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DRAGON'S
TEETH
Upton Sinclair
The Viking Press New York
1942
Contents
Book One: The Morning Opes Her Golden Gates
I. THE OLD BEGINNING
3
II. THOSE FRIENDS THOU HAST 22
III. AND THEIR ADOPTION TRIED 42
IV CAN CALL SPIRITS
64
V. FROM THE VASTY DEEP
82
Book Two: A Cloud That's Dragonish
VI. DEUTSCHLAND ERWACHE!
103
VII. I HAVE SEEN TEMPESTS 126
VIII. TO GIVE AND TO SHARE 147
IX. LAND WHERE MY FATHERS DIED
167
X. CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS
188
Book Three: Blow, Winds, and Crack Your Cheeks
XI. 'TIS WOMAN'S WHOLE EXISTENCE
211
XII. PLEASURE AT THE HELM 234
XIII. EVEN TO THE EDGE OF DOOM 255
XIV. THE STORMY WINDS DO BLOW
276
XV. DIE STRASSE FREI299
Book Four: As on a Darkling Plain
XVI.
ROOT OF ALL EVIL
323
XVII.
WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR? 346
XVIII.
I AM A JEW
369
XIX.
NO PEACE IN ZION
392
XX.
SUFFERANCE IS THE BADGE 415
Book Five: This Is the Way the World Ends
XXI. IN FRIENDSHIP'S NAME
441
XXII. STILL GET MONEY, BOY!
463
XXIII. ALL THE KINGDOMS OF THE WORLD
483
XXIV. DIE JUDEN SIND SCHULD
503
Book Six: Blood Hath Been Shed
XXV.
GRASPING AT AIR
531
XXVI.
OUT OF THIS NETTLE, DANGER
553
XXVII. A DEED OF DREADFUL NOTE 575
XXVIII. BLOODY INSTRUCTIONS
594
XXIX.
TOO DEEP FOR TEARS 6 l l
BOOK ONE
The Morning Opens Her Golden Gates
1
The Old Beginning
I
LANNY BUDD was the only occupant of a small-sized reception-room. He was seated in a well-padded armchair, and had every reason to be comfortable, but did not appear so. He fidgeted a good deal, and found occasions for looking at his watch; then he would examine his fingernails, which needed no attention; he would look for specks of lint on his tropical worsted trousers, from which he had removed the last speck some time ago. He would look out of the window, which gave on one of the fashionable avenues of the city of Cannes; but he had already become familiar with the view, and it did not change. He had a popular novel on his knee, and every now and then would find that he could not interest himself in the conversation of a set of smart society people.
Now and then one of several white-clad nurses would pass through the room. Lanny had
asked them so many questions that he was ashamed to speak again. He knew that all husbands
behave irrationally at this time; he had seen a group of them in a stage play, slightly risqué but
harmless. They all fidgeted and consulted their watches; they all got up and walked about
needlessly; they all bored the nurses with futile questions. The nurses had stereotyped replies,
which, except for the language, were the same all over the world. "Oui, oui, monsieur. . . . Tout
va bien. . . . Il faut laisser faire. . . . Il faut du temps. . . . C’est la nature."
Many times Lanny had heard that last statement in the Midi; it was a formula which excused
many things. He had heard it more than once that afternoon, but it failed to satisfy him. He
was in rebellion against nature and her ways. He hadn't had much suffering in his own life,
and didn't want other people to suffer; he thought that if he had been consulted he could have
suggested many improvements in the ways of this fantastic universe. The business of having
people grow old and pass off the scene, and new ones having to be supplied! He knew persons
who had carefully trained and perfected themselves; they were beautiful to look at, or
possessed knowledge and skills, yet they had to die before long — and, knowing that fact, must
provide a new lot to take their places.
Lanny Budd belonged to the leisure classes. You could tell it by a single glance at his smiling
unlined face, his tanned skin with signs of well-nourished blood in it, his precise little mustache,
his brown hair neatly trimmed and brushed, his suit properly tailored and freshly pressed, his
shirt and tie, shoes and socks, harmonizing in color and of costly materials. It had been some time
since he had seen any bloodshed or experienced personal discomfort. His life had been arranged
to that end, and the same was true of his wife. But now this damnable messy business, this
long-drawn-out strain and suffering—good God, what were doctors and scientists for if they
couldn't devise something to take the place of this! It was like a volcanic eruption in a well-ordered
and peaceful community; not much better because you could foresee the event, going in advance
to an immaculate hospice de la maternité and engaging a room at so much per week, an
accoucheur at so much for the job.
A surgeon! A fellow with a lot of shiny steel instruments, prepared to assist nature in opening
a woman up and getting a live and kicking infant out of her! It had seemed incredible to Lanny
the first time he had heard about it, a youngster playing with the fisherboys of this Mediterranean
coast, helping them pull strange creatures out of the sea and hearing them talk about the "facts
of life." It seemed exactly as incredible to him at this moment, when he knew that it was going
on in a room not far away, the victim his beautiful young playmate whom he had come to love
so deeply. His too vivid imagination was occupied with the bloody details, and he would clench
his hands until the knuckles were white. His protest against nature mounted to a clamor. He
thought: "Any way but this! Anything that's decent and sensible!" He addressed his ancient
mother, asking why she hadn't stuck to the method of the egg, which seemed to work so well with
birds and snakes and lizards and fishes? But these so-called "warm-blooded creatures," that had
so much blood and spilled it so easily!
II
Lanny knew that Irma didn't share these feelings. Irma was a "sensible woman," not troubled
with excess of imagination. She had said many times: "Don't worry. I'll be all right. It doesn't
last forever." Everybody agreed that this young Juno was made for motherhood; she had ridden
horseback, swum, played tennis, and had a vigorous body. She hadn't turned pale when she
crossed the threshold of this hospital, or even when she heard the cries of another woman.
Things always went all right with Irma Barnes, and she had told Lanny to go home and play
the piano and forget her; but here he sat, and thought about the details which he had read in an
encyclopedia article entitled "Obstetrics." From boyhood he had had the habit of looking up
things in that dependable work; but, damn it all, the article gave an undue proportion of space
to "breech presentations" and other variations from the normal, and Lanny might just as well
have been in the delivery-room. He would have liked to go there, but that would have been
considered an extreme variation from the normal in this land of rigid conventions.
So he sat in the little reception-room, and now and then the perspiration would start on his
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