Читать книгу Wheat Fields - Joseph A. Byrne - Страница 5

“Heeyah!” the hard older man screamed, “Heeyah!” he yelled over and over at the boys who carried their loads of ninety-pound wheat bags from the threshing machine, which had been set up about a quarter mile from the barn. The lads that worked at carrying grain often weighed less than their cargo. But, this didn’t matter to the overseers. They wanted production, and the only way they knew to get production, was to keep everyone to their tasks. The overseer was a task master, all right. He was not going to be a lily-liver and show compassion, or give in to fatigue.

Young James battled to hold the burlap bag against the grain spout of the threshing machine. As it slowly filled, he noticed how awkwardly it felt, how the weight of the wheat spilled in many directions as it settled into the bag. As it filled the bag, it became heavier and more awkward to hang onto. Still, he hung onto it, feeling the strain of it, especially on his hands and fingers. As he did, he shielded his face from the onslaught of dust that poured everywhere into the air. He hung onto it desperately. He thought of the overseer as he tried to ensure that none of the wheat spilled onto the ground.

When the bag was finally full, James quickly tied the top of it with binder twine, hoisted it onto his left shoulder, wobbled with it, before he got his balance and steadied himself, and started to walk. He continued to wobble, struggling with the weight of it for eight steps or so, straightened himself, and started across the farm field in the direction of the barn.

“Heeyah!” he heard again, not sure this time if it was meant for him, or for one of the horses working there. “Heeyah!” he heard again, this time sure it was meant for him.

As he moved a distance of about 100 feet from the threshing machine, he again felt his knees buckle. He quickly stiffened his resolve, not wanting to endure the scorn that would be directed his way if he took a short rest, or fell. As he thought about it momentarily, he felt his feet slide on the freshly tramped straw. A feeling of fright took over his mind as he started to fall. He could feel his entire body strain as he fought to hold onto the enormous bag of wheat. He steadied himself, but then slid again on the slippery straw. As he slid, the weight of the bag shifted over his shoulder and started to fall off of the back side of it. As he again strained to hold onto it, he felt his body being jerked straight upward as he struggled against the weight of the bag.

The incidental motion caused him to pull his head upward so that he had a full panoramic view of his surroundings. And what a sight he saw. There, in front of him, not more than thirty paces away, was the threshing rig in full view. For the first time, he noticed the immense beauty of it.

He looked in wonder as he saw the machine blowing straw onto an immense pile. Then, he cast his attention to a fleeting sight sometimes completely hidden in the enormous swirl of dust, sometimes partially hidden in it. But, there it was. “What a sight!” he thought, as he watched the tall, leanly muscled man, as he stood on a load of wheat straw, ready for threshing. The load was positioned at the front of the threshing machine. In front of it, two horses stood patiently as the man relentlessly pitched bundles of wheat into the threshing machine.

The machine relentlessly gobbled up the bundles of dry wheat straw. The machine seemed to show them off as it carried them easily along its conveyor system. There, amid clanking, screeching and banging noises, the machine separated the wheat from the straw and chaff, separating it as if by magic. It then sent the straw in one direction out the back, blowing it up onto the already enormous pile of straw that lay behind it.

As he looked to the other side of the machine, he saw Gerald strain against the weight of the bag he was holding against the machine as it slowly filled with wheat. He looked at Gerald for a moment, his straw hat lost in the dust storm hovering there over him. Gerald was a fleeting figure, at times, as the dust changed in intensity as the breeze changed. At times, he was visible. At other times, he was hidden from view, and at other times, he was partially visible.

“What would I do without him?” James thought, as he wiped a tear from his eye. He was about to admire his hard-working colleague, when he heard the familiar biting words that he had begun to detest.

“Heeyah!” he heard. “Heeyah!” he heard again. “What do you think this is—a picnic?” With that he turned again and started walking toward the barn.

As he made his way, a further forty paces in the direction of the barn, he momentarily leaned against the fence that separated the barnyard from the field. He immediately felt relief as the weight of the bag resting on his shoulder was supported momentarily by the fence. He next reached around the gate, undid the latch, pulled the gate open and walked in.

“I hope the cattle stay quiet,” he thought as he made his way over the sunbaked ground that had been deeply rutted by the cattle that spring. Moving slowly, relentlessly toward the barn, he hoped that the bull was not loose. The thought scared him as he remembered how Gerald had been gored last year by the nasty beast. The bull charged at him, threw him over its head, and was about to trample him, when instead, for no apparent reason, it kicked up its heels, snarled and chased the next thing that caught its attention.

Having successfully navigated the rough terrain of the barn yard, young James then began to climb the stairs that led to the second story grain bin. By now, he could hardly support the bag, as his ninety pound frame began to succumb to the ninety pound bag. At last, he reached the top step, walked over to the bin and poured it out. As he did, he watched the golden grain flow over the top of the larger pile of wheat, rolling down the sides of it, to its resting places. He sneezed several times from the dust as he watched it, then hurried back down the steps and out of the barn, knowing there would be no time to spare before he would have to again fill his bag at the threshing machine.

As he went out of the barn door, he was met by an angry overseer. “Hurry up,” he shouted “do you think we are going to shut the machine down to wait for you?”

“No sir,” James replied simply, but then added, “I’m waiting for the day when you guys can pull that machine up and down the field, so guys like me don’t have to carry grain as though we were porters or something.”

“Why, you impudent boy,” the overseer countered “there is no room for laziness out here. Get over to that machine while you are able, and be quick about it. And one more thing, don’t bother talking foolishly anymore. It’s hard on morale.”

James was surprised by this exchange because the overseer was a man of few words. “I must have hit a nerve,” he thought to himself as he hurried to the machine. He thought no more of it for the rest of that day, because he was preoccupied with his work. But the seeds of change had been sown in his mind. These were seeds that would bear fruit one day. Deep down inside, he knew it.

The next time he passed Gerald, he smiled. He didn’t smile on purpose, it just happened. Gerald was his younger, but much stronger brother. He didn’t feel the strain of the work as much as James did. When he saw James smile, he knew something had changed. He would find out what.

The boys had now worked for twenty-one consecutive days in the enormous heat of that summer. Of the twenty-one days, eighteen had reached a temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The other days nearly got that hot. The summary statement of the summer was given by Gerald as he crossed paths with James for the last time that day. “I thought Lincoln freed the slaves,” he muttered. Nothing more was said that summer, nothing more that mattered anyway.