I will begin this write-up with a story about my life that
is not here nor there. When I was looking for a set of subjects to pick in St.
Xavier’s, I did not choose literature. Because I loved reading too much. So the
idea of getting so close to a story, figuring out its mechanics, scrutinising
it, and dissecting meaning and symbols, instead of simply being awash in the
glow of a journey undertaken through words – the idea did not appeal at all. When
I had to decide a major, it was a toss-up between Sociology and Psychology. I
chose ‘Sociology’ because it seemed expansive and interesting. One of our
teachers had told us a couple of things about sociology that helped me make
that decision:
(AA) Sociology
was the study of regularities in society. Psychology is the study of
irregularities in an individual.
(BB)
The smallest unit to study in Sociology is a
family. The smallest unit to study in Psychology is one person.
The poetic whim of this lens is how I decided Sociology. And
incidentally, as a Sociology student, I read more literature than my own
textbooks. And from that reading, I understood that true authentic literature
is both and beyond – the mind of an individual, the mayhem of a world and the
membrane that separates and holds them both.
That was a rather large prelude to Steinbeck’s ‘The Pearl’.
First of all, I had not heard of this work by Steinbeck. The Pearl is a retelling
of a Mexican Folk Tale. It is set around late 1940s in La Paz, Mexico. We
follow the story of a small, contented family of fisherfolk. There’s Kino, the
man of the house, his woman Juan, and their infant Coyotito whose gurgles,
giggles, and burps fill up their lives. Kino wakes up and goes to fish in La
Baja California every day. (Incidentally, La Baja was so pearl-rich that pearls
from the region hand funded the Spanish Inquisition at one point.) He doesn’t
have too much materially but has a stoic and supportive partner and a baby. In
a very specific way and space, he is an emperor. And athers – of he has this
ability – passed on by his forefathers of hearing appropriate music in his mind
as events emerge. I am not sure whether this is literal but it is a beautiful
way of conveying to us that Kino is very much in tune with his world and everything
that is in it.
One day, the baby is stung by a scorpion. Juan commands that
they go to the doctor in town. That walk from their hut to the doctor is one of
the most spectacular descriptions of social divide that I have ever read. Juan
is resolute because she is focusing on the baby. But Kino is keenly aware of
how backward his class is. He feels shame. He feels inadequate that he doesn’t
have the stride of an educated person. He feels helpless that he doesn’t know
the medicine books that the doctors or priests quote when they want to save his
son’s health or soul.
He is a diver. And in the world outside the sea and his hut,
he is out of his depth.
The doctor is a corrupt man who, expectedly asks his man-Friday
to turn away the family from the gate. He does not even meet them. Kino is
ashamed. Juan is still resolute and she suggests that they go farther, across
the ocean. Coyotito is wrapped up in a scarf and is losing pulse.
One thing leads to another and Kino and family set sail.
Understandably, going farther will cost. So Kino dives to get some more pearls
to support his trip. And he finds…the pearl. In an oyster that
seems to hum the song of the sirens, Kino finds a large exquisite pearl that
shows the reflection of a peaceful world where his family is happy and his baby
is healthy.
Once he gets the pearl, Juan has managed to suck out the
scorpion sting from little Coyotito’s body. And now the pearl becomes their
lens to a wider world. Kino dreams of getting a gun, getting married, getting
his baby baptized in the church in fine clothes, getting an education for his
son so that his child will know what the books contain. Then slowly, he hears
the tenors of the music change. He sees and senses avarice – of his neighbors,
of the market, of the priests, of the doctor (Who miraculously shows up at
their door and tells Kino that he will give a medicine to the child so that the
scorpion poison is eliminated for good – except that the child gets worse.) He prevents
the pearl from getting stolen.
He does a lot. And the story does not end well.
It is a short story of a simple couple who for a brief
period became the custodian of something gorgeous and dangerous. I found the
pearl motif very stunning.
Yes, it is about the actual pearl, of course. But also what
the pearl represents – the quiet sanctity of the world that Kino, Juan, and
Coyotito live in. The simplicity of the neighbors. The dream of a distant town.
And then when the oyster is opened up, the actual pearl and all these other
gems of peace, quietude, and contentment also get poisoned.
Even as I type this out, I am feeling a pain in my gut. The
language is so lyrical and alarming. So much peace must mask so much pain.
“It was a morning like other mornings and yet perfect
among mornings.”
“When Kino had finished, Juana came back to the fire and
ate her breakfast. They had spoken once, but there is not need for speech if it
is only a habit anyway. Kino sighed with satisfaction - and that was
conversation.”
Then, the rise of the fierce nature that men have to protect
their family…and also grow.
“He had said, "I am a man," and that meant
certain things to Juana. It meant that he was half insane and half god. It
meant that Kino would drive his strength against a mountain and plunge his
strength against the sea. Juana, in her woman's soul, knew that the mountain
would stand while the man broke himself; that the sea would surge while the man
drowned in it. And yet it was this thing that made him a man, half insane and
half god…”
Steinbeck’s grip of how a larger social unit works different
from a smaller social unit is so adroit.
“A town is a thing like a colonial animal. A town has a
nervous system and a head and shoulders and feet. A town is a thing separate
from all other towns alike. And a town has a whole emotion. How news travels
through a town is a mystery not easily to be solved. News seems to move faster
than small boys can scramble and dart to tell it, faster than women can call it
over the fences.”
The Pearl is never listed as Steinbeck’s best works. But if
ever there was a novella that meshed the knot of psychology with the weave of
sociology and dyed it with some native myth and lore, this would be it.
