Page:The Cannery Boat.pdf/98

88 police on guard were swollen from want of sleep and their faces were pale.

When Rinkichi awoke, the pale morning light was pouring into the cell. It lighted up the weary faces of the prisoners. One sat with his head dropped on his chest, another stood leaning against the wall, a third stared fixedly before him.

Every time that Rinkichi was taken to prison he felt a terrible yearning to see his child. It grew well-nigh unbearable and robbed him of much strength. He had often noticed how fear for their families had drawn many of his comrades away the movement. He knew that this fear was an enemy of the movement. He tried to jump over it like an acrobat.

A new set of police came to relieve those on guard. One of them, Senda, went up to Rinkichi. He had known the latter for a long time, and had frequently been sent to take Rinkichi to the police headquarters.

“You know, Mr. Ogawa,” he addressed Rinkichi, “these arrests give the police a lot of trouble. We’re called out on duty even in our spare time, and no matter how tired we may be we’ve got to go. I’m absolutely worn out.” He sounded sincere enough. Rinkichi wondered for a moment if the man was sincere or not.

“Well, I’m sorry for you,” he answered without the slightest touch of irony.

As the other police went out of the room, Seato shouted jeeringly:

“I’m sorry for you, too!”