The first to gather were, of course, the children. The school had recently been on summer vacation, and a sense of freedom landed uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather quietly for a while before they went wild. They talked still about school and teachers, books and discipline. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his coat-pocket with stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, picking out the roundest stones; and Bobby and Harry Jones and Dick Dellacrolet-the village pronounced the surname "Dellacrolet"-were at last in the corner of the square. --At last a big pile of stones was made in the corner of the square, and they guarded it from the other boys. The girls stood off to the side, chatting with each other, turning their heads to see their brothers and sisters swarming or snuggling up.
Soon the men began to gather. They looked at their children and talked about planting and rain and tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of rocks in the corner, and the jokes they made were somewhat monotonous; they just smiled calmly. The women, dressed in faded civilian clothes and sweaters, came shortly after their husbands. They greeted each other, made small talk for a moment or two, and then joined their husbands. Soon the women, who stood by their husbands, began to call for their children, who came so reluctantly that they had to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin dodged his mom's grabbing hand, smiled, and ran back to the pile of rocks. His dad yelled sternly, and Bobby came quickly, stepping between his dad and his brother.
This time, the touching of the colors -- like the Square Dance, the Junior Club, the Halloween Eve program -- was conducted by Mr. Summers. He had the time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, fastidious man who ran a coal business, and people pitied him because he had no children and his wife was a shrew like that. When he came into the square with the black wooden box, the villagers whispered, and he waved his hand and cried, "It's a little late in the day, folks." Mr. Graus, the postmaster, followed him with a three-legged stool, which was given to be placed in the middle of the square, and on which Mr. Chalmers placed the black box. The villagers kept their distance, leaving some space between themselves and the stool. When Mr. Chalmers said, "Which of you people wants to come and give me a hand?" When, two men hesitated. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, stepped forward and held the box on the stool firmly while Mr. Summers stirred up the pieces of paper inside.
The actual props used for touching the lottery were lost a long time ago, and the black box that now sits on the stoop was put to use even before Elder Warner - the oldest man in town - was born. Mr. Summers used to tell the villagers that a new chest was going to be made, but no one took any interest in it, even to the point where it became tradition to use this black chest instead. It is said that the present chest was made from pieces of the one that preceded it, and that one was made when the first people came to settle here. Every year, after the touching of the colors, Mr. Summers would again begin to talk about a new chest, and every year the question was left unsettled. Every year the black box became more and more worn: by now it was no longer pure black, one side was so badly splintered that it showed the true color of the wood, while in some places it was either faded or discolored.
Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box firmly on a stool until Mr. Summers had thoroughly stirred the paper with his hands. Because many of the rituals have been forgotten or abandoned, Mr. Summers has succeeded in replacing the wooden block, which has been in use for many generations, with pieces of paper. The use of wooden blocks, Mr. Chalmers argued, was fine when the village was small, but now that the population exceeded three hundred and was likely to continue to grow, it was imperative to use some kind of material that would be easier to put in the black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Chalmers and Mr. Grayus made the pieces of paper, put them in the box, and took them to Mr. Chalmers's coal company's warehouse to be locked up until the next morning when Mr. Chalmers was ready to take it to the square. On other days of the year the box was put aside, here and there; it had been put in Mr. Graus's barn one year, and another year it had landed in the post-office. Sometimes it was put on a shelf in Martin's grocery store, and then it stayed there.
There were many things, big and small, to be done before Mr. Chalmers announced the start of the groping. There were various lists to be compiled - those of the family patriarchs, those of the individual heads of household in each family, and those of the members of individual households in each family. There was the oath of office administered to Mr. Summers by the Postmaster General as the coloring officer; and, at the same time, it was remembered by some that there had always been some sort of recital by the coloring officer which had been sloppy. The out-of-tune hymns were sung once a year on schedule; some thought the color-bearer should stand in this way when he spoke and sang, others thought he should walk among the crowd, but this part of the ceremony has been permitted to be abolished for many, many years past. There used to be another ceremony of salutation, in which the touching of the lotteries official would address every person who came to the drawing, but this too has changed with time, and now only the official himself feels the need of saying a word to every person who comes. Mr. Summers did an excellent job of all this; he was dressed neatly in a white shirt and blue jeans, with one hand resting naturally on the black box. As he spoke endlessly to Mr. Graves and the Martins, he seemed very serious and courteous.
Just as Mr. Summers finally finished his speech and turned to face the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hergenson scrambled down the path there to the square, her sweater draped over her shoulders, and it slipped to the ground as she came behind the crowd. "Forgot the whole day," she said to Mrs. Dellacrolet, who stood beside her, and they both laughed softly. "I thought my husband was out stacking wood," continued Mrs. Hutcheson. "Then I looked out of the window and the children were gone, too, and then I remembered that it was the twenty-seventh day, and came in at a trot." She wiped her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Dellacrolet said, "But you were just in time. They're still pontificating there."
Mrs. Hutchinson stretched her neck to look over and found her husband and children standing in the front row. She tapped Mrs. Dellacrolet on the arm as a goodbye, then began to walk forward through the web of people. People cheerfully made way for her: two or three said, in voices just audible in the midst of the crowd, "You, ma'am, are coming, Hutcheson," and "Bill, she's here at last." Mrs. Hutcheson reached her husband's side, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting for her, said at this moment cheerfully. "Thought we were going to have to leave you out of the next touch of color, Tessie." Mrs. Hutcheson opened her mouth to laugh as she said, "I couldn't leave those plates in the sink unattended, hey, what do you say, Joe?" A light laugh spread through the crowd, and people all went back to their places after Mrs. Hutcheson's arrival.
"There, there." Mr. Summers said gravely, "I guess we'd better get started, get this over with, and then we can get back to work. Is there anyone who isn't here?"
Mr. Summers looked over the list. "Clyde Dunbar." He said. "Right. He broke his leg, is that right? Who's going to draw for him?"
"I guess I'll do it," a woman said. Mr. Summers turned to look at her. "The wife draws for the husband." Mr. Summers said. "Don't you have an adult son to do this for you, Jenny?" Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew her answer perfectly well, asking such a question formally was a routine part of the lottery drawing. Mr. Summers waited, showing a polite attention when Mrs. Dunbar answered.
"Not Horace, he's sixteen." Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. "I guess I'll have to fill in for my husband this year."
"Okay." Mr. Summers said. He made a mark on the list he was holding. Then he said, "Is the Watson boy going to draw this year?"
A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. "To," he said. "I'm going to draw for my mother and myself." He blinked uneasily when a few people in the crowd shouted "Good luck, good man." "Glad to see your mother has such a man for the job." When he did, he bowed his head.
"Well," said Mr. Summers, "I think everyone is here. Is Elder Warner here, too?"
Mr. Summers cleared his throat and the crowd quieted. He looked at the list. "Is everyone ready?" He shouted. "Now, I'm going to call the roll - first the family patriarch - and then the men come up and draw a piece of paper from the box. Don't look at the piece of paper until everyone has had a turn, clutching it in your hand. Is that clear?"
The drawing of lots is something people have done several times before, and everyone understands it just by casually listening to the instructions: most of the men are quiet, they lick their lips and don't look around. Then Mr. Summers raised a hand high and said, "Adams." A man pushed his way out of the crowd and stepped forward. "Hi, Steve." Mr. Summers said, and then Mr. Adams said, "Hi, Joe." They grinned at each other with a serious and at the same time disturbing grin. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and proceeded to pull out a folded piece of paper. He held onto the corner of the piece of paper while turning around and hurrying back to the group. There he stood slightly apart from his family, and he did not look down at his hand.
"Alan." Mr. Summers said. "Anderson ...... Bentham."
"It's as if there wasn't much time at all between those two touches." Mrs. Dellacrolet, who was standing in the back row, said to Mrs. Graus.
"The last time I touched the lottery was like last week."
"Time does go by so fast." --Mrs. Graus said.
"Clark ...... Dellacrolet"
"It's my husband's turn." Mrs. Dellacrolet said. She held her breath as her husband stepped forward.
"Dunbar," Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar walked calmly toward the box, while one woman said, "Go on, Jenny," and another added, "That's not true, she went. "
"It's our turn next." Mrs. Graus said. She watched as Mr. Graus came around the side of the box, solemnly saluted Mr. Summers, and then selected a piece of paper from the box. All the men in the crowd now held in their large hands a small folded piece of paper, which they were turning over uneasily. Mrs. Dunbar stood with her two sons. Mrs. Dunbar holds the pieces of paper.
"Habte ...... Hergensen."
"Get on with it, Bill," Mrs. Hergenson said, and everyone around her laughed.
"Jones."
"They do say," Mr. Adams said to Elder Warner, who stood next to him, "that up there in the northern villages they're talking about giving up the touching of the lottery."
Elder Warner grunted. "Bunch of crazy idiots," he said. "Nothing is good enough to listen to those young people. Next thing you know, they'll want to go back to living in caves, where people stop working and just live that way for a while. There's an old saying, 'If you touch the color in June, the corn cooks fast.' First you know, we all have to eat stewed prosperous wisps and acorns. Touch of color is always to be had," he added angrily. "It can be awful to watch young Joe Summers standing there joking with everybody."
"Some places have stopped touching the colors." Mrs. Adams said.
"Doing that would only lead to trouble," Old Man Warner said firmly. "Bunch of little idiots."
"Martin." Bobby Martin watched his dad walk up. "Offordyke ...... Percy."
"I wish they'd hurry," Mrs. Dunbar said to her eldest son. "I wish they'd hurry."
"You are ready to run and tell your father," said Mrs. Dunbar.
Mr. Summers called to his own name, then walked up in a serious manner and picked a piece of paper out of the box. Then he called out, "Warner."
"This is my seventy-seventh year touching the color," the elder Warner said as he made his way through the crowd. "Seventy-seventh time."
"Watson," the tall boy said, moving awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, "Take it easy, Jack," and then Mr. Summers said, "Take it easy, boy."
"Giannini."
After that, there was a long pause, a silence, until Mr. Summers lifted his piece of paper into the air and said, "All right, gang." For a minute the people were motionless, and then all the pieces of paper opened. Suddenly, all the women immediately began speaking as if they had been saved.
"Who was it?" "Who got it?" "Was it the Dunbar's?" "Is it the Watsons?" Then the voices began to say, "It's Hergenson. It was Bill," "Bill Hergenson got it."
People began searching around with their eyes for the Hergunson family. Bill Hergunson was standing quietly, gazing down at the piece of paper in his hand. Suddenly. Tessie Hergunson shouted at Mr. Summers. "You didn't give him enough time to pick out the pieces of paper he wanted. I saw it. That's not fair!"
"Don't be such a sore loser, Tessie." Mrs. Dellacrolet shouted, and Mrs. Graus chimed in, "All of us have had the same chance."
"Shut up, Tessie," Bill Hergenson said.
"Well, folks," said Mr. Summers, "it was done fairly quickly before, but now we'll have to hold on a little tighter to get it done on time." He looked over the next list. "Bill," he said, "you draw for the Hergensons. Are there any other households in the Hergenson family?"
"There's Don and Eva," Mrs. Hergenson exclaimed. "Let them take their chances too!"
"Daughters are drawn with their husbands' families, Tessie," Mr. Summers said courteously. "You should know that as well as anyone."
"That's not fair," said Tessie.
"I don't think so, Joe." Bill Hergenson said regretfully. "My daughter draws with her husband's family; that's fair. I don't have any other relatives but the children."
"Then it was you who drew for the family," Mr. Summers explained, "and it was you who drew for the family. Right?"
"Right," said Bill Hergenson.
"How many children, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked formally.
"Three," Bill Hergunson said.
"That's Bill Jr, Nancy and Dave Jr. respectively. And then there's Tessie and me."
"Well, then," said Mr. Summers. "Harry, did you get all their tickets back?"
Mr. Graus nodded, while holding up the pieces of paper. "Then put them in the box," Mr. Summers directed. "Take Bill's and put it in there, too."
"I think we should start all over again," Mrs. Hutcheson said as calmly as she could. "I told you it wasn't fair. You didn't give him enough time to choose. Everyone saw that."
Mr. Graus chose five pieces of paper and put them in the box. Then he threw all the other pieces of paper to the ground. The breeze grabbed the pieces of paper and blew them away.
Mrs. Mori was talking to the people around her.
"Ready, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked. Bill Hergenson glanced quickly at his wife and children, then nodded.
""Remember," Mr. Summers said. "Take the pieces of paper and don't open them until everybody's got them. Harry, go and help little Dave." Mr. Graus took one of the little boy's hands and he automatically followed him to the box. "Take a piece of paper out of the box, Dave." Mr. Summers said. Davey put his hand in the box and smiled. "Only take one sheet yo." Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you hold it for him." Mr. Graus took the boy's hand, took the folded piece of paper from his clenched fist, and clutched it. And at that moment, little Dave stood beside him, tilting his head quizzically.
"Next, Nancy," Mr. Summers said. Nancy, twelve years old, waved her skirt and walked forward, then gracefully removed a piece of paper from a box, while at the same time her friends at school breathed heavily. "Little Bill," said Mr. Summers, as Billy, with his red face and big feet, came over, and barely knocked the box over when he drew out the piece of paper. "Tessie," said Mr. Summers. She hesitated for a moment, looked around with challenging eyes, then pursed her lips and went to the box. She seized a piece of paper, clutched it, and turned her back.
"Bill," Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hergenson reached into the case, felt around, and finally came out with a piece of paper in his hand.
The crowd was quiet. One girl whispered, "I hope it won't be Nancy," and the whisper actually reached the end of the crowd.
"It's not like it used to be." Elder Warner said bluntly. "People don't do things the same way they used to."
"All right," Mr. Summers said. "Let's open the paper. Harry, you go open Little Dave's."
Mr. Graus opened the piece of paper, and when he held it up, everyone saw that it was blank, and there was a general sigh from the crowd. Nancy and Little Bill opened their pieces of paper at the same time, and then both laughed as they turned to the crowd and held their pieces of paper high above their heads.
"Tessie," Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill Hergenson, and Bill opened his piece of paper to show everyone. It was blank.
"It's Tessie," Mr. Summers said, his voice easing. "Let's see her piece of paper. Bill."
Bill Hergenson walked over to his wife and took the piece of paper from her. There was a black dot on the piece of paper, the very black dot that Mr. Summers had drawn with a heavy pencil last night in the coal company office. Bill Hutcheson held it up, and then a commotion arose in the crowd.
"All right, folks." Mr. Summers said. "Let's get this over with."
Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use the stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was ready; there were stones on the ground, too, and they were accompanied by confetti blown from the box. Dellacrolet picked a stone so large that it took her two hands to hold it, and she turned to Mrs. Dunbar. "Come on," she said. "Hurry up."
Mrs. Dunbar held the small stone in both hands, and she panted. "I can't run. You go first and I will catch up."
The children had all taken their stones. One child gave a few back to little David Hergenson.
Tessie Hergensen was now in the center of a clearing, her hands outstretched in desperation as the villagers stepped closer to her. "This isn't fair," she said. A rock hit her on one side of the head. Elder Warner said, "Go on, go on, big guy." Steve Adams was at the forefront of the mass of villagers, accompanied by Mrs. Graus.
"It's not fair, it's not right," Mrs. Hergenson screamed, and then they pounced.
.