An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser [446]
He seated himself on his cot. The wretched stripes of his uniform and his gray felt shoes took his eye. A felon. These stripes. These shoes. This cell. This uncertain, threatening prospect so very terrible to contemplate at any time. And then this letter. So this was the end of all that wonderful dream! And for this he had sought so desperately to disengage himself from Roberta—even to the point of deciding to slay her. This! This! He toyed with the letter, then held it quite still. Where was she now? Who in love with, maybe? She had had time to change perhaps. She had only been captivated by him a little, maybe. And then that terrible revelation in connection with him had destroyed forever, no doubt, all sentiment in connection with him. She was free. She had beauty—wealth. Now some other—
He got up and walked to his cell door to still a great pain. Over the way, in that cell the Chinaman had once occupied, was a Negro— Wash Higgins. He had stabbed a waiter in a restaurant, so it was said, who had refused him food and then insulted him. And next to him was a young Jew. He had killed the proprietor of a jewelry store in trying to rob it. But he was very broken and collapsed now that he was here to die—sitting for the most part all day on his cot, his head in his hands. Clyde could see both now from where he stood—the Jew holding his head. But the Negro on his cot, one leg above the other, smoking—and singing—
“Oh, big wheel ro-a-lin’ … hmp! Oh, big wheel ro-a-lin’ … hmp! Oh, big wheel ro-a-lin’ … hmp! Foh me! Foh me!”
And then Clyde, unable to get away from his own thoughts, turning again.
Condemned to die! He. And this was the end as to Sondra. He could feel it. Farewell. “Although she is never to see you again.” He threw himself on his couch—not to weep but to rest—he felt so weary. Lycurgus. Fourth Lake. Bear Lake. Laughter— kisses—smiles. What was to have been in the fall of the preceding year. And now—a year later.
But then,—that young Jew. There was some religious chant into which he fell when his mental tortures would no longer endure silence. And oh, how sad. Many of the prisoners had cried out against it. And yet, oh, how appropriate now, somehow.
“I have been evil. I have been unkind. I have lied. Oh! Oh! Oh! I have been unfaithful. My heart has been wicked. I have joined with those who have done evil things. Oh! Oh! Oh! I have stolen. I have been false. I have been cruel! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
And the voice of Big Tom Rooney sentenced for killing Thomas Tighe, a rival for the hand of an underworld girl. “For Christ’s sake! I know you feel bad. But so do I. Oh, for God’s sake, don’t do that!”
Clyde, on his cot, his thoughts responding rhythmically to the chant of the Jew—and joining with him silently—”I have been evil. I have been unkind. I have lied. Oh! Oh! Oh! I have been unfaithful. My heart has been wicked. I have joined with those who have done evil things. Oh! Oh! Oh! I have been false. I have been cruel. I have sought to murder. Oh! Oh! Oh! And for what? A vain—impossible dream! Oh! Oh! Oh! … Oh! Oh! Oh! …”
When the guard, an hour later, placed his supper on the shelf in the door, he made no move. Food! And when the guard returned in another thirty minutes, there it was, still untouched, as was the Jew’s—and was taken away in silence. Guards knew when blue devils had seized the inmates of these cages. They couldn’t eat. And there were times, too, when even guards couldn’t eat.
Chapter 33
The depression resulting even after two days was apparent to the Reverend McMillan, who was concerned to know why. More recently, he had been led to believe by Clyde’s manner, his visits, if not the fact that the totality of his preachments, had not been greeted with as much warmth as he would have liked, that by degrees Clyde was being won to his own spiritual viewpoint. With no little success, as it had seemed to him, he had counseled Clyde as to the folly of depression and despair.