She had a strange feeling of loss of self, of being a stranger to herself, and the world in which she moved seemed a vague and shrouded3 world. It lacked sharpness of definition. Its customary vividness was gone. She had lapses4 of memory, and was continually finding herself doing unplanned things. Thus, to her astonishment5, she came to in the back yard hanging up the week's wash. She had no recollection of having done it, yet it had been done precisely6 as it should have been done. She had boiled the sheets and pillow-slips and the table linen7. Billy's woolens8 had been washed in warm water only, with the home-made soap, the recipe of which Mercedes had given her. On investigation9, she found she had eaten a mutton chop for breakfast. This meant that she had been to the butcher shop, yet she had no memory of having gone. Curiously10, she went into the bedroom. The bed was made up and everything in order.
At twilight11 she came upon herself in the front room, seated by the window, crying in an ecstasy12 of joy. At first she did not know what this joy was; then it came to her that it was because she had lost her baby. “A blessing13, a blessing,” she was chanting aloud, wringing14 her hands, but with joy, she knew it was with joy that she wrung15 her hands.
The days came and went. She had little notion of time. Sometimes, centuries agone, it seemed to her it was since Billy had gone to jail. At other times it was no more than the night before. But through it all two ideas persisted: she must not go to see Billy in jail; it was a blessing she had lost her baby.
Once, Bud Strothers came to see her. She sat in the front room and talked with him, noting with fascination16 that there were fringes to the heels of his trousers. Another day, the business agent of the union called. She told him, as she had told Bud Strothers, that everything was all right, that she needed nothing, that she could get along comfortably until Billy came out.
A fear began to haunt her. WHEN HE CAME OUT. No; it must not be. There must not be another baby. It might LIVE. No, no, a thousand times no. It must not be. She would run away first. She would never see Billy again. Anything but that. Anything but that.
This fear persisted. In her nightmare-ridden sleep it became an accomplished17 fact, so that she would awake, trembling, in a cold sweat, crying out. Her sleep had become wretched. Sometimes she was convinced that she did not sleep at all, and she knew that she had insomnia18, and remembered that it was of insomnia her mother had died.
She came to herself one day, sitting in Doctor Hentley's office. He was looking at her in a puzzled way.
“Got plenty to eat?” he was asking.
She nodded.
“Any serious trouble?”
She shook her head.
“Everything's all right, doctor... except...”
“Yes, yes,” he encouraged.
And then she knew why she had come. Simply, explicitly19, she told him. He shook his head slowly.
“It can't be done, little woman,” he said
“Oh, but it can!” she cried. “I know it can.”
“I don't mean that,” he answered. “I mean I can't tell you. I dare not. It is against the law. There is a doctor in Leavenworth prison right now for that.”
In vain she pleaded with him. He instanced his own wife and children whose existence forbade his imperiling.
“Besides, there is no likelihood now,” he told her.
“But there will be, there is sure to be,” she urged.
But he could only shake his head sadly.
“Why do you want to know?” he questioned finally.
Saxon poured her heart out to him. She told of her first year of happiness with Billy, of the hard times caused by the labor20 troubles, of the change in Billy so that there was no love-life left, of her own deep horror. Not if it died, she concluded. She could go through that again. But if it should live. Billy would soon be out of jail, and then the danger would begin. It was only a few words. She would never tell any one. Wild horses could not drag it out of her.
But Doctor Hentley continued to shake his head. “I can't tell you, little woman. It's a shame, but I can't take the risk. My hands are tied. Our laws are all wrong. I have to consider those who are dear to me.”
He prepared to whisper in her ear, then, with a sudden excess of caution, crossed the room swiftly, opened the door, and looked out. When he sat down again he drew his chair so close to hers that the arms touched, and when he whispered his beard tickled22 her ear.
“No, no,” he shut her off when she tried to voice her gratitude23. “I have told you nothing. You were here to consult me about your general health. You are run down, out of condition—”
As he talked he moved her toward the door. When he opened it, a patient for the dentist in the adjoining office was standing24 in the hall. Doctor Hentley lifted his voice.
“What you need is that tonic25 I prescribed. Remember that. And don't pamper26 your appetite when it comes back. Eat strong, nourishing food, and beefsteak, plenty of beefsteak. And don't cook it to a cinder27. Good day.”
At times the silent cottage became unendurable, and Saxon would throw a shawl about her head and walk out the Oakland Mole28, or cross the railroad yards and the marshes29 to Sandy Beach where Billy had said he used to swim. Also, by going out the Transit30 slip, by climbing down the piles on a precarious31 ladder of iron spikes32, and by crossing a boom of logs, she won access to the Rock Wall that extended far out into the bay and that served as a barrier between the mudflats and the tide-scoured channel of Oakland Estuary33. Here the fresh sea breezes blew and Oakland sank down to a smudge of smoke behind her, while across the bay she could see the smudge that represented San Francisco. Ocean steamships34 passed up and down the estuary, and lofty-masted ships, towed by red-stacked tugs35.
She gazed at the sailors on the ships, wondered on what far voyages and to what far lands they went, wondered what freedoms were theirs. Or were they girt in by as remorseless and cruel a world as the dwellers36 in Oakland were? Were they as unfair, as unjust, as brutal37, in their dealings with their fellows as were the city dwellers? It did not seem so, and sometimes she wished herself on board, out-bound, going anywhere, she cared not where, so long as it was away from the world to which she had given her best and which had trampled38 her in return.
She did not know always when she left the house, nor where her feet took her. Once, she came to herself in a strange part of Oakland. The street was wide and lined with rows of shade trees. Velvet39 lawns, broken only by cement sidewalks, ran down to the gutters40. The houses stood apart and were large. In her vocabulary they were mansions41. What had shocked her to consciousness of herself was a young man in the driver's seat of a touring car standing at the curb42. He was looking at her curiously and she recognized him as Roy Blanchard, whom, in front of the Forum43, Billy had threatened to whip. Beside the car, bareheaded, stood another young man. He, too, she remembered. He it was, at the Sunday picnic where she first met Billy, who had thrust his cane44 between the legs of the flying foot-racer and precipitated45 the free-for-all fight. Like Blanchard, he was looking at her curiously, and she became aware that she had been talking to herself. The babble46 of her lips still beat in her ears. She blushed, a rising tide of shame heating her face, and quickened her pace. Blanchard sprang out of the car and came to her with lifted hat. “Is anything the matter?” he asked.
She shook her head, and, though she had stopped, she evinced her desire to go on.
“I know you,” he said, studying her face. “You were with the striker who promised me a licking.”
“He is my husband,” she said.
“Oh! Good for him.” He regarded her pleasantly and frankly47. “But about yourself? Isn't there anything I can do for you? Something IS the matter.”
“No, I'm all right,” she answered. “I have been sick,” she lied; for she never dreamed of connecting her queerness with sickness.
“You look tired,” he pressed her. “I can take you in the machine and run you anywhere you want. It won't be any trouble. I've plenty of time.”
Saxon shook her head.
“If... if you would tell me where I can catch the Eighth street cars. I don't often come to this part of town.”
He told her where to find an electric car and what transfers to make, and she was surprised at the distance she had wandered.
“Thank you,” she said. “And good bye.”
“Sure I can't do anything now?”
“Sure.”
“Well, good bye,” he smiled good humoredly. “And tell that husband of yours to keep in good condition. I'm likely to make him need it all when he tangles48 up with me.”
“Oh, but you can't fight with him,” she warned. “You mustn't. You haven't got a show.”
“Good for you,” he admired. “That's the way for a woman to stand up for her man. Now the average woman would be so afraid he was going to get licked—”
“But I'm not afraid... for him. It's for you. He's a terrible fighter. You wouldn't have any chance. It would be like... like...”
“Like taking candy from a baby?” Blanchard finished for her.
“Yes,” she nodded. “That's just what he would call it. And whenever he tells you you are standing on your foot watch out for him. Now I must go. Good bye, and thank you again.”
She went on down the sidewalk, his cheery good bye ringing in her ears. He was kind—she admitted it honestly; yet he was one of the clever ones, one of the masters, who, according to Billy, were responsible for all the cruelty to labor, for the hardships of the women, for the punishment of the labor men who were wearing stripes in San Quentin or were in the death cells awaiting the scaffold. Yet he was kind, sweet natured, clean, good. She could read his character in his face. But how could this be, if he were responsible for so much evil? She shook her head wearily. There was no explanation, no understanding of this world which destroyed little babes and bruised49 women's breasts.
As for her having strayed into that neighborhood of fine residences, she was unsurprised. It was in line with her queerness. She did so many things without knowing that she did them. But she must be careful. It was better to wander on the marshes and the Rock Wall.
Especially she liked the Rock Wall. There was a freedom about it, a wide spaciousness50 that she found herself instinctively51 trying to breathe, holding her arms out to embrace and make part of herself. It was a more natural world, a more rational world. She could understand it—understand the green crabs52 with white-bleached claws that scuttled53 before her and which she could see pasturing on green-weeded rocks when the tide was low. Here, hopelessly man-made as the great wall was, nothing seemed artificial. There were no men here, no laws nor conflicts of men. The tide flowed and ebbed54; the sun rose and set; regularly each afternoon the brave west wind came romping55 in through the Golden Gate, darkening the water, cresting56 tiny wavelets, making the sailboats fly. Everything ran with frictionless57 order. Everything was free. Firewood lay about for the taking. No man sold it by the sack. Small boys fished with poles from the rocks, with no one to drive them away for trespass58, catching59 fish as Billy had caught fish, as Cal Hutchins had caught fish. Billy had told her of the great perch60 Cal Hutchins caught on the day of the eclipse, when he had little dreamed the heart of his manhood would be spent in convict's garb61.
And here was food, food that was free. She watched the small boys on a day when she had eaten nothing, and emulated62 them, gathering63 mussels from the rocks at low water, cooking them by placing them among the coals of a fire she built on top of the wall. They tasted particularly good. She learned to knock the small oysters64 from the rocks, and once she found a string of fresh-caught fish some small boy had forgotten to take home with him.
Here drifted evidences of man's sinister65 handiwork—from a distance, from the cities. One flood tide she found the water covered with muskmelons. They bobbed and bumped along up the estuary in countless66 thousands. Where they stranded67 against the rocks she was able to get them. But each and every melon—and she patiently tried scores of them—had been spoiled by a sharp gash68 that let in the salt water. She could not understand. She asked an old Portuguese69 woman gathering driftwood.
“They do it, the people who have too much,” the old woman explained, straightening her labor-stiffened back with such an effort that almost Saxon could hear it creak. The old woman's black eyes flashed angrily, and her wrinkled lips, drawn70 tightly across toothless gums, wry71 with bitterness. “The people that have too much. It is to keep up the price. They throw them overboard in San Francisco.”
“But why don't they give them away to the poor people?” Saxon asked.
“They must keep up the price.”
“But the poor people cannot buy them anyway,” Saxon objected. “It would not hurt the price.”
“I do not know. It is their way. They chop each melon so that the poor people cannot fish them out and eat anyway. They do the same with the oranges, with the apples. Ah, the fishermen! There is a trust. When the boats catch too much fish, the trust throws them overboard from Fisherman Wharf73, boat-loads, and boat-loads, and boatloads of the beautiful fish. And the beautiful good fish sink and are gone. And no one gets them. Yet they are dead and only good to eat. Fish are very good to eat.”
And Saxon could not understand a world that did such things—a world in which some men possessed74 so much food that they threw it away, paying men for their labor of spoiling it before they threw it away; and in the same world so many people who did not have enough food, whose babies died because their mothers' milk was not nourishing, whose young men fought and killed one another for the chance to work, whose old men and women went to the poorhouse because there was no food for them in the little shacks75 they wept at leaving. She wondered if all the world were that way, and remembered Mercedes' tales. Yes; all the world was that way. Had not Mercedes seen ten thousand families starve to death in that far away India, when, as she had said, her own jewels that she wore would have fed and saved them all? It was the poorhouse and the salt vats76 for the stupid, jewels and automobiles77 for the clever ones.
She was one of the stupid. She must be. The evidence all pointed78 that way. Yet Saxon refused to accept it. She was not stupid. Her mother had not been stupid, nor had the pioneer stock before her. Still it must be so. Here she sat, nothing to eat at home, her love-husband changed to a brute79 beast and lying in jail, her arms and heart empty of the babe that would have been there if only the stupid ones had not made a shambles80 of her front yard in their wrangling81 over jobs.
She sat there, racking her brain, the smudge of Oakland at her back, staring across the bay at the smudge of San Francisco. Yet the sun was good; the wind was good, as was the keen salt air in her nostrils82; the blue sky, flecked with clouds, was good. All the natural world was right, and sensible, and beneficent. It was the man-world that was wrong, and mad, and horrible. Why were the stupid stupid? Was it a law of God? No; it could not be. God had made the wind, and air, and sun. The man-world was made by man, and a rotten job it was. Yet, and she remembered it well, the teaching in the orphan83 asylum84, God had made everything. Her mother, too, had believed this, had believed in this God. Things could not be different. It was ordained85.
For a time Saxon sat crushed, helpless. Then smoldered86 protest, revolt. Vainly she asked why God had it in for her. What had she done to deserve such fate? She briefly87 reviewed her life in quest of deadly sins committed, and found them not. She had obeyed her mother; obeyed Cady, the saloon-keeper, and Cady's wife; obeyed the matron and the other women in the orphan asylum; obeyed Tom when she came to live in his house, and never run in the streets because he didn't wish her to. At school she had always been honorably promoted, and never had her deportment report varied88 from one hundred per cent. She had worked from the day she left school to the day of her marriage. She had been a good worker, too. The little Jew who ran the paper box factory had almost wept when she quit. It was the same at the cannery. She was among the high-line weavers89 when the jute mills closed down. And she had kept straight. It was not as if she had been ugly or unattractive. She had known her temptations and encountered her dangers. The fellows had been crazy about her. They had run after her, fought over her, in a way to turn most girls' heads. But she had kept straight. And then had come Billy, her reward. She had devoted90 herself to him, to his house, to all that would nourish his love; and now she and Billy were sinking down into this senseless vortex of misery91 and heartbreak of the man-made world.
No, God was not responsible. She could have made a better world herself—a finer, squarer world. This being so, then there was no God. God could not make a botch. The matron had been wrong, her mother had been wrong. Then there was no immortality92, and Bert, wild and crazy Bert, falling at her front gate with his foolish death-cry, was right. One was a long time dead.
Looking thus at life, shorn of its superrational sanctions, Saxon floundered into the morass93 of pessimism94. There was no justification95 for right conduct in the universe, no square deal for her who had earned reward, for the millions who worked like animals, died like animals, and were a long time and forever dead. Like the hosts of more learned thinkers before her, she concluded that the universe was unmoral and without concern for men.
And now she sat crushed in greater helplessness than when she had included God in the scheme of injustice96. As long as God was, there was always chance for a miracle, for some supernatural intervention97, some rewarding with ineffable98 bliss99. With God missing, the world was a trap. Life was a trap. She was like a linnet, caught by small boys and imprisoned100 in a cage. That was because the linnet was stupid. But she rebelled. She fluttered and beat her soul against the hard face of things as did the linnet against the bars of wire. She was not stupid. She did not belong in the trap. She would fight her way out of the trap. There must be such a way out. When canal boys and rail-splitters, the lowliest of the stupid lowly, as she had read in her school history, could find their way out and become presidents of the nation and rule over even the clever ones in their automobiles, then could she find her way out and win to the tiny reward she craved—Billy, a little love, a little happiness. She would not mind that the universe was unmoral, that there was no God, no immortality. She was willing to go into the black grave and remain in its blackness forever, to go into the salt vats and let the young men cut her dead flesh to sausage-meat, if—if only she could get her small meed of happiness first.
How she would work for that happiness! How she would appreciate it, make the most of each least particle of it! But how was she to do it. Where was the path? She could not vision it. Her eyes showed her only the smudge of San Francisco, the smudge of Oakland, where men were breaking heads and killing101 one another, where babies were dying, born and unborn, and where women were weeping with bruised breasts.
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1
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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constriction
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| 压缩； 紧压的感觉； 束紧； 压缩物 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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lapses
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| n.失误，过失( lapse的名词复数 )；小毛病；行为失检；偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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woolens
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| 毛织品，毛料织物； 毛织品，羊毛织物，毛料衣服( woolen的名词复数 ) | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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pamper
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| v.纵容，过分关怀 | |
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cinder
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| n.余烬，矿渣 | |
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mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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steamships
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| n.汽船，大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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45
precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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46
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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56
cresting
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| n.顶饰v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的现在分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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frictionless
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| adj.没有摩擦力的 | |
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trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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emulated
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| v.与…竞争( emulate的过去式和过去分词 )；努力赶上；计算机程序等仿真；模仿 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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shacks
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| n.窝棚，简陋的小屋( shack的名词复数 ) | |
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vats
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| varieties 变化，多样性，种类 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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wrangling
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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smoldered
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的过去式 ) | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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weavers
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| 织工，编织者( weaver的名词复数 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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99
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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