A shouting match erupted throughout the audience. Men stood, shouted, pumped their fists in anger.
“A man can’t feed his family on one cent for every pound of cotton he picks. You know it and you’re scared. You should be scared. You kick a dog long enough, he’s going to bite,” Jack said.
Two policemen rushed in. One of them grabbed Jack and hauled him away.
Loreda ran outside, blinking for a moment in the brightness. Flyers stuck to the sidewalk, along the curb, drifted down the street. Workers Unite for Change!
Jack lay sprawled on the ground. His hat had fallen off and lay beside him.
“Jack!” Loreda yelled, running over to him, kneeling.
“Loreda.” He grabbed his hat, crushed it to his head, and stood up, giving her a slow-building smile. “My little commie-in-training. How the hell are you?”
How could he smile with blood running down from a cut at his temple?
A police siren wailed.
“Come on,” Jack said, taking her by the arm. “I’ve had enough jail time this week.” He gathered up his flyers, and then pulled her across the street and into a diner.
Loreda climbed up onto the stool next to him. Taking a napkin, she dabbed at the blood at his temple.
“Does it give me a rakish look?”
“That’s not funny,” she said.
“No. It’s not.”
“What was all of that about?”
He ordered Loreda a chocolate milkshake.
“Cotton prices are down. That’s bad for the industry and bad news for the workers. The growers are getting nervous.”
Loreda slurped up the sweet, creamy milkshake so fast it gave her a headache. “That’s why they had that meeting and called us names?”
“They call you names because they don’t want to think of you as like them. They’re worried about you forming unions, demanding more money. The so-called Bum Blockade—the closing of state borders—is over, so migrants are pouring into the state again.”
“They don’t want to pay us enough to live on.”
“Exactly.”
“How do we make them pay?”
“You’ll have to fight for it.” He paused, looked at her, trying to appear nonchalant. “Now, tell me, kid, how’s your mom?”
* * *
AFTER TEN HOURS OF hard labor beneath a hot sun, Elsa climbed down from the truck. She had her work chit in one gloved hand. It wasn’t worth much, but it was something. The company store charged the camp residents ten percent to convert the chit to credit, but they couldn’t cash it anywhere else; if they wanted cash instead of credit, they had to pay interest. So, in point of fact, as little as they were paid, it was really even ten percent less. Exhausted, her hands and shoulders aching in pain, she walked over to the store and went inside. The bell that jangled at her entrance grated on her nerves. All she could think about in this place was her growing debt and the grinding truth that there was no way out of it.
A new man was at the counter, someone she didn’t know.
“Cabin Ten,” she said.
The new man opened the book, looked at the chit, and wrote down the amount she’d earned. Turning, she chose two cans of milk from the aisle beside her. She hated to pay what they charged for it, but Ant and Loreda needed milk to keep their bones strong. “Put this on my bill,” she said without looking back.
She joined the women in line for the bathroom. Usually she struck up a conversation with the women around her, but after ten hours in the cotton field, she didn’t have the energy.
When it was finally her turn, she went into the dark, smelly bathroom and used the toilet.