THE
THE RAIN was coming down hard
and cold when we got into Ben-
ham. We'd been walking all
afternoon without a ride, and the
raincoats were soaked through. The jog-
ging weight of the packs cut the straps
into our shoulders, but we were feel-
ing so low already that we didn't
notice the hurt. Patten wanted to
get into a barn When it started to
rain just after we left Petersburg, but
I thought we might get a ride if we
chanced it. We were already late
for the jobs, and Patten's brother-in-
law might have had to let them go be-
fore we got there. It happened in St.
Louis and now maybe in Detroit. So
we were getting worried. Then the
damn rain.
Benham wasn't a bad-sized town.
It was big enough so that I didn't want
people to see me walking up the main
street with the water-soaked pack on
my back and the rain streaming off
my hat. Patten said that I shouldn't
be ashamed because I didn't have a
job, but he didn't know how I felt, I
guess. His slant on things was differ-
ent from mine. He never cared what
people thought. Telling him something
was wrong with him only made him
sore and made him want to fight. And
he was so big, nearly six feet, that most
people just left him alone.
We walked for fifteen minutes or so.
past the corporation limits, through
the few blocks of old brick houses set
back off the road, and finally into the
business part of town. It was past
eight o'clock, most of the stores were
closed. Dressed as we were we had
to be careful and not too particular.
In Petersburg we almost got thrown
out of a dining room, and we finally
bought some milk and sardines at a gas
station. I could taste the fish in my
mouth.
There was a lunch counter open next
door to a gray stone building that
must have been the bank. A fan blew
the smell of food and warm air into
the rain. Patten decided we should go
in for food and information.
We dropped the packs in back of a
front table-so that they wouldn't think
we were bums and refuse to serve us
and had some supper.
Between us we still had nearly
twelve dollars and only eighty or ninety
miles to go. Patten said each of us
could spend a quarter, so we ordered
a hot beef and coffee.
It was pretty nice just sitting in
the place. There was a radio perched
up over the pie case behind the long,
porcelain-topped counter, and tinny
music was coming out of the speaker.
Then the noise of the hamburgers fry-
ing on the grill and the hum of the big
fan. It was nice just to be sitting there.
The fellow behind the counter, a
thin little fellow with a line of black
mustache and thick hair on his bare
arms, brought the sandwiches and sort
of stood around, looking at us and
wondering what the hell we were doing,
hiking around in the rain.
"It's a lousy night," he said briskly.
"Yeah," Patten said quickly.
"You been walking in that." He
pretended not to be interested.
"Yeah."

I didn't like to see Patten make the
waiter feel insulted. "Well," I offered,
"we expect to get a lift but nobody on
the road would pick us up after we got
so wet. We should of stayed some-
place, I suppose."
"Planning on staying in town or just
passing through?" He pretended to be
fixing the napkins in the holder.
"Just passing through," I told him.
"We got jobs promised us in Detroit."
A customer -called him away for a min-
ute. "Should . ask him where the
jail-is?" I whispered to Patten.

P E RSP ECT IV ES

Pare Nine

HELBeIN BENHAM
.By Qerald Burns

7

Patten swallowed a big bite and turn-
ed to me. "God, no," he almost shout-
ed. "Let's get a good night's sleep for
a change. Ask him where we can get
a hotel room."
So when the waiter came back and
was standing around again, drying
glasses, I asked him. He looked sur-
prised but he told me where to go.
"The only place in town," he said con-
fidentially, "and they'll probably get all
they can from you."
I thanked him, Patten paid the bill,
and we went out into the street again
with our bundles under our arms.
The rain splashing down on the pave-
ment made the town look dead. I
watched the water slashing across the
street lamps. The glow inside the bulbs
looked warm, like I wanted to be so
that I could look out of a window and
watch the rain. I was glad that Patten
wanted the hotel room.
The hotel front looked like an under-
taker's place. A false balcony extended
over the sidewalk and was supported
by tWo iron pipes sticking up from the
cement. There were two great plate
glass windows with potted rubber plants
behind them and "Hotel Benham" let-
tered in dark paint across them 'in a
sort of half circle. We went inside and
walked toward the desk.
The clerk was leaning on his elbows
on the desk, watching us carefully as
we came near him. He was wearing a
dark, shiny suit that bagged at the el-
bows, and he had big, soft hands. In
back of him, on the wall over rows of
cubbyholes, was a mounted deer head
flanked by two stuffed birds with
ragged feathers. Around in the lobby
there were a few large ferns and empty
leather chairs.
PATTEN dropped his wet bundle on
the floor and leaned on the desk.
"You got a double room for the night?"
he asked the clerk.
The clerk squinted at him suspicious-
ly. Patten's beard was dripping rain,
his hair was flattened against his fore-
head. The clerk bit at his lip. After
a minute or two he mumbled some-
thing and pushed a pen and ledger
across the desk. Patten took the pen
and was going to sign, then stopped.
"How much will the room be?" he
said.
"Two dollars. A bath on each floor."
The clerk just nodded his head.
"Why, Jesus man," Patten shouted,
"we're not millionaires."
The clerk was quiet.
Patten thought for a minute. "Say,
look," he said, "can't you give us some-
thing a little cheaper?"
"I'm sorry," the clerk shook his head.
"Two dollars is the best I can do." He
looked at me and at the soaked rain-
coats and at the loggy packs. Patten
was dog-tired, but he was mean, too.
"Well, you can go straight to hell,
brother," he said. He walked out again,
and I followed him. What else could
I do?

It didn't take us long to find the
building that was the court house. It
was a low, deep, frame structure close
to the street. Around the doors and
windows there was some sort of design
work. The jail, we were pretty sure,
would be somewhere inside it, but we
didn't know where. And the front
doors were locked.
We stood close to the front of the
building, a little out of the rain. Each
of us had a cigarette. By that time it
was nearly nine o'clock, dark, and we
didn't know where we cpuld put up for
the night. Two dollars was a lot of
money. And the rain was wet and cold.
We had to find the jailet.
HE found us. He must have been
watching us, for after, we had
smoked two cigarettes, a big man, wear-
ing a slick black raincoat and a dark
felt hat came around the, corner of the
building and toward us. I was afraid
at first that it might be trouble, but I
was too miserable to run. I just stood
and waited.
"You fellows waiting for somebody?"
he growled at us. He flashed a yellow
light over us.
"Yeah," Patten spoke up. "Can you
tell us where to find the jailer? May-
be he can put us up for the night."
The man looked us over. Then he
jerked his head over his shoulder.
"Come on," he said gruffly and started
back around the building with Patten
and me following. It was easy as the
devil. "You bums are getting pretty
nervy," he grumbled.
"Say, look," Patten started to explain,
"we're not bums. We've got jobs prom-
ised us in Detroit."
"Sure," the man drawled out. "Sure,
you've got jobs in Detroit." He took us
around to the back and let us into the
building.
There were two big red fire engines
in the gloomy hall and a desk with a
weak lamp burning over it. The man
took a dirty ledger out of a drawer in
the desk and called us over.
"You'll have to sign the guest book."
He laughed at his joke but shut
up when he saw we weren't laughing
with him. While Patten was signing
the man spat on the cement floor and
wiped his mouth. "Why don't you
you damned Southerners stay in the
South!" he peeved. Patten didn't say
anything, but I knew he was boiling
inside. People had been saying that
to us for a couple of weeks now. "May-
be you've got jobs in Detroit and maybe
you haven't. But a damn good num-
ber of decent people can't find work."
He shook his head and spat on the
floor again. I signed the book, and
he put it back in the drawer. "Come
on," he sighed and walked to the other
side of the room, behind the trucks.
"I'm locking you up because I can't
trust you outside. There's some coal
in the scuttle. I'll look in every hour
or so and come around to clean the

place at seven-thirty. I'll expect you
to be ready to get out. No funny stuff."
He opened an old paneled door with
a skeleton key. Then he stepped aside
and we went in. The door closed be-
hind us, and we could hear the key
turn.
The smell of old coffee grounds and
a smoky burning stove filled the close
air. The room was about twenty by
fifteen feet and had two barred win-
dows at one end. Most of one half of
the space was taken- up by two steel
cages, steel frames covered with steel
netting, doors open. There were some
bunks inside. A hot-red, pot-bellied
stove stood a little to one side of the
room with a scuttle partly full of coal
beside it. There was a grimy washbasin
against one wall with smoky tin cans
lying under it. Along one wall there
was a long wooden bench. Some dirty
cartoons were drawn on the walls.
We threw our packs on tle floor and
draped our raincoats over the ends of
the wooden bench. "They'll stink in
the morning," Patten said absently.
"Yeah," I answered. "I suppose they
will."
We took off our soaked shoes and
stockings and put them near to the
stove to dry. Then each of us lit a
cigarette.
We smoked for a little while, read-
ing the stuff written on the walls. Most
of it was pretty rotten. Sexy cartoons.
Unfunny rhymes.
Patten sat down on the bench in his
bare feet. He was watching himself
wriggle his wet toes. "Christ, but this
is a stinking place," he said suddenly.
I felt the same way about it, but it
was a place to stay out of the rain.
"Oh, well, we'll be out of it in the
morning. Let's see about the bunks."
We got into one of the steel cages.
Suspended from the wall frames there
were two perforated iron sheets with
old torn newspapers. Those iron things
were the beds. "It'll be hard slegp-
ing," I thought. "Probably full of
crotch crickets."
Patten must have felt the same way.
Be tried to sitonthe lower bunk, but
he didn't like it and went back to the
bench. He lit another cigarette and
gave one to me. I sat down beside him.
"This is a hell of a place to stay,"
Patten said in a low voice.
"It's not so bad," I tried to cheer
him. It's dirty, but we've slept in worse.
"Yeah," Patten agreed, "I know, But
it makes me feel lousy. I don't know."
I did know how he felt. Just as
though he wasn't alive any more. Just
as though a truck had flattened him
somewhere on the highway and they
had thrown him into the mud. Just
as though nobody gave a damn
whether you were alive or not. It was
a hell of a way to live.
I was thinking crazy like whe Pat-
ten started to put on his shoes an
stockings. "Put on your clothes," he
ordered me. I didn't have the nerve
to refuse.
"We're going to the hotel," he ex-
plained.
"But, Christ," I protested, "we've
only got twelve dollars."
"That's all right," he said half
angrily. "We're going to a hotel."
When the jailer didn't answer our
shouts we broke open the door with-
out too much noise. . The lamp was
still burning over the desk. We crept
around the fire engines and to the
door. Patten stuck his head out to see
if anyone was around. The coast Was
clear, so he started out with me follow-
ing him.
WE ran most of the way to the hotel
with the packs under our arms.
When the clerk saw us entering the,
door he put his hand on the telephone
(Coutinued on Page Ten)

---
----