The daily worker., 1933-07-01

American Mexican, the second
generation of those hard working
Mexican poems who build the rail-
roads of our western country,
wish 1 had a chew of tobacco!"
repeated Brown, licking his dry lips
with his tongue, and sweeping the
brown drab pra' -ie with his eyes.
Feel as if I coti2d spit cottonl"
The truth was, he wanted the
tobacco to steady his nerves. Like
Uhe others, he was quivering inter-
aally with a rout Of weird emo
lions. He had lived for five years
IN a steel house, behind steel bars,
IN routine that was enforced by
men with blackjacks and shotguns,
and that was inhuman and perfect
as steel. Now he was free. No one
was watching him; he was stroll
ing down hot country road, under
The immense yellow sky. He was
pack in the world of free men and
1ree women; and he, and the
others with him, should have
preathed deeply, kissed the earth
and rejoiced; instead they seemed
tense and worried, little disap-
pointed,
REAL WORLD
What had they expected They
could not have said, but like all
prisoners, they had built up, with
out knowing it, fantastic and ex-
aggerated notions of the world
outside. 1t seemed a little ordi-
nary to- them now. The sky was a
' dun yelloWish waste with a sun
shining through it. The wide dull
prairie stretched on every hand
ike the floor of some empty barn,
with shocks Of gray rattling corn
stacked in dreary rows, file after
dle to the horizon A dog was
parking somewhere. Smoke was
rising from a score of farm-houses,
and they heard the whistle OF
distant freight train. There was
uull burning silence on everything,
the silence OF the sun. The world
of freedom seemed dull; but pris-
ons are tense with sleepless emo
Jions of hope and fear.
THEY were passing farmer IN
a flannel shirt, plodding behind
a team of huge horses in 2 field OF
stubble. His lean. brown face was
covered with sweat and fixed IN
grim. unsmiling lines as he held
down the bucking plow and left
path of rich black soil behind nm.
Looks like a guy in for ne
doesn't he?" said Brown, pointing
tn him with his thumb. Looks IKE
that murderer cell-mate OF yours,
doesn't he, Ramona"
The little Mexican cast a swift
worried glance with his black eyes
at the man behind the plow j.
yes" he said sharply, and stared
back at. the road behind his feet
They were moving on to fresh
sights in this new world they had
peen thrust into-they were staring
at the bend in the highroad where
The town street began, two miles
away from the prison. The ugly
frame houses of the middle west set
among trees and smooth lawns, the
trolley tracks, the stone payements,
then the stores and shop windows
when they came nearer the heart
of the toWn-that was what they
saw. Up and down the streets men
and women walked in the hum
drum routine of life. A grocer was
weighing out sugar in a dark VIM
dow. They passed the little shop
of an Italian cobbler. They passed
a white school building, from which
came the sound of fresh young
voices singing. There was a line OF
Fords standing at the curb near
the railroad depot. There were
more women and men walking
slowly about the square near the
depot, DISC ssing housework, and
the elecV i for sheriff and the
price of ) yrn and the price OF hogs.
This VT !, the world.
mo Brass Bands"
"I don't see no brass bands out to
meet us home" said Blackie, with
his irrepressible grin. How do you
account for that, Hill? Amt thsy
! heard we're coming?"