South Main Street, where Terry and I took strolls with hot dogs, was a fantastic carnival7 of lights and wildness. Booted cops frisked people on practically every corner. The beatest characters in the coun- try swarmed8 on the sidewalks--all of it under those soft Southern Cali- fornia stars that are lost in the brown halo of the huge desert encamp- ment LA really is. You could smell tea, weed, I mean marijuana, float- ing in the air, together with the chili9 beans and beer. That grand wild sound of bop floated from beer parlors10; it mixed medleys11 with every kind of cowboy and boogie-woogie in the American night. Everybody looked like Hassel. Wild Negroes with bop caps and goatees came laughing by; then long-haired brokendown hipsters straight off Route66 from New York; then old desert rats, carrying packs and heading for a park bench at the Plaza; then Methodist ministers with raveled sleeves, and an occasional Nature Boy saint in beard and sandals. I wanted to meet them all, talk to everybody, but Terry and I were too busy trying to get a buck13 together.
We went to Hollywood to try to work in the drugstore at Sunset and Vine. Now there was a corner! Great families off jalopies from the hinterlands stood around the sidewalk gaping14 for sight of some movie star, and the movie star never showed up. When a limousine15 passed they rushed eagerly to the curb16 and ducked to look: some character in dark glasses sat inside with a bejeweled blonde. "Don Ameche! Don Ameche!" "No, George Murphy! George Murphy!" They milled around, looking at one another. Handsome queer boys who had come to Hol- lywood to be cowboys walked around, wetting their eyebrows17 with hincty fingertip. The most beautiful little gone gals18 in the world cut by in slacks; they came to be starlets; they ended up in drive-ins. Terry and I tried to find work at the drive-ins. It was no soap anywhere. Hol- lywood Boulevard was a great, screaming frenzy19 of cars; there were minor20 accidents at least once a minute; everybody was rushing off to- ward21 the farthest palm--and beyond that was the desert and nothing- ness. Hollywood Sams stood in front of swank restaurants, arguing exactly the same way Broadway Sams argue at Jacob's Beach, New York, only here they wore light-weight suits and their talk was cornier. Tall, cadaverous preachers shuddered22 by. Fat screaming women ran across the boulevard to get in line for the quiz shows. I saw Jerry Co- lonna buying a car at Buick Motors; he was inside the vast plate-glass window, fingering his mustachio. Terry and I ate in a cafeteria down- town which was decorated to look like a grotto23, with metal tits spurt- ing everywhere and great impersonal24 stone buttockses belonging to deities26 and soapy Neptune27. People ate lugubrious29 meals around the waterfalls, their faces green with marine30 sorrow. All the cops in LA looked like handsome gigolos; obviously they'd come to LA to make the movies. Everybody had come to make the movies, even me. Terry and I were finally reduced to trying to get jobs on South Main Street among the beat countermen and dishgirls who made no bones about their beatness, and even there it was no go. We still had ten dollars.
"Man, I'm going to get my clothes from Sis and we'll hitchhike to New York," said Terry. "Come on, man. Let's do it. If you can't boo- gie I know I'll show you how.'" That last part was a song of hers she kept singing. We hurried to her sister's house in the sliverous Mexican shacks31 somewhere beyond Alameda Avenue. I waited in a dark alley33 behind Mexican kitchens because her sister wasn't supposed to see me. Dogs ran by. There were little lamps illuminating34 the little rat alleys35. I could hear Terry and her sister arguing in the soft, warm night. I was ready for anything.
Terry came out and led me by the hand to Central Avenue,which is the colored main drag of LA. And what a wild place it is, with chickenshacks barely big enough to house a jukebox, and the jukebox blowing nothing but blues36, bop, and jump. We went up dirty tenement37 stairs and came to the room of Terry's friend Margarina, who owed Terry a skirt and a pair of shoes. Margarina was a lovely mulatto; her husband was black as spades and kindly38. He went right out and bought a pint39 of whisky to host me proper. I tried to pay part of it, but he said no. They had two little children. The kids bounced on the bed; it was their play-place. They put their arms around me and looked at me with wonder. The wild humming night of Central Avenue--the night of Hamp's "Central Avenue Breakdown"--howled and boomed along outside. They were singing in the halls, singing from their win- dows, just hell be damned and look out. Terry got her clothes and we said good-by. We went down to a chickenshack and played records on the jukebox. A couple of Negro characters whispered in my ear about tea. One buck. I said okay, bring it. The connection came in and mo- tioned me to the cellar toilet, where I stood around dumbly as he said, "Pick up, man, pick up."
"Pick up what?" I said.
He had my dollar already. He was afraid to point at the floor. It was no floor, just basement. There lay something that looked like a little brown turd. He was absurdly cautious. "Got to look out for my- self, things ain't cool this past week." I picked up the turd, which was a brown-paper cigarette, and went back to Terry, and off we went to the hotel room to get high. Nothing happened. It was Bull Durham tobac- co. I wished I was wiser with my money.
Terry and I had to decide absolutely and once and for all what to do. We decided to hitch2 to New York with our remaining money. She picked up five dollars from her sister that night. We had about thirteen or less. So before the daily room rent was due again we packed up and took off on a red car to Arcadia, California, where Santa Anita racetrack is located under snow-capped mountains. It was night. We were pointed40 toward the American continent. Holding hands, we walked several miles down the road to get out of the populated dis- trict. It was a Saturday night. We stood under a roadlamp, thumbing, when suddenly cars full of young kids roared by with streamers flying. "Yaah! Yaah! we won! we won!" they all shouted. Then they yoohooed us and got great glee out of seeing a guy and a girl on the road. Dozens of such cars passed, full of young faces and "throaty young voices," as the saying goes. I hated every one of them. Who did they think they were, yaahing at somebody on the road just because they were little high-school punks and their parents carved the roast beef on Sunday afternoons? Who did they think they were, making fun of a girl re- duced to poor circumstances with a man who wanted to belove? We were minding our own business. And we didn't get a blessed ride.
We had to walk back to town, and worst of all we needed coffee and had the misfortune of going into the only place open, which was a high-school soda41 fountain, and all the kids were there and remembered us. Now they saw that Terry was Mexican, a Pachuco wildcat; and that her boy was worse than that.
With her pretty nose in the air she cut out of there and we wan- dered together in the dark up along the ditches of the highways. I car- ried the bags. We were breathing fogs in the cold night air. I finally decided to hide from the world one more night with her, and the morning be damned. We went into a motel court and bought a com- fortable little suite for about four dollars--shower, bathtowels, wall radio, and all. We held each other tight. We had long, serious talks and took baths and discussed things with the light on and then with the light out. Something was being proved, I was convincing her of some- thing, which she accepted, and we concluded the pact42 in the dark, breathless, then pleased, like little lambs.
In the morning we boldly struck out on our new plan. We were going to take a bus to Bakersfield and work picking grapes. After a few weeks of that we were headed for New York in the proper way, by bus. It was a wonderful afternoon, riding up to Bakersfield with Terry: we sat back, relaxed, talked, saw the countryside roll by, and didn't worry about a thing. We arrived in Bakersfield in late afternoon. The plan was to hit every fruit wholesaler43 in town. Terry said we could live in tents on the job. The thought of living in a tent and picking grapes in the cool California mornings hit me right. But there were no jobs to be had, and much confusion, with everybody giving us innumerable tips, and no job materialized. Nevertheless we ate a Chinese dinner and set out with reinforced bodies. We went across the SP tracks to Mexican town. Terry jabbered44 with her brethren, asking for jobs. It was night now, and the little Mextown street was one blazing bulb of lights: movie marquees, fruit stands, penny arcades45, five-and-tens, and hundreds of rickety trucks and mud-spattered jalopies, parked. Whole Mexican fruit-picking families wandered around eating popcorn46. Terry talked to everybody. I was beginning to despair. What I needed--what Terry needed, too--was a drink, so we bought a quart of California port for thirty-five cents and went to the railroad yards to drink. We found a place where hobos had drawn47 up crates48 to sit over fires. We sat there and drank the wine. On our left were the freight cars, sad and sooty red beneath the moon; straight ahead the lights and airport pokers49 of Bakersfield proper; to our right a tremendous aluminum Quonset warehouse50. Ah, it was a fine night, a warm night, a wine-drinking night, a moony night, and a night to hug your girl and talk and spit and be heavengoing. This we did. She was a drinking little fool and kept up with me and passed me and went right on talking till mid- night. We never budged51 from those crates. Occasionally bums52 passed, Mexican mothers passed with children, and the prowl car came by and the cop got out to leak, but most of the time we were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say good-by. At midnight we got up and goofed53 toward the highway.
Terry had a new idea. We would hitchhike to Sabinal, her ho- metown, and live in her brother's garage. Anything was all right with me. On the road I made Terry sit down on my bag to make her look like a woman in distress54, and right off a truck stopped and we ran for it, all glee-giggles. The man was a good man; his truck was poor. He roared and crawled on up the valley. We got to Sabinal in the wee hours before dawn. I had finished the wine while Terry slept, and I was proper stoned. We got out and roamed the quiet leafy square of the little California town--a whistle stop on the SP. We went to find her brother's buddy55, who would tell us where he was. Nobody home. As dawn began to break I lay flat on my back in the lawn of the town square and kept saying over and over again, "You won't tell what he done up in Weed, will you? What'd he do up in Weed? You won't tell will you? What'd he do up in Weed?" This was from the picture Of Mice and Men, with Burgess Meredith talking to the foreman of the ranch56. Terry giggled57. Anything I did was all right with her. I could lie there and go on doing that till the ladies came out for church and she wouldn't care. But finally I decided we'd be all set soon because of her brother, and I took her to an old hotel by the tracks and we went to bed comfortably.
In the bright, sunny morning Terry got up early and went to find her brother. I slept till noon; when I looked out the window I sud- denly saw an SP freight going by with hundreds of hobos reclining on the flatcars and rolling merrily along with packs for pillows and funny papers before their noses, and some munching on good California grapes pickfed up by the siding. "Damn!" I yelled. "Hooee! It is the promised land." They were all coming from Frisco; in a week they'd all be going back in the same grand style.
Terry arrived with her brother, his buddy, and her child. Her brother was a wild-buck Mexican hotcat with a hunger for booze, a great good kid. His buddy was a big flabby Mexican who spoke58 Eng- lish without much accent and was loud and overanxious to please. I could see he had eyes for Terry. Her little boy was Johnny, seven years old, dark-eyed and sweet. Well, there we were, and another wild day began.
Her brother's name was Rickey. He had a '38 Chevy. We piled into that and took off for parts unknown. "Where we going?" I asked. The buddy did the explaining--his name was Ponzo, that's what every- body called him. He stank59. I found out why. His business was selling manure60 to farmers; he had a truck. Rickey always had three or four dollars in his pocket and was happy-go-lucky about things. He always said, "That's right, man, there you go--dah you go, dah you go!" And he went. He drove seventy miles an hour in the old heap, and we went to Madera beyond Fresno to see some farmers about manure.
Rickey had a bottle. "Today we drink, tomorrow we work. Dah you go, man--take a shot!" Terry sat in back with her baby; I looked back at her and saw the flush of homecoming joy on her face. The beautiful green countryside of October in California reeled by madly. I was guts61 and juice again and ready to go. "Where do we go now, man?"
"We go find a farmer with some manure laying around. Tomor- row we drive back in the truck and pick it up. Man, we'll make a lot of money. Don't worry about nothing."
"We're all in this together!" yelled Ponzo. I saw that was so--everywhere I went, everybody was in it together. We raced through the crazy streets of Fresno and on up the valley to some farmers in back roads. Ponzo got out of the car and conducted confused conversa- tions with old Mexican farmers; nothing, of course, came of it.
"What we need is a drink!" yelled Rickey, and off we went to a crossroads saloon. Americans are always drinking in crossroads sa- loons on Sunday afternoon; they bring their kids; they gabble and brawl62 over brews64; everything's fine. Come nightfall the kids start cry- ing and the parents are drunk. They go weaving back to the house. Everywhere in America I've been in crossroads saloons drinking with dull; whole families. The kids eat popcorn and chips and play in back. This we did. Rickey and I and Ponzo and Terry sat drinking and shout- ing with the music; little baby Johnny goofed with other children around the jukebox. The sun began to get red. Nothing had been ac- complished. What was there to accomplish? "iMananai" said Rickey. "iMananai, man, we make it; have another beer, man, dah you go,idab you goi!"
We staggered out and got in the car; off we went to a highway bar. Ponzo was a big, loud, vociferous65 type who knew everybody in San Joaquin Valley. From the highway bar I went with him alone in the car to find a farmer; instead we wound up in Madera Mextown, dig- ging the girls and trying to pick up a few for him and Rickey. And then, as purple dusk descended66 over the grape country, I found myself sitting dumbly in the car as he argued with some old Mexican at the kitchen door about the price of a watermelon the old man grew in the back yard. We got the watermelon; we ate it on the spot and threw the rinds on the old man's dirt sidewalk. All kinds of pretty little girls were cutting down the darkening street. I said, "Where in the hell are we?"
"Don't worry, man," said big Ponzo. "Tomorrow we make a lot of money; tonight we don't worry." We went back and picked up Terry and her brother and the kid and drove to Fresno in the highway lights of night. We were all raving67 hungry. We bounced over the railroad tracks in Fresno and hit the wild streets of Fresno Mextown. Strange Chinese hung out of windows, digging the Sunday night streets; groups of Mex chicks swaggered around in slacks; mambo blasted from jukeboxes; the lights were festooned around like Halloween. We went into a Mexican restaurant and had tacos and mashed68 pinto beans rolled in tortillas; it was delicious. I whipped out my last shining five- dollar bill which stood between me and the New Jersey69 shore and paid for Terry and me. Now I had four bucks70. Terry and I looked at each other.
"Where we going to sleep tonight, baby?" "I don't know."
Rickey was drunk; now all he was saying was, "Dah you go,man--dah you go, man," in a tender and tired voice. It had been a long day. None of us knew what was going on, or what the Good Lord ap- pointed. Poor little Johnny fell asleep on my arm. We drove back to Sabinal. On the way we pulled up sharp at a roadhouse on Highway 99. Rickey wanted one last beer. In back of the roadhouse were trailers and tents and a few rickety motel-style rooms. I inquired about the price and it was two bucks. I asked Terry how about it, and she said fine because we had the kid on our hands now and had to make him comfortable. So after a few beers in the saloon, where sullen71 Okies reeled to the music of a cowboy band, Terry and I and Johnny went into a motel room and got ready to hit the sack. Ponzo kept hanging around; he had no place to sleep. Rickey slept at his father's house in the vineyard shack32.
"Where do you live, Ponzo?" I asked.
"Nowhere, man. I'm supposed to live with Big Rosey but she threw me out last night. I'm gonna get my truck and sleep in it tonight." Guitars tinkled72. Terry and I gazed at the stars together and kissed. "iMananai" she said. "Everything'll be all right tomorrow, don't you think, Sal-honey, man?"
"Sure, baby, imananai." It was always imananai. For the next week that was all I heard--imananai, a lovely word and one that probably means heaven.
Little Johnny jumped in bed, clothes and all, and went to sleep; sand spilled out of his shoes, Madera sand. Terry and I got up in the middle of the night and brushed the sand off the sheets. In the morning I got up, washed, and took a walk around the place. We were five miles out of Sabinal in the cotton fields and grape vineyards. I asked the big fat woman who owned the camp if any of the tents were va- cant73. The cheapest one, a dollar a day, was vacant. I fished up a dollar and moved into it. There were a bed, a stove, and a cracked mirror hanging from a pole; it was delightful74. I had to stoop to get in, and when I did there was my baby and my baby boy. We waited for Rickey and Ponzo to arrive with the truck. They arrived with beer bottles and started to get drunk in the tent.
"How about the manure?"
"Too late today. Tomorrow, man, we make a lot of money; to- day we have a few beers. What do you say, beer?" I didn't have to be prodded75. "Dah you go--idah you goi!" yelled Rickey. I began to see that our plans for making money with the manure truck would never materialize. The truck was parked outside the tent. It smelled like Ponzo.
That night Terry and I went to bed in the sweet night air be- neath our dewy tent. I was just getting ready to go to sleep when she said, "You want to love me now?"
I said, "What about Johnny?"
"He don't mind. He's asleep." But Johnny wasn't asleep and he said nothing.
The boys came back the next day with the manure truck and drove off to find whisky; they came back and had a big time in the tent. That night Ponzo said it was too cold and slept on the ground in our tent, wrapped in a big tarpaulin76 smelling of cowflaps. Terry hated him; she said he hung around with her brother in order to get close to her.
Nothing was going to happen except starvation for Terry and me, so in the morning I walked around the countryside asking for cot- ton-picking work. Everybody told me to go to the farm across the highway from the camp. I went, and the farmer was in the kitchen with his women. He came out, listened to my story, and warned me he was paying only three dollars per hundred pounds of picked cotton. I pic- tured myself picking at least three hundred pounds a day and took the job. He fished out some long canvas bags from the barn and told me the picking started at dawn. I rushed back to Terry, all glee. On the way a grape truck went over a bump in the road and threw off great bunches of grapes on the hot tar4. I picked them up and took them home. Terry was glad. "Johnny and me'll come with you and help."
"Pshaw!" I said. "No such thing!"
"You see, you see, it's very hard picking cotton. I show you how."
We ate the grapes, and in the evening Rickey showed up with a loaf of bread and a pound of hamburg and we had a picnic. In a larger tent next to ours lived a whole family of Okie cotton-pickers; the grandfather sat in a chair all day long, he was too old to work; the son and daughter, and their children, filed every dawn across the highway to my farmer's field and went to work. At dawn the next day I went with them. They said the cotton was heavier at dawn because of the dew and you could make more money than in the afternoon. Neverthe- less they worked all day from dawn to sundown. The grandfather had come from Nebraska during the great plague of the thirties--that self- same dust-cloud my Montana cowboy had told me about--with the entire family in a jalopy truck. They had been in California ever since.
They loved to work. In the ten years the old man's son had increased his children to the number of four, some of whom were old enough now to pick cotton. And in that time they had progressed from ragged77 poverty in Simon Legree fields to a kind of smiling respectability in better tents, and that was all. They were extremely proud of their tent.
"Ever going back to Nebraska?"
"Pshaw, there's nothing back there. What we want to do is buy a trailer."
We bent78 down and began picking cotton. It was beautiful. Across the field were the tents, and beyond them the brown cotton- fields that stretched out of sight to the brown arroyo79 foothills and then the snow-capped Sierras in the morning air. This was so much better than washing dishes South Main Street. But I knew nothing about pick- ing cotton. I spent too much time disengaging the white ball from crackly bed; the others did it in one flick80. Moreover, fingertips began to bleed; I needed gloves, or more experience. There was an old Negro couple in the field with us. They picked cotton with the same God- blessed patience the grandfathers had practiced in ante-bellum Ala- bama; they moved right along their rows, bent and blue, and their bag increased. My back began to ache. But it was beautiful kneeling and hiding in that earth. If I felt like resting I did, my face on the pillow of brown moist earth. Birds an accompaniment. I thought I had found my life's work. Johnny and Terry came waving at me across the field in hot lullal noon and pitched in with me. Be damned if lit Johnny wasn't faster than I was!--and of course Terry twice as fast. They worked ahead of me and left me piles clean cotton to add to my bag--Terry workmanlike pile Johnny little childly piles. I stuck them in with sor- row. What kind of old man was I that couldn't support his ass12, let alone theirs? They spent all afternoon with me. When the sun got red we trudged81 back together. At the end of field I unloaded my burden on a scale; it weighed fifty pounds and I got a buck fifty. Then I borrowed a bicycle from one of the Okie boys and rode down 99 to a crossroads grocery store where I bought cans of cooked spaghetti and meatballs, bread, butter, coffee, and cake, and came back with the bag on the handlebars. LA-bound traffic zoomed82 by; Frisco-boy harassed83 my tail. I swore and swore. I looked up at dark sky and prayed to God for a bet- ter break in life and a better chance to do something for the little people I love. Nobody was paying any attention to me up there. I should have known better. It was Terry who brought my soul back; on the tent stove she warmed up the food, and it was one of the greatest meals of my life, I was so hungry and tired. Sighing like an old Negro cotton- picker, I reclined on the bed and smoked a cigarette. Dogs barked in the cool night. Rickey and Ponzo had given up calling in the evenings. I was satisfied with that. Terry curled up beside me, Johnny sat on my chest, and they drew pictures of animals in my notebook. The light of our tent burned on the frightful84 plain. The cowboy music twanged in the roadhouse and carried across the fields, all sadness. It was all right with me. I kissed my baby and we put out the ights.
In the morning the dew made the tent sag85; I got up with my towel and toothbrush and went to the general motel toilet to wash; then I came back, put on my pants, which were all torn from kneeling in the earth and had been sewed by Terry in the evening, put on my ragged straw hat, which had originally served as Johnny's toy hat, and went across the highway with my canvas cotton-bag.
Every day I earned approximately a dollar and a half. It was just enough to buy groceries in the evening on the bicycle. The days rolled by. I forgot all about the East and all about Dean and Carlo and the bloody86 road. Johnny and I played all the time; he liked me to throw him up in the air and down in the bed. Terry sat mending clothes. I was a man of the earth, precisely87 as I had dreamed I would be, in Pa- terson. There was talk that Terry's husband was back in Sabinal and out for me; I was ready for him. One night the Okies went mad in the roadhouse and tied a man to a tree and beat him to a pulp88 with sticks. I was asleep at the time and only heard about it. From then on I carried a big stick with me in the tent in case they got the idea we Mexicans were fouling89 up their trailer camp. They thought I was a Mexican, of course; and in a way I am.
But now it was October and getting much colder in the nights.
The Okie family had a woodstove and planned to stay for the winter. We had nothing, and besides the rent for the tent was due. Terry and I bitterly decided we'd have to leave.
"Go back to your family," I said. "For God's sake, you can't be batting around tents with a baby like Johnny; the poor little tyke is cold." Terry cried because I was criticizing her motherly instincts; I meant no such thing. When Ponzo came in the truck one gray after- noon we decided to see her family about the situation. But I mustn't be seen and would have to hide in the vineyard. We started for Sabinal; the truck broke down, and simultaneously90 it started to rain wildly. We sat in the old truck, cursing. Ponzo got out and toiled91 in the rain. He was a good old guy after all. We promised each other one more big bat. Off we went to a rickety bar in Sabinal Mextown and spent an hour sopping92 up the brew63. I was through with my chores in the cottonfield. I could feel the pull of my own life calling me back. I shot my aunt a penny postcard across the land and asked for another fifty.
We drove to Terry's family's shack. It was situated93 on the old road that ran between the vineyards. It was dark when we got there. They left me off a quarter-mile away and drove to the door. Light poured out of the door; Terry's six other brothers were playing their guitars and singing. The old man was drinking wine. I heard shouts and arguments above the singing. They called her a whore because she'd left her no-good husband and gone to LA and left Johnny with them. The old man was yelling. But the sad, fat brown mother pre- vailed, as she always does among the great fellahin peoples of the world, and Terry was allowed to come back home. The brothers began to sing gay songs, fast. I huddled94 in the cold, rainy wind and watched everything across the sad vineyards of October in the valley. My mind was filled with that great song "Lover Man" as Billie Holiday sings it; I had my own concert in the bushes. "Someday we'll meet, and you'll dry all my tears, and whisper sweet, little things in my ear, hugging and a-kissing, oh what we've been missing, Lover Man, oh where can you be ... " It's not the words so much as their great harmonic tune28 and the way Billie sings it, like a woman stroking her man's hair in soft lamplight. The winds howled. I got I cold.
Terry and Ponzo came back and we rattled95 off in the old truck to meet Rickey. Rickey was now living with Ponzo's woman, Big Ro- sey; we tooted the horn for him in rickety alleys. Big Rosey threw him out. Everything was collapsing96. That night we slept in the truck. Terry held me tight, of course, and told me not to leave. She said she'd work picking grapes and make enough money for both of us; meanwhile I could live in Farmer Heffelfinger's barn down the road from her fami- ly. I'd have nothing to do but sit in the grass all day and eat grapes. "You like that?"
In the morning her cousins came to get us in another truck. I suddenly realized thousands of Mexicans all over the countryside knew about Terry and me and that it must have been a juicy, romantic topic for them. The cousins were very polite and in fact charming. I stood on the truck, smiling pleasantries, talking about where we were in the war and what the pitch was. There were five cousins in all, and every one of them was nice. They seemed to belong to the side of Ter- ry's family that didn't fuss off like her brother. But I loved that wild Rickey. He swore he was coming to New York to join me. I pictured him in New York, putting off everything till imananai. He was drunk in a field someplace that day.
I got off the truck at the crossroads, and the cousins drove Terry home. They gave me the high sign from the front of the house; the fa- ther and mother weren't home, they were off picking grapes. So I had the run of the house for the afternoon. It was a four-room shack; I couldn't imagine how the whole family managed to live in there. Flies flew over the sink. There were no screens, just like in the song, "The window she is broken and the rain she is coming in." Terry was at home now and puttering around pots. Her two sisters giggled at me. The little children screamed in the road.
When the sun came out red through the clouds of my last valley afternoon, Terry led me to Farmer Heffelfinger's barn. Farmer Heffel- finger had a prosperous farm up the road. We put crates together, she brought blankets from the house, and I was all set except for a great hairy tarantula that lurked97 at the pinpoint98 top of the barn roof. Terry said it wouldn't harm me if I didn't bother it. I lay on my back and stared at it. I went out to the cemetery99 and climbed a tree. In the tree I sang "Blue Skies." Terry and Johnny sat in the grass; we had grapes. In California you chew the juice out of grapes and spit the skin away, a real luxury. Nightfall came. Terry went home for supper and came to the barn at nine o'clock with delicious tortillas and mashed beans. I lit a woodfire on the cement floor of the barn to make light. We made love on the crates. Terry got up and cut right back to the shack. Her father was yelling at her.; I could hear him from the barn. She'd left me a cape100 to keep warm; I threw it over my shoulder and skulked101 through the moonlit vineyard to see what was going on. I crept to the end of a row and knelt in the warm dirt. Her five brothers were singing melodious102 songs in Spanish. The stars bent over the little roof; smoke poked103 from the stovepipe chimney. I smelled mashed beans and chili. The old man growled104. The brothers kept right on yodeling. The mother was silent. Johnny and the kids were giggling105 in the bedroom. A California home; I hid in the grapevines, digging it all. I felt like a million dollars; I was adventuring in the crazy American night.
Terry came out, slamming the door behind her. I accosted106 her on the dark road. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, we fight all the time. He wants me to go to work tomor- row. He says he don't want me foolin around. Sallie, I want to go to New York with you."
"But how?"
"I don't know, honey. I'll miss you. I love you." "But I have to leave."
"Yes, yes. We lay down one more time, then you leave." We
went back to the barn; I made love to her under the tarantula. What was the tarantula doing? We slept awhile on the crates as the fire died. She went back at midnight; her father was drunk; I could hear him roaring; then there was silence as he fell asleep. The stars folded over the sleeping countryside.
In the morning Farmer Heffelfinger stuck his head through the
horse gate and said, "How you doing, young fella?" "Fine. I hope it's all right my staying here."
"Sure thing. You going with that little Mexican floozy?" "She's a very nice girl."
"Very pretty too. I think the bull jumped the fence. She's got blue eyes." We talked about his farm.
Terry brought my breakfast. I had my canvas bag all packed and ready to go to New York, as soon as I picked up my money in Sa- binal. I knew it was waiting there for me by now. I told Terry I was leaving. She had been thinking about it all night and was resigned to it. Emotionlessly she kissed me in the vineyard and walked off down the row. We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a duel107, and looked at each other for the last time.
"See you in New York, Terry," I said. She was supposed to drive to New York in a month with her brother. But we both knew she wouldn't make it. At a hundred feet I turned to look at her. She just walked on back to the shack, carrying my breakfast plate in one hand. I bowed my head and watched her. Well, lackadaddy, I was on the road again.
I walked down the highway to Sabinal, eating black walnuts108 from the walnut109 tree. I went on the SP tracks and balanced along the rail. I passed a watertower and a factory. This was the end of something. I went to the telegraph office of the railroad for my money order from New York. It was closed. I swore and sat on the steps to wait. The ticket master got back and invited me in. The money was in; my aunt had saved my lazy butt25 again. "Who's going to win the World Series next year?" said the gaunt old ticket master. I suddenly realized it was fall and that I was going back to New York.
I walked along the tracks in the long sad October light of the valley, hoping for an SP freight to come along so I could join the grape- eating hobos and read the funnies with them. It didn't come. I got out on the highway and hitched110 a ride at once. It was the fastest, whoo- pingest ride of my life. The driver was a fiddler for a California cow- boy band. He had a brand-new car and drove eighty miles an hour. "I don't drink when I drive," he said and handed me a pint. I took a. drink and offered him one. "What the hail," he said and drank. We made Sa- binal to LA in the amazing time of four hours flat about 250 miles. He dropped me off right in front of Columbia Pictures in Hollywood; I was just in time to run in and pick up my rejected original. Then I bought my bus ticket to Pittsburgh. I didn't have enough money to go all the way to New York. I figured to worry about that when I got to Pittsburgh.
With the bus leaving at ten, I had four hours to dig Hollywood alone. First I bought a loaf of bread and salami and made myself ten sandwiches to cross the country on. I had a dollar left. I sat on the low cement wall in back of a Hollywood parking lot and made the sand- wiches. As I labored111 at this absurd task, great Kleig lights of a Holly- wood premiere stabbed in the sky, that humming West Coast sky. All around me were the noises of the crazy gold-coast city. And this was my Hollywood career--this was my last night in Hollywood, and I was spreading mustard on my lap in back of a parking-lot John.
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1
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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2
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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3
complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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4
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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5
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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9
chili
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| n.辣椒 | |
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10
parlors
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| 客厅( parlor的名词复数 )； 起居室； （旅馆中的）休息室； （通常用来构成合成词）店 | |
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11
medleys
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| n.混杂物( medley的名词复数 )；混合物；混杂的人群；混成曲（多首声乐曲或器乐曲串联在一起） | |
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12
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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13
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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14
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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15
limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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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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17
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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gals
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| abbr.gallons （复数）加仑（液量单位）n.女孩，少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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19
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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20
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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21
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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22
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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23
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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24
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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25
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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26
deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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27
Neptune
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| n.海王星 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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29
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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30
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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31
shacks
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| n.窝棚，简陋的小屋( shack的名词复数 ) | |
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32
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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33
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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34
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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35
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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36
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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37
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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38
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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39
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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40
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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41
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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42
pact
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| n.合同，条约，公约，协定 | |
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43
wholesaler
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| n.批发商 | |
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44
jabbered
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的过去式和过去分词 )；急促兴奋地说话 | |
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45
arcades
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| n.商场( arcade的名词复数 )；拱形走道（两旁有商店或娱乐设施）；连拱廊；拱形建筑物 | |
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46
popcorn
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| n.爆米花 | |
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47
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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48
crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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49
pokers
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| n.拨火铁棒( poker的名词复数 )；纸牌；扑克；（通常指人）（坐或站得）直挺挺的 | |
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50
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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51
budged
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| v.（使）稍微移动( budge的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）改变主意，（使）让步 | |
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52
bums
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| n. 游荡者，流浪汉，懒鬼，闹饮，屁股 adj. 没有价值的，不灵光的，不合理的 vt. 令人失望，乞讨 vi. 混日子，以乞讨为生 | |
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53
goofed
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| v.弄糟( goof的过去式和过去分词 )；混；打发时间；出大错 | |
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54
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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55
buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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56
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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57
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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59
stank
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| n. (英)坝，堰，池塘 动词stink的过去式 | |
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60
manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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61
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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62
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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63
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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64
brews
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| n.（尤指某地酿造的）啤酒( brew的名词复数 )；酿造物的种类；（茶）一次的冲泡量；（不同思想、环境、事件的）交融v.调制( brew的第三人称单数 )；酝酿；沏（茶）；煮（咖啡） | |
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65
vociferous
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| adj.喧哗的，大叫大嚷的 | |
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66
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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67
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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68
mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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69
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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70
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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71
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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72
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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73
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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74
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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75
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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76
tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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77
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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78
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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79
arroyo
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| n.干涸的河床，小河 | |
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80
flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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81
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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82
zoomed
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| v.（飞机、汽车等）急速移动( zoom的过去式 )；（价格、费用等）急升，猛涨 | |
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83
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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84
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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85
sag
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| v.下垂，下跌，消沉；n.下垂，下跌，凹陷，[航海]随风漂流 | |
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86
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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87
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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88
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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89
fouling
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| n.（水管、枪筒等中的）污垢v.使污秽( foul的现在分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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90
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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91
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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92
sopping
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| adj. 浑身湿透的 动词sop的现在分词形式 | |
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93
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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94
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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95
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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96
collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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97
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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98
pinpoint
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| vt.准确地确定；用针标出…的精确位置 | |
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99
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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100
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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101
skulked
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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103
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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104
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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105
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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106
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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107
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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108
walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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109
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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110
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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111
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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