Page:The Cannery Boat.pdf/194

184 raised his face and glanced at him. His name was Machida, and he was tall with a thin yellowish face which he seldom shaved. He was well known for his grumbling.

“Don’t you like this job?” asked Soroku.

“Hell, is there anything to like about it?”

“But you’ve taken all the trouble of learning the work, haven’t you?”

“Are you suggesting that I try and raise myself like you’ve done, eh?”

“Don’t be funny,” countered Soroku.

When an ordinary navvy passed into the skilled class he automatically became a candidate for the still higher class of linesmen. Did Machida mean it didn’t count anything to become a linesman? He must be kidding. Wasn’t the standard of living of the skilled worker far above that of the casual navvy? And at this stage for Machida to be saying he didn’t like the job—what else could he do, anyhow? There was nothing for him except to become a free labourer and get far less wages and be sweated far worse one-half of his time and out of a job the other.

Linesman Soroku Tamano had himself been picked out from the ranks of the skilled workers. Three years ago. His first wage was 1.10 a day. The second year it rose to 1.14. That meant a rise of four sen a day. Four sen a day rise was an honour. Last year it was only 2 sen. So now he was getting 1.16 a day. Some men who’d been working as linesmen for ten or twenty years were getting as much as 2.20 or 2.30 a day. They’d turned their backs on the ordinary workers.