Chương 152: Bulldozers Don't Believe in Tears

The next morning, Arthur stopped on the outskirts of a town called Ohioburg.

The only restaurant still open in town is called "Mary's Restaurant".

Arthur went to the counter and ordered a fried egg and black coffee. Five cents.

"Another job this morning?" A truck driver with oily hands asked his colleague at a nearby table.

"Yes. Old Hopkins' farm in the south. The court's order to clear the area expired yesterday. The old man absolutely refuses to move and is guarding it with a shotgun."

My companion took a bite of the dry bread.

The driver shook his head: "It's no use for him to bring a cannon. The bank hired a professional clearing team from Detroit this time. When I came over just now, I saw three state trooper cars go by too. If the old man doesn't leave today, he'll be buried in the rubble."

Arthur put down his mug, placed a ten-cent coin on the counter, and inquired about the location.

He then quickly walked out of the restaurant, got into his car, and sped off south.

Arthur covered the five miles in less than ten minutes.

A fork in the dirt road appeared ahead, and at the end of the dirt road was a two-story red-lacquered wooden farmhouse.

Arthur parked the car at the fork in the road, grabbed his camera, and walked across.

The atmosphere at the scene was extremely tense.

A huge Caterpillar D tracked tractor was parked less than twenty yards from the farmhouse.

Its diesel engine was roaring, and black smoke was billowing from the exhaust pipe.

Two black Chevrolet sedans and three patrol cars with state trooper markings were parked next to the tractor.

Six fully armed state police officers stood on the perimeter.

Two bank agents wearing wool coats stood inside the state police's protective circle.

One of them was holding a metal megaphone, and the other was holding a document stamped with a red seal.

An old man stood on the porch of the farmhouse.

He was wearing faded coarse cloth overalls, and his full head of white hair was disheveled by the wind.

He held a double-barreled shotgun in his hand, the butt resting on his shoulder, the muzzle steadily pointed at the cab of the tractor.

Behind the old man, half of a young woman's face was visible through the doorway. She was tightly covering the mouths of two seven- or eight-year-old children to prevent them from crying.

The agent, holding a megaphone, shouted: "Ezra Hopkins! Your repayment grace period ended yesterday afternoon at 5 PM! First Ohio Agricultural Trust Bank is now legally in control of this land and all its outbuildings!"

He put down the horn and glanced at his watch.

"You have two minutes to leave the house with your family. In two minutes, we will carry out a forced demolition!"

Old Ezra snapped the two hammers off his shotgun with a snap and shouted, "I was here in 1892. Back then, your bank hadn't even laid its foundation. I chopped down every single log and nailed it together. You can only take it by running over my dead body."

The agent gave a cold laugh. He turned and nodded to the state trooper leading the team.

The sheriff stepped forward, raised his shotgun, and aimed it at the sky.

"Hopkins! You are defying a court order! If you fire, we have the right to kill you on the spot!"

The situation reached a stalemate.

Arthur stood on the earthen slope thirty yards away, raised his camera, and adjusted the focus.

He saw the tractor driver's face. He was a young man in his early twenties, wearing goggles, gripping the control lever tightly with both hands, and his face was pale.

He didn't want to die, but he didn't want to lose this extremely valuable job in 1930.

Time passed second by second.

The agent checked his watch again.

"Time's up. Demolition to proceed."

He gestured to the driver.

The driver gritted his teeth and slammed the control lever down.

The Caterpillar roared, its tracks kicking up large chunks of dirt, as the steel behemoth, weighing over ten tons, began to approach the cabin.

Old Ezra's finger was on the trigger.

In that instant, the young woman inside the door rushed out.

She grabbed the old man around the waist and used all her strength to knock him to the side.

"Bang!" The shotgun misfired, and the bullet shattered the side window of the tractor cab.

"Get down! Don't move!"

The state troopers immediately raised their guns and aimed at the elderly man lying on the ground.

The tractor did not stop.

Its massive bulldozer blade slammed straight into the porch pillars of the wooden house.

The wood cracked, and the entire porch collapsed instantly. Then, the tracks rolled over the rubble, and the bucket rammed into the load-bearing wall.

The two-story red-lacquered wooden house, like a fragile cardboard box, collapsed with a crash in the face of the absolute power of steel.

Roof tiles fell off, walls shattered, and the dust and lime powder that rose up instantly engulfed everything around them.

The children inside burst into heart-wrenching cries.

The entire demolition process took less than thirty seconds. Thirty-eight years of living traces were reduced to rubble by a machine in thirty seconds.

The tractor reversed two yards and the engine stalled.

The agent made a mark on the document and turned to walk towards the car.

The state troopers confirmed that the gun in the elderly man's hand had been thrown a considerable distance, then put away their weapons and quickly drove off. No one checked on the injured family member on the ground.

The task has been completed legally and compliantly.

Arthur walked down the slope.

Dust still lingered in the air.

Old Ezra pushed his daughter-in-law away, slowly got up from the ground, and walked unsteadily to the ruins.

He looked at a broken roof beam, an oak tree he had personally cut down from the mountain years ago.

Arthur walked up to him and stopped.

He pulled a small metal flask from his coat pocket, containing the first batch of homemade liquor he had taken with him when he left Black Coal Valley.

He unscrewed the cap and handed it to the old man.

Ezra turned his head and glanced at Arthur. His eyes were bloodshot, not filled with tears.

He took the wine jug, tilted his head back, and took a big gulp.

The high concentration of alcohol made him cough violently, but he gripped the flask tightly and forced down the remaining half mouthful.

"Thirty-eight years. For the first three years, the ground here was as hard as stone. That's when my wife collapsed from exhaustion in the field. She watched me build this house."

Arthur also took a sip of the wine, the spicy liquid flowing down his esophagus.

"How much money do you owe the bank?" Arthur asked.

"Three thousand two hundred dollars. In 1927, the government and newspapers were talking about expanding production, and the bank manager came to the farm every day, trying to persuade me to take out a loan to buy a new tractor. I said I didn't need it. They said that if I didn't buy new machinery, I wouldn't be able to compete with others on corn production costs. I believed them."

The old man pointed to the Caterpillar parked beside the ruins in the distance.

"I borrowed money to buy the machine. Then the stock market crashed. Corn went from two dollars a bushel to forty-five cents. I couldn't even pay the interest. Then, the bank that had persuaded me to take out the loan went bankrupt. My contract was resold to a company I'd never even heard of."

Arthur stuffed the metal flask into the old man's pocket.

"Take the child and head west. Don't stay here. They'll send people to burn the ruins tomorrow."

Ezra's daughter-in-law helped the two frightened children to their feet, and the family, supporting each other, walked toward the old truck parked by the roadside, filled with broken belongings.

Arthur stood before the ruins, took out his camera, and pressed the shutter to capture the ruins and the departing figures of Ezra's family in the distance.

Then, he wrote the title in his notebook: Bulldozers Don't Believe in Tears.