Кристин Ханна - The Four Winds

As they stood there, the sun began to set slowly, gilding the valley for a few beautiful moments before the sky darkened.

They were almost to the head of the line when a pair of police cars drove into the parking lot. Four uniformed policemen exited the vehicles. Moments later a Welty truck drove up and Mr. Welty stepped out.

People in line turned to look, but no one said anything.

Two of the policemen and Mr. Welty cut to the head of the line and strode into the relief office. They didn’t come back out.

Elsa clung to Loreda’s hand. In normal times, the folks in line might have turned to one another, asked what was going on, but these weren’t ordinary times. There were spies everywhere; people wanted to take a place at Welty, wanted a job.

Elsa finally stepped into the small, hot office, where a pretty young woman sat at the desk with the file box full of residents’ names in front of her.

Welty stood beside the woman, appeared almost to be looming over the poor girl. Two policemen stood beside him, hands rested on their gun belts.

Elsa eased Loreda away and walked up to the desk alone. Her throat was so dry she had to clear it twice to speak. “Elsa Martinelli. April 1935.”

Welty pointed at Elsa’s red card. “Address Welty Farms. She’s on the list.”

The woman looked at Elsa with compassion. “I’m sorry, ma’am. No state relief for anyone who is capable of picking cotton.”

“But…”

“If you can pick, you have to,” she said. “It’s the new policy. But don’t worry, as soon as cotton season is over, you’ll be put back on the relief rolls.”

“Wait a minute. Now, the state is cutting my relief? But I’m a resident, and I am picking cotton.”

“We want to make sure you keep picking it,” Welty said.

“Mr. Welty,” she said. “Please. We need—”

“Next,” Welty said loudly.

Elsa couldn’t believe this new cruelty. People needed this relief to feed their children, even if they did pick cotton. “Have you no shame?”

“Next,” he said again. A policeman came up to physically move Elsa out of the line.

She stumbled away, felt Loreda steady her.

Elsa stepped out of the relief office (what a joke that title was) and stared at the long line of people, many of whom didn’t yet know their relief had been cut. So, the state was helping the growers avoid a strike by cutting relief to people who were already barely surviving.

She heard a shout and turned.

Two policemen slammed a man against the building wall, said, “Where’s tonight’s meeting? Where is it?” They shoved the man into the wall again. “How are you going to feed your family from San Quentin?”

“Elsa!”

She saw Jeb Dewey rushing toward her. He looked frantic.

“Jeb. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jean. She’s sick. Can you help?”

“I’ll drive,” Elsa said, already running toward the truck.

Elsa drove out to the old squatters’ camp and parked near the Deweys’ truck. She and Jeb and Loreda got out. A wood and metal roof had been built over the bed. Another roof extended out to the side, created a covered cooking area where the children now sat. Jean lay on a mattress in the back of the truck.

“Tell us what to do,” Jeb said.

Elsa climbed up into the truck bed and knelt beside Jean. “Hey, you.”

“Elsa,” Jean said, her voice almost too soft to be heard. Her eyes had a glassy, unfocused look. “I told Jeb you’d be at relief today.”

Elsa placed a hand on Jean’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” She yelled to Jeb: “Get me some water.”

Moments later, Loreda handed Elsa a cup of warm water. “Here, Mom.”

Elsa took the cup. Cradling Jean’s neck, she helped her sip water. “Come on, Jean, take a drink.”

Jean tried to push her away.

“Come on, Jean.” Elsa forced the water down Jean’s throat.

Jean looked up at her. “It’s bad this time.”

Elsa looked down at Jeb. “You got any aspirin?”

“Nope.”

“Loreda,” Elsa said. “Take the truck to the company store. Buy us some aspirin. And a thermometer. The keys are in the ignition.”

Loreda ran off.

Elsa settled herself in closer to Jean, held her in her arms, and stroked her hot brow.

“It’s the typhoid, I reckon,” Jean said. “You should probably stay away.”

“I’m not that easy to get rid of. Just ask my husband. He had to run off in the middle of the night.”

Jean smiled weakly. “He was a fool.”

“Jack said the same thing. So did Rafe’s mom, come to think of it.”

“I sure could use me some of that gin we been talkin’ about.”

Elsa ran her fingers through Jean’s damp hair. Heat radiated from Jean’s body to Elsa’s. “I could sing…”

“Please don’t.”

The women smiled at each other, but Elsa saw Jean’s fear. “It’ll be okay. You’re strong.”

Jean closed her eyes and fell asleep in Elsa’s arms.

Elsa held Jean, stroked her hot brow, and whispered quiet words of encouragement until she heard the rumbling sound of the truck returning.

Thank God.

Loreda drove up and parked. She opened the truck’s door and got out, banging the door shut behind her. “Mom!” she yelled. “The store wasn’t open.”

Elsa craned her neck to see Loreda. “Why not?”

“Probably because of the strike talk. They want to remind us how much we need them. Pigs.”

Jean’s body suddenly arched and stiffened. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her body began to shake violently.

Elsa held her friend until she stilled.

“There’s no aspirin, Jean,” Elsa said.

Jean’s eyes fluttered open. “Don’t fret none, Elsa. Just let me—”

“ No,” Elsa said sharply. “I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

Jean’s breathing slowed. “I might go dancin’.”

Elsa eased Jean’s head back and got out of the truck. “You stay here,” she said to Loreda. “Try to get Jean to drink more water. Keep a wet rag on her forehead. Don’t let her kick the covers away.” She turned to Jeb. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where yah going?” Jeb asked.

“I’m getting her aspirin.”

“Where? You got any money to buy some?”

“No,” Elsa said tightly. “They make sure we never have money. Stay here.”

She ran to the truck and started it up, drove out to the main road.

At the hospital, she walked across the parking lot and pushed through the doors, leaving dirty brown footprints across the clean floor as she walked to the front desk, where a woman sat alone, playing solitaire.

“I need help,” Elsa said. “Please. I know you won’t let us come to the hospital, but if you could just give me some asprin, it would be such a help. My friend has a fever. Really high. It could be typhoid. Help us. Please. Please. ”

The woman straightened in her chair, craned her neck to look up and down the hall. “You know that’s contagious, right? There’s a nurse at the new government tent camp in Arvin. Ask her for help. She treats your kind.”

Your kind.

Enough is goddamned enough.

Elsa walked out of the hospital, went back to the truck, and grabbed Ant’s baseball bat from out of the bed. Carrying it, she walked across the parking lot, trying to stay calm.

This time she banged through the doors, took one look at the woman sneering up at her, and slammed the baseball bat down on the front desk hard enough to dent the wood.

The woman screamed.

“Ah, good. I have your attention. I need some aspirin,” Elsa said calmly.

The woman spun around, yanked open a cabinet. With shaking hands, she started pawing through medicine. “Darn Okies,” the woman muttered.