DAWN HAD not come the next morning when Angel City came to life. Little fires sprang up in front of doors, and people moved about beneath the dim glow of the floodlights like vague shadows. The smell of coffee drifted through the camp.
Jared stepped from the room and breathed deeply of the cool air, trying to shake the sleep from his head. He had spent a restless night in the concrete cubicle which still reeked with a foul odor. Cy was sitting on the ground beside a fire. He had propped a grille on top of four blackened beer cans, and a small coffee pot bubbled over the flames. The old man called Rude was eating sardines from a can.
Jared looked at Cy and said, “Good mornin’.”
“Mornin’,” Cy replied.
“Where’d you get the wood fer the fire?” Jared asked.
“Out by the cookshed. They’s a pile of branches out there.”
Jared went to the shed and returned with a bundle of sticks. By the time the fire came to life, Cloma came outside. She looked at the fire and said, “How’m I goin’ to make coffee over that? We don’t have a grille to set the pot on.”
“Just set the pot in the fire,” Jared said. “I’ll take the grille off the camp stove in the van when we get back this afternoon.”
Cy looked up and said, “You can use my grille now. I’m through with it. And they’s water in the bucket by the wall.”
Cloma boiled coffee over the glowing coals, and when Kristy and Bennie came from the room, they all sat on the ground and ate the sweet buns left from the day before. Cy opened a can of Vienna sausage.
Jared looked at Cloma and said, “Do we have any food left to take to the field?”
“Nothin’ but a few oranges,” she replied.
“I can let you have three cans of sardines,” Cy said. “That’s all I can spare. But you can eat all the tomatoes you wants in the field.”
“I’d appreciate the sardines,” Jared said. “I could have brought more food if I had known. We’ll leave a can of sardines fer Cloma, and maybe the cook will have something else she can have.”
“He won’t have nothin’ fo’ nobody ’til supper,” Cy said.
“Don’t worry about me,” Cloma said. “I’ll do fine with sardines and oranges. It’s you I’m worried about. You can’t work all day without proper food.”
“I’ve always liked tomatoes,” Jared said. “I’ll probably eat a bushel.”
“You’ll sho’ be stopped up if’n you do,” Cy said. He then looked at Jared and said seriously, “You folks better go out back an’ relieve yo’selves afore we go to the fields. They ain’t no place in the fields to do a job excepin’ in front of ev’rybody.”
Jared gave the black man a queer look. He said, “Well, thanks fer the information. That’s good to know.”
Bennie then jumped up and ran toward the outhouse.
Promptly at six a clanging sound came from the area of the cook shed, and people moved immediately toward the two buses. Those who lived in the north side of the barracks were assigned to Unit 1, and those on the south side to Unit 2. A driver stood by each bus, counting the people as they entered. Jared, Kristy and Bennie climbed aboard Unit 1.
Dawn was just breaking when the buses turned onto the highway and headed east. They drove for three miles and then turned north on a narrow paved farm road. Fields seemingly stretched into infinity on both sides of the road, fields that had once been part of the impenetrable Everglades but had been wrenched violently from nature, diked, drained, and stripped bare of flora and fauna, marshland turned into arid soil that now formed one of America’s largest vegetable gardens. Each day an army of men and women swarmed across the land, a conglomerate of lifetime migrants and exiles from failure and defeat in rural areas of Appalachia and the Carolinas and Georgia and Tennessee and Alabama. From the green vines they plucked hundreds of thousands of tomatoes that were processed in Florida City and Homestead and then shipped to distant markets to be served in salads and sandwiches in New York and Boston and Chicago and Minneapolis and Detroit and New Orleans and Denver and Toronto.
They also passed fields planted heavily with pole beans and squash and okra and potatoes and cucumbers and peppers. All of the fields were dotted with white splotches as egrets searched for their breakfast.
In some of the tomato fields, the rows were covered with strips of white plastic to hold in moisture and to kill weeds, and the plants grew from holes in the strips. From a distance, these fields looked as if they were covered with snow.
The buses finally turned into the edge of a field and parked beside a row of Australian pines. A flatbed truck loaded with empty crates was parked nearby. As each person was issued a bucket, they selected a row and moved out into the field like lines of advancing soldiers. The flatbed truck followed slowly behind the mass of pickers.
For the first two hours, the picking was like an adventuresome game to Kristy and Bennie. They felt tinges of excitement each time they plucked a tomato from a plant and gradually filled. a bucket. They almost ran as they took the buckets back to the truck and dumped them into a crate. But as the sun moved higher into the sky, intensifying the heat reflecting from the rocky soil, they began to move slower and slower and fill the buckets less often.
About mid-morning, Cy came up alongside Kristy and said to her, “Little miss, I been watchin’ you. You better take it easy, else you gone be laid out afore noon. It’s a long day in the fields when you not use to it. You stay alongside o’ me fo’ a while an’ I’ll pick some in yo’ bucket.”
“That wouldn’t be fair,” Kristy said, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “That would be taking away from you.”
“That don’t matter none at all,” he said. “You just stay alongside me fo’ awhile.”
For a half-hour she stayed abreast of the black man as he picked into two buckets at once, and then she began to fall behind. She finally sat down to rest as the other pickers moved farther and farther away from her.
At noon the workers took a half-hour break. Jared, Kristy and Bennie sat on the ground and shared the two cans of sardines. They also ate two tomatoes each. Water was available from a keg on the back of the truck.
By mid-afternoon, even Jared was hurting. The rows became longer and longer, and the buckets bigger and bigger. His shirt was drenched with sweat as he too fell farther and farther behind the experienced pickers.
It was a long walk back to the buses when the day finally ended at five. The smell of sweat-soaked bodies was almost overpowering as the bus lumbered back along the narrow farm road. A mile east of the camp the buses pulled into a parking area adjacent to a concrete block building housing the Gater General Store.
As each person got off the bus, the driver handed them a dollar bill. Cy explained to Jared that this was an advance on earnings to buy food for the next day. The pickers pushed into the store and made purchases quickly. Some returned to the buses drinking cans of cold beer, while others carried brown paper bags containing sardines or Vienna sausage or pickled pigs’ feet or slices of hoop cheese or cans of beans or loaves of white bread.
Cloma ran to meet them when Jared, Kristy and Bennie got off the bus inside the camp. They walked back to the room slowly. Kristy and Bennie grabbed towels and went immediately to join the line leading to the shower stall.
Jared sat on one of the bunks and groaned. “I never knowed that pickin’ tomatoes could be so rough,” he said wearily to Cloma. “My back feels like it’s broke. And I know it was tough on them two younguns, but they really tried hard.”
“Did you do as well as you hoped you would?” Cloma asked.
“Nope. But we’ll do better as we get used to it. I picked eighty-two buckets, Bennie got forty, and Kristy got twenty-seven. That’s not too bad, though. One more bucket and we’d have made forty dollars today.”
“I hope it won’t be long,” Cloma said. “Me and that old cook were the only people here today. I tried to talk to him once, but all he would say was some gibberish about him bein’ the cook and not havin’ to pick anymore. Skip was a real comfort to me. I even got to talkin’ to him.”
The small dog was lying on a blanket Cloma had placed for him under a bunk.
The giant black man suddenly came into the room and handed Jared a pint of white wine. Jared took it without comment and sat it against the wall beside the other bottle.
Cloma said, “That’s another bad thing here. You just can’t have any privacy at all. If you shut the door it’s like an oven, and if you leave it open people just walk by and look right in. Did you get the spray?”
“Yes.” Jared reached into a brown paper bag and handed her a can of aerosol spray. “But I didn’t buy any food except in cans. We can’t keep meat or anything like that without a refrigerator or ice. We’ll just have to make do fer awhile as best we can.”
Cloma started spraying the deodorant around the room. She said, “I scrubbed this place three more times today just to have somethin’ to do. It’s plenty clean now. But we’ve got to have some chairs. I can’t even sit outside durin’ the day ’less I sit on the ground.”
“Maybe we can go into town Saturday afternoon and look in the used furniture stores,” Jared said. He knew that staying alone all day in the small room was a cruel hardship for her.
“That would be nice. A used chair ought not cost too much.”
Jared took a towel from a cardboard box. “I’ve got to get this white dust off’n me,” he said. “It itches worse than pison ivy. I’ve never seen fields so full of rocks and dust. I don’t see how they make things grow at all, but they do. The rocks are nearbouts as thick as a mountain crick bed. We’ll have to get better shoes. But I noticed that some of the black people were barefooted. They must have feet like iron.”
“They’re probably used to it,” Cloma said. “And besides that, I’ve always heard that black folks are as tough as nails.”
“They must be. It hurt me clear through the soles of my shoes. But you know, I seen a strange thing today. I looked up two or three times and the black man in the room next to us — the one called Cy — he was pickin’ in to Kristy’s bucket.”
“How come him to do that?”
“I don’t know, ’less he figured she needed some help and he was willin’ to give it. But it looks to me like that would cost him money.” Jared got up, stretched, and said, “I’m gain’ now and take a bath afore the supper bell rings.” He looked back. “That stuff sure makes the room smell better.”
The meal that night consisted of fried strips of salt pork, pole beans and stewed tomatoes. All of the Teeters ate on the ground outside their room. When they were finished, Kristy and Bennie walked away to explore the camp, and Cloma went to the hydrant beside the outhouse to wash the day’s dirty underclothes. Jared leaned back against the wall as Skip came from the room and sat beside him. He reached over and patted the dog’s head.
Cy was also sitting on the ground in front of his room. He looked at Jared and said, “What you call that mutt?”
“His name’s Skip,” Jared answered. “He’s ’bout the best rabbit dog you’ve ever seen. If they’s a rabbit within ten miles, he’ll find him.”
“They don’t ’low no dogs in here,” Cy said. “You best get rid of him.”
“I couldn’t do that. We’ve had him over eight years.”
“You could take him outside when the gate opens in the mornin’ an’ turn him loose.”
“He wouldn’t go nowhere,” Jared said. “He’d just hang around out there and starve.”
“You could take him to the fields an’ turn him loose. He’d find a home sommers.”
Jared was becoming agitated by the conversation. He snapped, “This little dog won’t bother nobody! We’ll keep him in the room as much as possible, and he won’t hurt a soul!”
“It’s yo’ dog,” Cy said with finality.
Both men remained silent for several minutes, then Jared looked back to Cy and said quizzically, “What does Mr. Creedy get out of all this?”
Cy gave Jared a piercing look. For a moment he didn’t answer, and then he muttered, “Plenty.”
“In what way?” Jared asked, wanting to know more about the operation of the camp.
Cy glanced down the side of the building, and then he leaned closer and said, “He’s a contractor. He gits two dollars an’ fifty cents an hour fo’ hisself fo’ all the time we’re in the fields ev’ry day. And he also gits a dollar each fo’ ev’ry picker he puts in the fields ev’ry day. That’s a heap o’ money, but it ain’t enough fo’ Creedy. If’n he could figger a way to haul out ev’rybody’s do-do from the shithouse an’ sell it fo’ fertilizer, he’d do it!”
Jared figured briefly in his mind and said, “That is a lot of money fer Creedy, but he’s got the expense of this camp and the food at night and the buses.”
Cy gave Jared another piercing look. He grunted but did not comment further about Creedy.
Jared then asked, “Who’re those two men who drive the buses and hand out the wine?”
Cy said, “The big ’un is called Jabbo, an’ the one with the twisted nose is Clug.”
“How come they don’t pick?” Jared asked.
“Them’s Creedy’s men. They live in the trailer. They ain’t pickers. An’ you best stay clear of them two. They’s mean niggers.” Cy then got up and said, “I’m gain’ walk aroun’ some. I’ll see you later.” He was tired of Jared’s questions.
Jared got up and put Skip in the room, then he walked around the end of the building. He had wanted to meet the white family living in the south side of the barracks.
He found them sitting on the ground in front of a room. The man was about four years younger than Jared, the woman the same age as Cloma, and the boy was Bennie’s age. The man had a sullen look on his face.
Jared squatted in front of them and said, “Howdy. My name’s Jared Teeter. Folks call me Jay.” He extended his hand.
The man ignored Jared’s offered handshake and said in a flat tone, “What you want?”
Jared was surprised by the reaction. He said, “I don’t want nothin’. I just thought I’d visit a spell. We just got here yesterday. We come from West Virginny.”
The man became even more sullen. He said, “You come around here ’cause we’re white too?”
“No,” Jared answered, feeling uncomfortable and wishing he had not even tried to start a conversation with the stranger. “That had nothin’ to do with it. I just wanted to visit.”
“If you think you’re goin’ to get special treatment in here ’cause you’re white, you can forget it.” The man’s tone was now hostile. “Creedy don’t give a damn if you’re white or black or purple. You’re just two more hands in the field, that’s all. Just two more hands in the field. You won’t get nothin’ special in here ’cause you’re white.”
Jared was startled by the outburst, and then it angered him. He said firmly, “I ain’t lookin’ fer no special favors! I’ve always pulled my own weight! We’s mountain folk!”
“You damned well better pull your own weight!” the man snapped harshly.
Jared had had enough. As he jumped up to leave, the boy looked at him and said, “My pa here is Willard Baxley. My ma is Martha. I’m Lonnie. We come from Alabama.” His tone was apologetic.
“I hear that’s a good place,” Jared said, not knowing what else to say. “It’s good to have met you folks.” He then turned and walked away quickly.
Cloma had returned to the room when Jared came inside, but Bennie and Kristy were not there. Cloma said, “There’s no place for me to hang these wet clothes. The fence is too high, and there’s not a single clothes line in the camp.”
“Just drape ’em over the side of the bunks,” Jared said. “The heat in here will dry ’em in no time.” He was still feeling puzzled and dejected by the man’s reaction to his offered friendship.
Cloma said, “We’ve just got to get an electric fan, Jay. My bunk was soaked with sweat when I got up this morning.”
Jared acted as if he did not hear her. Skip came from under the bunk, and he reached down and patted the dog’s head. For a moment he pulled at the dog’s ears, and then he said, “It’s best you look after Skip real good. They’s things here I don’t understand. You best keep him close to you durin’ the day.”
“How come he needs special treatment all of a sudden?” Cloma asked. “He can’t go anywhere with that fence out there and the gate locked.”
“It’s just best that you watch after him real good,” Jared insisted.
Kristy and Bennie then came running into the room. Bennie’s face was flushed with excitement as he said, “We been out to the south side of the camp, Papa, behind the cook shed. Mister Cy was there. He said that the marsh you can see beyond the south field is the Everglades. He said there’s alligators out there. Will you take us to see an alligator, Papa? We ain’t never seen one.”
Jared looked at Bennie’s flushed face. He said, “Maybe we can take a hike out there Sunday afternoon. But I don’t know if the alligators are there or not.”
“Mister Cy said they were,” Bennie exclaimed.
Kristy said, “Mister Cy picked in my bucket. He helped me, Papa. I don’t think he would tell us about the alligators if it wasn’t true.”
Jared was pleased that his children were in a happy mood. He said, “Well, if Mister Cy said it, I guess it must be so. We’ll go out there Sunday afternoon, and we’ll see the alligators then.”
“Maybe we can catch a little one and keep him for a pet,” Bennie said. “Nobody back in Dink ever had a pet alligator.”
Jared then got up from the bunk and left the room. He suddenly felt a need to be alone for a few minutes. Night had now come, and he walked out to the north fence and watched the glow of lights in the eastern sky. Occasionally, a car passed along the highway a mile from the camp, its headlights slicing the darkness. Muted sounds drifted outward from the barracks.
When he turned to leave, Jared noticed that Jabbo was standing in the edge of the darkness by the gate, watching him.