smile.
Here in California the other children were supposed to pick onlyoutside school hours; but the school was too far from the campand there was no bus. So Dick and Rose-Ellen picked peas all daywith their elders.
"The more we earn," Dick said soberly, "the sooner we can getaway from this place."
"The only trouble is," Rose-Ellen answered, "we get such anappetite that we eat more than we earn, except when we're sick."
The sun blistered Dick's fair skin until he was ill from theburn; and Rose-Ellen sometimes grew so sick and dizzy with theheat that she had to crawl into her pea hamper for shade insteadof picking. There was much sickness in this camp, anyway. Therewas only one well, and it was not protected from filth. Theflies were everywhere. Grandma boiled all the water, but shecould not keep out the germ-laden flies. Th
e family took turnslying miserably sick on an automobile-seat bed and wishing forthe end of the pea-picking.
But after the early peas, they must wait for the February peas;and before they were picked, Jimmie complained that his throatfelt sore. Next day he and Sally both broke out with measles.
Grandma had her hands full, keeping the toddler from running outinto sunshine and rain; but it was Jimmie who really worried her,he was so sick. And when he had stopped muttering and tossingwith fever, he woke one night with an earache.
"Mercy to us!" Grandma cried distractedly. "We ain't even gotsalt enough for a hot salt bag, or carbolic and oil to drop inhis poor blessed ear!"
Indeed that night seemed to all of them like a dark cage,shutting them away from any help for Jimmie.
Next morning, Miss Pinkerton, the nurse at the Center, came tosee Jimmie. She looked grave as she examined him. "If youbelonged in the county, I could get him into a county hospital,"she said. "But we'll do our best for him here."
Nursing Jimmie]
Nursing in a tent was a bad dream for patient and nurses. Grandmakept boiling water to irrigate his ear and sterilize theutensils, Rose-Ellen told stories, shouting so he could hear. Atnight Daddy held him in strong, tired arms and sang funny songshe had learned in his one year of college. Grandma temptedJimmie's appetite with eggs and sugar and vanilla beaten up withCarrie's milk, and with little broiled hamburgers and freshvegetables--food such as the Beechams hadn't had for months.
The rest of them had no such food even now. Carrie was givingless milk every day, so that there was hardly enough for Sallyand Jimmie. Grandma said she'd lost her appetite, staying in thetent so close, and she was glad to reduce, anyway. Grandpa saidthere was nothing like soup; so the kettle was kept boiling allthe time, with soupbones so bare they looked as if they'd beenpolished, and onions and potatoes and beans. That soup didn'tmake any of them fat.
But Jimmie grew better, and one shining morning Miss Pinkertonstopped and said, "Jimmie's well enough to go with me on my dailyround. He needs a change."
After she had carted two or three loads of children to theCenter, she went to visit the sick ones in the camps for milesaround. First they went to another "jungle," one where trachomawas bad. Here she left Jimmie in the car; but he could watch, forthe children came outdoors to have the blue-stone or argyrol intheir swollen red eyes. The treatment was painful, but without itthe small sufferers might become blind.
The next camp had an epidemic of measles, and in the next, tenmiles away, Miss Pinkerton vaccinated ten children.
By this time, the sun was high, and Jimmie began to thinkanxiously of lunch. Miss Pinkerton steered into the orchardcountry, where there was no sign of a store. He was relievedwhen she nosed the car in under the shade of a magnolia tree andsaid, "My clock says half-past eating time. What does yourssay?"
First Miss Pinkerton scrubbed her hands with water andcarbolic-smelling soap, and then she unwrapped a waxed-paperpackage and spread napkins. For Jimmie she laid out a meatsandwich, a jam sandwich, a big orange-colored persimmon, and acookie: not a dull store cookie, but a thick homemade one. Thechurches of the neighborhood took turns baking them for theCenter. Jimmie ate every crumb.
In the next camp--asparagus--was a Mexican boy with a badly hurtleg. He had gashed it when he was topping beets, and his peoplehad come on into cotton and into peas, without knowing how totake care of the throbbing wound. When Miss Pinkerton first sawit, she doubted whether leg or boy could be saved. It was stillbad, and the boy's mother stood and cried while Miss Pinkertondressed it, there under the strip-of-canvas house.
Miss Pinkerton saw Jimmie staring at that shelter and at thehelpless mother, and she whispered, "Aren't you lucky to have aGrandma like yours, Jimmie-boy?"
When the leg was all neatly rebandaged, the boy caught at MissPinkerton with a shy hand. "_Gracias_--thank you," he said, "butwhy you take so long trouble for us, Lady, when we don't pay younothing?"
"I don't think there's anything so well worth taking trouble foras just boys and girls," Miss Pinkerton said.
The boy frowned thoughtfully. "Other peoples don't think likethat way," he persisted. "For why should you?"
"Well, it's really because of Jesus," Miss Pinkerton answeredslowly. "You've heard about Jesus, haven't you?"
"Not me," the boy said. "Who is he?"
"He was God's Son, and he taught men to love one another. Hetaught them about God, too."
"God? I've heard the name, but I ain't never seen that guyeither."
"Like to hear about him?" Miss Pinkertonasked.
The boy dropped down on the running board with his bandaged legstretched out before him. Other children came running. Sitting onthe running board, too, Miss Pinkerton told them about Jesus, howhe used his life to help other people be kinder to each other.The camp children listened with mouths open, and brushed therough hair from their eyes to see the pictures she took from thecar. The boy's mother stood with her arms wrapped in her dirtyapron and listened, too.
Hearing about Jesus]
But it was the boy who sat breathless till the story was done.Then he scrubbed a ragged sleeve across eyes and nose and spokein a choked, angry voice. "I wish I'd been there. I bet themguys wouldn't-wouldn't got so fresh with--with him. But listen,Lady!" His dark eyes were fiercely questioning. "Why ain'tnobody told us? It sure seems like we ought to been toldbefore."
All the way home Jimmie sat silent. As the car stopped, he gothis voice. "Miss Pink'ton, did he mean, honest, he didn't knowabout God and Jesus?"
Miss Pinkerton nodded. "He--he didn't know he had a HeavenlyFather."
"And no Gramma either," Jimmie mumbled. "Gee."