Nathanael West - The Day of the Locust [63]
Tod freed his right arm with a heave, reached over the girl and brought his fist down on the man’s head. He couldn’t hit very hard but managed to knock the man’s hat off, also his glasses. The man tried to bury his face in the girl’s shoulder, but Tod grabbed one of his ears and yanked. They started to move again. Tod held on to the ear as long as he could hoping that it would come away in his hand. The girl managed to twist under his arm. A piece of her dress tore, but she was free of her attacker.
Another spasm passed through the mob and he was carried toward the curb. He fought toward a lamp-post, but he was swept by before he could grasp it. He saw another man catch the girl with the torn dress. She screamed for help. He tried to get to her, but was carried in the opposite direction. This rush also ended in a dead spot. Here his neighbors were all shorter than he was. He turned his head upward toward the sky and tried to pull some fresh air into his aching lungs, but it was all heavily tainted with sweat.
In this part of the mob no one was hysterical. In fact, most of the people seemed to be enjoying themselves. Near him was a stout woman with a man pressing hard against her from in front. His chin was on her shoulder, and his arms were around her. She paid no attention to him and went on talking to the woman at her side.
“The first thing I knew,” Tod heard her say, “there was a rush and I was in the middle.”
“Yeah. Somebody hollered, ‘Here comes Gary Cooper,’ and then wham!”
“That ain’t it,” said a little man wearing a cloth cap and pullover sweater. “This is a riot you’re in.”
“Yeah,” said a third woman, whose snaky gray hair was hanging over her face and shoulders. “A pervert attacked a child.”
“He ought to be lynched.”
Everybody agreed vehemently.
“I come from St. Louis,” announced the stout woman, “and we had one of them pervert fellers in our neighborhood once. He ripped up a girl with a pair of scissors.”
“He must have been crazy,” said the man in the cap. “What kind of fun is that?”
Everybody laughed. The stout woman spoke to the man who was hugging her.
“Hey, you,” she said. “I ain’t no pillow.”
The man smiled beatifically but didn’t move. She laughed, making no effort to get out of his embrace.
“A fresh guy,” she said.
The other woman laughed.
“Yeah,” she said, “this is a regular free-for-all.”
The man in the cap and sweater thought there was another laugh in his comment about the pervert.
“Ripping up a girl with scissors. That’s the wrong tool.”
He was right. They laughed even louder than the first time.
“You’d a done it different, eh, kid?” said a young man with a kidney-shaped head and waxed mustaches.
The two women laughed. This encouraged the man in the cap and he reached over and pinched the stout woman’s Mend. She squealed.
“Lay off that,” she said good-naturedly.
“I was shoved,” he said.
An ambulance siren screamed in the street. Its wailing moan started the crowd moving again and Tod was carried along in a slow, steady push. He closed his eyes and tried to protect his throbbing leg. This time, when the movement ended, he found himself with his back to the theatre wall. He kept his eyes closed and stood on his good leg. After what seemed like hours, the pack began to loosen and move again with a churning motion. It gathered momentum and rushed. He rode it until he was slammed against the base of an iron rail which fenced the driveway of the theatre from the street. He had the wind knocked out of him by the impact, but managed to cling to the rail. He held on desperately, fighting to keep from being sucked back. A woman caught him around the waist and tried to hang on. She was sobbing rhythmically. Tod felt his fingers slipping from the rail and kicked backwards as hard as he could. The woman let go.
Despite the agony in his leg, he was able to think clearly about his picture, “The Burning of Los Angeles.” After his quarrel with Faye, he had worked on it continually to escape tormenting himself, and