Dance the Eagle to Sleep (14 page)

“So that’s why the rule that no one keeps money, and no one spends money except the group.”

“Because you can’t cut down and withdraw a little. You feel poor then. You feel like you’re broke in the supermarket. You get into hustles, and then they have you.”

Corey knelt banging unevenly at the shingles. Though they worked side by side, it was easy to tell the work Corey had done from his. It would be better if he worked alone and Corey just sat and talked to him, but Corey would be offended if he said so. Corey squatted with his collarbones poking out and his ribs showing in his sides and his face open in a big grin. He made passes at the nails and missed them, knocking them in crooked. Shawn would have to do half the work over. Corey stood up to stretch, flapped his skinny arms and almost lost his balance, laughed happily and sat down again, kicking his hammer off down the slide of roof. Shawn grabbed for it and caught it.

“The societies kids naturally form are tribal. Gangs, clubs, packs. But we’re herded into schools and terrified into behaving. Taught how we’re supposed to pretend to be, taught to parrot all kinds of nonsense at the flick of a switch, taught to keep our heads down and our elbows in and shut off our minds and shut off our sex. We learn we can’t even piss when we have to. Raise your hand and ask the teacher for a pass. What kid isn’t humiliated by that? What kid isn’t scared the teacher won’t let him go? And the teacher has the right to make the kid sit there hurting in his bladder until he pees all over himself. That’s slavery. That’s how we learn to be plastic and dumb.”

“I went to a very permissive school” Shawn said. “Yet here I am. My grade school was too much better than the outside.”

“We learn to be stupid. That the day is divided into periods, and nothing
in any period has anything to do with anything else. One fourth divided by one half is what, sonny boy? Dayton is the capital of Chicago. A verb is an action word. Gravity is what makes things fall. Say it back right. Say the right words, and draw pictures in the margins of people shooting each other”

“Did you ever kill anyone?”

“Not personally. But we have. It’s the same thing. We have to start over. We have to start while there are still human people left. Kids have a chance. We aren’t mortgaged yet. We have to get all the kids out who are still alive and keep them alive. People who still have eyes will pick up on the way to live. The others can go on trying to make their crazy machine work on each other. But the young won’t go into their system to be ground to hamburger any more, and gradually it will slow down and come to a halt. And people will walk away and learn to live again.”

He put his hand on Corey’s shoulder, smooth and bony and hot to the touch. He could feel the pulse. “I don’t believe those who have hold of the riches of the world, including our bodies, are going to let go. But I don’t have any better ideas.” He believed in nothing beyond the moment, but the moment was good. Corey wanted more from him, searching with his black stare. Shawn felt vaguely pressed on and picked up the hammer.

In August, Corey went out to Chicago, and thirty more Indians followed him back to the farm. He was already talking about starting one on the West Coast. While he was gone, the dark woman Dolores who played the drums gave birth to their first baby, who was named in council Leaf.

“If you had bothered with nineteenth-century history, you’d know that this whole farm business is a throwback. Brook Farm—utopian cranks off in the woods to start the good society, and at each other’s throats in six months.”

“We aren’t giving up on our organizing. This is just one of our bases. Don’t you see what it does for the kids—letting them get their heads together.?” Corey flung himself down in the high grass and sprawled there waiting for Billy to lie beside him.

“Sure. A regular summer camp and 4-H Club training program. Sound minds in sound bodies. Maybe our melons will win a prize at the county fair. If they don’t wise up and bust us all first”

“It’s a lot less likely here than at the city communes. We’ve taken good precautions against a raid. With the warning system and the tunnels, they wouldn’t find a soul aboveground who can’t wave a solid ID in their faces” Again Corey motioned him to lie in the rippling grass, giving him a broad lazy smile. He wore only a pair of dirty wash pants cut off at the knees, and his body had tanned a coppery brown.

Billy felt sweaty and uncomfortable standing, but if he lay down it would be hard to get the confrontation he wanted. Corey was always slipping through his hands. He would come to meet Billy agreeing, partly agreeing, turning everything off obliquely, turning concrete objections into abstract agreements and turning general criticisms into reasonable and loving accounts of minute details. The gentle runaround. Corey could not let him disagree. He felt smothered and handled and yet somehow not touched. Shifting from foot to foot he felt like a big hot sweaty fool, and finally he got down on his haunches and pulled loose blades of the tall grass between his fingers. Fingers stained with chemicals. Still a freaky specialist.

Corey was staring with wide eyes up into the sky. “First, our people make themselves real here. When they leave, they’re stronger. Some may not be able to take the strain in the streets, but they would have broken anyhow. Here they can be useful.”

“Some of my boys find it harder to take farm life. They miss the action. They didn’t join up to plant potatoes. They want to take on the man”

“Well, we’re doing that. But we have to try to be self-sufficient. We have to show what we mean. We have to give people something good to feel loyalty to.”

“People can feel loyal to each other if they’re fighting together. Unity that people get through struggling is worth ten times as much as what they get handed to them on a plate.”

“Creating something better is struggling, too. We need to keep it up on both fronts: making real, visible alternatives, and confronting the system.”

He would seize Corey, and Corey would change shape and color. Stay! Stand! “So we set up a summer camp in the Jersey hills for wayward adolescents. The man can let us get away with that. What would it matter to General Motors if we set up twenty? The kids aren’t causing any trouble here.”

“But they’re all the way out of the system. That’s the biggest trouble we can make.”

“Don’t kid yourself. There’s nothing political about squash and beans.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Billy. Food is the basic stuff of politics”

“Only where people are hungry. There’s more food to be looted from a big supermarket than we can raise here.”

“That’s an idea” Corey sat up on one elbow. “Exemplary action. In some suburb. Shopping plaza situation—like Franklin, remember? We’ll bring that up in council” Corey’s eyes were crinkled up with excitement. He scratched his chest with excess energy,
“INDIANS RAID SUPERMARKET.
Wow! I dig that. That’s beautiful. Free food
now!
Give some of it away nearby, someplace where they need it. Big Robin Hood scene. It’s lovely, lovely. I’m going on the first one. Soon as possible”

Billy felt numbed. First, it had not been a suggestion. Second, if it had been, that would no longer matter. He had learned, in fact, never to tell Corey his strategic, even his tactical ideas, because Corey would just naturally co-opt them. Corey would present them to council as his—just naturally. Because Corey did not differentiate between where he personally stopped and the Indians started. He wanted to present an idea as groovy, to get it across, so he took it over and dressed it up in his best rhetoric, thus somehow transforming it completely. Corey acted as if he truly could not, did not, need not distinguish between the I and the we, yet he was only one man, and maybe his ego was as sore as Billy’s. Yes, it was there, throbbing away.

“Anyhow, what I’m trying to say is just this: Maybe a healthy army of barefoot kids who know how to pick tomatoes isn’t a good fighting corps. My warriors belong on the streets.”

“So keep some of them on the streets.” Corey grimaced. “But we have to gather all the tribes. Everybody can’t make it on the streets. We have to grow or we perish.”

“I’m not saying we should scrap the farm. But too much effort’s going into it. We don’t need it that bad. We do need the warriors. They’re the core of our power.”

“The tribe is the core. The whole tribe.”

“You can prance around all night beating on cans and turning red in the face and having fits, but if we can’t defend our people, we can’t lead them out of the system” Corey did not pay enough heed to their reality, their vulnerability. He was hung up on symbols. “Without the warriors, we’re just a mob of silly kids ready to be herded up.”

“Right. We have to protect our people.”

“How? Corey, how?”

“By growing. By building up the tribes. The warriors, too.”

“Right” he said, but didn’t change. Like Corey’s absurd catering to Shawn. Shawn wasn’t even a warrior. He had never gone through his initiation, and Corey defended that openly. Said that Shawn was a shaman, not a warrior, and they needed shamans. Needed his obscene strutting and showing off. All they needed from Shawn as far as he could see was Shawn’s money, his name, and his talent at getting kids excited. Billy was sure there was some cheap efficient chemical means to the same target. Yet Corey treated Shawn with that same deference he used toward Billy, absolutely the same. Besides that, Corey hung around with Shawn; he would pick Shawn out to work with.

He had tried to talk to Corey about Shawn. He had used a phrase Corey had picked up with delight, but not as he had meant it. He had called Shawn “post-scarcity man.” Corey grabbed that phrase as if he had meant Shawn was some sort of ideal they ought to strive toward. Jesus! He had meant that Shawn acted as if they were already in post-scarcity, whereas they were in the belly of the beast fighting their way out. There was only the potentiality for post-scarcity, but people were hungry and deprived and destroyed. He meant that Shawn had never known scarcity himself. Corey had answered him with a smile, that neither had they, after all. Of course Billy hadn’t—not physical scarcity—but he had known emotional starvation and intellectual deprivation, and he had taken care to comprehend the power structure and
economic web of the world they lived in. And imagine Corey saying he had never known scarcity. Billy had seen the shack Corey had grown up in: a peeling wooden box stuck up on cement blocks. Not even a lawn, just a shack stuck up lopsided out of the mud.

Corey didn’t have a father, his mother worked. Early he had been shunted into the lowest track. Even if there had been no Nineteenth Year of Servitude, what would he have had to look forward to? The Army? Trying to get hired in the mills? A dishwasher’s job or a job in the car wash in the shopping plaza? Jail, if they had caught him in the one job he had held. Sometimes Billy felt years older than Corey.

If they hadn’t started the Indians, he, Billy, would be at Cal Tech, but where would Corey be? Corey didn’t understand that the titillating prestige he had enjoyed as a dealer in high school was just a way of keeping him quiet until he went into the cheap labor pool with the other discardable slobs. The only sector of the economy where post-scarcity reigned was the labor market, where there was no lack at all of Coreys ready to do whatever it was not yet economical to have a machine do better. Then his only contact with Shawn would have been to fill the tank of his sports car and wipe his windshield. Corey thought he was saving everybody else, but never noticed the despair yawning before him.

“What’s wrong?” Corey leaned on bent elbow, tickling Billy’s arm with blades of grass. “Tell me what’s eating you”

“What’s
really
going to happen to us? Don’t you think about it? Don’t you wake up at night and feel you have to know?”

“We’re going to make the revolution. We have no other choice”

He yanked the grass out of Corey’s hand and scattered it. “Look at me, Corey. We’re going to make a revolution in the United States, in the center of the empire. With bubble gum? We’re going to blow up the Pentagon and bring the troops home?”

“If nobody would go to work at the Pentagon, if nobody would go into the Army, they couldn’t crush us. We can’t break their machine—they have enough firepower to blow up the world ten times. But we can get the people out.”

“Corey! No rhetoric, Corey! Look at me. I think we’ll die in a skirmish long before the real revolution.”

“We win, or the world ends. There’s no use being defeatist. Despair is the worst vice for a revolutionary. We can win.”

He wanted to take Corey by the shoulders and shake him. To hurt him into response. He raised his hand, but he could not touch Corey. Could not
touch him. “Don’t call me defeatist. I’m looking with my eyes open. I’m ready to die in that skirmish. I don’t think we can win in the fat homeland. Do you think so, Corey? I think all we can do is help the people out there fighting for their freedom. Are you ready to die?”

“You have to want to win, Billy. People come to us for a better life, not a good death.”

“I’m asking about what you think will happen!” He turned away, resting his cheek against the ground. His eyes closed for a moment. He felt weak and huge, then his anger came back. “I’m going back to the city. I want to fight the enemy, not pretend they’ve gone away”

“What about the lab?”

“The boys can turn out bread and anything else we need. I’m not in the mood to work in it anyhow. I’m tired of cooking”

Corey grimaced with worry, but his voice was soft and pushed at agreement. “Sure it’d be good to have someone strong back on the Lower East Side. Things are moving fast. Also, we need somebody good in Chicago. The shit has really been coming down on the kids there. And things are uptight in L.A. It’s good to move around and keep your hand in, keep an eye on how things are shaping … What about Ginny?”

“What about her?” Billy hunched into his shoulders.

“She’s doing a good job here. I’ve never seen her so together.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

Corey sat up. “Well, because she loves you. Naturally, I think she’d want to go with you.”