“Now who’s talkin about eatin grapes and walnuts?” yelled Sheila’s mother. “I’m talkin about a roof over your head.” She was a woman of some level sense.
“You don’t need one in Californy because it’s never cold,” said Slim, and laughed in his head gleeful. “Oh, you ain’t never seen such nice sunny days when you don’t need a coat most the year round, and don’t have to buy coal to heat your house, or get overshoes or nothin. And you never die of the heat in the summer up north in Frisco and Oakland and thereabouts. I tell you, that’s the place to go. Ain’t nowhere else to go in the United States and it’s the last place on the map—after it, ain’t nothin but water and Russia.”
“And what’s wrong with New York?” Sheila’s mother snapped up.
“Oh, nothin!” Slim pointed out the window. “Atlantic Ocean is got the Devil for the wind in the wintertime, and the Devil’s son carries it down the streets so’s a man can freeze to death in a doorway. God brought the sun over Manhattan Island, but the Devil’s cousin won’t let it in your window unless you get yourself a penthouse a mile high and you don’t dass step out of it for a breath of air for fear you’ll fall that mile, if you could afford a penthouse. You can go to work, but probably wind up havin two hours left to yourself after a eight-hour day made into twelve hours by subway, bus, elevated, tube, ferry, escalator, and elevator and waitin in between, it’s so big and hopeless town. Ain’t nothin wrong with New York, nope. Go around the corner to see your friend after supper, see if he’s there or ten miles downtown wishin he could see you. Try to have a ensemble evenin when your pockets are empty, like any country boy. and the man’ll look for a blackjack in your pants.”
That’s how he talked about things.
“Future of the United States was always goin to Californy, and always bouncin back from it. and always will be.”
“Well don’t come bouncin back on me if you go broke out there,” said Sheila’s mother and said it to Sheila.
“We’re broke as it is,” Sheila said, and that woman her mother shore didn’t like any of it.
Well, I didn’t tell you about the money, but there wasn’t enough for all three of us to go by bus. Sheila was goin to have her first baby before six months so she had to take sixty dollars of the hunnerd and go by bus and eat good. Me and Slim, we had the forty dollars and some more him and Sheila still had, and because rent was due in two days we was movin out, and sendin clothes and dishes in two big old suitcases and a smaller one, by railroad, and then me and Slim, with that $48, was hitchhikin to the Coast right away, and eat good too but be on the bum with our thumbs and sleep in beds only part of the time, mostly in cars and trucks and parks in the afternoon.
It shore sounded good and fine to me. But I didn’t know then how far that Californy Coast was.
The last night ever’thing was packed and ready to go in the mornin and we had coffee in the kitchen and house looked so bare Slim seemed most gloomy about it. “Look at this place we’ve been livin in. We leave it, someone else comes in, and life is jess a dream. Don’t it remind you of old cold cruel world to look at it? Those floors and bare walls. Seemed we never lived here, and I never loved you inside of it.”
“We’ll make ourselves a new home in Californy,” said Sheila, gladly.
“What I want is a permanent home and spend our lives in one neighborhood, up on a hill till I get old and grandpa.”
“We’ll see,” said Sheila, “and pretty soon Pic’ll have a little brother in Californy.”
“First we’ve got to go three thousand and two hundred miles,” sighed Slim, and I remembered that later. “Three thousand and two hundred miles,” he said, “over a plain, a desert and three mountain chains and any and all the rain that feels like fallin down. Praise the Lord.” Well, we went to bed and slept the last night in that house, and sold the beds in the mornin. “Now we’re out in the cold,” Slim said, and he was right. In the afternoon we left the house dead empty except for a old bottle of milk, and my North Carolina socks too.
Sheila had her suitcase, and me and Slim had one suitcase with all our things in it. Off we went, to the bus station, and bought Sheila’s ticket and waited around for her time to go.
By the time her bus was ready we all felt terrible sad and scared. “There I go into the night,” Sheila said when she saw that bus that said CHICAGO on it. “I’m goin and I’ll never probably come back again. It’s jess like dyin to go to Californy—but here I come.” Grandpa, I ain’t forgot that minute.
“It’ll be more like livin when you get there,” Slim laughed, and Sheila said she hoped so. “Don’t let no boys mess with you on that bus,” Slim said, “because you’re plumb alone till Pic and me get there, which I don’t know when.”
“I’ll be waitin for you, Slim,” and Sheila begun cryin. Well, Slim didn’t cry but he looked it when he hugged her. Poor girl—she shore seemed pitiful that night, and I shore loved her plenty, jess like Slim said I would on that first night in the woods. Jess a young mother, and don’t know what’ll happen to her on the other side of the country, and all that nighttime alone in front of her till Slim and I got there. Jess like the Bible said, A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth, only she was a girl. I reached out and touched her cheek, and told her wait for us in Californy.
“You be extra careful with yourselves hitchhikin,” she said. “Still seems to me Pic is too little for such hard travelin, well, and I don’t feel right about it.”
But Slim said I’d be safe and sound with him, as much as he could be by himself, and if he couldn’t make it nobody could. This’s how Slim felt, and was sure, and watched over us. So him and Sheila kissed, and then she kissed me so soft and sweet, and in the bus she goes.
“Goodbye Sheila,” I said, and waved, and felt more so terrible lonesome and scairt than when she cried, and goodbye, goodbye ever’body else was sayin to ever’body else round the bus, and grandpa that’s how sad it is to travel and roam, and try to live and go about things, I reckon till the day you die.
So Sheila went, and was gone, and now me and Slim had to catch up with her hitchhikin over that land.
We walked from the bus station to a big lit-up street called Times Square, and Slim said we was goin out the way we come in, at the Lincoln Tunnel, and hoped that old hole would point us to the West and nowhere else when we shot out of it. “First we’ll have our Hot Dog Number One on Times Square,” he said.
That’s what we done, and grandpa I’ll never forget that night of Hot Dog Number One on Times Square, jess about an hour it took us to eat it, before we hit that road.
12. TIMES SQUARE AND THE MYSTERY OF TELEVISION
THERE WAS A WHOLE LOT OF MEN STANDIN on the corner of Eighth Avenue and Forty Second in front of a big gray bank that was closed for the night. In the middle of the road it was all tore up from constructin work, and cars bumped by over the rocky sand along the sidewalk. It was a cold night for spring, felt more like autumn weather, and a whole lot of papers blowed by in the wind and the lights shined ever’whichside and flashed in that wind like so many eyes twinklin. It was jolly, and people had to be a wee bit frisky to keep warm, so they jumped about. Me and Slim bought the hot dogs and spread some mustard on em, and strolled over to the corner to see what was goin on while they cooled a minute.
Lord, there was a couple two, three hunnerd men on one side of the street. Most of them was listenin to the speeches of the Salvation Army. Four Salvations took turns makin speeches, and while one was speakin the other three jess stood there like ever’body else lookin up and down the street to see what else was goin on. Here come a tall white-haired man of ninety years old clompin thu the crowd with a pack on his back, and when he seen ever’body listenin to the speeches he raised his right hand and said “Go moan for man” as clear and loud as a foghorn in the wind, and clomped right on by like he hadn’t a minute to stop awhile. “Where you goin Pop?” a man said in the crowd, and the old man yelled it back over his head— “California my
boy”—and he was gone around the corner with that white hair flowin.
“Well,” said Slim, “he’s not lyin and that’s the tunnel he’s headed for.”
Then here come a loud siren motorcycle, and then another, and a third, all screechin together and escortin the way thu the traffic fo a big black limousine with a spotlight on it. All the men on the corner stooped down to see who was in that car. Me and Slim coulda reached out and touched it and made it a sign, it was so close. The limousine slowed in the sand, and started again, and a man in the crowd yelled “Look out for that Arkansas clay” and some of the men laughed because here it was New York clay and not much of it. Well, wasn’t nobody inside the limousine except two, three men with hats on, you know.
Then, grandpa, the word come floatin by in the heaven and I was so scairt, I’d never seen no such thing in all my born days like a word floatin by in the heaven, but Slim said it was jess a old balloon with a electric sign on it nudgin down close to Times Square for ever’body to see. Well, a couple folks looked up and didn’t look s’prised, and I knowed these New Yorkers was ready and used to ever’thing. It was a purty balloon, and hovered around the longest time, and had to fight with the wind, but tacked and rassled right up there for Times Square. Not so many folks was lookin at it, a shame, bein such a purty balloon like that. Well, my cousins back in Carolina would appreciate it shore a lot. I know I did. It turned its nose into the wind, and wobbled, and jess floated back like a breeze and turned its nose around again and had to buck on back. It was best when it missed and ballooned. I couldn’t hear what the poor thing sounded like there was so much fuss below.
A number of things like this was goin on, and those Salvation Army speechers howled right along in the noise and roar. The Lord this and the Lord that is all they kept sayin, and I don’t remember exactly, except about burning in the fires of repentance and them talkin to ever’body like they was sinners. Well, maybe ever’body do be sinners but it ain’t innerestin on the street corner to hear it challenged, ’case there ain’t nobody likely to step up and confess all his sins in front of the policeman that’s always teeterin on his heels right there. What’s I goin to explain to the police-man about the fire I started in Mr. Otis’ cornfield that cost him twenty dollars of feed and nobody ever knowed it was me. Well, no New York man that lives right there is goin to step up and tell how he threw his cigarette away and burned down the hospital in his block, and any such thing. Besides of which, why don’t the speechers go into detail about their own sins they keep repentin and folks could work from there and judge. But it grew innerestin when a new man stepped up on the other side of the corner and started a speech of his own. He had a much louder voice and drew a bigger crowd. And it was the shabbiest crowd drew about him. He was jess a ordinary lookin man in a black hat, with shiny eyes.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the world, I have come to tell you about the mystery of television. Television is a great big long arm of light that reaches clear into your front parlor, and even in the middle of the night when there ain’t no shows going on that light is on, though the studio is dark. Study this light. It will hurt you at first, and bombard your eyes with a hundred trillion electronic particles of itself, but after awhile you won’t mind it no more. Why?” he yelled way up loud and Slim said “Yes!” The man said, “Because while electricity was light to see by, this is the light comes not to see by, but to see—not to read by, but to read. This is the light that you feel. It is the first time in the world that light has been gathered up from the sources of light and shot through a tube in a way that it can be watched and studied instead of blinked at. And it has taken the shape of men and women who are real flesh and blood at the studio but come streaming into your parlor in light with all their sounds shot in sidetrack. What does this mean, ladies and gentlemen?”
Well, nobody knowed that, and waited, and Slim said “Go, man!” and to hear it.
“It means that man has discovered light and is fiddling with it for the first time, and has released concentrated shots of it into everyone’s house, and nobody yet knows what the effect will be on the mind and soul of people, except that now there is a general feeling of nervousness among some, and sore eyes, and twitching of nerves, and a suspicion that because it has come at the same time as the A T O M there may be an unholy alliance betwixt one and the other, and both are bad and injurious and leading to the end of the world, though some optimists claim it is the opposite of the atom and may relax the nerves the atoms undid. Nobody knows!” he moaned way out loud, and looked at ever’body frank. Well, ever’body was innerested and paid no attention to the speeches about repentance, and Slim agreed, most amazed.
“And ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “it is the old-time Depression traveling salesman that used to put his foot in your door and now has got a leg in your parlor, except he looks so doggone strange in light you just can’t believe his transformation. And don’t think he ain’t more nervous than the Depression days jiggling behind all that light and looking out into the unknown America. Yes ladies and gentlemen and I seen a salesman on television last night who put on a mask for fun and yet his eyes looked awfully scared peeking from behind that mask at a million other better-hidden eyes. What does this mean?” he demanded, and ever’body was ready to kneel to find out, so to speak, and Slim yelled “Go!” and socked his hands together.
“The day shall come when one giant brain shall televize the Second Coming in light and everyone in the world shall see it in their brains by means of a brain-television that Christ Himself shall cause to be switched on in a miracle and no one shall be spared from knowing the Truth, and everyone shall be saved forever, and men and women of the world I warn you, live as best as you can and be hereinafter kind to one another and that is all there is to do now. We all know this.” And off he trots jess as calm as you please, and Slim looked after him with the most satisfied and glad look and clapped his hands, so that a whole bunch of others clapped their hands too, and the speecher vanished in glory. Grandpa, it was as strange as that.
Then the Salvation Army man howled out at us “Don’t you realize the Lord is coming?” and jess then a loud screechin and crashin come down the street flamin red lights ever’whichway and I ducked, it was the fire engines barrelin to a fire with a whole bunch of firemen hangin on to their hats most solemn and displeased, and goin a hunnerd miles a hour. Whoo! that roused us, and Slim said “Whee!” and ever’body shore looked amazed and innerested then ever’thing got back to normal and people slouched around bored like always.
Well, it was time to go, and Slim said, “We’ll come back to Times Square sometime, but now we gotsa go across that night, like the old man with the white hair, and keep goin till we get on the other side of this big, bulgin United States of America and all the raw land on it, before we be safe and sound by the Pacific Sea to set down and thank the Lord. Are you ready Pic?” he said, and I said “Yes,” and off we go.
13. THE GHOST OF THE SUSQUEHANNA
IT WAS EIGHT O’CLOCK when we went and stood in front of the Lincoln Tunnel in all that yaller light, and it started mistin jess a little, enough to worry me and Slim even before we was begun on the road. But for the first time since that time, we got a ride inside a minute; seemed like the man at the wheel come around the corner sayin “pleased to meet you” before we could even show our thumbs. He lit up with a smile and throwed open the door. It was a big gigantic yaller truck that said PENSCO on it, with a tractor-cab in front a good twelve feet high, and the biggest tires in the world, and hauled a trailer you couldn’t see over of without backin up across the street. A mighty gigantic thing, that Slim had to throw me up to get in, and the man cotch me like a football. When I sat up there it felt like bein in a tree, it was so grand and high. Slim jumped after, and hauled in that suitcase that had all our clothes, and here we go.
“Going someplace with your kid brother?” the driver said. “It don’t do for him to get caught in the rain,” and with that he kicked down, and gr
abbed two clutches, and socked ever’thing around and pumped his feet like an organ-player, and boom! that big truck started to roll and growl, and bowled down into the tunnel like a mountain. It was a white man drivin it. His name was Noridews. And he made that tunnel shake and reverberate from there to New Jersey.
Not only that he didn’t say another word till we got to Pennsylvania hours later, and all Slim and me had to do was sit and enjoy the way he throwed that gigantic machine down the highway. He was ever so much stronger than a poor bus, and that is a heap of strength. People in the other cars seemed to quake and wobble when we come by spit-boom eatin up ever’thing in sight. Only time he stopped was on a hill, and only stopped passin people then, didn’t stop rollin at all. He had the mightiest brakes in the world to stop that trailer bumpin us down the back at ever’ red light, and had to kick for his life on the brakes they handled such powerful stops and was so supple. Then the trailer bucked to a stop, like a mule, and edged along like it couldn’t wait too long at no red light, and the driver told it to hold fast but it edged along no lesser. “She’s got to go,” he said.
Well, the mist was rainin in New Jersey, and grandpa, the first thing Slim and I seen was that old white man with the silver hair flowin around his head, walkin along in the highway in all that yaller light with the rain blowin over him like the smoke. Oh, he looked pitiful and grand all at the same time for an old man. Slim said, “He got a poor short ride from New York.” We looked at him when we boomed by, and seen his face stuck out in the rain and him deep in thought of somethin like it never rained and like he wasn’t anywhere but in his room, you know. “What’s he goin to do?” Slim said, and “Oh that wonderful gentleman he puts me in the mind of Jesus, trackin along like that in this dismal world. I bet he don’t pay no taxes, neither, and his toothbrush was lost in Hoover’s Army. Ah,” he said, “ever’body’s bound to make it at the same time if he ever makes it.” The old man had the bluest eyes, I seen that when we rolled by. Seen him later, tell you when some day.