E. Doctorow - Welcome to Hard Times

“Oh you sons of bitches,” Molly moaned.

“That don’t go where I come from,” one of the women said. “No damn Indian—”

“This lady is burned,” I said.

“Well alright if that’s so, we can fix her up fine in the tent, we can take care of her.”

“Don’t you touch me!” Molly screamed. “Whores! Keep away from me!”

“Well I like that for being grateful,” Adah said.

I said: “The Indian’s a good doctor.”

The Russian raised his bushy eyebrows: “He doctors?”

“He’s been taking care of Molly.”

“Wal I have killed him with my fist. On his neck I hit him.”

I kneeled down for a look at Bear. He wasn’t dead, he was stunned. I helped him sit up in a corner.

Molly was saying, “Blue get these whores away from me, oh Christ get them away from me!”

“Honey,” one of the women said to her, “look at you all covered with dirty redskin medicine, no wonder you’re complainin’. Now you come on with us and Adah’ll fix you up proper.”

I thought Molly would have a fit. She was crying and beating her fists on the ground: “For Godsake I’ll die if they touch me, oh God, keep them away …” But what was worse, she suddenly left off and crawled around in the dirt until she found her little cross. She clutched it in her hands and began to mumble to herself, her lips moved fast and her eyes began to roll upwards.

“Ay, poor woman,” Zar said fingering the scratches on his face, “she has sharp nails for a believer.”

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” said Adah, “lyin’ in the mud that way.”

I looked at John Bear, still sitting groggy in the corner. And I looked at these righteous people crowding the shack. “Molly you’ll come with me,” I said.

Bending down, I lifted her arms and put her over my shoulder. I expected her to struggle but she made no move to stop me, she weighed like a baby. The air was chill so I told the Russian to put the buffalo robe over her. The minute the robe touched her, Molly gasped and dug her nails in my neck. I carried her out of the shack and toward the dugout, the ladies of the brush following me with their oil lamps throwing a jumpy glow on the ground.

When I got to the dugout I stepped past Jimmy and laid Molly down on a blanket. Then I hung up the other blanket for the door and poked my head out and said to these still-chattering women: “Alright, I’ll take care of her, she’ll be alright.”

But when I turned back inside, Molly was looking at her palm — she couldn’t find her cross. “They took it from me, they stole it!” she cried out. And then she began to wail again and to curse. She cursed her father and her mother, she cursed the day she was born, she cursed herself for coming West, she cursed me. And while she ranted and carried on, Jimmy slipped out and found the cross lying on the ground halfway to the Indian’s shack where she had dropped it. He came back in and went to his knees by her side and held it out with that solemn Fee look on his face.

Molly, all streaked with tears and dirt, looked up at Jimmy as if seeing him for the first time.

I was wishing she could look at me that way. I said:

“Molly, you remember Fee’s boy …”

A few minutes later they were both sleeping sound. It was warm in the dugout, we were like three creatures in a hole, and I sat down to rest a bit before I followed the Russian and his ladies to their tent. I stretched my legs and closed my eyes and I fell asleep. Now I’m trying to write what happened and I wonder, does a dream come under that? I dreamed the Man from Bodie was driving a herd across some badland; and riding each head was a wolf or some buzzard with its claws planted. I was in the middle, running with the rest, and I couldn’t shake free of those claws. They drove me to my knees and I tumbled and was stomped into the earth by those behind me, dirt was filling my mouth. It was the taste of dirt woke me. Pieces of dried-out sod were falling from the wall, on my face. I got a shock because through the edge of the blanket hanging for a door I saw it was broad daylight outside. I had slept right through. Molly and Jimmy were still asleep as I crawled out and stood up stiffly, blinking in the sun.

It was well along in the afternoon and I was sure those traveling people were gone. But I turned and ten yards in back of the dugout there they were striking their tent. It was a big army tent and they were having trouble, they were too busy to do the striking — they were arguing. When one made to pull up a stake another shouted something, and then they all had to shout something. In the light I could see the women better than I had the night before: the one called Adah seemed to be older than the rest, the Chinese and the other two — one tall, one kind of dumpity — were not much more than girls.

I was happy to see them.

But this Zar caught sight of me in the middle of a long harangue and he tacked me on to the end of it: “And you, frand, are no frand of mine!” he shouted.

I didn’t know what to say to that, I walked over to the well to wash off. He came up to me, talking every step of the way: “So what shall I do now? All morning I search for trail to mining camp! You did not tell me there was none, you said nothing. And now I have women who should be on their backs and they are on my neck. Four days have I lost!”

My head was still filled with sleep. “Trail up through those rocks plain as day,” I said.

“You call that trail? It is for ants. How can I get my wagon on that trail?”

He was right there, I hadn’t understood he wanted to wagon straight up to the lodes — I should have, there was nothing else he would want to do.

“Well mister, that’s just a back trail. The town you wanted is on the trade roads another two days travel from here. I guess you followed the wrong light after all.”

He was mad. The veins in his neck stood out. He let go in Russian and in English and the words flew. When I bent down to pour some water over my neck he bent down too, and when I threw my head back to drink he addressed my Adam’s apple. When he ran out of names to call me, he pointed to the scratches on his face and went on to Molly — a “cat woman” he called her — and when he finished with that subject he turned and stalked back to his girls.

Well I thought for sure I had lost the trade on the well water. This Russian wouldn’t hand me a bean now. And if he had ridden up two days before he did or two days after, that would have been the end of it.

But my head cleared and I remembered something.

I ran after him: “Look here,” I said, “if you can’t get to the gold maybe the gold will come to you.”

“What’s this?”

“Come on Zar,” the dumpity girl said, “we’re wastin’ time, this place gives me the chills.”

“What gold?” he said, ignoring her.

I talked for all I was worth. I told him — exaggerating a little — what a thriving town this had been until two days ago. I told him how the miners came every Saturday night, a regular crowd of them, to spend money and blow off steam. I told him there was no reason they wouldn’t show up just like they always did — for as I’d remembered, this was Saturday.

For a few seconds I had him. He pulled on his mustache and frowned and worried the idea some. But then he made up his mind: “No. We go.” What saved me was that he and the ladies weren’t in agreement which way to go. He was for striking west to the big roads, they wanted to turn back. The bunch of them bickered and sulked, shouted and threatened each other while I kept glancing up to the rocks and hoping the time would be with me. Whenever it seemed as if an accord was about to be made, I put in a word that would start the arguing up all over again. Only the Chinagirl had nothing to say, she stared from one to the other, wondering how things would turn out. She was the one who first spotted the three figures on muleback looking on from high in the rocks.