The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [114]
Listen, when the time comes; I'm just gonna pick up and go. A man's gotta get out where he don't owe nobody nothing. (Staring into the darkness. Already there's the deep impatience, the anger, and the other thing, the distillate of the sunset beyond the encircling hills.) You're a good kid, Agnes. (The sense of minor loss and pleasurable self-pity as he thinks of leaving her.) But I tell ya I ain't gonna end up living the kind of life my old man did. I ain't gonna sweat out my guts in the mine.
You're going to do a lot of things, Red.
Sure. (He breathes the sweet-laden night air and smells the earth. The knowledge of strength, the taunt at the surrounding hills.) You know, I'll tell ya something, I don't believe in God.
You don't mean that, Red!
(Underneath the blanket his father's body had been crushed almost flat.) Yeah, that's right, I just don't believe in God.
Sometimes I don't either, Agnes says.
Yeah, I can talk to you, you understand.
Only you want to go away.
Well. (There is the other knowledge. Her body is young and strong and he knows the smell of her breasts, which are like powdered infant-flesh, but all the women turn to cordwood in the town.) You take that guy Joe Mackey who got Alice with a kid and left her, my own sister, but I tell ya I don't blame him. You got to see that, Agnes.
You're cruel.
Yeah, that's right. It's praise to the eighteen-year-old.
Of course you can always depend on the mines to shut down.
It's good for a week; there's hunting for jack rabbit and a ball game or two, but it loses its edge. There's more time to be in the house, and it's all bedrooms except for the kitchen. His kid brothers are always making noises, and Alice is sullen as she nurses her bastard. When he was working it was easier, but now he's with them all the time.
I'm getting out of this town, he says at last.
What? No, by God, no, his mother says. Just like his father. (A short squat woman who has never lost her Swedish accent.)
I can't take it any more, I'm gonna rot my life away, Eric's old enough to work in the mines if they ever open.
You don't go.
You're not going to tell me! he shouts. What the hell does a man get out of it, some food for his belly?
Soon Eric works in the mines. You get married. A nice Swenska.
He slaps his cup against the saucer. To hell with that, get tied down with a marriage. (Agnes. The idea is not wholly unpleasant, and he rejects it furiously.) I'm getting out of here, I ain't gonna waste my life in back of a drill, waiting for a goddam tunnel to collapse on me.
His sister comes into the kitchen. You lousy kid, you're only eighteen, where do you talk of getting away?
Stay out of this, he shouts.
I'm not going to stay out, it's my business more than ma's. That's all you men are good for, you get us in trouble and then you skip out. Well, you can't do it! she screams.
What's the matter? There'll always be some grub for ya.
Maybe I want to get out, maybe I'm sick to death of hanging around here without a man who'll marry me.
That was your lookout. You're not going to stop me, goddammit.
You're just like that louse that skipped out on me, if there's anything that's worthless it's a man who won't stick around to face the music.
(Trembling) And if I'd been Joe Mackey I'da skipped out on ya too. That was the smartest thing he ever did.
Take sides against your sister.
What the hell was in it for him, he had all the good out of you. (She slaps him. Tears of anger and guilt form in his eyes. He blinks them back, and glares at her.)
His mother sighs. You go then. It's bad thing when family fights like animals. Go.
What about the mines? (He feels himself weakening.)
Eric. She sighs again. Someday you know just how bad you be tonight, by God.
A man's got to get out. He's trapped in a hole here. (This once, it gives him no relief.)
In 1931 all the long voyages end in a hobo jungle.
But the itinerary is various:
Freight trains out of Montana through Nebraska into Iowa.
Handouts at farmhouses for a day's work.
The harvest and working in a granary.
Manure