American fiction -- 20th century; American fiction -- California; Western stories
"A simple fact, wasn't it, a commonplace one, almost vulgar, you might
say. And yet what a change of view produced by it, what a dislocation of
judgment! I was like a man riding through a strange country, in a storm,
at night. It is dark, he cannot see, he has never seen the country, yet
as he rides on he begins to picture to himself the surroundings, his
imagination builds for him a landscape--a mountain there, a river here,
wind-streaming trees over there--and right away it exists, it _is_, it
has solidity, mass, life. Then suddenly comes a flash of lightning, a
second of light, and he is astounded, absolutely astounded to see the
real landscape different from that indestructible thing that his mind
had built. Thus it was with me. I had judged, oh, I had judged him
thoroughly, sized him up to a certainty, and bang, came the flare of
this new fact, this extremely commonplace fact, and I was all off. I
must begin to judge again, only it would never do that man any good.
"A hundred memories came back to me, glared at me in the illumination of
that new fact. I remember the _camisa_, the bare feet. I saw him running
down the lane with his bunch of stolen bananas. I recalled that absurd
scene on the waters; I heard him say: 'No, seh; Ah cain't affawd to take
chances; Ah cain't affawd it.'
"Of course he couldn't afford it. Think--a wife and seven children!
"That night I went through his papers, putting things in order, and from
every leaf, every scrap, came corroboration of the new fact. He was one
of those pitiful pedagogues of the rural South, shiftless,
half-educated, inefficient. He had never been able to earn much, and
his family had always gently starved. Then had come the chance--the
golden chance--the Philippines and a thousand a year. He had taken the
bait, had come ten thousand miles to the spot of his maximum value.
Only, things had not gone quite right. Thanks to the beautiful red-tape
of the department, three months had gone before he had received his
first month's pay. Then it had come in Mex., and when he had succeeded
in changing it into gold it had dwindled to sixty dollars. Of course, he
had sent it all back, for even then it would take it six more weeks to
reach its destination, and sixty dollars is hardly too much to tide over
five months for a family of eight. These five months had to be caught up
in some way, so every month his salary, depreciated ten per cent by the
change, had gone across the waters. He wore _camisas_ and no shoes, he
stole bananas. And his value, shoeless, _camisa_-clothed, was sixty
dollars a month. He was just so much capital. He had to be careful of
that capital.
"'Ah cain't affawd to take chances; Ah cain't affawd it.' Of course he
couldn't.
"And so he had fought on blindly, stubbornly, and, at last, with that
pitiful faculty we have, all of us, of defeating our own plans, he had
killed himself, he had killed the capital, the golden goose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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