John Steinbeck - Sweet Thursday

In the Bear Flag the pageantry was spread all over the floor. Snow White was going to have, as ladies of honor, some of the best-known and most respected hookers north of San Luis Obispo. The ladies were dressing in filmy gowns of red, yellow, and green, and each one was to carry a bottle of whisky garlanded with ribbons to match her dress. Fauna was going as a witch. It was her own idea. The only costume she really needed was a broom, but she had made a peaked black hat and a black alpaca wrap-around to carry the part off. But Fauna had a payoff. When the big moment came she was prepared to fling off her black gown, switch broom for wand, and emerge as the fairy godmother.

Wide Ida’s was dwarf country. Eight Happys, four Sneezys, six Dopeys, and nineteen Grumpys clustered about the bar, earnestly singing “Harvest Moon” in one-and-a-half-part harmony.

Joseph and Mary had elected to go as Dracula. He hadn’t seen Snow White, but to him a moving picture was a moving picture.

At Western Biological, Doc and Old Jingleballicks were hopelessly enmeshed in a discussion of tobacco mosaic. When the dam had burst a flood followed. A garbage can stood in the middle of the floor, and in it, nestled in crushed ice, the six remaining bottles of a case of champagne bought by Old Jay.

Doc and Old Jay had completely forgotten the party. When Cacahuete’s trumpet sounded the call to arms they were shouting so loud they didn’t hear it. When the youth and beauty of Cannery Row walked gaily up the lantern-lit chicken walk Old Jay and Doc were still screaming at each other.

Suddenly Doc dropped his voice, and it had the effect of a loud noise. “I think I will go away,” he said. “I have tried with every sinew and I have failed.”

“Nonsense!” said Old Jay. “Young man, you are at the threshold of a great career.” [106] threshold of a great career: Old Jingleballicks echoes Ralph Waldo Emerson’s salutation to Walt Whitman, after the philosopher had read the first edition of the younger man’s Leaves of Grass (1855): “I greet you at the beginning of a great career,” he wrote Whitman on July 21, 1855.

“But what do I care for honors?”

“How do you know? You never got any,” said Old Jay.

“Don’t try to hold me back, Old Jingle.”

“I won’t. There’s too many of you already. Do you realize you haven’t cooked any dinner?”

“I bought a pound of hamburger and you ate it raw before I got it near a pan.”

“You shouldn’t starve yourself, young friend,” said Old Jingleballicks.

Eddie hurled himself up the steps and flung open the door. “Doc!” he cried. “For God’s sakes! She’s started! They’re going to draw!”

Doc picked a bottle from the ice. “Arm yourself, Old Jingleballicks. Forward!”

They had to help Old Jay up the chicken walk.

The drawing was being held for them. Dwarfs, animals, monsters, were drawn up in half-circle, facing the curtain.

“I guess we’re all here,” said Mack. He looked behind the curtain. “You all right, Johnny?”

“Goddam cold,” said Johnny.

And at that moment Hazel entered proudly, his chin up, his eyes flashing with dignity. Joe Elegant had worked all day to get his revenge on mankind, and Hazel was the result. The basis of his costume was long gray underwear, to which were sewed hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs in red and black. Hazel’s army shoes had yellow pompoms on the toes. An Elizabethan ruff of stiff paper was around his neck, and on his head a Knight Templar’s hat [107] Knight Templar’s hat: The Knights Templar is a Christian-oriented organization founded in the eleventh century. Originally, the Knights Templar were laymen who protected and defended Christians traveling to Jerusalem. These men took vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and were renowned for their fierceness and courage in battle. All Knights Templar are members of the world’s oldest fraternal organization, known as “The Ancient Free and Accepted Masons” or, more commonly, “Masons.” The hat Steinbeck refers to is plumed. with a white ostrich plume. From the belt around his middle hung a long scabbard. His right hand proudly held a cavalry saber at salute.

Joe Elegant had concentrated his revenge in one area. The drop seat of the costume had been removed and in its place, right on the essential surface of Hazel himself, was painted a bull’s eye in concentric circles of red and blue.

Hazel was a breathtaking sight. He did not glance around. He knew he was right—he knew it by the silence. Smartly he turned the saber to parade rest and crossed his hands on the hilt. His breath caught in his throat.

“I,” he said huskily, “I am Prince Charming.” And the company could see now that his cheeks were rouged and his eyelashes beaded. “I proteck dam—damsels,” he announced. And only then did he turn his proud head for the applause and approval he knew he merited.

There were tears in Mack’s eyes. “You done fine, Hazel baby,” he said. “Couldn’t nobody do better. Who helped you?”

“Joe Elegant,” said Hazel. “What a nice guy!”

Whitey No. 2 moved up at Mack’s imperceptible signal. “You want I should go now?”

“Right now,” said Mack softly. “Kick the bejeezus out of him.”

Hazel moved proudly in on their soft talk. “Mr. Joe Elegant presents his compliments,” he said. “He is sorry he cannot attend as he had to leave town on business. Let’s see—is that all?—yep, that’s all.”

“We’ll thank him when he comes back,” said Mack grimly.

The guests looked at Hazel with stricken eyes, and no one laughed. One glance at Mack’s jutting chin and doubled fists stopped that impulse.

“Get on with it,” Wide Ida growled.

Mack pulled himself together, advanced to the curtain, and turned to face the guests.

“Fellow citizens,” he said, “right here in Cannery Row lives a guy that there can’t nobody want a better friend. For years we have took his bounty without sharing nothing back at him. Now this guy needs a certain article that runs into dough. Therefore it is the pleasure of I and the boys to raffle off the Palace Flop house to buy a microscope for Doc. We got three hundred and eighty bucks. Curtain!”

Doc shouted, “Mack! You’re crazy!”

“Shut up!” said Mack. “Curtain.”

The cloth was pulled aside to reveal Johnny Carriaga dressed in an aluminum supporter and a pair of blue paper wings. Johnny brandished his bow. “I-am-Cupid-God-of-Love!” he shouted. Then the winning ticket slipped from his palm and fluttered to the floor. Johnny scrambled after it, yelling, “I-draw-a-bead-on-unexpected-hearts.” He grabbed the ticket and turned to Mack. “What do I do now?” he asked.

Mack gave up. “Oh, what the hell!” Then he shouted, “Is that the ticket you have drawn, Cupid?”

“I have plucked from the many.” Johnny hadn’t been near the bowl but he yelled it anyway.

“Give it to me, you little bastard,” said Mack quietly. “Friends,” he said, “do my eyes deceive me? This is a surprise! Well, well! Folks, it gives me great pleasure to announce that the Palace Flop house has passed into the hands of Doc.”

Doc was jarred toward sobriety. He moved close to Mack. “You’re crazy!” he said.

“Like a fox,” said Mack.

“Who told you you owned it? I didn’t tell.”

“How do you mean, Doc?”

“I didn’t think Chong told anybody but me. He was afraid you’d do something like this.”

Mack said, “Let’s you and I step outside.”

Under the lanterns they faced each other. Doc popped the champagne cork and handed the bottle to Mack, who cupped his mouth over the glistening foam.