Snippet #1808875

The late spring sun glared harshly off the shallows of Lake Bedford reflecting projecting wild waves of light upon the rickety, rotting wooden pier upon which Henry sat with his makeshift fishing pole. He exhaled sharply while lifting his cap and wiping sweat from his his brow; it was hot and humid out, probably the hottest day so far this year. May was the beginning of the hot season when the April rains ceased to keep the air cool and the collected moisture hung low and hazy as a hot fog in the mornings.

"Damn is' hotter th'n Aunt Tiffany's peppa pot out here! Ya catch anythin'?" The baritone squawk of Darrell Thompson keyed in as he flopped back from his upright position on the deck next to Henry.

"Nah man, I ain't gettin' a guppy out here." Henry responded in frustration as his fishing line remained perfectly undisturbed by his intended prey. The worm must have been happy about that despite being skewered on sharp metal. "There's nothin' out there, either. All these new folk movin' in, mo' people than jobs to fix 'em with." Henry answered the double question. It was true, there was no work this time of year. All the rice and flax had been planted in April and the few farmers left around here already had plenty of family on hand to help pluck weeds, water crops, transfer batches and all those other tasks associated with each stage of the agricultural cycle. Plus with that new gas-powered tractor that farmer John Dillinger purchased, it was unlikely they would need ditch diggers anymore to channel the mid-summer flash floods. The job market seemed as barren as this lake on this scorching day.

The distant whistle of of a locomotive reached the two young men. The Bedford Lines 2 and 3 had just went into operation not but a month ago as freight lines strictly for industrial use bringing in minerals and metal on line 2 and shipping out artillery shells on line 3. Darrell sat back up, leaned on his outstretched arms behind him and asked, "You think the rail company hirin' colored folk at all?"

Henry sighed in contemplation before replying, "Nope, prob'bly not." Admittedly, he hadn't even bothered to check recently but he had tried to sign on for the construction of the railways but they wouldn't hire him then. Construction was the most labor intensive part of operating the railways, and if they wouldn't hire blacks for that, then they sure as hell weren't hiring as engineers or retainers.

"Well what about the shell factory? You check that yet?" Darrell pursued as he stood up to stretch.

Henry had been putting off going to the Bedford Falls Shell Works for a while now. As soon as the plant went into production the other, white townfolk had flocked there for jobs seeing as how the War Industry Board (WIB) mandated that all federally bound defense industry jobs paid higher wages than the average unskilled labor occupation in order to attract workers faster. Henry knew better than to go looking for a job at a place where whites were already lining up for them. Just the mere sight of a black man in that line could start a riot in these parts. "Nah. Maybe I'll check that tomorrow. There's too many white fo-" Henry suddenly stopped talking as he felt a yank on the line. A strong series of yanks followed.

Jumping to his feet he yelled, "Woo! Got me a big sucka! Catfish maybe!" Darrell cheered and ran over to help Henry haul the feisty sea beast in. With one mighty tug, the fish shot out of the water...and right into Darrell's face with a wet slap. "DAYM!" he hollered as he recoiled from the pugnacious creature. Henry restrained the fish and held the line close to the gullet of the rather large catfish. After seeing the sight of Darrell stumbling around clasping his face, Henry chuckled, then busted out laughing. Once Darrell got a hold of himself, he joined in. After the comedy was finished, the two friends headed back to Shilo (the district for black citizens in Bedford Falls) to gut and prep the fish. On the way there, the two of them agreed that tomorrow they would head to the ammo plant together.