Читать книгу Oil! - Upton Sinclair - Страница 34

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Eli moved up the lane, the car following. There was a big live oak tree with a clear space underneath, and Dad placed the car so that the lights streamed upon the space—you never needed to worry about darkness, when you were camping with a car! They stopped, and Bunny slid over the top of his door, and went to work on the straps which held the big bundle to the running-board. He had it off in a jiffy, and unrolled it, and quite magical were the things which came out of it. There was a tent, made of such light water-proofed silk that a structure eight feet square rolled up to a bundle which might have been a suit of clothes. There were the tent poles, made in several joints which screwed together; and the stakes, and a little camp hatchet to drive them with. There were three warm camping-blankets, besides the water-proof cover, which also made a blanket. There were two pneumatic pillows, and a pneumatic mattress, which you sat and puffed at until you were red in the face—it was great sport! Finally there was a canvas bag containing a set of camp utensils, all made of aluminum, and fitting one into another, everything with detachable handles; and aluminum boxes with several compartments for grub. When all these things were set in order, you could be as comfortable in the midst of a desert or on top of a mountain as in the best hotel room.

Mr. Watkins told Eli to help, but Dad said never mind, they knew jist what to do, and it was easy. So then Mr. Watkins told Eli to fetch a pail of water; and next he asked if they’d like some milk—they had only goat’s milk, of course. Dad said that was fine; and Bunny was transported to the Balkans, or whatever exciting places he had read about, where the people live on goat’s milk. Mr. Watkins said for Ruth to go git some; and Bunny was thrilled again, because Ruth was the sister that Paul loved, and that he said had “sense.” Mr. Watkins called after her to fatch some “aigs” too; and Dad said they’d like some bread—and then Bunny got a shock, for the old man said they didn’t git no bread, they hadn’t room to raise grain, and corn didn’t fill out good up here in the hills, so all they had was taters. And Dad said potatoes would do jist as good, they’d boil some for supper; and Mr. Watkins said they’d git ’em quicker if the missus was to bile ’em on the stove—thus showing a complete misapprehension of the significance of a camping-trip. Dad said no, they’d want a fire anyway; and Mr. Watkins said they was gettin’ a nip o’ frost every night now, and for Eli to rustle ’em up a lot of wood. This was easily done, for as soon as you went a few feet up the side of the arroyo you came upon desert brush, much of which was dead and dry, and Eli tore some of the bushes loose and dragged them down and broke them to pieces over his knee. Then he fetched a couple of stones—that also was easy, for you could hardly walk a dozen feet on the Watkins ranch without hitting your toe on a stone.

Very soon they had a fire going, and the potatoes boiling merrily in the pot, and a jar of bacon open and sizzling in the frying pan. Dad did the cooking—it was a dignified occupation, while Bunny hustled about and set the plates and things on the water-proof cover which served as a table cloth without a table. When the bacon was done, Dad cracked the eggs on the side of the pan, and fried them “with their eyes open.” And there was the goat’s milk, rich and creamy, cold from the “spring-house;” you didn’t mind the strong flavor, because you persuaded yourself it was romantic. The milk was served in aluminum cups which were part of the camping outfit; and also there was a plate of honey and comb—sage-honey, brown, and strong of flavor—which Ruth had brought.

Dad invited the family to come and have something, but the old man said no thanks, they had all et. Dad said would they please at least sit down, because they didn’t seem comfortable jist standin’ there; so Eli and the three girls, and their mother, who had joined them, all sat down on stones at a modest distance from the light, and Mr. Watkins sat on a stone a little closer, and while they ate Dad talked with him about the state of the weather, and of the crops, and about their way of life up here in the hills.

And when Dad and Bunny were done, and stretched themselves on the blankets, feeling fine and comfortable, Mr. Watkins offered to have the tent put up by Eli, but Dad again said not to mind, it was very simple and would only take a few minutes. Then Mr. Watkins said that one of the gals would wash up for them, and Dad said all right, he’d like that; so Bunny got the pans and plates together, and the middle-sized girl, who went by the name of Meelie, carried them off to the house. And then they chatted some more; and Bunny saw that Dad was skilfully finding out about the family, and getting their confidence.

Suddenly came a critical moment in the acquaintance; there was a pause, and in a voice different from his usual one, solemn and burdened with feeling, Abel Watkins said: “Brother, may I ask a personal question?”

“Yes, sure,” said Dad.

“Brother, are you saved?”

Bunny caught his breath; for he remembered what Paul had said about Mr. Watkins’ way—if you said anything contrary to his religion, he would roll up his eyes and begin to pray out loud and “let go.” Bunny had told Dad about this; and evidently Dad had figured out what to do. He replied in a tone no less solemn: “Yes, brother, we are saved.”

“You been washed in the Blood?”

“Yes, brother, we been washed.”

“What is your church, brother.”

“It is called the Church of the True Word.”

There was a pause. “I dunno as I know that there message,” said Mr. Watkins.

“I am sorry,” said Dad. “I should like to explain it, but we’re not permitted to talk about our faith with strangers.”

“But brother!” Mr. Watkins was evidently bewildered by that. “We are told in the Book that ‘The Lord has called us for to preach the Gospel unto them;’ and also, ‘the Gospel must first be published among all nations.’ ”

“Brother,” said Dad, still with the utmost earnestness, “I understand that; but according to our faith, we get to know men in friendship, and talk about our religion later. We all have to respect the convictions of others.”

“Yes, brother,” said Mr. Watkins; and his voice sort of faded away, and you could see he did not know what to say next. He looked at the members of his family, as if seeking support from them; but they hadn’t yet said anything, except “Yes, Pap,” when he gave them an order.

So it was up to Dad to relieve the embarrassment. “We come here to look for quail,” he said. “I hear aplenty of ’em about.”