Sea Glass_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [79]
“You’re good at this,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“You’ve had a lot of practice, then.”
“I have,” he said. “But . . .” He paused.
“But what?” she asked gently.
“Well, this is easy, isn’t it?” he blurted. “The water coming hot from the tap.”
“You don’t have hot water?” she said.
“No, ma’am.”
Honora nodded and thought maybe she didn’t know what it was to live like a dog after all.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to print this workers of the world unite guff,” Vivian is saying as she reads a fresh copy of the first pages of the newsletter.
“Miss Burton,” Mironson says quietly, turning in her direction, “though the immediate issue to hand is the wage cut and the appalling conditions of the workers in Ely Falls, the underlying problems are far graver.”
“Maybe so,” Vivian says, “but I don’t believe for one minute that the men and women who show up on your picket line on Monday give a toss about the . . .” Vivian checks the wording in the newsletter, “the sharp struggle furnishing irrefutable proof of the process by which the inner contradictions of capitalism in the imperialist period bring on economic struggles which speedily take on a political character.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ross says from a corner of the room, where he is placing bound packets of leaflets into boxes. Mironson shoots him a quick look, as if to say, Who asked you?
“What I imagine the workers will be concerned about on Monday,” Vivian says, “— this is going out on Monday, correct?”
Mironson nods.
“Is food for their families, how they’re going to pay the rent, why are they striking — that is to say, what’s the immediate reason for the strike — how long is it going to last, where are they supposed to go, and what are they supposed to do. And I imagine they’re going to want to know something about the consequences of what they’re doing as well. You know, will they lose their jobs ultimately, even if the bosses capitulate? That sort of thing.”
Honora looks over at McDermott, who raises an eyebrow and smiles.
“I believe the workers will want to know in what way they are being exploited,” Mironson says, “and how they are united with workers all over the world, not just in Ely Falls and not just in America, but internationally. By going out on strike on Monday, they become part of an international brotherhood.”
“I sincerely doubt whether anyone who strikes on Monday will give a fig for international brotherhood,” Vivian says, “or — shall we call a spade a spade, Mr. Mironson — the Communist Party.” Vivian fishes in her purse for her silver cigarette case. “Possibly later, when everyone is fantastically bored because the strike has gone on for weeks and weeks and they’ve had nothing to do for days on end, then you can give them this internationale and Marxist rot, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll read it. But if you hand them this now, it will end up underfoot on the street.” Vivian lights one cigarette with the end of another. She offers the open case to Mironson.
“I don’t smoke,” Mironson says, and somehow his refusal, though justified, sounds boorish to Honora’s ear.
“My advice,” Vivian says, snapping the case shut, “though of course my advice is perfectly useless, is to put the newsletter in the form of questions and answers. Start with the most important question that’s going to be on the minds of the strikers Monday morning and then go from there.”
Vivian’s suggestion is so simple and yet so insightful, Honora thinks, that Mironson cannot fail to see its brilliance. There is a long silence in the front room, during which hardly anyone moves — apart from Vivian, who continues