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《The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter》


 Part One-1

    Iown there were two mutes, and they were always together. Early every m they would e out from the house where they lived and walk arm in arm dowreet to work. The two friends were very different. The one who always steered the way was an obese and dreamy Greek. In the summer he would e out wearing a yellreen polo shirt stuffed sloppily into his trousers in front and hanging loose behind. When it was colder he wore over this a shapeless gray sweater.

    His face was round and oily, with half-closed eyelids and lips that curved in a geupid smile. The other mute was tall. His eyes had a quick, intelligent expression. He was always immaculate and very soberly dressed.

    Every m the two <kbd>99lib?</kbd>friends walked silently together until they reached the main street of the town. Thehey came to a certain fruit and dy store they paused for a moment on the sidewalk outside. The Greek, Spiros Antonapoulos, worked for his cousin, who owhis fruit store. His job was to make dies and sweets, uncrate the fruits, and to keep the place . The thin mute, John Singer, nearly alut his hand on his friends arm and looked for a sed into his face before leaving him. Then after this good-bye Singer crossed the street and walked on aloo the jewelry store where he worked as a silverware engraver.

    Ie afternoon the friends would meet again. Singer came back to the fruit store and waited until Antonapoulos was ready to go home. The Greek would be lazily unpag a case of peaches or melons, or perhaps looking at the funny paper i behind the store where he cooked. Before their departure Antonapoulos always opened a paper sack he kept hidden during the day on one of the kit shelves. Inside were stored various bits of food he had collected—a piece of fruit, samples of dy, or the butt-end of a liverwurst. Usually before leaving Antonapoulos waddled gently to the glassed case in the front of the store where some meats and cheeses were kept. He glided open the

    back of the case and his fat hand groped lovingly for some particular dainty inside which he had wanted. Sometimes his cousin who owhe place did not see him. But if he noticed he stared at his cousin with a warning in his tight, pale face.

    Sadly Antonapoulos would shuffle the morsel from one er of the case to the other. During these times Siood very straight with his hands in his pockets and looked in another dire. He did not like to watch this little se betweewo Greeks. For, excepting drinking and a certain solitary secret pleasure, Antonapoulos loved to eat more than anything else in the world.

    In the dusk the two mutes walked slowly home together. At home Singer was always talking to Antonapoulos. His hands shaped the<u></u> words in a swift series of designs. His face was eager and his gray-green eyes sparkled brightly. With his thin, strong hands he told Antonapoulos all that had happened during the day.

    Antonapoulos sat back lazily and looked at Singer. It was seldom that he ever moved his hands to speak at all— and then it was to say that he wao eat or to sleep or to drink.

    These three things he always said with the same vague, fumbling signs. At night, if he were not too drunk, he would kneel down before his bed and pray awhile. Then his plump hands shaped the words Holy Jesus, od, or Darling Mary. These were the only words Antonapoulos ever said.

    Singer never knew just how much his friend uood of all the things he told him. But it did not matter.

    They shared the upstairs of a small house he business se of the town. There were two rooms. On the oil stove i Antonapoulos cooked all of their meals. There were straight, plain kit chairs for Singer and auffed sofa for Antonapoulos. The bedroom was furnished mainly with a large double bed covered with an eiderdown forter for the big Greek and a narrow iron cot for Singer.

    Dinner always took a long time, because Antonapoulos loved food and he was very slow. After they had eaten, the big Greek would lie ba his sofa and slowly lick over eae of his teeth with his tongue, either from a certain delicacy

    or because he did not wish to lose the savor of the meal—while Singer washed the dishes.

    Sometimes in the evening the mutes would play chess. Singer had always greatly ehis game, and years before he had tried to teach it to Ant<dfn>99lib.</dfn>onapoulos. At first his friend could not be ied in the reasons for moving the various pieces about on the board. Then Singer began to keep a bottle of something good uhe table to be taken out after each lesson. The Greek never got on to the erratients of the knights and the sweeping mobility of the queens, but he learo make a few set, opening moves. He preferred the white pieces and would not play if the black men were given him. After the first moves Singer worked out the game by himself while his friend looked on drowsily. If Singer made brilliant attacks on his own men so that in the end the black king was killed, Antonapoulos was always very proud and pleased.

    The two mutes had no other friends, and except when they worked they were aloogether. Each day was very much like any other day, because they were alone so much that nothing ever disturbed them. Once a week they w<details>９9ｌib?</details>ould go to the library for Sio withdraw a mystery book and on Friday night they attended a movie. Then on payday they always went to the te photograph shop above the Army and Navy Store so that Antonapoulos could have his picture taken. These were the only places where they made ary visits. There were many parts iown that they had never even seen.

    The town was in the middle of the deep South. The summers were long and the months of winter cold were very few.

    Nearly always the sky was a glassy, brilliant azure and the sun burned down riotously bright. Then the light, chill rains of November would e, and perhaps later there would be frost and some short months of cold. The winters were geable, but the summers always were burning hot. The town was a fairly large one. On the main street there were several blocks of two- and three-story shops and business offices. But the largest buildings iowhe factories, which employed a large pertage of the population. These ills were big and flourishing

    and most of the workers iown were very poor. Often in the faces along the streets there was the desperate look of hunger and of loneliness.

    But the two mutes were not lonely at all. At home they were tent to eat and drink, and Singer would talk with bis hands eagerly to his friend about all that was in his mind. So the years passed in this quiet way until Singer reached the age of thirty-two and had been iown with Antonapoulos for ten years.

    Then one day the Greek became ill. He sat up in bed with his hands on his fat stomad big, oily tears rolled down his cheeks. Singer went to see his friends cousin who owhe fruit store, and also he arranged for leave from his own work.

    The doade out a diet for Antonapoulos and said that he could drink no more wine. Singer rigidly enforced the doctors orders. All day he sat by his friends bed and did what he could to make the time pass quickly, but Antonapoulos only looked at him angrily from the ers of his eyes and would not be amused.

    The Greek was very fretful, a finding fault with the fruit drinks and food that Singer prepared for him. stantly he made his friend help him out of bed so that he could pray.

    His huge butt<bdo>99lib.</bdo>ocks would sag down over his plump little feet when he kneeled. He fumbled with his hands to say Darling Mary and theo the small brass cross tied to his neck with a dirty string. His big eyes would wall up to the ceiling with a look of fear in them, and afterward he was very sulky and would not let his friend speak to him.

    Singer atient and did all that he could. He drew little pictures, and once he made a sketch of his friend to amuse him. This picture hurt the big Greeks feelings, and he refused to be reciled until Singer had made his face very young and handsome and colored his hair bright yellow and his eyes a blue. And theried not to show his pleasure.

    Singer nursed his friend so carefully that after a week Antonapoulos was able to return to his work. But from that time on there was a differen their way of life. Trouble came to the two friends.

    Antonapoulos was not ill any more, but a ge had e in

    him. He was irritable and no longer tent to spend the evenings quietly in their home. When he would wish to go out Singer followed along close behind him. Antonapoulos would go into a restaurant, and while they sat at the table he slyly put lumps of sugar, or a pepper-shaker, or pieces of silverware in bis pocket. Singer alaid for what he took and there was no disturba home he scolded Antonapoulos, but the big Greek only looked at him with a bland smile.

    The months went on and these habits of Antonapoulos grew worse. One day at noon he walked calmly out of the fruit store of his cousin and urinated in public against the wall of the First National Bank Building across the street. At times he would meet people on the sidewalk whose faces did not please him, and he would bump into these persons and push at them with his elbows and stomach. He walked into a store one day and hauled out a floor lamp without paying for it, and aime he tried to take aric train he had seen in a showcase.

    For Sihis was a time of great distress. He was tinually marg Antonapoulos down to the courthouse during lunch hour to settle these infris of the law.

    Singer became very familiar with the procedure of the courts and he was in a stant state of agitation. The money he had saved in the bank ent for bail and fines. All of his efforts and money were used to keep his friend out of jail because of such charges as theft, itting publidecies, and assault and battery.

    The Greek cousin for whom Antonapoulos worked did er into these troubles at all. Charles Parker (for that was the his cousin had take Antonapoulos stay on at the store, but he watched him always with his pale, tight fad he made no effort to help him. Singer had a strange feeling about Charles Parker. He began to dislike him.

    Singer lived in tinual turmoil and worry. But Antonapoulos was always bland, and no matter what happehe gentle, flaccid smile was still on his face. In all the years before it had seemed to Sihat there was something very subtle and wise in this smile of his friend. He had never known just how mutonapoulos uood and what he was thinking. Now in the big Greeks expression

    Sihought that he could deteething sly and joking.

    He would shake his friend by the shoulders until he was very tired and explain things over and over with his hands. But nothing did any good.

    All of Singers money was gone and he had to borrow from the jeweler for whom he worked. On one occasion he was uo pay bail for bis friend and Antonapoulos spent the night in jail. When Singer came to get him out the  day he was very sulky. He did not want to leave. He had enjoyed his dinner of sowbelly and bread with syrup poured over it.

    And the new sleeping arras and his cellmates pleased him.

    They had lived so much alohat Singer had no oo help him in his distress. Antonapoulos let nothing disturb him or cure him of his habits. At home he sometimes cooked the new dish he had eaten in the jail, and oreets there was never any knowing just what he would do.

    And then the final trouble came to Singer.

 Part One-2

    Oernoon he had e to meet Antonapoulos at the fruit store when Charles Parker handed him a letter. The letter explaihat Charles Parker had made arras for his cousin to be taken to the state insane asylum two hundred miles away. Charles Parker had used his influen the town and the details were already settled. Antonapoulos was to leave and to be admitted into the asylum the , week.

    Singer read the letter several times, and for a while he could not think. Charles Parker was talking to him across the ter, but he did not even try to read his lips and uand. At last Singer wrote otle pad he always carried in his pocket:You ot do this. Antonapoulos must stay with me.

    Charles Parker shook his head excitedly. He did not know much Ameri. None of your business, he kept saying over and over.

    Singer khat everything was fihe Greek was afraid that some day he might be responsible for his cousin.

    Charles Parker did not know much about the Ameri language—but he uood the Ameri dollar very well, and he had used his money and influeo admit his cousin

    to the asylum without delay.

    There was nothing Singer could do.

    The  week was full of feverish activity. He talked and talked. And although his hands never paused to rest he could not tell all that he had to say. He wao talk to Antonapoulos of all the thoughts that had ever been in his mind a, but there was not time. His gray eyes glittered and his quick, intelligent face expressed great strain.

    Antonapoulos watched him drowsily, and his friend did not know just what he really uood.

    Then came the day when Antonapoulos must leave. Singer brought out Ms own suitcase and very carefully packed the best of their joint possessions. Antonapoulos made himself a lunch to eat during the journey. Ie afternoon they walked arm in arm dowreet for the last time together. It was a chilly afternoon in late November, and little huffs of breath showed in the air before them.

    Charles Parker was to travel with his cousin, but he stood apart from them at the station. Antonapoulos crowded into the bus aled himself with elaborate preparations on one of the fros. Singer watched him from the window and his hands began desperately to talk for the last time with his friend. But Antonapoulos was so busy cheg over the various items in his lunch box that for a while he paid no attention. Just before the bus pulled away from the curb he turo Singer and his smile was very b藏书网land ae—as though already they were many miles apart.

    The weeks that followed didnt seem real at all. All day Singer worked over his ben the back of the jewelry store, and then at night he returo the house alone. More than anything he wao sleep. As soon as he came home from work he would lie on his cot and try to doze awhile. Dreams came to him when he lay there half-asleep. And in all of them Antonapoulos was there. His hands would jerk nervously, for in his dreams he was talk-  ing to his friend and Antonapoulos was watg him.

    Siried to think of the time b<q></q>efore he had ever known his friend. He tried to ret to himself certain things that had happened when he was young. But none of these things he tried to remember seemed real.

    There was one particu<cite>藏书网</cite>lar fact that he remembered, but it was not at all important to him. Singer recalled that, although he had been deaf since he was an infant, he had not always been a real mute. He was left an orphan very young and placed in an institution for the deaf. He had learo talk with his hands and to read. Before he was nine years old he could talk with one hand in the Ameri way—and also could employ both of his hands after the method of Europeans. He had learo follow the movements of peoples lips and to uand what they said. Then finally he had been taught to speak.

    At the school he was thought very intelligent. He learhe lessons before the rest of the pupils. But he could never bee used to speaking with his lips. It was not natural to him, and his tongue felt like a whale in his mouth. From the blank expression on peoples faces to whom he talked in this way he felt that his voice must be like the sound of some animal or that there was something disgusting in his speech. It ainful for him to try to talk with his mouth, but his hands were always ready to shape the words he wished to say. When he was twenty-two he had e South to this town from Chicago a Antonapoulos immediately. Sihat time he had never spoken with his mouth again, because with his friend there was no need for this.

    Nothing seemed real except the ten years with Antonapoulos.

    In his half-dreams he saw his friend very vividly, and when he awakened a great ag loneliness would be in him.

    Occasionally he would pack up a box for Antonapoulos, but he never received any reply. And so the months passed hi this empty, dreaming way.

    In the spring a ge came over Singer. He could not sleep and his body was very restless. At evening he would walk monotonously around the room, uo work off a new feeling of energy. If he rested at all it was only during a few hours before dawn—then he would drop bluntly into   a sleep that lasted until the m light struck suddenly beh his opening eyelids like a scimitar.

    He began spending his evenings walking around the town. He could no loand the rooms where Antonapoulos had

    lived, and he rented a pla a shambling b-house not far from the ter of the town.

    He ate his meals at a restaurant only two blocks away. This restaurant was at the very end of the long main street and the name of the place was the New York Cafe. The first day he glanced over the menu quickly and wrote a short note and ha to the proprietor.

    Each m for breakfast I want an egg, toast, and coffee $.For lunch I want soup (any kind), a meat sandwich, and milk—$.Please bri dihree vegetables (any kind but cabbage), fish or meat, and a glass of beer— $.Thank you.

    The proprietor read the note and gave him a, tactful glance. He was a hard man of middle height, with a beard so dark and heavy that the lower part of his face looked as though it were molded of iron. He usually stood in the er by the cash register, his arms folded over his chest, quietly  all that went on around him. Singer came to know this mans face very well, for he ate at one of his tables three times a day.

    Each evening the mute walked alone for hours ireet.

    Sometimes the nights were cold with the sharp, wet winds of Mard it would be raining heavily. But to him this did not matter. His gait was agitated and he always kept his hands stuffed tight into the pockets of his trousers. Then as the weeks passed the days grew warm and languorous. His agitation gave way gradually to exhaustion and there was a look about him of deep calm. In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wahrough the streets of the town, always silent and alone. \_f N A black, sultry night in early summer Biff Brannon stood behind the cash register of the New York Cafe. It was twelve oclock. Outside the street lights had already been turned off, so that the light from the cafe made a sharp, yellow regle on the sidewalk. The street was deserted, but inside

    the cafe there were half a dozen ers drinking beer or Santa Lucia wine or whiskey. Biff waited stolidly, his elbow resting on the ter and his thumb mashing the tip of his long nose. His eyes were i. He watched especially a short, squat man in overalls who had bee drunk and boisterous. Now and then his gaze passed on to the mute who sat by himself at one of the middle tables, or to others of the ers before the ter. But he always turned back to the drunk in overalls. The hrew later and Biff tio wait silently behind the ter. Then at last he gave the restaurant a final survey aoward the door at the back which led upstairs.

    Quietly he ehe room at the top of the stairs. It was dark inside and he walked with caution. After he had gone a few paces his toe struething hard and he reached down a for the handle of a suitcase on the floor. He had only been in the room a few seds and was about to leave when the light was turned on.

    Alice sat up in the rumpled bed and looked at him. What you doing with that suitcase? she asked. t you get rid of that lunatic without giving him back what hes already drunk up?’

    Wake up and go down yourself. Call the cop a him get soused on the  gang with bread and peas. Go to it, Misses Brannon.’

    I will all right if hes dowomorrow. But you leave that bag alo dont belong to that sponger any more.’

    I know spongers, and Blounts not one, Biff said. Myself—I dont know so well. But Im not that kind of a thief.’

    Calmly Biff put down the suitcase oeps outside.

    The air was not so stale and sultry in the room as it was downstairs. He decided to stay for a short while and douse his face with cold water befoing back.

    I told you already what Ill do if you do rid of that fellow food tonight. In the daytime he takes them naps at the back, and then at night you feed him dinners and beer. For a week now he hasnt paid o. And all his wild talking and carrying-on will ruin a trade.’

    You dont know people and you dont know real business, Biff said. &quot;The fellow iion first came iwelve

    days ago and he was a stranger iown. The first week he gave us twenty dollars worth of trade. Twen<bdo></bdo>ty at the minimum.’

    And sihen o, Alice said. Tive days o, and so drunk its a disgrace to the business. And besides, hes nothing but a bum and a freak.’

    I like freaks, Biff said.

    I re you dol I just re you certainly ought to, Mister Brannon—being as youre one yourself.’

    He rubbed his bluish  and paid her no attention. For the first fifteen years of their married life they had called each other just plain Biff and Alice. Then in one of their quarrels they had begun calling each other Mister and Misses, and sihen they had never made it up enough to ge it.

    Tm just warning you hed better not be there when I e down tomorrow.’

    Biff went into the bathroom, and after he had bathed his face he decided that he would have time for a shave. His beard was blad heavy as though it had grown for three days. He stood before the mirror and rubbed his cheek meditatively. He was sorry he had talked to Alice. With her, silence was better.

    Being around that woman always made him different from his real self. It made him tough and small and on as she was. Biffs eyes were cold and staring, half-cealed by the ical droop of his eyelids. On the fifth finger of his calloused hand there was a womans wedding ring. The door en behind him, and in the mirror he could see Alice lying in the bed.

 Part One-3

    Listen, he said. &quot;The trouble with you is that you dont have any real kindness. Not but one woman Fve ever known had this real kindness Im talking aboutWell, Ive known you to do things no man in this world would be proud of. Ive known you to------’

    Or maybe its curiosity I mean. You dont ever see or notiything important that goes on. You never watd think and try to figure anything out. Maybe thats the biggest differeween you and me, after all.’

    Alice was almost asleep again, and through the mirror he watched her with detat. There was no distinctive point

    about her on which he could fasten his attention, and his gaze glided from her pale brown hair to the stumpy outline of her feet beh the cover. The soft curves of her face led to the roundness of her hips and thighs. When he was away from her there was no oure that stood out in his mind and he remembered her as a plete, unbroken figure.

    &quot;The enjoyment of a spectacle is something you have never known, he said.

    Her voice was tired. &quot;That fellow downstairs is a spectacle, all right, and a circus too. But Im through putting up with him.’

    Hell, the man dont mean anything to me. Hes ive or buddy of mine. But you dont know what it is to store up a whole lot of details and then e upon something real. He turned o water and quickly began to shave.

    It was the m of May , yes, that Jake Blount had e in. He had noticed him immediately and watched. The man was short, with heavy shoulders like beams. He had a small, ragged mustache, ah this his lower lip looked as though it had been stung by a . There were many things about the fellow that seemed trary. His head was very large and well-shaped, but his neck was soft a..nd slender as a boys. The mustache looked false, as if it had been stu for a e party and would fall off if he talked too fast. It made him seem almost middle-aged, although his face with its high, smooth forehead and wide-open eyes was young. His hands were huge, stained, and calloused, and he was dressed in a cheap white-linen suit. There was something very funny about the ma the same time another feeling would not let you laugh.

    He ordered a pint of liquor and drank it straight in half an hour. The at one of the booths and ate a big chi dinner. Later he read a book and drank beer. That was the beginning. And although Biff had noticed Blount very carefully he would never have guessed about the crazy things that happened later. Never had he seen a man ge so many times in twelve days. Never had he seen a fellow drink so much, stay drunk so long.

    Biff pushed up the end of his h his thumb and shaved

    his upper lip. He was finished and his face seemed cooler.

    Alice was asleep when he went through the bedroom on the way downstairs.

    The suitcase was heavy. He carried it to the front of the restaurant, behind the cash register, where he usually stood each evening. Methodically he glanced around the place. A few ers had left and the room was not so crowded, but the set-up was the same. The deaf-mute still drank coffee by himself at one of the middle tables. The drunk had not stopped talking. He was not addressing anyone around him in particular, nor was anyone listening. When he had e into the place that evening he wore those blue overalls instead of the filthy linen suit he had been wearing the twelve days. His socks were gone and his ankles were scratched and caked with mud.

    Alertly Biff picked up fragments of his monologue. The fellow seemed to be talking some queer kind of politics again.

    Last night he had been talking about places he had been—about Texas and Oklahoma and the Carolinas. Once he had got on the subject of cat-houses, and afterward his jokes got so raw he had to be hushed up with beer. But most of the time nobody was sure just what he was saying. Talk—talk—talk.

    The words came out of his throat like a cataract. And the thing was that the at he used was always ging, the kinds of words he used. Sometimes he talked like a linthead and sometimes nice a professor. He would use words a foot long and then slip up on his grammar. It was hard to tell what kind of folks he had or art of the try he was from. He was always ging. Thoughtfully Biff fohe tip of his here was no e. Yet e usually went with brains. This man had a good mind, all right, but he went from ohing to another without any reason behind it at all.

    He was like a man thrown off his track by something.Biff leaned his weight on the ter and began to peruse the evening neer. The headliold of a decision by the Board of Aldermen, after four months deliberation, that the local budget could not afford traffic lights at certain dangerous interses of the town. The left ed on the war in the Orient. Biff read them both with equal attention. As his

    eyes followed the print the rest of his senses were on the alert to the various otions that went on around him. When he had fihe articles he still stared down at the neer with his eyes half-closed. He felt nervous. The fellow roblem, and before m he would have to make some sort of settlement with him. A<cite></cite>lso, he felt without knowing why that something of importance would happen tonight. The fellow could not keep on forever.

    Biff sehat someone was standing irand he raised his eyes quickly. A gangling, towheaded youngster, a girl of about twelve, stood looking in the doorway. She was dressed in khaki shorts, a blue shirt, and tennis shoes—so that at first glance she was like a very young boy. Biff pushed aside the paper when he saw her, and smiled when she came up to him.

    Hello, Mick. Been to the Girl Scouts?’

    No, she said. I dont belong to them.’

    From the er of his eye he noticed that the drunk slammed his fist down on a table and turned away from the men to whom he had been talking. Biffs voice roughened as he spoke to the youngster before him.

    Your folks know youre out after midnight?’

    Its O.K. Theres a gang of kids playing out late on our block tonight.’

    He had never seen her e into the place with anyone her own age. Several years ago she had always tagged behind her older brother. The Kellys were a good-sized family in numbers. Later she would e in pulling a couple of snotty babies in a wagon. But if she wasnt nursing  to keep up with the bigger ones, she was by herself. Now the kid stood there seeming not to be able to make up her mind what she wanted. She kept pushing back her damp, whitish hair with the palm of her hand.

    Id like a pack of cigarettes, please. The cheapest kind.

    Biff started to speak, hesitated, and then reached hisIShand ihe ter. Mick brought out a handkerchief and began untying the knot in the er where she kept her money. As she gave the knot a jerk the ge clattered to the

    floor and rolled toward Blount, who stood muttering to himself. For a momeared in a daze at the s, but before the kid could go after them he squatted down with tration and picked up the money. He walked heavily to the ter and stood jiggling the two pehe nickel, and the dime in his palm.

    Seventees farettes now?’

    Biff waited, and Mick looked from one of them to the other.

    The drunk stacked the money into a little pile on the ter, still proteg it with his big, dirty hand. Slowly he picked up one penny and flipped it down.

    Five mills for the crackers who grew the weed and five for the dupes who rolled it, he said. A t for you, Biff. Theried to focus his eyes so that he could read the mottoes on the nickel and dime. He kept fingering the two s and moving them around in a circle. At last he pushed them away. And thats a humble homage to liberty. To democrad tyranny.

    To freedom and piracy.’

    Calmly Biff picked up the money and rang it into the till.

    Mick looked as though she wao hang around awhile. She took in the drunk with one long gaze, and theurned her eyes to the middle of the room where the mute sat at his table alone. After a moment Blount also glanow and then in the same dire. The mute sat silently over his glass of beer, idly drawing oable with the end of a burnt matchstick.

    Jake Blount was the first to speak. Its funny, but I been seeing that fellow in my sleep for the past three or fhts. He wont leave me alone. If you ever noticed, he never seems to say anything.’

    It was seldom that Biff ever discussed one er with another. No, he dont, he answered nonittally.

    Its funny.’

    Mick shifted her weight from one foot to the other and fitted the package of cigarettes into the pocket of her shorts. Its not funny if you know anything ahout him, she said. Mister Singer lives with us. He rooms in our house.’

    Is that so? Biff asked. I declare—I didnt know thatMick walked toward the door and answered him without

    looking around. &quot;Sure. Hes been with us three months now.’

    Biff unrolled his shirt-sleeves and then folded them up carefully again. He did not take his eyes from Mick as she left the restaurant. And even after she had been gone several minutes he still fumbled with his shirt-sleeves<q>.</q> and stared at the empty doorway. Then he locked his arms across his chest and turned back to the drunk again.

    Blount leaned heavily on the ter. His brown eyes were wet-looking and wide open with a dazed expression. He needed a bath so badly that he stank like a goat. There were dirt beads on his sweaty ned an oil stain on his face. His lips were thid red and his brown hair was matted on his forehead. His overalls were too short in the body and he kept pulling at the crotch of them.

    Man, you ought to know better, Biff said finally. You t go around like this. Why, Im surprised you havent been picked up francy. You ought to sober up. You need washing and your hair needs cutting. Mod! Youre not fit to walk around amongst people.’

    Blount scowled and bit his lower lip.

    Now, dont take offense a your dander up. Do what I tell you. Go ba the kit ahe colored boy to give you a big pan of hot water. Tell Willie to give you a tolenty of soap and wash yourself good. The you some milk toast and open up your suitcase and put you on a  shirt and a pair of britches that fit you. Then tomorrow you  start doing whatever yoing to do and w wherever you mean to work araightened out.’

 Part One-4

    You know what you  do, Blount said drunkenly. *You  just------’

    All right, Biff said very quietly. No, I t Now you just behave yourself.’

    Biff went to the end of the ter aurned with two glasses ht beer. The drunk picked up his glass so clumsily that beer slopped down on his hands and messed the ter. Biff sipped his portion with careful relish. He regarded Blount steadily with half-closed eyes. Blount was not a freak, although when you first saw him he gave you that impression. It was like something was

    deformed about him—but when you looked at him closely each part of him was normal and as it ought to be. Therefore if this difference was not in the body it robably in the mind. He was like a man who had served a term in prison or had been to Harvard College or had lived for a long time with fners in South America. He was like a person who had been somewhere that other people are not likely to go or had done something that others are not apt to do.

    Biff cocked his head to one side and said, Where are you from?’

    &quot;Nowhere.’

    *Now, you have to be born somewhere. North Carolina —Tennessee—Alabama—some place.’

    Blounts eyes were dreamy and unfocused. Carolina, he said.

    I  tell youve been around, Biff hinted delicately.

    But the drunk was not listening. He had turned from the ter and was staring out at the dark, empty street. After a moment he walked to the door with loose, uain steps.

    Adios, he c<u>.9９ｌib?</u>alled back.

    Biff was alone<u>.</u> again and he gave the restaurant one of his quick, thh surveys. It ast one in the m, and there were only four or five ers in the room. The mute still sat by himself at the middle table. Biff stared at him idly and shook the few remaining drops of beer around itom of his glass. Then he finished his drink in one slow swallow a back to the neer spread out on the ter.

    This time he could not keep his mind on the words before him.

    He remembered Mick. He wondered if he should have sold her the pack of cigarettes and if it were really harmful for kids to smoke. He thought of the way Miarrowed her eyes and pushed back the bangs of her hair with the palm of her hand.

    He thought of her hoarse, boyish void of her habit of hitg up her khaki shorts and swaggering like a cowboy in the picture show. A feeling of tenderness came in him. He was uneasy.

    Restlessly Biff turned his attention to Sihe mute sat with his hands in his pockets and the half-finished glass of beer before him had bee warm and stagnant. He

    would offer to treat Sio a slug of whiskey before he left.

    What he had said to Alice was true—he did like freaks. He had a special friendly feeling for sick people and cripples.

    Whenever somebody with a harelip or T.B. came into the place he would set him up to beer. Or if the er were a hunchback or a bad cripple, then it would be whiskey on the house. There was one fellow who had had his peter and his left leg blown off in a boiler explosion, and whenever he came to town there was a free pint waiting for him. And if Singer were a drinking kind of man he could get liquor at half priy time he wa. Biff o himself. Thely he folded his neer and put it uhe ter along with several others. At the end of the week he would take them all back to the storeroom behind the kit, where he kept a plete file of the evening neers that dated back without a break for twenty-one years.

    At two oclock Blouered the restaurant again. He, brought in with him a tall Negro man carrying a black bag.

    The drunk tried t him up to the ter for adrink, but the Negro left as soon as he realized why he hadbeen led inside. Biff reized him as a Negro doctor racticed iown ever since he could remember.

    He was related in some way to young Willie ba thekit. Before he left Biff saw him turn on Blount witha look of quivering hatred.

    The drunk just stood there.

    ?Dont you know you t bring no nigger in a place where white men drink? someone asked him.

    Biff watched this happening from a distance. Blount was very angry, and now it could easily be seen how drunk he was.

    Im part nigger myself, he called out as a challenge.

    Biff watched him alertly and the place was quiet. With his thiostrils and the rolling whites of his eyes it looked a little as though he might be telling the truth.

    Im part nigger and wop and bohunk and k. All of those.’

    There was laughter.

    And Im Dutd Turkish and Japanese and Ameri. He walked in zigzags around the table where the mute drank his coffee. His voice was loud and cracked.

    Tm one who knows. Im a stranger in a strange land.’

    ?Quiet down, Biff said to him.

    Blount paid no attention to anyone in the place except the mute. They were both looking at each other. The mutes eyes were cold ale as a cats and all his body seemed to listen. The drunk man was in a frenzy.

    ?Youre the only one in this town who catches what I mean, Blount said. For two days now  been talking to you in my mind because I know you uand the things I want to mean.’

    Some people in a booth were laughing because without knowing it the drunk had picked out a deaf-mute to try to talk with. Biff watched the two men with little darting glances and listetentively.

    Blount sat down to the table and leaned over close to Singer.

    There are those who know and those who dont know. And for every ten thousand who dont know theres only one who knows. Thaf s the miracle of all time—the fact that these millions know so much but dont know this. Its like in the fifteenth tury when everybody believed the world was flat and only bus and a few other fellows khe truth.

    But its different in that it took talent to figure that the earth is round. While this truth is so obvious its a miracle of all history that people dont know. You savvy.’

    Biff rested his elbows on the ter and looked at Blount with curiosity. Know what? he asked.

    &quot;Dont listen to him, Blount said. Dont mind that flat-footed, blue-jowled, nosy bastard. For you see, when us people who know run into each other mats a. It almost never happens. Sometimes we meet each other aher guesses that the other is one who knows. Thats a bad thing. Its happeo me a lot of times. But you see there are so few of us.’

    Masons? Biff asked.

    Shut up, you! Else  snatch your arm off a you black with it, Blount bawled. He hunched over close to the mute and his voice dropped to a drunken whisper. And how e? Why has this miracle of ignorandured? Because of ohing. A spiracy. A vast and insidious spiracy.

    Obstism.’

    The men in the booth were still laughing at the drunkwho was trying to hold a versation with the mute. Only Biff was serious. He wao ascertain if the mute really uood what was said to him. The fellow nodded frequently and his face seemed plative. He was only slow—that was all. Blount began to crack a few jokes along with this talk about knowing. The mute never smiled until several seds after the funny remark had been made; thehe talk was gloomy again the smile still hung on his face a little too long. The fellow was dht uny.

    People felt themselves watg him even before they khat there was anything different about him. His eyes made a person think that he heard things nobody else had ever heard, that he khings no one had ever guessed before. He did not seem quite human.

    Jake Blount leaned across the table and the words came out as though a dam inside him had broken. Biff could not uand him any more. Blounts tongue was so heavy with drink aalked at such a violent pace that the sounds were all shaken up together. Biff wondered where he would go when Alice turned him out of the place. And in the m she would do it, too—like she said.

    Biff yawned wanly, patting his open mouth with his fiips until his jaw had relaxed. It was almost three oclock, the most stagnant hour in the day htThe mute atient. He had been listening to Blount for almost <q>?9９liｂ?</q>an hour. Now he began to look at the clock occasionally. Blount did not notice this a on without a pause. At last he stopped a to roll a cigarette, and thee nodded his head in the dire of the clock, smiled in that hidden way of his, and got up from the table. His hands stayed stuffed in his pockets as always. He went out quickly.

    Blount was so drunk that he did not know what had happened.

    He had never even caught on to the fact that the mute made no answers. He began to look around the place with his mouth open and his eyes rolling and fuddled. A red vein stood out on his forehead and he began to hit the table angrily with his fists. His bout could not last much longer now.

    e on over, Biff said kindly. &quot;Your friend has gone.’

    The fellow was still hunting for Singer. He had never seemed really drunk like that before. He had an ugly look.

    I have something for you over here and I want to speak with you a minute, Biff coaxed.

    Blou<bdi>藏书网</bdi>nt pulled himself up from the table and walked with big, loose steps toward the street again.

    Biff leaned against the wall. In and out—in and out. After all, it was none of his business. The room was very empty and quiet. The minutes lingered. Wearily he let his head sag forward. All motion seemed slowly to be leaving the room.

    The ter, faces, the booths and tables, the radio in the er, whirring fans on the ceiling—all seemed to bee very faint and still.

    He must have dozed. A hand was shaking his elbow. His wits came ba slowly and he looked up to see what was wanted. Willie, the colored boy i, stood before him dressed in his cap and his long white apron. Willie stammered because he was excited about whatever he was trying to say.

    And so he were --lamming his fist against this here brick all.’

    Whats that?’

    Right down one of them alleys two d-d-doors away.’

    Biff straightened bis slumped shoulders and arranged his tie.

    What?’

    And they means t him in here and they liable to pile in any minute------’

    Willie, Biff said patiently. Start at the beginning a me get this straight.’

    It this here s<big>9９ｌｉｂ.</big>hort white man with the m-m-mustache.’

    ?Mr. Blount. Yes&gt;Well—I didnt see how it enced. I were standing in the back door when I heard this here otion. Sound like a big fight in the alley. So I r-r-run to see. And this here white man had just gone hog wild. He were butting bis head against the side of this brick wall and hitting with his fists. He were cussing and fighting like I never seen a white man fight

    before. With just this here wall. He liable to broken his owhe way he were carrying on. Then two white mens who had heard the otion e up and stand around and look------So what happened?’

 Part One-5

    Well—you know this here dumb gentleman—hands in pockets—this here------’

    Mr. Singer.’

    And he e along and just stood looking around to see what it were all about. And Mr. B-B-Blount seen him and eo talk and holler. And then all of a sudden he fallen down on the ground. Maybe he done really busted his head open. A p-p-p-polie up and somebody doold him Mr. Blount been staying here.’

    Biff bowed his head and ahe story he had just heard into a  pattern. He rubbed his nose and thought for a minute.

    &quot;They liable to pile in here any minute. Willie went to the door and looked dowreet Here they all e now.

    They having to d<cite></cite>rag him.’

    A dozen onlookers and a poli all tried to crowd into the restaurant. Outside a couple of whores stood looking in through the front window. It was always funny hoeople could crowd in from nowhere when anything out of the ordinary happened.

    No use creating any more disturbahan necessary, Biff said. He looked at the poli who supported the drunk.

    The rest of them might as well clear out.’

    The poli put the drunk in a chair and hustled the little crowd into the street again. Theuro Biff: Somebody said he was staying here with you.’

    No. But he might as well be, Biff said.

    Wao take him with me?’

    Biff sidered. He wo into any more trouble tonight.

    Of course I t be responsible—but I think this will calm him down.’

    O.K. Ill drop ba again before I knock off.’

    Biff, Singer, and Jake Blount were left alone. For the first time since he had been brought in, Biff turned his attention to

    the drunk man. It seemed that Blount had hurt his jaw very badly. He was slumped down oable with his big hand over his mouth, swaying backward and forward. There was a gash in his head and the blood ran from his temple. His knuckles were skinned raw, and he was so filthy that he looked as if he had been pulled by the scruff of the neck from a sewer. All the juice hadspurted out of him and he was pletely collapsed. The mute sat at the table across from him, taking it all in with his gray eyes.

    Then Biff saw that Blount had not hurt his jaw, but he was holding his hand over his mouth because bis lips were trembling. The tears began to roll down his grimy faow and then he glance<bdo></bdo>d sideways at Biff and Singer, angry that they should see him cry. It was embarrassing. Biff shrugged his shoulders at the mute and raised his eyebrows with a what-to-do? expression. Singer cocked his head on one side.

    Biff was in a quandary. Musingly he wondered just how he should mahe situation. He was still trying to decide whee turned over the menu and began to write.

    // you ot think of any place for him to go he  go home with me. First some soup and coffee would be good for him.

    With relief Biff nodded vigorously.

    Oable he placed three special plates of the last evening meal, two bowls of soup, coffee, and dessert. But Blount would . He would not take his hand away from his mouth, and it was as though his lips were some very secret part of himself which was being exposed. His breath came in ragged sobs and his big shoulders jerked nervously. Singer poio one dish after the other, but Blount just sat with his hand over his mouth and shook his head.

    Biff enunciated slowly so that the mute could see. The jitters------ he said versationally.

    The steam from the soup kept floating up into Blounts face, and after a little while he reached shakily for his spoon. He drank the soup and ate part of his dessert. His thick, heavy lips still trembled and he bowed his head far down over his plate.

    Biff his. He was thinkng that in nearly every person

    there was some special physical part kept always guarded.

    With the mute his hands. The kid Mick picked at the front of her blouse to keep the cloth from rubbing the ender nipples beginning to e out on herbreast. With Alice it was her hair; she used o let him sleep with her when he rubbed oil in his scalp. And with himself？

    Lingeringly Biff turhe ring on his little finger. Anyway he knew what it was not. Not. Any more. A sharp li into his forehead. His hand in his pocket moved nervously toward his genitals. He began whistling a song and got up from the table. Funny to spot it in other people, though.

    They helped Blount to his feet. He teetered weakly. He was n any more, but he seemed to be brooding on something shameful and sullen. He walked in the dire he was led. Biff brought out the suitcase from behind the ter and explaio the mute about it. Singer looked as though he could not be surprised at anything.

    Biff went with them to the entrance. Buck up and keep your nose , he said to Blount.

    The blaight sky was beginning to lighten and turn a deep blue with the new m. There were but a few weak, silvery stars. The street was empty, silent, almost cool. Singer carried the suitcase with his left hand, and with his free hand he supported Blount. He nodded goodbye to Biff and they started off together down the sidewalk. Biff stood watg them. After they had gone hah* a block a></a>way only their blas showed in the blue darkness —the mute straight and firm and the broad-shouldered, stumbling Blount holding on to him. When he could see them no longer, Biff waited for a moment and examihe sky. The vast depth of it fasated and oppressed him. He rubbed his forehead a bato the sharply lighted restaurant.

    He stood behind the cash register, and his face tracted and hardened as he tried to recall the things that had happened during the night. He had the feeling that he wao explain something to himself. He recalled the is in tedious detail and was still puzzled.

    The door opened and cl9９lib?osed several times as a sudden spurt of

    ers began to e in. The night was over. Willie stacked some of the chairs up oables and mopped at the floor. He was ready to go home and was singing. Willie was lazy. I he was always stopping to play for a while on the harmonica he carriedaround with him. Now he mopped the floor with sleepy strokes and hummed his lonesome Negro music steadily.

    The place was still not crowded—it was the hour when men who have been up all night meet those who are freshly wakened and ready to start a <big>99lｉｂ?</big>new day. The sleepy waitress was serving both beer and coffee. There was no noise or versation, for each person seemed to be alohe mutual distrust between the men who were just awakened and those who were ending a long night gave everyone a feeling of estra.

    The bank building across the street was very pale in the dawn.

    Then gradually its white brick walls grew more distinct. When at last the first shafts of the rising sun began thtereet, Biff gave the plae last survey a upstairs.

    Noisily he rattled the doorknob as he entered so that Alice would be disturbed. Mod! he said. What a night!’

    Alice awoke with caution. She lay on the rumpled bed like a sulky cat and stretched herself. The room was drab in the fresh, hot m sun, and a pair of silk stogs hung limp and withered from the cord of the window-shade.

    Is that drunk fool still hanging around downstairs? she demanded.

    Biff took off his shirt and examihe collar to see if it were  enough to be wain. Go down and see for yourself.

    I told you nobody will hinder you from kig him out.’

    Sleepily Alice reached doicked up a Bible, the blank side of a menu, and a Sunday-School book from the floor beside the bed. She rustled through the tissue pages of the Bible until she reached a certain passage and began reading, pronoung the words aloud with painful tration. It was Sunday, and she reparing the weekly lesson for her class of boys in the Junior Department of her churow as he walked by the sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew

    his brother casting a  into the sea: for they were fishers.

    And Jesus said unto them, &quot;e ye after me, and I will make you to bee fishers of men.&quot; And straightway they forsook their s, and followed him.Biff went into the bathroom to wash himself. The silky murmuring tinued as Alice studied aloud. He listened.  ..

    and in the m, rising up a great while before day, He went out, aed into a solitary place, and there prayed.

    And Simon and they that were with Him followed after Him.

    And when they had found Him, they said unto Him, &quot;All men seek for Thee.&quot; ‘

    She had finished. Biff let the words revolve agaily inside him. He tried to separate the actual words from the sound of Alices voice as she had spoken them. He wao remember the passage as his mother used to read it when he was a boy. With nostalgia he glanced down at the wedding ring on his fifth fihat had once been hers. He wondered again how she would have felt about bis giving up churd religion.

    The lesson for today is about the gathering of the disciples, Alice said to herself in preparation. And the text is, &quot;All men seek for Thee.&quot; ‘

    Abruptly Biff roused himself from meditation and turned oer spigot at full force. He stripped off his undervest and began to wash himself. Always he was scrupulously  from the belt upward. Every m he soaped his chest and arms and ned feet—and about twice during the seaso into the bathtub and ed all of his parts.

    Biff stood by the bed, waiting impatiently for Alice to get up.

    From the window he saw that the day would be windless and burning hot. Alice had finished reading the lesson. She still lay lazily across the bed, although she khat he was waiting. A calm, sullen anger rose in him. He chuckled ironically. Then he said with bitterness: If you like I  sit ahe paper awhile. But I wish you would let me sleep now.’

    Alice began dressing herself and Biff made up the bed. Deftly he reversed the sheets in all possible ways, putting the top one otom, and turning them over and upside down.

 Part One-6

    When  the bed was smoothly made he waited until Alice had left the room before he slipped off his trousers and crawled inside.

    His feet jutted out from beh the cover and his wiry-haired chest was very dark against the pillow. He was glad he had not told Alice about what had happeo the drunk. He had wao talkto somebody about it, because maybe if he told all the facts out loud he could put his finger ohing that puzzled him.

    The poor son-of-a-bitch talking and talking and not ever getting anybody to uand what he meant. Not knowing himself, most likely. And the way he gravitated around the deaf-mute and picked him out and tried to make him a free present of everything in him.

    Why？

    Because in some men it is io give up everything personal at some time, before it ferments and poisons—throw it to some human being or some humahey have to. In some men it is ihe text is All men seek for Thee. Maybe that was why—maybe—He was a aman, the fellow had said. And a nigger and a wop and a Jew. And if he believed it hard enough maybe it was so. Every person and every thing he said he was------Biff stretched both of his arms outward and crossed his naked feet. His face was older in the m light, with the closed, shrunken eyelids and the heavy, iron-like beard on his cheeks and jaw. Gradually his mouth softened and relaxed. The hard, yellow rays of the sun came in through the window so that the room was hot and bright. Biff turned wearily and covered his eyes with his hands. And he was nobody but—Bartholomew—old Biff with two fists and a quick tongue—Mister Brannon—by himself.

    J. HE sun woke Mick early, although she had stayed out mighty late the night before. It was too hot even to drink coffee for breakfast, so she had ice water with syrup in it and cold biscuits. She messed around the kit for a while and the out on the front porch to read the funnies. She had thought maybe Mister Singer would be reading the paper on the porch like he did most Sunday ms. But Mister

    Singer was not there, and later on her Dad said he came in very late the night before and had pany in his room. She waited for Mister Singer a long time. All the other boarders came down except him. Fi-nally she went ba the kit and took Ralph out of his high chair and put a  dress on him and wiped off his face.

    Then when Bubber got home from Sunday School she was ready to take the kids out. She let Bubber ride in the wagon with Ralph because he was barefooted and the hot sidewalk burned his feet. She pulled the wagon for about eight blocks until they came to the big, new house that was being built. The ladder was still propped against the edge of the roof, and she screwed up nerve and began to climb.

    You mind Ralph, she called back to Bubber. Mind the gnats dont sit on his eyelids.’

    Five minutes later Mick stood up and held herself very straight. She spread out her arms like wings. This was the place where everybody wao stand. The very top. But not many kids could do it. Most of them were scared, f99lｉb.or if you lost yrip and rolled off the edge it would kill you. All arouhe roofs of other houses and the green tops of trees. Oher side of towhe church steeples and the smokestacks from the mills. The sky was bright blue and hot as fire. The sun made everything on the grouher dizzy white or black.

    She wao sing. All the songs she knew pushed up toward her throat, but there was no sound. One big boy who had got to the highest part of the roof last week let out a yell and then started h out a speech he had lear High School—Friends, Romans, trymen, Lend me your ears! There was something about getting to the very top that gave you a wild feeling and made you want to yell or sing or raise up your arms and fly.

    She felt the soles of her tennis shoes slipping, and eased herself down so that she straddled the peak of the roof. The house was almost finished. It would be one of the largest buildings in the neighborhood—two stories, with very high

    ceilings and the steepest roof of any house she had ever seen.

    But soon the work would all be fihe carpenters would leave and the kids would have to find another place to play.

    She was by herself. No one was around and it was quiet and she could think for a while. She took from the pocket of her shorts the package of cigarettes she had bought the night before. She breathed in the smoke slowly. The ciga-rette gave her a drunk feeling so that her head seemed heavy and loose on her shoulders, but she had to finish it.

    M.K.—That was what she would have written ohing when she was seventeen years old and very famous. She would ride bae in a red-and-white Packard automobile with her initials on the doors. She would have M.K. written in red on her handkerchiefs and underclothes. Maybe she would be a great ior. She would i little tiny radios the size of a greehat people could carry around and sti their ears. Also flying maes people could fasten on their backs like knapsacks and go zipping all over the world. After that she would be the first oo make a large tuhrough the world to a, and people could go down in big balloons.

    Those were the first tilings she would ihey were already planned.

    When Mick had finished half of the cigarette she smashed it dead and flipped the butt down the slant of the roof. Then she leaned forward so that her head rested on her arms and began to hum to herself.

    It was a funny thing—but nearly all the time there was some kind of piano piece or other music going on in the back of her mind. No matter what she was doing or thinking it was nearly always there. Miss Brown, who boarded with them, had a radio in her room, and all last winter she would sit oeps every Sunday afternoon and listen in on the programs.

    Those were probably classical pieces, but they were the ones she remembered best. There was one special fellows music that made her heart shrink up every time she heard it.

    Sometimes this feEows music was like little colored pieces of crystal dy, and other times it was the softest, saddest thing she had ever imagined about.

    There was the sudden sound . Mick sat up straight

    and listehe wind ruffled the fringe of hair on her forehead and the bright sun made her face white and damp.

    The whimpering tinued, and Mick moved slowly along the sharp-pointed roof on her hands and knees. When she reached the end she leaned forward and lay oomach so that her head jutted over the edge and she could see the ground below.

    The kids were where she had left them. Bubber wassquatting over something on the ground and beside him was a little black, dwarf shadoh was still tied in the wagon.

    He was just old enough to sit up, and he held on to the sides of the wagon, with his cap crooked on his head, g.

    Bubber! Mick called down. Find out what that Ralph wants and give it to him.’

    Bubber stood up and looked hard into the babys face. He dont want nothing.’

    Well, give him a good shake, then.’

    Mick climbed back to the place where she had been sitting before. She wao think for a long time about two or three certain people, to sing to herself, and to make plans. But that Ralph was still h and there wouldnt be any peace for her at all.

    Boldly she began to climb down toward the ladder propped against the edge of the roof. The slant was very steep and there were only a few blocks of wood nailed down, very far apart from each other, that the workmen used for footholds.

    She was dizzy, and her heart beat so hard it made her tremble.

    andingly she talked out loud to herself: Hold on here with your hands tight and then slide down until yht toe gets a grip there and then stay close and wiggle over to the left. Nerve, Mick, youve got to keep nerve.’

    ing down was the hardest part of any climbing. It took her a long time to reach the ladder and to feel safe again. Wheood on the ground at last she seemed much shorter and s>藏书网</a>maller and her legs felt for a minute like they would crumple up with her. She hitched her shorts and jerked the belt a notch tighter. Ralph was still g, but she paid the sound no attention a into the new, empty house.

    Last month they had put a sign out in front saying that no children were allowed o. A gang of kids had been

    scuffling around ihe rooms one night, and a girl who couldnt see in the dark had run into a room that hadnt been floored and fallen through and broken her leg. She was still at the hospital in a plaster parish cast. Also, aime some tough boys wee-weed all over one of the walls and wrote some pretty bad words. But no matter how many Keep Out signs were put up, they couldnt runkids away until the house had been painted and finished and people had moved in.

    The rooms smelled of new wood, and when she walked the soles of her tennis shoes made a flopping sound that echoed through all the house. The air was hot and quiet. She stood still in the middle of the front room for a while, and then she suddenly thought of something. She fished in her pocket and brought out two stubs of chalk—one green and the other red.

    Mick drew the big block letters very slowly. At the top she wrote EDISON, and uhat she drew the names of DICK TRAd MUSSOLINI. Then in each er with the largest letters of all, made with green and outlined in red, she wrote her initials—M.K. When that was done she crossed over to the opposite wall and wrote a very bad word—PUSSY, ah that she put her initials, too.

    She stood in the middle of the empty room and stared at what she had dohe chalk was still in her hands and she did not feel really satisfied. She was trying to think of the name of this fellow who had written this music she heard over the radio last whiter. She had asked a girl at school who owned a piano and took music lessons about him, and the girl asked her teacher. It seemed this fellow was just a kid who had lived in some try in Europe a good while ago. But even if he was just a young kid he had made up all these beautiful pieces for the piano and for the violin and for a band or orchestra too. In her mind she could remember about six different tunes from the pieces of his she had heard. A few of them were kind of quid tinkling, and another was like that smell in the springtime after a rain. But they all made her somehow sad aed at the same time.

    She hummed one of the tunes, and after a while i, empty house by herself she felt the tears e in her eyes. Her

    throat got tight and rough and she couldnt sing any more.

    Quickly she wrote the fellows  the very top of the list—MOTSART.

    Ralph was tied in the wagon just as she had left him. He sat up quiet and still and his fat little hands held on to the sides.

    Ralph looked like a little ese baby with his square black bangs and bis black eyes. The sun was in hisface, and that was why he had been h. Bubber was nowhere around. When Ralph saw her ing he began tuning up tain. She pulled the wagon into the shade by the side of the new house and took from her shirt pocket a blue-colored jelly bean. She stuck the dy in the babys warm, soft mouth.

    Put that in your pipe and smoke it, she said to him. In a way it was a waste, because Ralph was still too little to get the real good flavor out of dy. A  rock would be about the same to him, only the little fool would swallow it. He didnt uand any more about taste than he did about talking.

    When you said you were so sid tired ing him around you had a good mind to throw him in the river, it was the same to him as if you had been loving hi<mark>藏书网</mark>m. Nothing much made any differeo him. That was why it was su awful bore to haul him around.

    Mick cupped her hands, clamped them tight together, and blew through the crack betweehumbs. Her cheeks puffed out and at first there w<q></q>as only the sound of air rushing through her fists. Then a high, shrill whistle sounded, and after a few seds Bubber came out from around the er of the house.

 Part One-7

    She rumpled the sawdust out of Bubbers hair and straightened Ralphs cap. This cap was the fihing Ralph had. It was made out of lad all embroidered. The ribbon under bis  was blue on one side and white oher, and over each ear there were big rosettes. His head had got too big for the cap and the embroidery scratched, but she alut it on him wheook him out. Ralph didnt have any real baby carriage like most folks babies did, or any summer bootees.

    He had to be dragged around in a tacky old wagon she had got for Christmas three years before. But the fine cap gave him

    face.

    There was nobody oreet, for it was late Sunday m and very hot. The wagon screeched and rattled.

    Bubber was barefooted and <var>9９liｂ.</var>the sidewalk was so hot it burned his feet. The green oak trees made cool-looking black shadows on the ground, but that was not shade enough.

    Get up in the wagon, she told Bubber. A Ralph sit in your lap.’

    I  walk all right.’

    The long summer-time always gave Bubber the colic. He didnt have on a shirt and his ribs were sharp and white. The sun made him pale instead of brown, and his little titties were like blue raisins on his chest.

    I dont mind pulling you, Mick said. Get on in.’

    *O.K.’

    Mick dragged the wagon slowly because she was not in any hurry to get home. She began talking to the kids. But it was really more like saying things to herself than words said to them.

    This is a funny thing—the dreams Ive been having lately. Its like Im swimming. But instead of water Im pushing out my arms and swimming through great big crowds of people. The crowd is a huimes bigger than in Kresses store on Saturday afternoon. The biggest crowd in the world. And sometimes Im yelling and swimming through people, knog them all down wherever I go— and other times Fm on the ground and people are trompling all over me and my insides are oozing out on the sidewalk. I guess its more like a nightmare than a plainOn Sundays the house was always full of folks because the boarders had visitors. Neers rustled and there was cigar smoke, and footsteps always oairs.

    Some things you just naurally want to keep private. Not because they are bad, but because you just want them secret.

    There are two or three things I wouldnt want even you to know about’

    Bubber got out when they came to the er and helped her lift the wagon down the curb a up on the

    sidewalk.

    But theres ohing I would give anything for. And thats a piano. If we had a piano Id practice every single night and learn every pie the world. Thats the thing I, want more than anything else.’

    They had e to their own home bloow. Their house was only a few doors away. It was one of the biggest houses on the whole north side of town—three storiesi*  high. But then there were fourteen people in the family. There werent that many in the real, blood Kelly family— but they ate there and slept there at five dollars a head and you plight as well t them on in. Mr. Singer wasnt ted in that because he only rented a room a it straightened up himself.

    The house was narrow and had not been painted for many years. It did hot seem to be built strong enough for its three stories of height. It sagged on one side.

    Mitied Ralph and lifted him from the wagon. She darted quickly through the hall, and from the er of her eye she saw that the living-room was full of boarders. Her Dad was there, too. Her Mama would be i. They were all hanging around waiting for diime.

    She went into the first of the three rooms that the family kept for themselves. She put Ralph down on the bed where her Dad and Mama slept and gave him a string of beads to play with.

    From behind the closed door of the  room she could hear the sound of voices, and she decided to go inside.

    Hazel aa stopped talking when they saw her. Etta was sitting in the chair by the window, paintioe-nails with the red polish. Her hah- was done up in steel rollers and there was a white dab of face cream on a little plader her  where a pimple had e out. Hazel was flopped out lazy on the bed as usual. What were you all jawing about? Its none of your nosy business, Etta said. Just you hush up and leave us alone.’

    Its my room just as much as it is either one of yours. I ha<mark>..</mark>ve as good a right hi here as you do. Mick strutted from one er to the other until she had covered all the floor space. But then I dont care anything about pig any fight. All I want are my hts.’

    Mick brushed back her shaggy bangs with the palm of her hand. She had dohis so often that there was a little row of cowlicks above her forehead. She quivered her nose and made faces at herself in the mirror. Then she began walking around the room again.

    Hazel aa were O.K. as far as sisters went. But Etta was like she was full of worms. All she thought about was movie stars aing in the movies. Once she had  written to Jeae Maald and had got a typewritteer back saying that if ever she came out to Hollywood she could e by and swim in her swimming pool. And ever sihat swimming pool had been preying oas mind. All she thought about was going to Hollywood when she could scrape up the bus fare aing a job as a secretary and being buddies with Jeae Maald aing in the movies herself.

    She primped all the day long. And that was the bad part. Etta wasnt naturally pretty like Hazel. The main thing was she didnt have any . She would pull at her jaw and gh a lot of  exercises she had read in ft movie book. She was always looking at her side profile in the mirror and trying to keep her mouth set in a certain way. But it didnt do any good.

    Sometimes Etta would hold her face with her hands and cry hi the night about it.

    Hazel lain lazy. She was good-looking but thi the head. She was eighteen years old, ao Bill she was the oldest of all the kids in the family. Maybe that was the trouble.

    She got the first and biggest share of everything—the first whack at the new clothes and the biggest part of any special treat. Hazel never had to grab for anything and she was soft.

    Are you just going to tramp around the room all day? It makes me sick to see you hi those silly boys clothes. Somebody ought to clamp down on you, Mick Kelly, and make you behave, Etta said.

    Shut up, said Mick. I wear shorts because I dont want to we..ar your old hand-me-downs. I dont want to be like either of you and I dont want to look like either of you. And I wont.

    Thats why I wear shorts. Id rather be a boy any day, and I wish I could move in with Bill.’

    Mick scrambled uhe bed and brought out a large hatbox.

    As she carried it to the door both of them called after her, Good riddance!’

    Bill had the  room of anybody in the family. Like a den—and he had it all to himself—except for Bubber. Bill had pictures cut out from magaziacked on the walls, mostly faces of beautiful ladies, and in another er were some pictures <mark>.</mark>Mick had painted last year herself at the free art class.

    There was only a bed and a desk in the room.JO  Bill was sitting hunched over the desk, reading Popular Meics. She went up behind him and put her arms around his shoulders. Hey, you old son-of-a-gun.’

    He did not begin tussling with her like he used to do. ?Hey, he said, and shook his shoulders a little.

    Will it bother you if I stay in here a little while?’

    Sure—I dont mind if you want to stay.’

    Mielt on the floor and uhe string on the big hatbox. Her hands hovered over the edge of the lid, but for some reason she could not make up her mind to open itI been thinking about what Ive done on this already, she said.

    And it may work and it may not.’

    Bill went on reading. She still k over the box, but did not open it. Her eyes wandered over to Bill as he sat with his back to her. One of his big feet kept stepping oher as he read. His shoes were scuffed. Oheir Dad had said that all Bills dinners went to his feet and his breakfast to one ear and bis supper to the other ear, that was a sort of mean thing to say and Bill had been sour over it for a month, but it was funny.

    His ears flared out and were very red, and though he was just out of high school he wore a size thirteen shoe. He tried to hide his feet by scraping one foot behind the other wheood up, but that only made it worse.

    Mick opehe box a few inches and then shut it again. She felt too excited to look into it now. She got up and walked around the room until she could calm down a little. After a few minutes she stopped before the picture she had pai the free gover art class for school kids last wihere icture of a storm on the o and a sea gull being dashed through the air by the wind. It was called Sea Gull with Back Broken in Storm. The teacher had described the

    o during the first two or three lessons, and that was what nearly everybody started with. Most of the kids were like her, though, and they had never really seen the o with their own eyes.

    That was the first picture she had done and Bill had tacked it on his wall. All the rest of her pictures were full of people.

    She had done some more o storms at first —oh an airplane crashing doeople jumping out to save themselves, and another with a trans-Atlan-tier going down and all the people trying to push and crowd into otle lifeboat.

    Mick went into the closet of Bills room and brought out some other pictures she had done in the class—some pencil drawings, some water-colors, and one vas with oils. They were all full of people. She had imagined a big fire on Broad Street and painted how she thought it would be. The flames were bright green and e and Mr. Bran-noaurant and the First National Bank were about the only buildings left.

    People were lying dead ireets and others were running for their lives. One man was in his nightshirt and a lady was trying to carry a bunch of bananas with her. Another picture was called Boiler Busts in Factory, and men were jumping out of windows and running while a knot of kids in overalls stood scrouged together, holding the buckets of dihey had brought to their Daddies. The oil painting icture of the whole town fighting on Broad Street. She never knew why she had paihis one and she couldnt think of the right name for it. There wasnt any fire or storm or reason you could see in the picture why all this battle was happening. But there were more people and more moving around than in any other picture. This was the best one, and it was too bad that she couldnt think up the real name. In the back of her mind somewhere she knew what it was.

 Part One-8

    Mick put the picture ba the closet shelf. None of them were any good much. The people didnt have fingers and some of the arms were lohan the legs. The class had been fun, though. But she had just drawn whatever came into her head without reason—and in her heart it didnt give her he

    same feeling that music did. Nothing was really as good as music.

    Mielt down on the floor and quickly lifted the top of the big hatbox. Inside was a cracked ukulele strung with two violin strings, a guitar string and a banjo str..ing. The cra the back of the ukulele had beely mended with stig plaster and the round hole in the middle was covered by a piece of wood. The bridge of a violin held up the strings at the end and some sound-holes had been carved oher side.

    Mick was making herself a violin. She held the violin in her lap. She had the feeling she had  never real<samp></samp>ly looked at it before. Some time ago she made Bubber a little play mandolin out of a cigar box with rubber bands, and that put the idea into her head. Sihat she had hunted all over everywhere for the different parts and added a little to the job every day. It seemed to her she had done everything except use her head.

    Bill, this dont look like any real violin I ever saw. He was still reading—Yeah—?’

    It just dont lht. It just dont------’

    She had plao tuhe fiddle that day by screwing the pegs. But since she had suddenly realized how all the work had turned out she didnt want to look at it. Slowly she plucked oring after ahey all made the same little hollow-sounding ping.

    How anyway will I ever get a bow? Are you sure they have to be made out of just horses hair? Yeah, said Bill impatiently.

    Nothing like thin wire or human hair strung on a limber stick would do?’

    Bill rubbed his feet against each other and didnt answer.

    Anger made beads of sweat e out on her forehead.

    Her voice was hoarse. Its not even a bad violin. Its onlya cross between a mandolin and a ukulele. And I hatethem. I hate them------’

    Bill turned around.

    Its all turned out wrong. It wont do. Its no good. Tipe down, said Bill. Are you just carrying on about that old broken ukulele youve been fooling with? I could have told you at first it was crazy to think you could make any violin. Thats ohing you dont sit down and make —you got to buy them. I

    thought anybody would know a thing like that. But I figured it wouldnt hurt yon if you found out for yourself.’

    Sometimes she hated Bill more than anyone else in the world.

    He was diffe<big>藏书网</big>reirely from what he used to be. She started to slam the violin down on the floor and stomp on it, but instead she put it back roughly into the hatbox. The tears were hot in her eyes as fire. She gave the box a kid ran from the room without looking at Bill.

    As she was dodging through the hall to get to the back yard she ran into her Mama.

    Whats the matter with you? What have you been into now?’

    Mick tried to jerk loose, but her Mama held on to her arm.

    Sullenly she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her Mama had been i and she wore her apron and house-shoes. As usual she looked as though she had a lot on her mind and didnt have time to ask her any more questions.

    Mr. Ja has brought his two sisters to dinner and there wo just enough chairs, so today youre to eat i with Bubber.’

    That*s hunky-dory with me, Mick said.

    Her Mama let her go ao take off her apron. From the dining-room there came the sound of the dinner bell and a sudden glad outbreak of talking. She could hear her Dad saying how much he had lost by not keeping up his act insurail the time he broke bis hip. That was ohing her Dad could never get off his mind —ways he could have made money and didnt. There was a clatter of dishes, and after a while the talking stopped.

    Mick leaned on the banisters of the stairs. The sudden g had started her with the hiccups. It seemed to her as she thought back over the last month that she had never really believed in her mind that the violin would work. But in her heart she had kept making herself believe. And even now it was hard not to believe a little. She was tired out. Bill wasnt ever a help with anything now. She used to think Bill was the gra person in the world. She used to follow after him

    every place he went— out fishing in the woods, to the clubhouses he built with other boys, to the slot mae in the bar. Bran-noaurant—everywhere. Maybe he had to let her down like this. But anyway they could never be good buddies again.

    In the hall there was the smell of cigarettes and Sunday dinner. Mick took a deep breath and walked back toward the kit. The dinner began to smell good and she was hungry.

    She could hear Portias voice as she talked to Bubber, and it was like she was half-singing something or telling him a story.

    And that is the various reason why Im a whole lot more fortuhan most cirls, Portia said as she opehe door. Why? asked Mick.

    Portia and Bubber were sitting at the kit table eating their dinner. Portias green print dress was cool-looking against her dark brown skin. She had on green earrings and her hair was bed very tight a.

    You all time poun on the very tail of what somebody say and then want to know all about it, Portia said. She got up and stood over the hot stove, putting dinner on Micks plate.

    Bubber and me was just talking about my Grandpapas home out on the Old Sardis Road. I was telling Bubber how he and my uncles owns the whole place themself. Fifteen and a half acre. They allants four of them in cotton, some years sing back to peas to keep the dirt rich, and one acre on a hill is just for peaches. They haves a mule and <dfn></dfn>a breed sow and all the time from twenty to twenty-five laying hens and fryers. They haves a vegetable patd two pe trees and plenty figs and plums and berries. This here is the truth. Not many white farms has doh their land good as my Grandpapa.’

    Mick put her elbows oable and leaned over her plate.

    Portia had always rather talk about the farm than anything else, except about her husband and brother. To hear her tell it you would think that colored farm was the very White House itself.

    The home started with just otle room. And through the years they done built on until theres spay Grandpapa, his four sons and their wives and chil-drens, and my brother Hamilton. In the parlor they haves a real an and a

    gramophone. And on the wall they haves a large picture of my Grandpapa taken in his lodge uniform. They s all the fruit aables and no matter how cold and rainy the wiurns they pretty near always haves plenty to eat.’

    How e you dont go live with them, then? Mick asked.

    Portia stopped peeling her potatoes and her long, brown fiapped oable in time to her words. &quot;This here the way it is. See—each person done built on his room for his fambly. They all done worked hard during all these years. And of course times is hard for ever-body now. But see—I lived with my Grandpapa when I were a little girl. But I havent never done any work out there since.

    Any time, though, if me and Willie and Highboy gets in bad trouble us  always go back.’

    Didnt your Father build on a room?’

    Portia stopped chewing. Whose Father? You mean my Father?’

    &quot;Sure, said Mick.

    You know good and well my Father is a colored dht here in town.’

    Mick had heard Portia say that before, but she had thought it was a tale. How could a colored man be a doctor？

    ?This here the way it is. Before the tune my Mama married my Father she had never known anything but real kindness. My Grandpa is Mister Kind hisself. But my Father is different from him as day is from night.’

    Mean?asked Mick.

    &quot;No, he not a mean man, Portia said slowly. It just that something is the matter. My Father not like other colored mens. This here is hard to explain. My Father all the time studying by hisself. And a long time ago he taken up all these notions about how a fambly ought to be. He bossed over ever little thing in the house and at night he tried to teach us children lessons.’

    &quot;That dont sound so bad to me, said Mick.

    listen here. You see most of the time he were very quiet. But then some nights he would break out hi a kind of fit. He could get madder than any man I ever seen. Everbody who know my Father say that he was a sure enough crazy man. He done

    wild, crazy things and our Mama quit him. I were ten years old at the time. Our Mama taken us children with her to Grandpapas farm and us were raised out there. Our Father all the time wanted us to e back. But even when our Mama died us children never did go home to live. And now my Father stay all by hisself.’

    Mick went to the stove and filled her plate a sed time.

    Portias voice was going up and down like a song, and nothing could stop her now.

    I doesnt see my Father much—maybe once a week— but I done a lot of thinking about him. I feels sorrier forIhim than anybody I knows. I expect he done read more books than any white man in this town. He done read more books and he done worried about more things. He full of books and w. He done lost God and turned his back tion.

    All his troubles e down just to that.’

    Portia was excited. Whenever she got to talking about God—or Willie, her brother, hboy, her husband— she got excited.

    Now, I not a big shouter. I belongs to the Presbyterian Churd us dont hold with all this rolling on the floor and talking in tongues. Us do sanctified ever week and wallow around together. In our church we sings ahe preacher do the preag. And tell you the truth I dont think a little singing and a little preag would hurt you, Mick. You ought to take your little brother to the Sunday School and also you plenty big enough to sit in church. From the biggity way you been ag lately it seem to me like you already got ooe i.’

    Nuts, Mick said.

    Now Highboy he were Holiness boy before us were married.

    He loved to get the spirit ever Sunday and shout and sanctify hisself. But after us were married I got him to join with me, and although it kind of hard to keep him quiet sometime I think he doing right well.’

    I dont believe in God any more than I do Santa Oaus, Mick said.

    You wait a mihats why it sometime seem to me you favor my Father more than any person I ever knowed.’

    Me? You say / favor him?’

    I dont mean in the face or in any kind of looks. I eaking about the shape and color of your souls.’

    Bubber sat looking from oo the other. His napkin was tied around his ned in his haill held his empty spoon.

    What all does God eat? he asked.

    Mick got up from the table and stood in the doorway, ready to leave. Sometimes it was fun to devil Portia. She started on the same tune and said the same thing over and over—like that was all she knew.

    Folks like you and my Father who dont attend thechurch t never have nair peace at all. Now take me here—I believe and I haves peace. And Bubber, he haves his peace too. And my Highboy and my Willie likewise. And it seem to me just from looking at him this here Mr. Singer haves peace too. I dohat the first time I seen him.’

    Have it your own way, Mick said. Youre crazier than any father of yours could ever be.’

    But you havent never loved God nor even nair person. You hard and tough as cowhide. But just the same I knows you.

    This afternoon you going to roam all over the place without never being satisfied. You going to traipse all arpund like you haves to find something lost. You going to work yourself up with excitement Your heart going to beat hard enough to kill you because you dont love and dont have peace. And then some day you going to bust loose and be ruined. Wont nothing help you then.’

    ortia? Bubber asked. What kind></a> of things does He eat?’

    Mick laughed and stamped out of the room.

 Part One-9

    She did roam around the house during the afternoon because she could not get settled. Some days were just like that. For ohing the thought of the violi w her. She could never have made it like a real one—and after all those weeks of planning the very thought of it made her sick. But

    how could she have been so sure the idea would work? So dumb? Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad th<q>..</q>e longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them.

    Mick did not want to go bato the rooms where the family stayed. And she did not want to have to talk to any of the boarders. No place was left but the street—and there the sun was to hot. She wandered aimlessly up and down the hall a pushing back her rumpled hair with the palm of her hand. Hell, she said aloud to herself. o a real piano I sure would rather have some playself than anything I know.’

    That Portia had a certain kind of niggery craziness, but she was O.K. She never would do anythio Bubber or Ralph on the sly like some cirls. But Portia had said that she never loved anybody. Mick stopped walk-ing and stood very still, rubbing her fist oop of her head.

    What would Portia think if she really knew? Just what would she think？

    She had always kept things to herself. That was one sure truth.

    Mick went slowly up the stairs. She passed the first landing a on to the sed. Some of the doors were open to make a draught and there were many sounds in the house.

    Mick stopped on the last flight of stairs and sat down. If Miss Brown turned on her radio she could hear the music. Maybe some goram would e on.

    She put her head on her knees and tied knots irings of her tennis shoes. What would Portia say if she khat always there had been one person after another? And every time it was like some part of her would bust in a hundred pieces.

    But she had always kept it to herself and no person had ever known.

    Mick sat oeps a long time. Miss Brown did not turn on her radio and there was nothing but the hat people made. She thought a long time a hittihighs with her fists. Her face felt like it was scattered in pieces and she could not keep it straight. The feeling was a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it was like that. I want—I want—I want—was all that she could think about—but just

    what this real want was she did not know.

    After about an hour there was the sound of a doorknob being turned on the landing above. Mick looked up quickly and it was Mister Singer. He stood in the hall for a few minutes and his face was sad and calm. Then he went across to the bathroom. His p<bdi></bdi>any did not e out with him. From where she was sitting she could see part of the room, and the pany was asleep on the bed with a sheet pulled over him.

    She waited for Mister Sio e out of the bathroom.

    Her cheeks were very hot and she felt them with her hands.

    Maybe it was true that she came up oop steps sometimes so she could see Mister Singer while she was listening to Miss Browns radio on the floor below. She wondered what kind of music he heard in his mind that his ears couldnt hear. Nobodyknew. And what kind of things he would say if he could talk.

    Nobody khat either.

    Mick waited, and after a while he came out into the hall again.

    She hoped he would look down and smile at her. And then whe to his door he did glance down and nod his head.

    Micks grin was wide and trembling. He went into his room and shut the door. It might have been he meant to invite her in to see him. Mick wanted suddenly to go into his room.

    Sometime soon when he didnt have pany she would really go in and see Mister Singer. She really would do that.

    The hot afternoon passed slowly and Mick still sat oeps by herself. The fellow Motsarts music was in her mind again. It was funny, but Mister Singer reminded her of this music. She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud. Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram full of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house. Mick tried to think of some good private place where she could go and be by herself and study about this music. But though she thought about this a long time she knew in the beginning that there was no good place.

    l_j ATE iernoon Jake Blount awoke with the feeling that he had slept enough. The room hi which he lay was small

    a, furnished with a bureau, a table, a bed, and a few chairs. On the bureau ari turs face slowly from one wall to another, and as the breeze from it passed Jakes face he thought of cool water. By the window a man sat before the table and stared down at a chess game laid out before him. In the daylight the room was not familiar to Jake, but he reized the mans fastantly and it was as though he had known him a very long time.

    Many memories were fused in Jakes mind. He lay motionless with his eyes open and his hands turned palm upward. His hands were huge and very brown against the white sheet. When he held them up to his face he saw that they were scratched and bruised—and the veins wereIswollen as though he had been grasping hard at something for a long time. His face looked tired and u. His brown hair fell down over his forehead and his mustache was awry.

    Even his wing-shaped eyebrows were rough and tousled. As he lay there his lips moved once or twid his mustache jerked with a nervous quiver.  .

    After a while he sat up and gave himself a thump on the   f side of his head with one of his big fists thten himself out. When he moved, the man playing chess looked up quickly and smiled at him.

    God, Im thirsty, Jake said. I feel like the whole Russian army marched through my mouth in its stog feet. The man looked at him, still smiling, and then suddenly he reached down oher side of the table and brought up a frosted pitcher of ice water and a glass. Jake drank i panting gulps—standing half-naked in the middle of the room, his head thrown bad one of his hands closed in a tense fist.

    He finished flasses before he took a deep breath and relaxed a little.

    Instantly certain recolles came to him. He couldnt remember ing home with this man, but things that had happened later were clearer now. He had waked up soaking in a tub of cold water, and afterward they drank coffee and talked. He had got a lot of things off his chest and the man had

    listened. He had talked himself hoarse, but he could remember the expressions on the mans face better than anything that was said. They had goo bed in the m with the shade pulled down so no light could e in. At first he would keep waking up with nightmares and have to turn the light on to get himself clear again. The light would wake this fellow also, but he hadnt plai all.

    How e you didnt kick me out last night? The man only smiled again. Jake wondered why he was so quiet. He looked around for his clothes and saw that his suitcase was on the floor by the bed. He couldnt remember how he had got it back from the restaurant where he owed for the drinks. His books, a white suit, and some shirts were all there as he had packed them. Quickly he began to dress himself.

    Aric coffee-pot erking oable by thetime he had his clothes on. The man reached into the pocket of the vest that hung over the back of a chair. He brought out a card and Jake took it questioningly. The mans name—John Singer—was engraved in the ter, ah this, written in ink with the same elaborate precision as the engraving, there was a brief message.

    I am a deaf-mute, but I read the lips and uand what is said to me. Please do not shout.

    The shock made Jake feel light and vat. He and John Singer just looked at each other.

    I wonder how long it would have takeo find that out, he said.

    Singer looked very carefully at his lips when he spoke-he had noticed that before. But a dummy！

    They sat at the table and drank hot coffee out of blue cups.

    The room was cool and the half-drawn shades softehe hard glare from the windows. Singer brought from his closet a tin box that tained a loaf of bread, some es, and cheese. He did  much, but sat leaning ba his chair with one hand in his pocket. Jake ate hungrily. He would have to leave the place immediately and think things over. As long as he was stranded he ought to scout around for some sort of job in a hurry. The quiet room was too peaceful and fortable to worry in —he would get out and walk by

    himself for a while.

    Are there any other deaf-mute people here? he asked. *You have many friends?’

    Singer was still smiling. He did not cat to the words at first, and Jake had to repeat them. Singer raised his sharp, dark eyebrows and shook his head.

    Find it lonesome?’

    The man shook his head in a way that might have meaher yes or no. They sat silently for a little while and then Jake got up to leave. He thanked Singer several times for the nights lodging, moving his lips carefully so that he was sure to be uood. The mute only smiled again and shrugged his shoulders. When Jake asked if he could leave his suitcase uhe bed for a few days the mute hat he could.Then Siook his hands from his pocket and wrote carefully on a pad of paper with a silver pencil. He shoved the pad over toward Jake.

    /  put a mattress on the floor and you  stay here until you find a place. I am out most of the day. It will not be any trouble.

    Jake felt his lips tremble with a sudden feeling of gratefulness.

    But he couldnt accept. Thanks, he said, I already got a place.’

    As he was leaving the mute handed him a pair of blue overalls, rolled into a tight bundle, ay-five ts. The overalls were filthy and as Jake reized them they aroused in him a whirl of sudden memories from the past week. The money, Singer made him uand, had been in his pockets.

    Adios, Jake said. Til be baetime soon.’

    He left the mute standing in the doorway with his hands still in his pockets and the half-smile on his face. When he had gone down several steps of the stairs he turned and waved.

    The mute waved ba and closed his door.

    Outside the glare was sudden and sharp against his eyes. He stood on the sidewalk before the house, too dazzled at first by the sunlight to see very clearly. A youngun was sitting on the banisters of the house. He had seen her somewhere before. He remembered the boys shorts she was wearing and the way she squinted her eyes.

    He held up the dirty roll of overalls.  want to throw these

    away. Know where I  find a garbage ?’

    The kid jumped down from the banisters. Its in the back yard.

    Ill show you.’

    He followed her through the narroish alley at the side of the house. When they came to the back yard Jake saw that two Negro men were sitting on the back steps. They were both dressed in white suits and white shoes. One of the Negroes was very tall and his tie and socks were brilliant g<bdi></bdi>reen. The other was a light mulatto of average height. He rubbed a tin harmonica across his knee. In trast with his tall panion his socks and tie were a hot red.

    The kid poio the garbage  by the back fend then turo the kit window. Portia! she called.

    Highboy and Willie here waiting for you.’

    A soft voiswered from the kit. You neen holler so loud. I know they is. I putting on my hat right now.’

    Jake unrolled the overalls before throwing them away. They were stiff with mud. One leg was torn and a few drops of blood staihe front. He dropped them in the . A Negro girl came out of the house and joihe white-suited boys oeps. Jake saw that the youngun in shorts was looking at him very closely. She ged her weight from one foot to the other and seemed excited.

    Are you kin to Mister Singer? she asked.

    Not a bit.’

    Good friend?’

    Good enough to spend the night with him.’

    I just wondered------’

    Which dire is Main Street?’

    She poio the right Two blocks down this way.’

    Jake bed his mustache with his fingers and started off. He jihe seventy-five ts in his hand and bit his lower lip until it was mottled and scarlet. The three Negroes were walking slowly ahead of him, talking among themselves.

    Because he felt lonely in the unfamiliar town he kept close behind them and listehe girl held both of them by the arm. She wore a green dress with a red hat and shoes. The boys walked very close to her.

    What we got planned for this evening? she asked.

    It depeirely upon you, Hohe tall boy said. &quot;Willie and me dont have no special plans.’

    She looked from oo the other. You all got to decide.’

    Well------ said the shorter boy in the red socks. Highboy ahought m-maybe us three go to church.’

    The girl sang her answer in three different tones. O— K— And after church I got a notion I ought to go a with Father for a while—just a short while. They tur the first er, and Jake stood watg them a moment before walking on.

    The main street was quiet and hot, almost deserted. He had not realized until now that it was Sunday—and the thought of this depressed him. The awnings over the closed stores were raised and the buildings had a bare look in thebright sun. He passed the New York Cafe. The door en, but the place looked empty and dark. He had not found any socks to wear that m, and the hot pavement burhrough the thin soles of his shoes. The su like a hot piece of iron pressing down on his head. The town seemed more lonesome than any place he had ever known. The stillness of the street gave him a strange feeling. When he had been drunk the place had seemed violent and riotous. And now it was as though everything had e to a sudden, static halt.

    He went into a fruit and dy store to buy a paper. The Help-Wanted n was very short. There were several calls for young meweey-five and forty with automobiles to sell vabbr></abbr>rious products on ission. These he skipped over quickly. An advertisement for a truck-driver held his attention for a few minutes. But the notice at the bottom ied him most It read:Wanted—Experienced Meic. Sunny Dixie Sholy er Weavers Lane &amp; th Street.

    Without knowing it he had walked back to the door of the restaurant where he had spent his time during the past two weeks. This was the only pla the block besides the fruit store which was not closed. Jake decided suddenly to drop in and see Biff Brannon.

    The cafe was very dark after the brightness outside.

    Everything looked dingier and quieter than he had remembered it. Brannon stood behind the cash register as usual, his arms folded over his chest. His good-looking plump wife sat filing her fingernails at the other end of the ter.

    Jake noticed that they gla each other as he came in.

    Afternoon, said Brannon.

    Jake felt something in the air. Maybe the fellow was laughing because he remembered things that had happened when he was drunk. Jake stood wooden aful. Package of Target, please. As Brannon reached beh the ter for the tobacco Jake decided that he was not laughing. In the daytime the fellows face was not as hard-looking as it was at night He ale as thoughhe had not slept, and his eyes had the look of a weary buzzards.

    Speak up, Jake said. How much do I owe you?’

    Brannon opened a draut on the ter a public-school tablet. Slowly he turned over the pages and Jake watched him. The tablet looked more like a private notebook than the place where he kept his regular ats. There were long lines of figures, added, divided, and subtracted, and little drawings. He stopped at a certain page and Jake saw his last name written at the er. On the page there were no figures—only small checks and crosses. At random across the page were drawn little round, seated cats with long curved lines for tails. Jake stared. The faces of the little cats were human and female. The faces of the little cats were Mrs. Brannon.

    I have checks here for the beers, Brannon said. And crosses for dinners and straight lines for the whiskey. Letme see------ Brannon rubbed his nose and his eyelidsdrooped down. Then he shut the tablet. Approximately twenty dollars.’

    Itll take me a long time, Jake said. Tut maybe youll get it’

    &quot;Theres no big hurry.’

    Jake leaned against the ter. Say, what kind of a place is this town?’

    Ordinary, Brannon said. About like any other place the same

    size.’

    opulation?’

    Around thirty thousand.’

    Jake opehe package of tobacd rolled himself . a cigarette. His hands were shaking. Mostly mills?’

    Thats right. F ills—those are the main ones. A hosiery factory. Some gins and sawmills.’

    What kind of wages?’

    Id say around ten or eleven a week on the average— but then of course they get laid off now and then. What makes you ask all this? You mean to try to get a job in amill?’

    Jake dug his fist into his eye and rubbed it sleepily. Dont know. I might and I might not. He laid the neer on the ter and pointed out the advertisementhe had just read. I think Ill go around and look into this.’

    Brannon read and sidered. Yeah, he said finally. Ive seen that show. Its not much—just a couple of traptions such as a flying-jinny and swings. It corrals the colored people and mill hands and kids. They move around to different vat lots in town.’

    Show me how to get there.’

    Branno with him to the door and pointed out the dire. Did you go on home with Sihis m?’

    Jake nodded.

    &quot;What do you think of him?’

    Jake bit his lips. The mutes face was in his mind very clearly.

    It was like the face of a friend he had known for a long time.

    He had been thinking of the man ever since he had left his room. I didnt even know he was a dummy, he said finally.

    He began walking again dow, deserted street. He did not walk as a stranger in a straown. He seemed to be looking for someone. Sooered one of the mill districts b the river. The streets became narrow and unpaved and they were y any lroups of dingy, hungry-looking children called to each other and played games. The two-room shacks, eae like the other, were rotten and unpaihe stink of food and sewage mingled with the dust in the air. The falls up the river made a faint rushing

 Part One-10

    sound. People stood silently in doorways or lounged on steps.

    They looked at Jake with yellow, expressionless faces. He stared back at them with wide, brown eyes. He walked jerkily, and now and then he wiped his mouth with the hairy back of his hand.

    At the end of Weavers Lahere was a vat block. It had once been used as a junk yard for old automobiles. Rusted pieaery and torn iubes still littered the ground. A trailer arked in one er of the lot, and near-by was a flying-jinny partly covered with vas.

    Jake approached slowly. Two little younguns in overalls stood before the flying-jinny. hem, seated on a box, a Negro man drowsed ie sunshine, his knees collapsed against each other. In one hand he held a saelted chocolate.

    Jake watched him stick his fingers in the miry dy and then lick them slowly.

    ?Whos the manager of this outfit?’

    The Negro thrust his two sweet fingers between his lips and rolled over them with his tongue. He a red-headed man, he said when he had fihat all I knon.’

    Wheres he now?’

    He over there behind that largest wagon.’

    Jake slipped off his tie as he walked across the grass and staffed it into his pocket. The sun was beginning to set in the west. Above the black line of housetops the sky was warm crimson. The owner of the show stood smoking a cigarette by himself. His red hair sprang up like a sponge oop of his head aared at Jake with gray, flabby eyes.

    &quot;You the manager?’

    *Uh-huh. Pattersons my name.’

    I e about the job in this ms paper.’

    *Yeah. I dont want no greenhorn. I need a experienced meic.’

    I got plenty of experience, Jake said.

    What you ever done?’

    Tve worked as a weaver and loom-fixer. Ive worked in garages and an automobile assembly shop. All sorts of different things.’

    Patterson guided him toward the partly covered flying-jinny.

    The motionless wooden horses were fantasti the late afternoon sun. They pranced up statically, pierced by their dull gilt bars. The horse  Jake had a splintery wooden cra its dingy rump and the eyes walled blind and frantic, shreds of paint peeled from the sockets. The motionless merry-go-round seemed to Jake like something in a liquor dream.

    I want a experienced meic to run this ahe works in good shape, Patterson said.

    ?I  do that all right.’

    If s a two-handed job, Patterson explained. Youre in charge of the whole attra. Besides looking after the maery you got to keep the crowd in order. You got to be sure that everybody gets on has a ticket. You got to be sure that the tickets are O.K. and not some old dance-hall ticket. Everybody wants to ride them horses, and youd be surprised what niggers will try to put over on you whenthey dont have no money. You got to keep three eyes open all the time.’

    Patterson led him to the maery ihe circle of horses and pointed out the various parts. He adjusted a lever and the thin jangle of meical music began. The wooden cavalcade around them seemed to cut them off from the rest of the world. When the horses stopped, Jake asked a few questions and operated the meism himself.

    The fellow I had quit on me, Patterson said when they had e out again into the lot. I always hate to break in a new man. When do I start?’

    Tomorrow afternoon. We run six days and nights a week—beginning at four and shutting up at twelve. Youre to e about three and help get things going. And it takes about a hour after the show to fold up for the night. What about pay? Twelve dollars.’

    Jake nodded, and Patterson held out a dead-white, boneless hand with dirty fingernails.

    It was late when he left the vat lot. The hard, blue sky had blanched and in the east there was a white moon. Dusk softehe outline of the houses along the street. Jake did

    not return immediately through Weavers Lane, but wandered in the neighborhoods near-by. Certain smells, certain voices heard from a distance, made him stop short now and then by the side of the dusty street. He walked erratically, jerking from one dire to another for no purpose. His head felt very light, as though it were made of thin glass. A chemical ge was taking pla him. The beers and whiskey he had stored so tinuously in his system set in a rea. He was sideswiped by drunkenness. The streets which had seemed so dead before were quick with life. There was a ragged strip of grass b the street, and as Jake walked along the ground seemed to rise o his face. He sat down on the border of grass and leaned against a telephone pole. He settled himself fortably, crossing his legs Turkish fashion and smoothing down the ends of his mustache. Words came to him and dreamily he spoke them aloud to himself.

    ?Rese is the most precious flower of poverty. Yeah.’

    It was good to talk. The sound of his voice gave him pleasure.

    The tones seemed to echo and hang on the air so that each word souwice. He swallowed and moistened his mouth to speak again. He wanted suddenly to return to the mutes quiet room and tell him of the thoughts that were in his mind.

    It was a queer thing to want to talk with a deaf-mute. But he was lonesome.

    The street before him dimmed with the ing evening.

    Occasionally men passed along the narrow street very close to him, talking in monotoo each other, a cloud of dust rising around their feet with each step. irls passed by together, or a mother with a child across her shoulder. Jake sat numbly for some time, and <var>藏书网</var>at last he got to his feet and walked on.

    Weavers Lane was dark. Oil lamps made yellow, trembling patches of light in the doorways and windows. Some of the houses were entirely dark and the families sat on their front steps with only the refles from a neighb house to see by. A woman leaned out of a window and splashed a pail of dirty water into the street. A few drops of it splashed on Jakes face. High, angry voices could be heard from the backs of some of the houses. From others there was the peaceful sound

    of a chair slowly rog.

    Jake stopped before a house where three men sat together on the front steps. A pale yellow light from ihe house shone owo of the men wore overalls but no shirts and were barefooted. One of these was tall and loose-jointed.

    The other was small and he had a running sore on the er of his mouth. The third man was dressed in shirt and trousers.

    He held a straw hat on his knee.

    Hey, Jake said.

    The three men stared at him with mill-sallow, dead-pan faces.

    They murmured but did not ge their positions. Jake pulled the package of Target from his pocket and passed it around.

    He sat down otom step and took off his shoes. The cool, damp grou good to his feet.

    W now??Yeah, said the man with the straw hat. Most of the time.’

    Jake picked between his toes. I got the Gospel in me,* he said. I want to tell it to somebody.’

    The men smiled. From across the narrow street there was the sound of a woman singing. The smoke from their cigarettes hung close around them iill air. A little youngun passing along the street stopped and opened bis fly to make water.

    Theres a tent around the er and its Sunday, the small man said finally. You  go there and tell all the Gospel you want.’

    Its not that kind. Its better. Its the truth.’

    What kind?’

    Jake sucked his mustache and did not answer. After a while he said, You ever have any strikes here?’

    Once, said the tall man. They had one of these here strikes around six years ago.’

    What happened?’

    The man with the sore on his mouth shuffled his feet and dropped the stub of his cigarette to the ground. Well —they just quit work because they wawenty ts a hour. There was about three hundred did it. They just hung around the streets all day. So the mill sent out trucks, and in a week the whole town was swarming with folks e here to get a job.’

    Jake turned so that he was fag them. The men sat two steps

    above him so that he had to raise his head to look into their eyes. Dont it make you mad? he asked.

    How do you mean—mad?’

    The vein in Jakes forehead was swollen and scarlet.

    Christamighty, man! I mean mad—m-a-d—mad. He scowled up into their puzzled, sallow faces. Behind them, through the open front door he could see the inside of the house. In the front room there were three beds and a wash-stand. In the ba a barefooted woman sat sleeping in a chair. From one of the dark porches near-by there was the sound of a guitar.

    I was one of them e in orucks, the tall man said.

    That makes no difference. What Im trying to tell youis plain and simple. The bastards who own these mills are millionaires. While the doffers and carders and all the people behind the maes who spin and weave the cloth t hardly make enough to keep their guts quiet. See? So when you walk around the streets and. think about it and see hungry, worn-out people and ricket-legged young-uns, dont it make you mad? Dont it?’

    Jakes face was flushed and dark and his lips trembled. The three men looked at him warily. Then the man iraw hat began to laugh.

    Go on and snicker. Sit there and bust your sides open.’

    The men laughed in the slow and easy way that three men laugh at one. Jake brushed the dirt from the soles of his feet and put on his shoes. His fists were closed tight and his mouth was torted with an angry sneer. Laugh —thats all yood for. I hope you sit there and sil you rot! As he walked stiffly dowreet>.9９lib.</a>, the sound of their laughter and catcalls still followed him.

    The main street was brightly lighted. Jake loitered on a er, fondling the ge in his pocket. His head throbbed, and although the night was hot a chill passed through his body. He thought of the mute and he wanted urgently to go bad sit with him awhile. In the fruit and dy store where he had bought the neer that afternoon he selected a basket of fruit ed in cellophahe Greek behind the ter said the price was sixty ts, so that when he had paid he was left with only a nickel. As soon as he had e out of the

    store the present seemed a funny oo take a healthy man. A fees hung down below, the cellophane, and he picked them off hungrily.

    Singer was at home when he arrived. He sat by the window with the chess game laid out before him oable. The room was just as Jake had left it, with the fan turned on and the pitcher of ice water beside the table. There anama hat on the bed and a paper parcel, so it seemed that the mute had just e in. He jerked his head toward the chair across from him at the table and pushed the chessboard to one side.

    He leaned back with his hands in his pockets, and his face seemed to question Jake about what had happened since he had left.Jake put the fruit oable. For this afternoon, he said.

    The motto has been: Go out and find an octopus and put socks on it.’

    The mute smiled, but Jake could not tell if he had caught what he had said. The mute looked at the fruit with surprise and then undid the cellophane ings. As he hahe fruits there was something very peculiar in the fellows face. Jake tried to uand this look and was stumped. Then Singer smiled brightly.

    I got a job this afternoon with a sort of show. Im to run the flying-jinny.’

    The mute seemed not at all surprised. He went into the closet and brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses. They drank in silence. Jake felt that he had never been in such a quiet room. The light above his head made a queer refle of himself in the glowing wineglass he held before him—the same caricature of himself he had noticed many times before on the curved surfaces of pitchers or tin mugs—with his face egg-shaped and dumpy and his mustache straggling almost up to his ears. Across from him the mute held his glass in both hands. The wine began to hum through Jakes veins and he felt himself entering again the kaleidoscope of drunkenness.

    Excitement made his mustache tremble jerkily. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and fastened a wide, searg gaze on Singer.

    I bet Im the only man in this town thats been mad— Im

    talking about really mean mad—for ten solid long years. I damn near got in a fight just a little while ago. Sometimes it seems to me like I might even be crazy. I just dont know.’

    Singer pushed the wioward his guest. Jake drank from the bottle and rubbed the top of his head.

    You see, its like Im two people. One of me is an educated man. I been in some of the biggest libraries in the try. I read. I read all the time. I read books that tell the pure horuth. Over there in my suitcase I have books by Karl Marx and Thorstein Veblen and such writers as them. I read them over and over, and the more I study the madder I get. I know every word printed on every page. To begin with I like words.

    Dialectic materialism—Jesuitical prevarication— Jake rolled the syllablesin his mouth with loving solemnity—teleological propensity.’

    The mute wiped his forehead with a ly folded handkerchief.

    But what Im getting at is this. When a person knows and t make the others uand, what does he do?’

    Singer reached for a wineglass, filled it to the brim, and put it firmly into Jakes bruised hand. Get drunk, huh? Jake said with a jerk of his arm that spilled drops of wine on his white trousers. But listen! Wherever you look theres meanness and corruption. This room, this bottle of grape wihese fruits in the basket, are all products of profit and loss. A fellow t live without giving his passive acceptao meanness.

    Somebody wears his tail to a frazzle for every mouthful we eat and every stitch we wear —and nobody seems to know.

    Everybody is blind, dumb, and blunt-headed—stupid and mean.’

    Jake pressed his fists to his temples. His thoughts had careened in several dires and he could not get trol of them. He wao go berserk. He wao get out and fight violently with someone in a crowded street.

    Still looking at him with patient i, the mute took out his silver pencil. He wrote very carefully on a slip of paper, Are you Democrat or Republi? and passed the paper across the table. Jake crumpled it in his hand. The room had begun to

    turn around him again and he could not even read.

    He kept his eyes oes face to steady himself. Singers eyes were the only things in the room that did not seem to move. They were varied in color, flecked with amber, gray, and a soft browared at them so long that he almost hypnotized himself. He lost the urge to be riotous a calm again. The eyes seemed to uand all that he h<tt></tt>ad meant to say and to hold some message for him. After a while the room was steady again.

    You get it, he said in a blurred voice. You know what I mean.’

    From afar off there was the soft, silver ring of church bells.

    The moonlight was white on the roof  door and the sky was a gentle summer blue. It was agreed without words that Jake would stay with Singer a few days until he found a room.

    When the wine was fihe muteput a mattress on the floor beside the bed. Without removing any of his clothes Jake lay down and was instantly asleep.

    JL AR from the main street, in one of the Negro ses of the town, Doctor Be Mady Copeland sat in his dark kit alo ast nine oclod the Sunday bells were silent now. Although the night was very hot, there was a small fire in the round-bellied wood stove. Doctor<cite></cite> Copeland sat close to it, leaning forward in a straight-backed kit chair with his head cupped in his long, slender hands. The red glow from the ks of the stove shone on his fa this light his heavy lips looked almost purple against his black skin, and his gray hair, tight against his skull like a cap of lambs wool, took on a bluish color also. He sat motionless in this position for a long time. Even his eyes, which stared from behind the silver rims of his spectacles, did not ge their fixed, saze. Then he cleared his throat harshly, and picked up a book from the floor beside his chair. All around him the room was very dark, and he had to hold the book close to the stove to make out the print. Tonight he read Spinoza. He did not wholly uand the intricate play of ideas and the plex phrases, but as he read he sensed a strong, true purpose behind the words and he felt that he almost uood.

    Often at night the sharp jangle of the doorbell would rouse him from his silence, and in the front room he would find a patient with a broken bone or with a razor wound. But this evening he was not disturbed. And after the solitary hours spent sitting in the dark kit it happehat he began swaying slowly from side to side and from his throat there came a sound like a kind of singing moan. He was making this sound when Portia came.

    Doctor Copeland knew of her arrival in advance. From the street outside he caught the sound of an harmonica playing a blues song and he khat the music layed by William, his son. Without turning on the light he went through the hall and opehe front door. He did not step out on the porch, but stood in the dark behindthe s. The moonlight was bright and the shadows of Portia and William and Highboy lay blad solid on the dusty street. The houses in the neighborhood had a miserable look. Doctor Copelands house was different from any other building near-by. It was built solidly of brid stucco.

    Around the small front yard there icket fence. Portia said good-bye to her husband and brother at the gate and knocked on the s door.

    How e you sit here in the dark like this?’

    They went together through the dark hall back to the kit.

    You haves graric lights. It dont seem natural why you all the time sitting in the dark like this.’

    Doctor Copeland twisted the bulb suspended over the table and the room was suddenly very bright. The dark suits me, he said.

    The room was  and bare. On one side of the kit table there were books and an inkstand—oher side a fork, spoon, and plate. Doctor Copeland held himself bolt upright with his long legs crossed and at first Portia sat stiffly, too.

    The father and daughter had a strong resemblao each other—both of them had the same broad, flat he same mouths and foreheads. But Portias skin was very light when pared to her Fathers.

    It sure is roasting in here, she said. Seems to me you would

    let this here fire die down except when you cooking.’

    If you prefer we  go up to my office, Doctor Copeland said.

    I be all right, I guess. I dont prefer.’

    Doctor Copeland adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses and then folded his hands in his lap. How have you been since we were last together? You and your husband—and your brother?’

    Portia relaxed and slipped her feet out of her pumps. Highboy and Willie as along just fine.’

    William still boards with you?’

    Sure he do, Portia said. You see—us haves our own way of living and our own plan. Highboy—he pay the rent. I buys all the food out of my money. And Willie—he tends to all of our church dues, insurance, lodge dues, and Saturday Night. Us three haves our own plan and eae of us does our parts.tJAKSUINDoctor Copeland sat with his head bowed, pulling at his long fingers until he had cracked all of his joints. The  cuffs of his sleeves hung down past his wrists—below them his thin hands seemed lighter in color than the rest of his body and the palms were soft yellow. His hands had always an immaculate, shrunken look, as though they had been scrubbed with a brush and soaked for a long time in a pan of water.

    Here, I almost fot what I brought, Portia said. Haves you had your supper yet?’

    Doctor Copeland always spoke so carefully that each syllable seemed to be filtered through his sullen, heavy lips. No, I have en.’

    Portia opened a paper sack she had placed o table. I done brought a nice mess of creens and I thought maybe we have supper together. I done brought a piece of side meat, too. These here greeo be seasoned with that. You dont care if the collards is just cooked i, do you?’

    It does not matter.’

    You still do nair meat?’

    *No. For purely private reasons I am a vegetarian, but it does not matter if you wish to cook the collards with a pieeat’

 Part One-11

    Without putting on her shoes Portia stood at the table and

    carefully began to pick over the greens. This here floor sure do feel good to my feets. You mind if I just walk around like this without putting ba them tight, hurting pumps?’

    No, said Doctor Copeland. That will be all right’

    Then—usll have these nice collards and some hoecake and coffee. And I, going to cut me off a few slices of this here white meat and fry it for myself.’

    Doctor Copeland followed Portia with his eyes. She moved slowly around the room ioged feet, taking down the scrubbed pans from the wall, building up the fire, washing the grit from the collards. He opened his mouth to speak ond then posed his lips again.

    So you and your husband and your brother have your own co-operative plan, he said finally.

    &quot;Thats right.’

    Doctor Copeland jerked at his fingers and tried to popTHE HEAR! IS A LUWHL I rtuiN mis.  i？

    the joints again. Do you io plan for children?’

    Portia did not look at her father. Angrily she sloshed the water from the pan of collards. &quot;There be some things, she said, that seem to me to depeirely upon God.’

    They did not say anything else. Portia left the supper to cook oove and sat silently with her long hands dropping down limp between her knees. Doctor Cope-lands head rested on his chest as though he slept. But he was not sleeping; now and then a nervous tremor would pass over his face. Then he would breathe deeply and pose his face again. Smells of the supper began to fill the stifling room. In the quiethe clo top of the cupboard sounded very loud, and because of what they had just said to each other the monotonous tig was like the word chil-dren, chil-dren, said over and over.

    He was always meeting one of them—crawling naked on a floaged in a game of marbles or even on a dark street with his arms around a girl. Be Copeland, the boys were all called. But for the girls there were suames as Benny Mae or Madyben or Benedine Ma-dine. He had ted one day, and there were more than a dozen named for him.

    But all his life he had told and explained and exhorted. You ot do this, he would say. There are all reasons why this sixth or fifth or ninth child ot be, he would tell them. It is

    not more children we need but more ces for the ones already on the earth. Eugenic Parenthood for the Negro Race was what he would exhort them to. He would tell them in simple words, always the same way, and with the years it came to be a sort of angry poem which he had always known by heart.

    He studied and khe development of aheory. And from his own pocket he would distribute the devices to his patients himself. He was by far the first doctor iown to even think of such. And he would give and explain and give ahem. And then deliver maybe two score times a week. Madyben and Benny Mae.

    That was only one point. Only one.

    All of his life he khat there was a reason for his w.

    He always khat he was meant to teach his people. All day he would go with his bag from house to house and on all things he would talk to them. MCUULLEKSAfter the long day a heavy tiredness would e in him. But in the evening when he opehe front gate the tiredness would go away. There were Hamilton and Karl Marx and Portia and little William. There was Daisy, too.

    Portia took the lid from the pan oove and stirred the collards with a fork. Father— she said after a while.

    Doctor Copeland cleared his throat and spat into a handkerchief. His voice was bitter and rough. Yes?’

    Less us quit this here quarreling with each other.’

    We were not quarreling, said Doctor Copeland.

    It dont take words to make a quarrel, Portia said. It look to me like us is always arguing even wheting perfectly quiet like this. It just this here feeling I haves. I tell you the truth—ever time I e to see you it mighty near wears me out. So less us try not to quarrel in any way no more.’

    It is certainly not my wish to quarrel. I am sorry if you have that feeling, Daughter.’

    She poured out coffee and handed one cup ueo her father. In her own portio several spoons of sugar. I getting hungry and this will taste good to us. Drink your coffee while I tell you something which happeo us a piece baow that it all over it seem a little bit funny, but we got plenty reason not to laugh too hard.’

    Go ahead, said Doctor Copeland.

    Well—sometime back a real fine-looking, dressed-up colored man e in town here. He called hisself Mr. B. F. Mason and said he e from Washington, D. C. Ever day he would walk up and dowreet with a walking-e and a pretty colored shirt on. Then at night he would go to the Society Caf. He eaten fihan any man in this town. Ever night he would order hisself a bottle of gin and two pork chops for his supper. He always had a smile for everybody and was always bowing around to the girls and holding a door open for you to e in o out For about a week he made hisself mighty pleasant wherever he were. Peoples begun to ask questions and wonder about this rich Mr. B. F. Mason. They soon, after he acquaints hisself, he begun to settle down to business.’

    Portia spread out her lips and blew into her saucer ofr n&amp;icoffee. I suppose you done read in the paper about this Gover Pincher business for old folks?’

    Doctor Copeland nodded. Pension, he said.

    Well—he were ected with that. He were from the gover. He had to e down from the President in Washington, D. C, to join everbody up for the Gover Pinchers. He went around from one door to the  explaining how you pay one dollar down to join and after that twenty-five ts a week—and how when you were forty-five year old the gover would pay you fifty dollars ever month of your life. All the peoples I know were very excited about this. He give everbody that joined a free picture of the President with his name signed u. He told how at the end of six months there were going to be free uniforms for ever member. The club was called the Grand League of Piners for Colored Peoples— and at the end of two months everbody was going to get a e ribbon with a G.

    L. P. C. P. on it to stand for the name. You know, like all these other letter things in the gover. He e around from house to house with this little book and everbody eo join. He wrote their names down and took the money. Ever Saturday he would colle three weeks this Mr. B. F. Mason had joined up so many peoples he could all the way around on Saturday. He have to pay somebody to take up the colles in each three four blocks. I collected early ever

    Saturday for near where we live and got that quarter. Course Willie had joi the beginning for him and Highboy and me.’

    I have e aany pictures of the President in various houses near where you live and I remember hearing the name Masoioned, said Doctor Copeland. He was a thief?’

    He were, said Portia. Somebody begun to find out about this Mr. B. F. Mason and he were arrested. They find out he were from just plain Atlanta and hadnt never smelled no Washington, D. C, or no President. All the money were hid or spent. Willie had just throwed away seven dollars and fifty ts.’

    Doctor Copeland was excited. That is what I mean by—  the hereafter, Portia said, that man sure going towake up with a hot pitchfork in his gut. But now that it all over it do seem a little bit funny, but of course we got plenty reason not to laugh too hard.’

    The Negro race of its own accord climbs up on the cross on every Friday, said Doctor Copeland.

    Portias hands shook and coffee trickled down from the saucer she was holding. She licked it from her arm. What , you mean?’

    I mean that I am always looking. I mean that if I could just find ten Negroes—ten of my own people—with spine and brains and ce who are wilMng to give all thatthey have------’

    Portia put down the coffee. Us was not talking about anything like that’

    Only froes, said Doctor Copeland. Only the sum of Hamilton and Karl Marx and William and you. Only froes with these real true qualities and bae------’

    Willie and Highboy and me have bae, said Portia angrily. This here is a hard world and it seem to me us three struggles along pretty well.’

    For a mihey were silent. Doctor Copeland laid his spectacles oable and pressed bis shrunken fio his eyeballs.

    You all the time using that word—Negro, said Portia. And

    that word haves a way of hurting peoples feeling<big></big>s. Even old plain nigger is better than that word. But polite peoples—no matter what shade they is—always says colored.’

    Doctor Copeland did not aake Willie and me. Us arent all the way colored. Our Mama was real light and both of us haves a good deal of white folks blood in us. And Highboy—he India a good part Indian in him. None of us is pure colored and the word you all the time using haves a way of hurting peoples feelings.’

    I am not ied in subterfuges, said Doctor Copeland. I am ied only iruths.’

    Well, this here is a truth. Everybody is scared of you. It sure would take a whole lot of gin to get Hamilton or Buddy or Willie or my Highboy to e in this house andsit with you like I does. Willie say he remember you when he were only a little boy and he were afraid of his own father then.’

    Doctor Copeland coughed harshly and cleared his throat.

    Everbody haves feelings—no matter who they is—and nobody is going to walk in no house where they certain their feelings will be hurt. You the same way. I seen your feelings ioo many times by white peoples not to know that.’

    *No, said Doctor Copeland. You have not seen my feelings injured.’

    Course I realize that Willie or my Highboy or me— that none of us is scholars. But Highboy and Willie is both good as gold.

    There just is a differeween them and you.’

    Yes, said Doctor Copeland.

    Hamilton or Buddy or Willie or me—none of us ever cares to talk like you. Us talk like our own Mama and her peoples and their peoples before them. You think out everthing in your brain. While us rather talk from something in our hearts that has been there for a long time. Thats one of them differences.’

    Yes, said Doctor Copeland.

    A person t pick up they children and just squeeze them to which-a-way they wants them to be. Whether it hurt them or not. Whether it right . You doried that hard as any man could try. And now I the only one of us that would e

    in this here house and sit with you like this.’

    The light was very bright in Doctor Copelands eyes and her voice was loud and hard. He coughed and his whole face trembled. He tried to pick up the cup of cold coffee, but his hand would not hold it steadily. The tears came up to his eyes and he reached for his glasses to try to hide them.

    Portia saw a up to him quickly. She put her arms around his head and pressed her cheek to his forehead. I done hurt my Fathers feelings, she said softly.

    His voice was hard. No. It is foolish and primitive to keep repeating this about hurt feelings.The tears went slowly down his cheek and the fire made them take on the colors of blue and green and red. I be really and truly sorry, said Portia.

    Doctor Copeland wiped his face with his cotton handkerchief.

    It is all right.’

    Less us not ever quarrel no more. I t stand this here fightiween us. It seem to me that something real bad e up in us ever time we be together. Less us never quarrel like this no more.’

    No, said Doctor Copeland. Let us not quarrel.’

    Portia sniffled and wiped her h the back of her hand.

    For a few minutes she stood with her arms around her fathers head. Then after a while she wiped her face for a final time a over to the pot of greens oove.

    It mighty nigh time for these to be tender, she said cheerfully.

    Now I think Ill start making some of them good little hoecakes to go along with them.’

    Portia moved slowly around the kit ioged feet and her father followed her with his eyes. For a while again they were silent.

    With his eyes wet, so that the edges of things were blurred, Portia was truly like her mother. Years ago Daisy had walked like that around the kit, silent and occupied. Daisy was not black as he was—her skin had been like the beautiful color of dark honey. She was always very quiet ale.

    But beh that soft gentlehere was something stubborn in her, and no matter how stiously he studied it all out, he could not uand the geubbornness in his wife.

    He would exhort her and he would tell her all that was in his heart and still she was gentle. And still she would not listen to him but would go on her own way.

    Then later there were Hamilton and Karl Marx and William and Portia. And this feeling of real true purpose for them was s that he kly how each thing should be with them. Hamilton would be a great stist and Karl Marx a teacher of the Negro rad William a lawyer to fight against injustid Portia a doctor for women and children.

    And when they were even babies he would tell them of the yoke they must thrust from their shoulders—theyoke of submission and slothfulness. And when they were a little older he would impress upohat there was no God, but that their lives were holy and for eae of them there was this real true purpose. He would tell it to them over and over, and they would sit together far away from him and look with their big Negro-childre their mother. And Daisy would sit without <cite></cite>listening, gentle and stubborn.

    Because of the true purpose for Hamilton, Karl Marx, William, and Portia, he knew how every detail should be. Iumn of each year he took them all into town and bought for them good black shoes and black stogs. For Portia he bought black woolen material for dresses and white linen for collars and cuffs. For the boys there was black wool for trousers and fine white linen for shirts. He did not want them to wear bright-colored, flimsy clothes. But when they went to school those were the ohey wished to wea<u></u>r, and Daisy said that they were embarrassed and that he was a hard father.

    He knew how the house should be. There could be no f and-ness—no gaudy dars or lace pillows or kniacks —but everything in the house must be plain and dark and indicative of work and the real true purpose.

    Then one night he found that Daisy had pierced holes in little Portias ears for earrings. And aime a kew-pie doll with feather skirts was on the mantelpiece when he came home, and Daisy was gentle and hard and would not put it away. He koo, that Daisy was teag the children the cult of meekness. She told them about hell and heaven. Also she vihem of ghosts and of haunted places. Daisy

    went to church every Sunday and she talked sorrowfully to the preacher of her own husband. And with her stubbornness she always took the children to the church, too, and they listened.

    The whole Negro race was sick, and he was busy all the day and sometimes half the night. After the long day a great weariness would e in him, but when he opened Sie front gate of his home the weariness would go away. Yet when he went into the house William would be playing musi a b ed in toilet paper, Hamilton and Karl Marx would be shooting craps for their lunch money, Portia would be laughing with her mother.He would start all over with them, but in a different way. He would bring out their lessons and talk with them. They would sit close together an<cite></cite>d look at their mother. He would talk and talk, but none of them wao uand.

    The feeling that would e on him was a black, terrible, Negro feeling. He would try to sit in his offid read aate until he could be calm and start again. He would pull down the shades of the room so that there would be only the bright light and the books and the feeling of meditation. But sometimes this ess would not e. He was young, and the terrible feeling would not go away with study.

    Hamilton, Karl Marx, William, and Portia would be afraid of him and look at their mother—and sometimes when he realized this the black feeling would quer him and he knew not what he did.

 Part One-12

    He could not stop those terrible things, and afterward he could never uand.

    This here supper sure smells good to me, said Portia.  expect us better eat now because Highboy and Willie liable to e trooping in any minute.’

    Doctor Copelaled his spectacles and pulled his chair up to the table. Where have your husband and William been spending the evening?’

    They been throwing horseshoes. This here Raymond Jones haves a horseshoe pla his back yard. This Raymond and his sister, Love Jones, plays ever night. Love is such a ugly girl I dont mind about Highboy or Willie going around to their house any time they wishes. But they said they would

    e bae at quarter to ten and I expeg them now any minute.’

    Before I fet, said Doctor Copeland. I suppose you hear frequently from Hamilton and Karl Marx.’

    I does from Hamilton. He practically taken over all the work on randpapas place. But Buddy, he in Mobile —and you know he were never a big hand at writiers. However, Buddy always haves such a sweet way with peoples that I dont ever worry ing him. He the kind to always get alht well.’

    They sat silently at the table before the supper. Portia kept looking up at the clo the cupboard because it was time fhboy and Willie to e. Doctor Copela his head over the plate. He held the fork in his hand as though it were heavy, and his firembled. He only tasted the food and with each mouthful he swallowed hard. There was a feeling of strain, and it seemed as though both of them wao keep up some versation.

    Doctor Copeland did not know how to begin. Sometimes he thought that he had talked so mu the years before to his children and they had uood so little that now there was nothing at all to say. After a while he wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and spoke in an uain voice.

    You have hardly mentioned yourself. Tell me about your job and what you have been doing lately.’

    Course I still with the Kellys, said Portia. But I tells you, Father, I dont know how long I going to be able to keep on with them. The work is hard and it always take me a long time to get through. However, that dont bother me  about the pay I worries about. I suppose to get three dollars a week—but sometimes Mrs. Kelly likes a dollar or fifty ts of payihe full amount. Course she always catches up on it soon as she able. But it haves a way of leaving me in a pinch.’

    &quot;That is nht, said Doctor Copeland. Why do you stand for it?’

    It aint her fault. She t help it, said Portia. Half the folks in that house dont pay the rent, and it a big expeo keep everthing up. I tell you the truth—the Kellys is just barely keeping one jump ahead of the sheriff. They having a mighty

    hard time.’

    There ought to be some other job you  get I know. But the Kellys is really grand white peoples to work for. I really fond of them as I  be. Them three little children is just like some of my own kinfolks. I feel like I done really raised Bubber and the baby. And although Mid me is always getting into some kind of quarrel together, I haves a real close fondness for her, too. But you must think of yourself, said Doctor Copeland.

    Miow------ said Portia. She a real case. Not asoul know how to mahat child. She just as biggity arong as she  be. Something going on in herall the time. I haves a funny feeling about that child. It seem to me that one of these days she going to really surprise somebody. But whether that going to be a good surprise or a bad surprise I just dont know. Mick puzzle me sometimes.

    But still I really fond of her.’

    *You must look out for your own livelihood first.’

    As I say, it aint Mrs. Kellys fault It cost so much to run that big old house and the rent just dont be paid. Aint but one person in the house who pay a det amount for his room and pay it o without fail. And that man only been living there a short while. He one of these here deaf-and-dumb folks.

    He the first one of them I ever seen close up—but he a mighty fine white man.Tall, thin, with gray and green eyes? asked Doctor Copeland suddenly. And alolite to everyone and very well dressed? Not like someone from this town— more like a Northerner or maybe a Jew?’

    That him, said Portia.

    Eagerness came into Doctor Copelands face. He crumbled his hoecake into the collard jui his plate and began to eat with a neetite. I have a deaf-mute patient, he said.

    How e you acquainted with Mr. Singer? asked Portia.

    Doctor Copeland coughed and covered his mouth with his handkerchief. I have just seen him several times.’

    I better  up noortia. It sure enough time for Willie and my Highboy. But with this here real sink and grand running water these little dishes wont take me two winks.’

    The quiet insolence of the white race was ohing he had tried to keep out of his mind for years. When the rese would e to him he would cogitate and study. Ireets and around white people he would keep the dignity on his fad always be silent. When he was you was Boy—but now it was Uncle. Uncle, run down to that filling station on the er and send me a  meic A white man in a car had called out those words to him not long ago. Boy, give me a hand with this. —Uncle, do that. And he would not listen, but would walk, on with the dignity in him and be silent A few nights ago a drunken white man had e up to him and begun pulling him along the street. He had his bag with him and he was sure someone was hurt. But the drunkard had pulled him into a white maaurant and the white men at the ter had begun h out with their insolence. He khat the drunkard was making fun of him. Even then he had kept the dignity in him.

    But with this tall, thin white man with the gray-green eyes something had happehat had never happeo him with any white man before.

    It came about on a dark, rainy night several weeks ago. He had just e from a maternity case and was standing in the rain on a er. He had tried to light a cigarette and one by ohe matches in his box fizzled out. He had been standing with the unlighted cigarette in his mouth when the white man stepped up and held for him a lighted match. In the dark with the flame betweehey could see each others faces. The white man smiled at him and lighted for him his cigarette. He did not know what to say, for nothing like that had ever happeo him before.

    They had stood for a few minutes oreet er together, and then the white man had handed him his card. He wao talk to the white man and ask him some questions, but he did not know for sure if he could really uand.

    Because of the insolence of all the white race he was afraid to lose his dignity in friendliness.

    But the white man had lighted his cigarette and smiled and seemed to want to be with him. Sihen he had thought this over many times.

    I have a deaf-mute patient, said Doctor Copeland to Portia.

    The patient is a boy five years of age. And somehow I ot get over the feeling that I am to blame for bis handicap. I delivered him, and after two post-delivery visits of course I fot about him. He developed ear trouble, but the mother paid no attention to the discharges from his ears and did n him to me. When it was finally brought to my attention it was too late. Of course he hears nothing and of course he therefore ot speak. But I have .ched him carefully, and it seems to me that if he were normal he would be a very intelligent child. You always had a great i in little children, saidPortia. You care a heap more about them than about grown peoples, dont you?’

    &quot;There is more hope in the young child, said Doctor Copeland. But this deaf boy—I have been meaning to. make inquiries and find if there is some institution that would take him.’

    Mr. Singer would tell you. He a truly kind white man a a bit biggity.’

    I do not know------ said Doctor Copeland. I havethought once or twice about writing him a note and seeing if he could give me information.’

    Sure I would if I was you. You a graer-writer and I would give it to Mr. Singer for you, said Portia. He e down i two-three weeks ago with a few shirts he wanted me to rinch out for him. Them shirts were no more dirty than if Saint John the Baptist hisself had been wearing them. All I had to do were dip them in warm water and give the collars a small rub and press them. But that night when I taken them five  shirts up to his room you know how much he give me?’

    No.’

    He smile like he always do and hand over to me a dollar. A whole dollar just for them little shirts. He one really kind and pleasant white man and I wouldnt be afraid to ask him any question. I wouldnt even mind writing that nice white man a letter myself. You ght ahead and do it, Father, if you wants to.’

    Perhaps I will, said Doctor Copeland.

    Portia sat up suddenly and began arrangiight, oily hair.

    There was the faint sound of a harmonid then gradually the music grew louder. Here e Willie and Highboy, Portia said. I got to go out now ahem. You take care of yourself now, and send me a word if you needs me for anything. I did enjoy the supper with you and the talking very much.’

    The musi the harmonica was very clear now, and they could tell that Willie laying while he waited at the front gate.

    Wait a minute, said Doctor Copeland. I have only seen your husband with you about two times and I believe we have never really met each other. And it has beenthree years since William has visited his father. Why not tell them to drop in for a little while?’

    Portia stood in the doorway, fingering her hair and her earrings.

    Last time Willie e in here you hurted his feelings. You see you dont uand just how------’

    Very well, said Doctor Copeland. it was only a suggestion.’

    Wait, said Portia. I going to call them. I going to ihem in right now.’

    Doctor Copeland lighted a cigarette and walked up and down the room. He could not straighten his glasses to just the right position and his fingers kept trembling. From the front yard there was the sound of low voices. Then heavy footsteps were in the hall and Portia, William, and Highboy ehe kit.

    Here we is, said Portia. Highboy, I dont believe you and my Father has ever truly been introduced to each other. But you knows who each other is.’

    Doctor Copeland shook hands with both of them. Willie hung back shyly against the wall, but Highboy stepped forward and bowed formally. I has always heard so much about you, he said. I be very pleased to make your acquaintance.’

    Portia and Doctor Copeland brought in chairs from the hall and the four of them sat around the stove. They were silent

    and uneasy. Willie gazed nervously around the room —at the books o table, the sink, the cot against the wall, and at his father. Highboy grinned and picked at his tie.

    Doctor Copeland seemed about to speak, and the his lips and was still silent.

    Willie, you were going pretty good with your harp, said Portia finally. Look to me like you and Highboy must of got into somebodys gin bottle.’

    No, maam, said Highboy very politely. Us havent had anything siurday. Us have just been enjoying our horseshoe game.’

    Doctor Copeland still did not speak, and they all kept glang at him and waiting. The room was close and the quietness made everyone nervous.

    I do haves the hardest time with them boys clothes, Portia said. I washes both of them white suits ever Saturday and I presses them twice a week. And look at them now.

    Course they<bdi></bdi> dohem except when they gets home from work. But after two days they seems to be potty black. I irohem pants just last night and now there not a crease left.’

    Still Doctor Copeland was silent. He kept his eyes on his sons face, but when Willie noticed this he bit his rough, blunt fingers and stared at his feet. Doctor Copela his pulse hammering at his wrists and temples. He coughed and held his fist to his chest. He wao speak to his son, but he could think of nothing to say. The old bitterness came up in him and he did not have time to cogitate and push it down. His pulse hammered in him and he was fused. But they all looked at him, and the silence was s that he had to speak.

    His voice was high and it did not sound as though it came from himself. William, I wonder how much of all the things I have said to you when you were a child have stayed in your mind.’

    I dont know what you m-m-means, Willie said.

    The words came before Doctor Copeland knew what he would say. I mean that to you and Hamilton and Karl Marx I gave all that was in me. And I put all of my trust and hope in you. And all I get is blank misuanding and idleness and indifference. Of all I have put in nothing has remained. All has

    been taken away from me. All that I have tried to do------’

    Hush, said Portia. &quot;Father, you promised me that us would not quarrel. This here is crazy. Us t afford to quarrel.’<samp></samp>

    Portia got up and started toward the front door. Willie and Highboy followed quickly. Doctor Copeland was the last to e.

    They stood in the dark before the front door. Doctor Copeland tried to speak, but his voice seemed lost some-.. where deep inside him. Willie and Portia and Highboy stood in a group together.

    With one arm Portia held to her husband and brother and with the other she reached out to Doctor Copeland. Less us all make up now before us goes. I t standthis here fightiween us. Less us not ever quarrel no more.’

    In silence Doctor Copeland shook hands again with each of them. I am sorry, he said.

    It quite all right with me, said Highboy politely.

    It quite all right with me too, Willie mumbled.

    Portia held all of their hands together. Us just t afford to quarrel.’

    They said good-bye, and Doctor Copeland watched them from the dark front porch as they went together up the street. Their footsteps as they walked away had a lonesome sound and he felt weak and tired. When they were a block away William began playing his harmonica again. The music was sad ay. He stayed on the. front portil he could her see nor hear them any longer.

    Doctor Copeland turned off the lights in his house and sat in the dark before the stove. But peace would not e to him.

    He wao remove Hamilton and Karl Marx and William from his mind. Each word that Portia had said to him came ba a loud, hard way to his memory. He got up suddenly and turned on the light. He settled himself at the table with his books by Spinoza and William Shakespeare and Karl Marx.

    When he read the Spinoza aloud to himself the words had a rich, dark sound.

    He thought of the white man of whom they had spoken. It

    would be good if the white man could help him with Augustus Be Mady Lewis, the deaf patient. It would be good to write to the white man even if he did not have this reason and these questions to ask. Doctor Copeland held his head in his hands and from his throat there came the strange sound like a kind of singing moan. He remembered the white mans face when he smiled behind the yellow match flame on that rainy night—and peace was in him.

    BY MIDSUMMER Singer had visitors more often than any other person in the house. From his room in the evening there was nearly always the sound of a voice. After di the New York Cafe he bathed and dressed himself inone of his cool wash suits and as a rule did not go out again.

    The room was cool and pleasant. He had an icebox in the closet where he kept bottles of cold beer and fruit drinks. He was never busy or in a hurry. And always he met his guests at the door with a wele smile.

    Mick loved to go up to Mister Singers room. Even if he was a deaf-and-dumb mute he uood every word she said to him. Talking with him was like a game. Only there was a whole lot more to it than any game. It was like finding out hings about music. She would tell him some of her plans that she would not tell anybody else. He let her meddle with his cute little chess men. Once when she was excited and caught her shirt-tail in the electri he acted in such a kindly way that she was not embarrassed at all. Except for her Dad, Mister Singer was the  man she knew.

    When Doctor Copeland wrote the o John Singer about Augustus Be Mady Lewis there olite reply and an invitation for him to make a call when he found the opportunity. Doctor Copelao the back of the house and sat with Portia awhile i. Then he climbed the stairs to the white mans room. There was truly none of the quiet insolence about this man. They had a lemoogether and the mute wrote down the ao the questions he

    wished to know. This man was different from any person of the white race whom Doctor Copeland had ever entered.

    Afterward he pondered about this white man a long time.

    Then later, inasmuch as he had been invited in a cordial mao return, he made another visit.

    Jake Blount came every week. When he walked up to Singers room the whole stairway shook. Usually he car- A ried a paper sack of beers. Often his voice would e out  y loud and angry from the room. But before he left his voice gradually quieted. When he desded the stairs he did not carry the sack of beers any longer, and he walked away thoughtfully without seeming to notice where he was going.

    Even Biff Brannon came to the mutes room one night. But as he could ay away from the restaurant for long, he left in a half-hour.

    Singer was always the same to everyone. He sat in astraight chair by the window with his hands stuffed tight into his pockets, and nodded or smiled to show his guests that he uood.

    If he did not have a visitor in the evening, Singer went to a late movie. He liked to sit bad watch the actors talking and walking about on the s. He never looked at the title of a picture befoing into a movie, and no matter what was showiched each se with equal i.

    Then, one day in July, Singer suddenly went away without warning. He left the door of his room open, and oable in an envelope adddessed to Mrs. Kelly there were four dollars for the past weeks rent. His few simple possessions were gone and the room was very  and bare. When his visitors came and saw this empty room they went away with hurt surprise.

    No one could imagine why he had left like this.

    Singer spent all of his summer vacation iown where Antonapoulos was bei in the asylum. For months he had plahis trip and imagined about eaent they would have together. Two weeks beforehand his hotel reservation had been made and for a long time he had carried his railroad ticket in an envelope in his pocket.

    Antonapoulos was not ged at all. When Singer came into his room he ambled placidly to meet his friend. He was even fatter than before, but the dreamy smile on his face was just

    the same. Singer had some packages in his arms and the big Greek gave them his first attention. His presents were a scarlet dressing-gown, soft bedroom slippers, and two monogrammed nightshirts. Antonapoulos looked beh all the tissue papers in the boxes very carefully. When he saw that nothing good to eat had been cealed there, he dumped the gifts disdainfully on his bed and did not bother with them any more.

    The room was large and sunny. Several beds were spaced in a row together. Three old men played a game of slapja a er. They did not notice Singer or Antonapoulos, and the two friends sat alone oher side of the room.

    It seemed to Sihat years had passed sihey had been together. There was so much to say that hishands could not shape the signs with speed enough. His green eyes burned and sweat glittered on his forehead. The old feeling of gaiety and bliss was so qui him again that he could not trol himself.

    Antonapoulos kept his dark, oily eyes on his friend and did not mo<mark></mark>ve. His hands fumbled languidly with the crotch of his trousers. Siold him, among other things, about the visitors who had been ing to see him. He told his friend that they helped take his mind away from his lonesomeness.

    He told Antonapoulos that they were strange people and always talking—but that he liked to have them e. He drew quick sketches of Jake Blount and Mid Doctor Copeland.

    Then as soon as he saw mat Antonapoulos was not ied Singer crumpled the sketches and fot about them. Wheendant came in to say that their time , Singer had not finished half of the things he wao say. But he left the room very tired and happy.

    The patients could receive their friends only on Thursday and Sunday. On the days when he could not be with Antonapoulos, Singer walked up and down in his room at the hotel.

    His sed visit to his friend was like the first, except that the old men in the room watched them listlessly and did not play slapjack.

    After much trouble Singer obtained permission to take Antonapoulos out with him for a few hours. He planned each

    detail of the little excursion in advahey drove out into the try in a taxi, and then at four-thirty they went to the dining-room at the hotel. Antonapoulos greatly enjoyed his extra meal. He ordered half the dishes on the menu and ate very greedily. But when he had finished he would not leave.

    He held to the table. Singer coaxed him and the cab driver wao use force. Antonapoulos sat stolidly and made obse gestures when they came too close to him. At last Singer bought a bottle of whiskey from the hotel manager and lured him into the taxi again. When Sihrew the unopened bottle out of the window Antonapoulos wept with disappoi and offehe end of their little excursion made Singer very sad.

    His  visit was the last one, for his two weeks vacation was almost over. Antonapoulos had fotten whathad happened before. They sat in their same er of the room. The minutes slipped by quickly. Singers hands talked desperately and his narrow face was very pale. At last it was time for him to go. He held his friend by the arm and looked into his fa the way that he used to do when they parted each day before work. Antonapoulos stared at him drowsily and did not move. Singer left the room with his hands stuffed hard into his pockets.

    Soon after Singer returo his room at the b-house, Mid Jake Blount and Doctor Copeland began to e again. Eae of them wao know where he had been and why he had not let them know about his plans. But Singer pretehat he did not uand their questions, and his smile was inscrutable.

    One by ohey would e to Singers room to spend the evening with him. The mute was always thoughtful and posed. His many-tinted gentle eyes were grave as a sorcerers. Mick Kelly and Jake Blount and Doctor Copeland would e and talk in the silent room—tor they felt that the mute would always uand whatever they wao say to him. And maybe even more than that.

 Part Two-1

    J. ms summer was different from any other time Mick could remember. Nothing much happehat she could describe to herself in thoughts or words—but there was a feeling of

    ge. AH the time she was excited. In the m she couldnt wait to get out of bed and start going for the day. And at night she hated like hell to have to sleep again.

    Right after breakfast she took the kids out, and except for meals they were gone most of the day. A good deal of the time they just roamed around the streets—with her pulling Ralphs wagon and Bubber following along behind. Always she was busy with thoughts and plans. Sometimes she would look up suddenly and they would be way off in some part of town she didnt even reize. And once or twice they ran into Bill oreets and she was so busy thinking he had to grab her by the arm to make her see him.

    Early in the ms it was a little cool and their shadows stretched out tall on the sidewalk in front of them. But in the middle of the day the sky was always blazing hot. The glare was sht it hurt to keep your eyes open. A lot of times the plans about the things that were going to happen to her were mixed up with id snow. Sometimes it was like she was out in Switzerland and all the mountains were covered with snow and she was skating on cold, greenish-colored ice.

    Mister Singer would be skating with her. And maybe Carole Lombard or Ar-turo Tosi who played on the radio. They would be skating together and then Mister Singer would fall throughthe id she would dive in withard for peril and swim uhe id save his life. That was one of the plans always going on in her mind.

    Usually after they had walked awhile she would park Bubber and Ralph in some shady place. Bubber was a swell kid and she had trained him pretty good. If she told him not to go out of h distance from Ralph she wouldnt ever find him shooting marbles with kids two or three blocks away. He played by himself he wagon, and when she left them she didnt have to worry much. She either went to the library and looked at the National Geographic or else just roamed around and thought some more. If she had any money she bought a dope or a Milky Way at Mister Brannons. He gave kids a

    redu. He sold thembbr></abbr> hings for three ts.

    But all the time—no matter what she was doing—there was musietimes she hummed to herself as she walked, and other times she listened quietly to the songs inside her. There were all kinds of musi her thoughts. Some she heard over radios, and some was in her mind already without her ever having heard it anywhere.

    In the night-time, as soon as the kids were in bed, she was free. That was the most important time of all. A lot of things happened when she was by herself and it was dark. Right after supper she ran out of the house again. She couldnt tell anybody about the things she did at night, and when her Mama asked her questions she would answer with any little tale that sounded reasonable. But most of the time if anybody called her she just ran away like she hadnt heard. That went for everybody except her Dad. There was something about her Dads voice she couldnt run away from. He was one of the biggest, tallest men in the whole town. But his voice was so quiet and kindly that people were surprised when he spoke.

    No matter how much of a hurry she was in, she always had to stop when her Dad called.

    This summer she realized something about her Dad she had never known before. Up until then she had hought about him as being a real separate person. A lot of times he would call her. She would go in the front room where he worked and stand by him a couple of minutes— but when she listeo him her mind was never ohings he said to her. Then one night she suddenly realized about her Dad. Nothing unusual happehat night and she didnt know what it was that made her uand. Afterward she felt older and as though she knew him as good as she could knoerson.

    It was a night in late August and she was in a big rush. She had to be at this house by nine oclock, and no maybe either.

    Her Dad called and she went into the front room. He was sitting slumped over his workbench. For some reason it never did seem natural to see him there. Until the time of his act last year he had been a painter and carpenter. Before daylight every m he would leave the house in his

    overalls, to be gone all day. Then at night sometimes he fiddled around with clocks as ara work. A lot of times he had tried to get a job in a jewelry store where he could sit by himself at a desk all day with a  white shirt on and a tie.

    Now when he couldnt carpenter any more he had put a sign at the front of the house reading Clocks and Watches Repaired Cheap. But he didnt look like most jewelers—the ones doere quick, dark little Jew men. Her Dad was too tall for his workbench, and his big bones seemed joiogether in a loose way.

    Her Dad just stared at her. She could tell he didnt have any reason for calling. He only wanted real bad to talk to her. He tried to think of some way to begin. His brown eyes were too big for his long, thin face, and since he had lost every single hair the pale, bald top of his head gave him a naked look. He stul looked at her without speaking and she was in a hurry.

    She had to be at that house by nine sharp and there was no time to waste. Her Dad saw she was in a hurry and he cleared his throatI got something for you, he said. Nothing much, but maybe you  treat yourself with it.’

    He didnt have to give her any nickel or dime just because he was lonesome and wao talk. Out of what he made he only kept enough to have beer about twice a week. Two bottles were on the floor by his chair now, oy and one just opened. And whenever he drank beer he liked to talk to somebody. Her Dad fumbled with his belt and she looked away. This summer he had gotten like a kid about hiding those nickels and dimes he kept forhimself. Sometimes he hid them in his shoes, and other times in a little slit he had cut in his belt. She only halfway wao take the dime, but when he held it out her hand was just naturally open and ready.

    I got so much work to do I dont know where to begin,’

    he said.

    That was just the opposite to the truth, and he k good as she did. He never had many watches to fix, and when he finished he would fool around the house doing any little job that was hen at night he sat at his bench, ing

    old springs and wheels and trying to make the work last out until bedtime. Ever since he broke his hip and couldnt work steady he had to be doing somethingevery minute.

    I been thinking a lot tonight, her Dad said. He poured out his beer and sprinkled a few grains of salt on the back of his hand.

    Then he licked up the salt and took a swallowout of the glass.

    She was in such a hurry that it was hard to stand still. Her Dad noticed this. He tried to say something—but he had not called to tell her anything special. He only wao talk with her for a little while. He started to speak and swallowed. They just looked at each other.<tt>.９9liｂ.t> The quietness grew out longer aher of them could say a word.

    That was when she realized about her Dad. It wasnt like she was learning a new fact—she had uood it all along in every way except with her brain. Now she just suddenly khat she knew about her Dad. He was lonesome and he was an old man. Because none of the kids went to him for anything and because he didnt earn much money he felt like he was cut off from the family. And in his lonesomeness he wao be close to one of his kids —and they were all so busy that they didnt know it. He felt like he wasnt much real use to anybody.

    She uood this while they were looking at each other. It gave her a queer feeling. Her Dad picked up a watch spring and ed it with a brush dipped in gasoline.

    I know youre in a hurry. I just hollered to say hello. *No, Im not in any rush, she said. Ho. That night she sat down in a chair by his bend they talked awhile. He talked about ats and expenses and how things would have been if he had just managed in a different way. He drank beer, and ohe tears came to his eyes and he snuffled his nose against his shirt-sleeve. She stayed with him a good while that night. Even if she was in an awful hurry. Yet for some reason she couldnt tell him about the things in her mind—about the hot, dark nights.

    These nights were secret, and of the whole summer they were the most important time. In the dark she walked by herself and it was like she was the only person iown. Almost every

    street came to be as plain to her in the nighttime as her own home block. Some kids were afraid to walk through strange places in the dark, but she wasnt. Girls were scared a man would e out from somewhere and put his teapot in them like they was married. Most girls were nuts. If a person the size of Joe Louis or Mountain Man Dean would jump out at her and want to fight she would run. But if it was somebody withiy pounds her weight she would give him a good sod ght on.

    The nights were wonderful, and she didnt have time to think about such things as being scared. Whenever she was in the dark she thought about music. While she walked along the streets she would sing to herself. And she felt like the whole town listened without knowing it was Mick Kelly.

    She learned a lot about music during these free nights in the summer-time. When she walked out in the rich parts of town every house had a radio. All the windows were open and she could hear the music very marvelous. After a while she knew which houses tuned in for the programs she wao hear.

    There was one special house that got all the good orchestras.

    And at night she would go to this house and sneak into the dark yard to listen. There was beautiful shrubbery around this house, and she would sit under a bush he window. And after it was all over she would stand in the dark yard with her hands in her pockets and think for a long time. That was the realest part of all the summer—her listening to this musi the radio and studying about itCerra fa puerta, senor Mick said.

    Bubber was sharp as a briar. Haga me usted el favor, senorita, he answered as a eback.

    It was grand to take Spanish at Vocational. There was something about speaking in a fn language that made her feel like shed been around a lot. Every afternoon since school had started she had fun speaking the new Spanish words aences. At first Bubber was stumped, and it was funny to watch his face while she talked the fn language. Then he caught on in a hurry, and before long he could copy everything she said. He remembered the words he learoo. Of course he didnt know what all the sentences meant,

    but she didnt say them for the sehey made, anyway. After a while the kid learned so fast she gave out of Spanish and just gabbled along with made-up sounds. But it wasnt long before he caught her out at that—nobody could put a thing over on old Bubber Kelly.

    Im going to pretend like Im walking into this house for the first time, Mick said. Then I  tell better if all the decorations look good or not.’

    She walked out on the front pord then came bad stood in the hall. All day she and Bubber and Portia and her Dad had been fixing the hall and the dining-room for the party. The decoration was autumn leaves and vines and red crepe paper. On the mantelpie the dining-room and stig up behind the hatrack there were bright yellow leaves.

    They had trailed vines along the walls and oable where the punch bowl would be. The red cr￡pe paper hung down in long fringes from the mantel and also was looped around the backs of the chairs. There lenty decoration. It was O.K.

    She rubbed her hand on her forehead and squinted her eyes.

    Bubber stood beside her and copied every move she made. I sure do want this party to turn out all right. Isure do.’

    This would be the first party she had ever given. She had never eveo more than four or five. Last summer she had goo a prom party. But none of the boys asked her to prom or dance, she just stood by the punch bowl until all the refreshments were gone and the home. This party was not going to be a bit like that one. In a fewhours now the people she had invited would start ing and the to-do would begin.

    It was hard to remember just how she got the idea of this party. The notion came to her soon after she started at Vocational. High School was swell. Everything about it was different from Grammar School. She wouldnt have liked it so much if she had had to take a stenographic course like Hazel aa had do she got special permission and took meical shop like a boy. Shop and Algebra and Spanish were grand. English was mighty hard. Her English teacher was Miss Minner. Everybody said Miss Minner had sold her

    brains to a famous doctor for ten thousand dollars, so that after she was dead he could cut them up and see why she was so smart. On written lessons she cracked such questions as Name eight famous poraries of Doctor Johnson, and Quote ten lines from &quot;The Vicar of Wakefield.&quot;  She called on people by the alphabet a her grade book open during the lessons. And even if she was brainy she was an old sourpuss. The Spanish teacher had traveled on Europe.

    She said that in Frahe people carried home loaves of bread without having them ed up. They would stand talking oreets and hit the bread on a lamp post. And there wasnt any water in Franly wine.

    In nearly all ways Vocational was wonderful. They walked bad forth in the hall between classes, and at lunch period students hung around the gym. Here was the thing that soon began to bother her. In the halls the people would walk up and down together and everybody seemed to belong to some special bunch. Within a week or two she knew people in the halls and in classes to speak to them—but that was all. She wasnt a member of any bunch. In Grammar School she would have just gone up to any crowd she wao belong with and that would have been the end of the matter. Here it was different.

    During the first week she walked up and down the halls by herself and thought about this. She planned about being with some bunch almost as much as she thought of music. Those two ideas were in her head all the time. And finally she got the idea of the party.

    She was strict with the invitations. No Grammar School kids and nobody uwelve years old. She just asked people between thirteen and fifteen. She knew everybody she invited good enough to speak to them in the halls— and when she didnt know their names she asked to find out. She called up those who had a telephone, and the rest she i school.

    Oelephone she always said the same thing. She let Bubber sti his ear to listen. This is Mick Kelly, she said.

    If they didnt uand the name she kept on until they got it.

    Tm having a prom party at eight oclock Saturday night and Im inviting you now. I live at  Fourth Street, Apartment

    A. That Apartment A sounded swell oelephone. Nearly everybody said they would be delighted. A couple of tough boys tried to be smarty a on asking her name over and over. One of them tried to act cute and said, I dont know you. She squelched him in a hurry: You go eat grass! Outside of that wise guy there were ten boys and ten girls and she khat they were all ing. This was a real party, and it would be better and different from any party she had ever goo or heard about before.

    Mick looked over the hall and dining-room one last time. By the hatrack she stopped before the picture of Old Dirty-Face.

    This hoto of her Mamas grandfather. He was a major way ba the Civil War and had been killed in a battle.

    Some kid once drew eyeglasses and a beard on his picture, and when the pencil marks were erased it left his face all dirty.

    That was why she called him Old Dirty-Face. The picture was in the middle of a three-part frame. On both sides were pictures of his sons. They looked about Bubbers age. They had on uniforms and their faces were surprised. They had been killed in battle also. A long time ago.

    Tm going to take this down for the party. I think it looks on. Dont you?’

    I dont know, Bubber said./Are we ick? Im not.’

    She put the picture underh the hatrack. The decoration was O.K. Mister Singer would be pleased when he came home. The rooms seemed very empty and quiet. Thetable was set for supper. And then after supper it would be time for the party. She went into the kit to see about the refreshments.

    You think everything will be all right? she asked Portia.

    Portia was making biscuits. The refreshments were on top of the stove. There were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chocolate snaps and punch. The sandwiches were covered with a damp dishcloth. She peeped at them but didnt take one.

    I doold you forty times that everthing going to be all right, Portia said. Just soon as I e back from fixing supper at home I going to put on that white apron and serve the food real hen I going to push off from here by hirty.

    This here is Saturday night and Highboy and Willie and me

    haves our plans, too.’

    Sure, Mick said. I just want you to help out till things sort of get started—you know.’

    She gave in and took one of the sandwiches. Then she made Bubber stay with Portia a into the middle room. The dress she would wear was laying out on the bed. Hazel aa had both been good about lendiheir best clothes—sidering that they werent supposed to e to the party.

    There was Ettas long blue crepe de e evening dress and some white pumps and a rhioiara for her hair. These clothes were really geous. It was hard to imagine how she would look in them.

    The late afternoon had e and the sun made long, yellow slants through the window. If she took two hours over dressing for the party it was time to begin now. Whehought about putting on the fine clothes she couldnt just sit around and wait. Very slowly she went into the bathroom and shucked off her old shorts and shirt and turned oer.

    She scrubbed the rough parts of her heels and her knees and especially her elbows. She made the bath take a long time.

    She ran naked into the middle room and began to dress. Silk teddies she put on, and silk stogs. She even wore one of Ettas brassieres just for the heck of it. Then very carefully she put on the dress and stepped into the pumps. This was the first time she had ever worn an evening dress. She stood for a long time before the mirror. She wasso tall that the dress came up two or three inches above her ankles—and the shoes were so short they hurt her. She stood in front of the mirror a long tune, and finally decided she either looked like a sap or else she looked very beautiful. One or the other.

    Six different ways she tried out her hair. The cowlicks were a little trouble, so she wet her bangs and made three spit curls.

    Last of all she stuck the rhiones in her hair and put oy of lipstid paint. When she finished she lifted up her  and half-closed eyes like a movie star. Slowly she turned her face from one side to the other. It was beautiful she looked—just beautiful.

    She didnt feel like herself at all. She was somebody different

    from Mick Kelly entirely. Two hours had to pass before the party would begin, and she was ashamed^ for any of the family to see her dressed so far ahead of time. She went into the bathroom again and locked the door. She couldnt mess up her dress by sitting down, so she stood in the middle of the floor. The close walls around her seemed to press hi all the excitement. She felt so different from the old Mick Kelly that she khis would be better than anything else in all her whole life—this party.

    ?Yippee! The punch!’

    The cutest dress------’

    Say! You solve that one about the triangle forty-six by twen------’

    Lemme by! Move out my way!’

    The front door slammed every sed as the people swarmed into the house. Sharp voices and soft voices souogether until there was just one r noise. Girls stood in bunches in their long, fine evening dresses, and the boys roamed around in  duck pants or R.O.T.iforms or new dark fall suite. There was so muotion that Mick couldnt notiy separate face or person. She stood by the hatrad stared around at the party as a whole.

    Everybody get a prom card and start signing up.’

    At first the room was too loud for ao hear and pay attention. The boys were so thick around the punch bowl that the table and the vines didnt show at alL Only her Dads<tt></tt> face rose up above the boys heads as he smiled and dished up the punto the little paper cups. On the seat of the hatrack beside her were a jar of dy and two handkerchiefs. A couple of girls thought it was her birthday, and she had thahem and uned the presents without telling them she wouldnt be fourteen fht more months.

    Every person was as  and fresh and dressed up as she was. They smelled good. The boys had their hair plastered dow and slick. The girls with their different-colored long dresses stood together, and they were like a bright hunk of flowers. The start was marvelous. The beginning of this party was O.K.

    Im part Scotch Irish and Frend------’

    *I got German blood------’

 Part Two-2

    She hollered about the prom cards one more time before she went into the dining-room. Soon they began to pile in from the hall. Every person took a prom card and they lined up in bunches against the walls of the room. This was the real start now.

    It came all of a sudden in a very queer way—this quietness.

    The boys stood together on one side of the room and the girls were across from them. For some reason every person quit making  ohe boys held their cards and looked at the girls and the room was very still. None of the boys started asking for proms like they were supposed to do. The awful quietness got worse and she had not been to enough parties to know what she should do. Then the boys started pung each other and talking. The girls giggled—but even if they didnt look at the boys you could tell they only had their minds oher they were going to be popular or not. The awful quietness was gone now, but there was something jittery about theroom.

    After a while a boy went up to a girl named Delores Brown.

    As soon as he had signed her up the other boys all began to rush Delores at once. When her whole card was full they started on anirl, named Mary. After that everything suddenly stopped again. One or two extra girls got a couple of proms—and because she was giving the party three boys came up to her. That was all.

    The people just hung around in the dining-room and the hall.

    The boys mostly flocked around the punch bowland tried to show off with each other. The girls buogether and did a lot of laughing to pretend like they were having a good time. The boys thought about the girls and the girls thought about the boys. But all that came of it was a queer feeling in the room.

    It was then she began to notice Harry Minowitz. He lived in the house  door and she had known him all her life.

    Although he was two years older she had grown faster than him, and in the summer-time they used to wrestle and fight out on the plot of grass by the street. Harry was a Jew boy, but he

    did not look so much like one. His hair was light brown and straight. Tonight he was dressed very , and when he came in the door he had hung a groanama hat with a feather in itorack.

    It wasnt his clothes that made her notice him. There was something ged about his face because he was without the horn-rimmed specs he usually wore. A red, droppy sty had e out on one of his eyes and he had to cock his head sideways like a bird in order to see. His long, thin hands kept toug around his sty as though it hurt him. When he asked for punch he stuck the paper cup right into her Dads face. She could tell he needed his glasses very bad. He was nervous a bumping into people. He didnt ask any girl to prom except her—and that was because it was her party.

    All the punch had been drunk. Her Dad was afraid she would be embarrassed, so he and her Mama had gone back to the kit to make lemonade. Some of the people were on the front pord the sidewalk. She was glad to get out in the cool night air. After the hot, bright house she could smell the new autumn in the darkness.

    Then she saw something she hadnt expected. Along the edge of the sidewalk and in the dark street there was a bunch of nighborhood kids. Pete and Sucker Wells and Baby and Spareribs—the whole gang that started at below Bubbers age a on up to over twelve. There were even kids she didnt know at all who had somehow smelled a party and e to hang around. And there were kids her age and older that she hadnt invited either because they had done somethio her or she had done somethio them. They were all dirty and in plainshorts le-tailed knickers or old everyday dresses. They were just hanging around in the dark to watch the party. She thought of two feelings when she saw those kids —one was sad and the other was a kind of warning.

    I got this prom with you. Harry Minowitz made out like he was reading on his card, but she could see nothing was written on it. Her Dad had e onto the pord blown the whistle that meant the beginning of the first prom.

    Yeah, she said. Lets get going.’

    They started out to walk around the block. In the long dress she still felt very ritzy. Look yo Mick Kelly! one of the kids in the dark hollered. Look at her! She just walked on like she hadnt heard, but it was that Spare-ribs, and some day soon she would catch him. She and Harry walked fast along the dark sidewalk, and when they came to the end of the street they turned down another block.

    How old are you now, Mick—thirteen?’

    Going on fourteen.’

    She knew what he was thinking. It used to worry her all the time. Five feet six iall and a hundred and three pounds, and she was only thirteen. Every kid at the party was a runt beside her, except Harry, who was only a couple of inches shorter. No boy wao prom with a girl so much taller than him. But maybe cigarettes would help stunt the rest of her growth.

    I grew three and a fourth inches just in last year, she said.

    Once I saw a lady at the fair who was eight and a half feet tall. But you probably wont grow that big.’

    Harry stopped beside a dark crepe myrtle bush. Nobody was in sight. He took something out of his pocket and started fooling with whatever it was. She leaned over to see—it was his pair of sped he was wiping them with his handkerchief.

    Pardon me, he said. The on his glasses and she could hear him breathe deep.

    You ought to wear your specs all the time.’

    Yeah.’

    How e you go around without them?’

    The night was very quiet and dark. Harry held her elbow when they crossed the street.

    Theres a certain young lady back at the party that thinks its sissy for a fellow to wear glasses. This certain person—oh well, maybe I am a------’

    He didnt finish. Suddenly he tightened up and ran a few steps and sprang for a leaf about four feet above his head. She just could see that high leaf in the dark. He had a good spring to

    his jumping a it the first time. The the leaf in his mouth and shadow-boxed for a few punches in the dark.

    She caught up with him.

    As usual a song was in her mind. She was humming to herself.

    Whats that youre singing?’

    ?Its a piece藏书网 by a fellow named Mozart’

    Harry felt pretty good. He was sidestepping with his feet like a fast boxer. That sounds like a sort of German name.’

    I re so.’

    Fascist? he asked.

    *What?’

    I say is that Mozart a Fascist or a Nazi?’

    Mick thought a minute. *No. Theyre new, and this fellows been dead some time.’

    Its a good thing. He began pung in the dark again. He wanted her to ask why.

    I say its a good thing, he said again.

    Why?’

    Because I hate Fascists. If I met one walking oreet Id kill him.’

    She looked at Harry. The leaves against the street light made quick, freckly shadows on his face. He was excited. How e? she asked. Gosh! Dont you ever read the paper? You see, its thisway------’

    They had e back around the block. A otion was going on at her house. People were yelling and running on the sidewalk. A heavy siess came in her belly.

    Theres not time to explain unless we prom around the block again. I dont mind telling you why I hate Fascists. Id like to tell about it.’

    This robably the first ce he had got to spielthese ideas out to somebody. But she didnt have time to listen.

    She was busy looking at what she saw in the front of her house. O.K. Ill see you later. The prom was over now, so she could look and put her mind on the mess she saw.

    What had happened while she was gone? When she left the people were standing around in the fine clothes and it was a real party. Now—after just five mihe place looked

    more like a crazy house. While she was gohose kids had e out of the dark and right into the party itself. The hey had! There was old Pete Wells banging out of the front door with a cup of punch hi his hand. They bellowed and ran and mixed with the invited people —in their old loose-legged knickers and everyday clothes.

    Baby Wilson messed around on the front pord Baby wasnt more than four years old. Anybody could see she ought to be home in bed by now, same as Bubber. She walked doweps o a time, holding the punch high up over her head. There was no reason for her to be here at all. Mister Brannon was her uncle and she could get free dy and drinks at his play time she wao. As soon as she was on the sidewalk Mick caught her by the arm. You ght home, Baby Wilson. Go on, now. Mick looked around to see what else she could do thten things out again like they ought to be. She went up to Sucker Wells. He stood farther down the sidewalk, j where it was dark, holding his paper cup and looking at * everybody in a dreamy way. Sucker was seven years old and he had on shorts. His chest a were naked. He  wasnt causing any of the otion, but she was mad I as hell at what had happened.

    She grabbed Sucker by the shoulders and began to shake him.

    At first he held his jaws tight, but after a min- I ute his teeth began to rattle. You go home, Sucker Wells. You quit hanging around where youre not invited. Whe him go, Sucker tucked his tail and walked slowly dowreet.

    But he didnt go all the way home. After he got to the er she saw him sit down on the curb and watch the party where he thought she couldnt see him.

    For a minute she felt good about shaking the spit out of Sucker. And then right afterward she had a bad worry feeling in her and she started to let him e back. Thebig kids were the ones who messed up everything. Real brats they were, and with the worst nerve she had ever seen.

    Drinking up the refreshments and ruining the real party into all this otion. They slammed through the front door and

    hollered and bumped into each other. She went up to Pete Wells because he was the worst of all. He wore his football helmet and butted into people. Pete was every bit of fourtee he was still stu the seventh grade. She went up to him, but he was too big to shake like Sucker. Wheold him to go home he shimmied and made a nose dive at her.

    I been in six different states. Florida, Alabama------fTMade out of silver cloth with a sash------*

    The party was all messed up. Everybody was talking at once.

    The invited people from Vocational were mixed with the neighborhood gang. The boys and the girls still stood in separate buhough—and nobody prommed. In the house the lemonade was just about gohere was only a little puddle of water with floating lemon peels at the bottom of the bowl. Her Dad always acted too h kids. He had served out the punch to anybody who stuck a cup at him.

    Portia was serving the sandwiches when she went into the dining-room. In five mihey were all gone. She only got one—a jelly kind with pink sops e through the bread.

    Portia stayed in the dining-room to watch the party.  having too good a time to leave, she said. I do word to Highboy and Willie to go on with the Saturday Night without me. Everbody so excited here I going to wait ahe end of this party.’

    Excitement—that was the word. She could feel it all through the room and on the pord the sidewalk. She felt excited, too. It wasnt just her dress and the beautiful way her face looked when she passed by the hatrack mirror and saw the red paint on her cheeks and the rhioiara in her hair. Maybe it was the decoration and all these Vocational people and kids being jammed together.

    ?Watch her run!’

    Ouch! Cut it out——’

    Act ye!’

    A bunch of girls were running dowreet, holding up their dresses and with the hair flying out behind them.cCULLERSSome boys<big></big> had cut off the long, sharp spears of a Spanish bayo bush and they were chasing the girls with them.

    Freshmen in Vocational all dressed up for a real prom party

    and ag just like kids. It was half playlike and half not playlike at all. A boy came up to her with a sticker and she started running too.

    The idea of the party was over entirely now. This was just a regular playing-out. But it was the wildest night she had ever seen. The kids had caused it. They were like a catg siess, and their ing to the party made all the other people fet about High School and being almost grown. It was like just before you take a bath iernoon when you might wallow around in the back yard a plenty dirty just for the good feel of it befetting into the tub. Everybody was a wild kid playing out on Saturday night—and she felt like the very wildest of all.

    She hollered and pushed and was the first to try aunt.

    She made so muoise and moved around so fast she couldnt notice what anybody else was doing. Her breath wouldnt e fast enough to let her do all the wild things she wao do.

    The ditch dowreet! The ditch! The ditch!’

    She started for it first. Down a block they had put in new pipes uhe street and dug a swell deep ditch. The flambeaux around the edge were bright and red in the dark. She wouldnt wait to climb down. She ran until she reached the little wavy flames and then she jumped.

    With her tennis shoes she would have landed like a cat —but the high pumps made her slip aomach hit this pipe.

    Her breath was stopped. She lay quiet with her eyes closed.

    The party------For a long time she remembered howshe thought it would be, how she imagihe new people at Vocational. And about the bunch she wao be with every day. She would feel different in the halls now, knowing that they were not something special but like any other kids. It was O.K. about the ruined party. But it was all over. It was the end.

    Mick climbed out of the ditch. Some kids were playing around the little pots of flames. The fire made a red glow and there were long, quick shadows. One boy had gone home and put on a dough-face <tt></tt>bought in advance for Hal-loween. Nothing was ged about the party except her.

    She walked home slowly. When she passed kids she didnt speak or look at them. The decoration in the hall was torn down and the house seemed very empty because everyone had goside. Ihroom she took off the blue evening dress. The hem was torn and she folded it so the raggedy place wouldnt show. The rhioiara was lost somewhere. Her old shorts and shirt were lying on the floor just where she had left them. She put them on. She was too big to wear shorts any more after this. No more after this night Not any more.

    Mick stood out on the front porch. Her face was very white without the paint. She cupped her hands before her mouth and took a deep breath. Everybody go home! The door is shut! The party is over!’

    In the quiet, secret night she was by herself again. It was not late—yellow squares of light snowed in the windows of the houses along the streets. She walked slow, with her hands in her pockets and her head to one side. For a long time she walked without notig the dire.

    Then the houses were far apart from each other and there were yards with big trees in them and black shrubbery. She looked around and saw she was his house where she had gone so many times in the summer. Her feet had just taken her here without her knowing. When she came to the house she waited to be sure no person could see. Then she went through the side yard.

    The radio was on as usual. For a sed she stood by the window and watched the people ihe bald-headed man and the gray-haired lady were playing cards at a table. Mick sat on the ground. This was a very fine a place. Close around w<mark>..</mark>ere thick cedars so that she was pletely hidden by herself. The radio was no good tonight—somebody sang popular songs that all ended in the same way. It was like she was empty. She reached in her pockets a around with her fingers. There were raisins and a buckeye and a string of beads— one cigarette with matches. She lighted the cigarette and put her arms around her knees. It was like she was so empty there wasnt even a feeling or thought in her.

    One program came on after another, and all of themcCULLERSwere punk. She didnt especially care. She smoked and picked

    a little bunch of grass blades. After a while a new annouarted talking. He mentioned Beethoven. She had read in the library about that musi—his name ronounced with an a and spelled with double e. He was a German fellow like Mozart When he was living he spoke in a fn language and lived in a fn place— like she wao do. The announcer said they were going to play his third symphony.

    She only halfway listened because she wao walk some more and she didnt care much what they played. Then the music started. Mick raised her head and her fist went up to her throat.

    How did it e? For a mihe opening balanced from one side to the other. Like a walk or march. Like God strutting in the night. The outside of her was suddenly froze and only that first part of the music was hot inside her heart. She could not even hear what sounded after, but she sat there waiting and froze, with her fists tight. After a while the music came again, harder and loud. It didnt have anything to do with God. This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. I sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings. This music was her—the real plain her.

    She could not listen good enough to hear it alL The music boiled inside her. Which? To hang on to certain wonderful parts and think them over so that later she would not fet—or should she let go and listen to each part that came without thinking  to remember? Golly! The whole world was this musid she could not listen hard enough. Then at last the opening music came again, with all the different instruments buogether for eaote like a hard, tight fist that socked at her heart And the first part was over.

    This music did not take a long time or a short time. It did not have anything to do with time going by at all. She sat with her arms held tight around her legs, biting her salty knee very hard. It might have been five minutes she listened or half the night. The sed part was black-colored—a slow marot sad, but like the whole world was dead and blad there was no use thinking back how it was before. One of those horn kind of instruments played a sad and silver tuhen the music rose up angry

    and with excitement underh. And finally the black march again.

    But maybe the last part of the symphony was the music she loved the best—glad and like the greatest people in the world running and springing up in a hard, free way. Wonderful musiice this was the worst hurt there could be. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen.

    It was over, and she sat very stiff with her arms around her knees. Another program came on the radio and she put her fingers in her ears. The music left only this bad hurt in her, and a blankness. She could not remember any of the symphony, not even the last few notes. She tried to remember, but no sound at all came to her. Now that it was over there was only her heart like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.

    The radio and the lights in the house were turned off. The night was very dark. Suddenly Mick began hittihigh with her fists. She pouhe same muscle with all her strength until the tears came down her face. But she could not feel this hard enough. The rocks uhe bush were sharp.

    She grabbed a handful of them and began scraping them up and down on the same spot until her hand was bloody. Then she fell back to the ground and lay looking up at the night.

    With the fiery hurt in her leg she felt better. She was limp o grass, and after a while her breath came slow and easy again.

    Why hadnt the explorers known by looking at the sky that the world was round? The sky was curved, like the inside of a huge glass ball, very dark blue with the sprinkles ht stars. The night was quiet. There was the smell of warm cedars. She was n to think of the music at all when it came back to her. The first part happened hi her mind just as it had been played. She listened in a quiet, slow way and thought the notes out like a problem iry so she would remember. She could see the shape of the sounds very clear and she would not fet them.

    Now she felt good. She whispered some words out loud: Lord fiveth me, for I kh not what I do. Why did she think of that? Everybody in the past few years khere wasnt

    any real God. Whehought of what sheused to imagine was God she could only see Mister Singer with a long, white sheet around him. God was silent— maybe that was why she was reminded. She said the words again, just as she would speak them to Mister Singer: Lord fiveth me, for I kh not what I do.’

    This part of the music was beautiful and clear. She could sing it now whenever she wao. Maybe later on, when she had just waked up some m, more of the music would e back to her. If ever she heard the symphony again there would be other parts to add to what was already in her mind. And maybe if she could hear it four more times, just four more times, she would know it all. Maybe.

    Once again she listeo this opening part of the music.

    Thees grew slower and soft and it was like she was sinking down slowly into the dark ground.

    Mick awoke with a jerk. The air had turned chilly, and as she was ing up out of the sleep she dreamed old Etta Kelly was taking all the cimme some bla------ she tried to say. Then she opened her eyes. The skywas very blad all the stars were gohe grass was wet.

    She got up in a hurry because her Dad would be worried. Then she remembered the music. She couldnt tell whether the time was midnight or three in the m, so she started beating it for home in a rush. The air had a smell in it like autumn. The music was loud and qui her mind, and she ran faster and faster on the sidewalks leading to the home block.

    B? Y OCTOBER the days were blue and cool. Biff Brannon ged his light seersucker trousers for dark-blue serge ones.

    Behind the ter of the cafe he installed a mae that made hot chocolate. Mick was very partial to hot chocolate, and she came in three or four times a week to drink a cup. He served it to her for a nickel instead of a dime and he wao give it to her free. He watched her as she stood behind the ter and he was troubled and sad. He wao reach out his hand and touch her sunburousled hair—but not as he had ever touched

    a woman. In him there was an uneasiness, and when he spoke to her his voice had a rough, strange sound.

 Part Two-3

    There were many worries on his mind. For ohing, Alice was not well. She worked downstairs as usual from seven in the m until ten at night, but she walked very slowly and brown circles were beh her eyes. It was in the busihat she showed this illness most plainly. One Sunday, when she wrote out the days menu oypewriter, she marked the special dinner with chi a la king at twenty ts instead of fifty, and did not discover the mistake until several ers had already ordered and were ready to pay. Aime she gave back two fives and three ones as ge for ten dollars. Biff would stand looking at her for a long time, rubbing his houghtfully and with his eyes half-closed.

    They did not speak of this together. At night he worked downstairs while she slept, and during the m she mahe restaurant alone. When they worked together he stayed behind the cash register and looked after the kit and the tables, as was their . They did not talk except on matters of business, but Biff would stand watg her with his face puzzled.

    Then iernoon of the eighth of October there was a sudden cry of pain from the room where they slept. Biff hurried upstairs. Within an hour they had taken Alice to the hospital and the doctor had removed from her a tumor almost the size of a newborn child. And then within another hour Alice was dead.

    Biff sat by her bed at the hospital in stunned refle. He had bee when she died. Her eyes had been drugged and misty from the ether and then they hardened like glass.

    The nurse and the doctor withdrew from the room. He tio look into her face. Except for the bluish pallor there was little difference. He noted each detail about her as though he had  watched her every day for twenty-one years.

    Then gradually as he sat there his thoughts turo a picture that had long been stored inside him.

    The cold green o and a hot gold strip of sand. The little children playing on the edge of the silky line of foam. The

    sturdy brown baby girl, the thin little naked boys, the half-grown children running and calling out to each otherwith sweet, shrill voices. Children were here whom he knew, Mid his niece, Baby, and there were alse young fao one had ever seen before. Biff bowed his head.

    After a long while he got up from his chair and stood in the middle of the room. He could hear his sister-in-law, Lucile, walking up and down the hall outside. A fat bee crawled across the top of the dresser, and adroitly Biff caught it in his hand and put it out the open window. He gla the dead faore time, and then with widowed sedateness he opehe door mat led out into the hospital corridor.

    Late the  m he sat sewing in the room upstairs.

    Why? Why<q></q> was it that in cases of real love the one who is left does not more often follow the beloved by suicide? Only because the living must bury the dead? Because of the measured rites that must be fulfilled after a death? Because it is as though the one who is left steps for a time upon a stage and each sed swells to an unlimited amount of time and he is watched by many eyes? Because there is a fun he must carry out? Or perhaps, when there is love, the widowed must stay for the resurre of the beloved—so that the one who has gone is not really dead, but grows and is created for a sed time in the soul of the living? Why？

    Biff bent close over his sewing aated on many things.

    He sewed skillfully, and the calluses oips of his fingers were so hard that he pushed the needle through the cloth without a thimble. Already the m bands had been sewn around the arms of two gray suits, and now he was on the last.

    The day was bright and hot, and the first dead leaves of the new autumn scraped on the sidewalks. He had go early.

    Each minute was very long. Before him there was infinite leisure. He had locked the door of the restaurant and hung oside a white wreath of lilies. To the funeral home he went first and looked carefully at the sele of caskets. He touched the materials of the linings aed the strength of the frames.

    What is the name of the crepe of this one—Geette?’

    The uaker answered his questions in an oily,

    unctuous voice.

    And what is the pertage of cremations in your business?’

    Out oreet again Biff walked with measured formality.

    From the west there was a warm wind and the sun was very bright. His watch had stopped, so he turned down toward the street where Wilbur Kelly had retly put out his sign as watchmaker. Kelly was sitting at his ben a patched bathrobe. His shop was also a bedroom, and the baby Mick pulled around with her in a wagon sat quietly on a pallet on the floor. Each minute was so long that in it there le time for plation and enquiry. He asked Kelly to explain the exact use of jewels in a watch. He he distorted look of Kellys right eye as it appeared through his watchmakers loupe. They talked for a while about Chamberlain and Munich. Then as the time was still early he decided to go up to the mutes room.

    Singer was dressing for work. Last night there had e from him a letter of dolence. He was to be a pallbearer at the funeral. Biff sat on the bed and they smoked a cigarette together. Singer looked at him now and then with his green observant eyes. He offered him a drink of coffee. Biff did not talk, and ohe mute stopped to pat him on the shoulder and look for a sed into his face. When Singer was dressed they went out together.

    Biff bought the black ribbon at the store and saw the preacher of Alices church. When all was arranged he came bae.

    To put things in order—that was the thought in his mind. He bundled up Alices clothes and personal possessions to give to Lucile. He thhly ed and straightehe bureau drawers. He even rearrahe shelves of the kit downstairs and removed the gaily colored crSpe streamers from the electris. Thehis was do iub and bathed himself all over. And the m was done.

    Biff bit the thread and smoothed the black band on the sleeve of his coat. By now Lucile would be waiting for him. He and she and Baby would ride in the funeral car together. He put away the work basket and fitted the coatwith the m band very carefully on his shoulders. He glanced swiftly around the room to see that all was well

    befoing out again.

    An hour later he was in Luciles kitette. He sat with his legs crossed, a napkin over his thigh, drinking a cup of tea.

    Lucile and Alice had been so different in all ways that it was not easy to realize they were sisters. Lucile was thin and dark, and today she had dressed pletely in black. She was fixing Babys hair. The kid waited patiently o table with her hands folded in her lap while her mother worked on her.

    The sunlight was quiet and mellow in the room.

    Bartholomew------ said Lucile.

    ?What?’

    &quot;Dont you ever start thinking backward?’

    I dont,said Biff.

    You know its like I got to wear blinders all the time so I wont think sideways or in the past. All I  let myself think about is going to work every day and fixing meals and Babys future.’

    Thats the right attitude.’

    I been giving Baby finger waves down at the shop. But they e out so quick I been thinking about letting her have a perma. I dont want to give it to her myself— I think maybe  take her up to Atlanta when I go to the etologist vention a her get it there.’

    Mod! Shes not b９9ｌｉb? four. Its liable to scare her. And besides, permas tend to coarsen the hair.’

    Lucile dipped the b in a glass of water and mashed the curls over Babys ears. No, they dont. And she wants one.

    Young as Baby is, she already has as much ambition as I got.

    And thats saying plenty.’

    Biff polished his nails on the palm of his hand and shook his head.

    Every time Baby and I go to the movies ahose kids in all the good roles she feels the same way I do. I swear she does, Bartholomew. I t eve her to eat her supper afterward.’

    Foodness sake, Biff said.

    Shes getting along so fih her dang and expression lessons.  year I wao start with the piano because I think itll be a help for her to play some.

    Her dang teacher is going to give her a solo in the

    soiree. I feel like I got to push Baby all I . Because the sooner she gets started on her career the better itll be for both of us.’

    Mod!’

    You dont uand. A child with talent t be treated like ordinary kids. Thats one reason I want to get Baby out of this on neighborhood. I t let her start to talk vulgar like these brats around her or run wild like they do.’

    I know the kids on this block, Biff said. Theyre all right.

    Those Kelly kids across the street—the e boy------？

    You know good ahat none of them are up toBabys level.’

    Lucile set the last wave in Babys hair. She pihe kids little cheeks to put more color ihen she lifted her down from the table. For the funeral Baby had on a little white dress with white shoes and white socks and even small white gloves. There was a certain way Baby always held her head when people looked at her, and it was turhat way now.

    They sat for a while in the small, hot kitette without saying anything. Then Lucile began to cry. Its not like we was ever very close as sisters. We had our differences and we didnt see much of each other. Maybe it was because I was so much younger. But theres something about your own blood kin, and when anything like this happens------’

    Biff clucked soothingly.

    I know how you two were, she said. It wasnt all just roses with you and she. But maybe that sort of makes it worse for you now.’

    Biff caught Baby uhe arms and swung her up to his shoulder. The kid was getting heavier. He held her carefully as he stepped into the living-room. Baby felt warm and close on his shoulder, and her little silk skirt was white against the dark cloth of his coat. She grasped one of his ears very tight with her little hand.

    Unca Biff! Watch me do the split.’

    Gently he set Baby on her feet again. She curved both arms above her head and her feet slid slowly in oppositedires on the yellow waxed floor. In a moment she was seated with oretched straight in front of her and one

    behind. She posed with her arms held at a fangle, looking sideways at the wall with a sad expression.

    She scrambled up again. Watch me do a handspring. Watch me do a------’

    Honey, be a little quieter, Lucile said. She sat down beside Biff on the plush sofa. Dont she remind you a little of him—something about her eyes and face?’

    Hell, no. I t see the slightest resemblaween Baby and Leroy Wilson.’

    Lucile looked too thin and worn out for her age. Maybe it was the black dress and because she had been g. After all, we got to admit hes Babys father, she said.

    t you ever fet about that man?’

    I dont know. I guess I always been a fool about two things.

    And thats Leroy and Baby.’

    Bills new growth of beard was blue against the pale skin of his fad his voice souired. Dont you ever just think a thing through and find out whats happened and what ought to e from that? Dont you ever use logi&lt;—if these are the given facts this ought to be the result?’

    Not about him, I guess.’

    Biff spoke in a weary manner and his eyes were almost closed.

    You married this certain party when you were seventeen, and afterward there was just one racket between you after another.

    You divorced him. Then two years later you married him a sed time. And now hes gone off again and you dont know where he is. It seems like those facts would show you ohing—you two are not suited to each other. And thats aside from the more personal side—the sort of man this certain party happens to be anyway.’

    God knows I been realizing all along hes a heel. I just hope he wont ever kno that dain.’

    Look, Baby, Biff said quickly. He laced his fingers and held up his hands. &quot;This is the churd this is the steeple. Open the door and here are Gods people.’

    Lucile shook her head. You dont have to bother about Baby. I tell her everything. She knows about the whole mess from A to Z.’

    &quot;Then if he es back youll let him stay here and sponge on you just as long as he pleases—like it was before?’

    Yeah. I guess I would. Every time the doorbell or the phs, every time anybody steps up on the porch, something in the bay mind thinks about that man. Biff spread out the palms of his hands. There you are. The clock struck two.

    The room was very close and hot. Baby turned another handspring and made a split again on the waxed floor. Then Biff took her up into his lap. Her little legs dangled against his shin. She unbuttoned his vest and burrowed her fato him.

    Listen, Lucile said. If I ask you a question will you promise to answer me the truth? Sure.’

    No matter what it is?’

    Biff touched Babys soft gold hair and laid his haly on the side of her little head. Of course.’

    It was about seven years ago. Soon after we was married the first time. And he came in one night from your place with big knots all over his head and told me you caught him by the ned banged his head against the side of the wall. He made up some tale about why you did it, but I want to know the real reason.’

    Biff turhe wedding ring on his finger. I just never did like Leroy, and we had a fight In those days I was different from now.’

    &quot;No. There was some defihing you did that for. We been knowing each other a pretty long time, and I uand by now that you got a real reason for every sihing you ever do. Your mind runs by reasons instead of just wants. Now, you promised youd tell me what it was, and I want to know.’

    It wouldnt mean anything now/ I tell you I got to know.’

    All right, Biff said. He came in that night and started drinking, and when he was drunk he shot off his mouth about you. He said he would e home about once a month a hell out of you and you would take it. But then afterward you would step outside in the hall and laugh aloud a few times so that the neighbors iher rooms would think you both had just been playing around and it had all been a joke. Thats what happened, so just fet about it’

    Lucile sat up straight and there was a red spot on each of her cheeks. You see, Bartholomew, thats why I got to be like I have blinders on all the time so as not to think backward or sideways. All I  let my mind stay on is going to work every day and fixing three meals here at home and Babys career.’

    Yes.’

    I hope youll do that too, and not start thinking backward.’

    Biff leaned his head down on his chest and closed his eyes.

    During the whole long day he had not been able to think of Alice. Wheried to remember her face there was a queer blankness in him. The only thing about her that was clear in his mind was her feet—stumpy, very soft and white with puffy toes. The bottoms were pink ahe left heel there was a tiny brown mole. The night they were married he had taken off her shoes and stogs and kissed her feet. And, e to think of it, that was worth siderable, because the Japanese believe that the choicest part of a woman------Biff stirred and gla his watch. In a little while they would leave for the church where the funeral would be held.

    In his mind he went through the motions of the ceremony. The church—riding, dirge-paced behind the hearse with Lucile and Baby—the group of people stand-  ing with bowed heads in the September sunshine. Sun on ? the white tombstones, on the fading flowers and the -  vas tent c the newly dug grave. Then home again  —and what？

    No matter how much you quarrel theres something about your own blood sister, Lucile said.

    Biff raised his head. Why dont you marry again? Some nice young man whos never had a wife before, who would take care of you and Baby? If youd just fet about Leroy you would make a good man a fine wife.’

    Lucile was slow to ahen finally she said: *You knoe always been—we nearly all the time uand each other pretty well without any kind of throbs either way. Well, thats the closest I ever want to be to any man again.’

    feel the same way, Biff said.

    Half an hour later there was a kno the door. The car for the funeral arked before the house. Biff and Lucile got up slowly. The three of them, with Baby in her white silk

    dress a little ahead, walked in solemn quietness outside.

    Biff kept the restaurant closed during the  day. Then in the early evening he removed the faded wreath of lilies from the front door and opehe place for business again. Old ers came in with sad faces and talked with him a few minutes by the cash register befiving their orders. The usual croresent—Singer, Blount, various men who worked in stores along the blod in the mills down on the river. After supper Mick Kelly showed up with her little brother and put a nickel into the slot mae. When she lost the first  she banged on the mae with her fists a opening the receiver to be sure that nothing had e down. The in another nickel and almost won the jackpot. s came clattering out and rolled along the floor.

    The kid and her little brother both kept looking around pretty sharp as they picked them up, so that no er would put his foot on one before they could get to it The mute was at the table in the middle of the room with his dinner before him.

    Across from him Jake Blount sat drinking beer, dressed in his Sunday clothes, and talking. Everything was the same as it had always been before. After a while the air became gray with cigarette smoke and the noise increased. Biff was alert, and no sound or movement escaped him.

    I go around, Blount said. He leaned early across the table a his eyes oes face. I go all around and try to tell them. And they laugh. I t make them uand anything. No matter what I say I t seem to make them see, the truth.’

    Singer nodded and wiped his mouth with his napkin. His dinner had got cold because he couldnt look down to eat, but he was so polite that he let Blount go on talking. The words of the two children at the slot mae were high and clear against the coarser voices of the men. Mick utting her nickels bato the slot. Often she looked around at the middle table, but the mute had his back turo her and did not see.Mister Singers got fried chi for his supper and he hasen one piece yet, the little boy said.

    Mick pulled down the lever of the mae very slowly. Mind

    your own business.’

    Youre always going up to his room or some place where you know hell be.’

    I told you to hush, Bubber Kelly.’

    You do.’

    Mick shook him until his teeth rattled and turned him around toward the door. You go on home to bed. I already told you I get a bellyful of you and Ralph in the daytime, and I dont want you hanging arou night when Im supposed to be free.’

    Bubber held out bis grimy little hand. Well, give me a hen. When he had put the money in his shirt pocket he left for home.

    Biff straightened his coat and smoothed back his hair. His tie was solid black, and on the sleeve of his gray coat there was the m band that he had sewn there. He wao go up to the slot mae and talk with Mick, but something would not let him. He sucked in his breath sharply and drank a glass of water. A dance orchestra came in on the radio, but he did not want to listen. All the tunes in the last ten years were so alike he couldnt tell one from the other. Since  he had not enjoyed music. Yet when he was young he used to play the mandolin, and he khe words and the melody of every current song.

    He laid his finger on the side of his nose and cocked his head to one side. Mick had grown so mu the past year that soon she would be taller than he was. She was dressed in the red sweater and blue pleated skirt she had worn every day since school started. Now the pleats had e out and the hem dragged loose around her sharp, jutting knees. She was at the age when she looked as much like an rown boy as a girl.

    And on that subject why was it that the smartest people mostly missed that point? By nature all people are of both sexes. So that marriage and the bed is not all by any means. The proof? Real youth and old age. Because often old mens voices grow high and reedy and they take on a ming walk. And old women sometimes grow fat and their voices get rough and deep and they grow dark little mustaches. And he even proved  it himself—the part of him that sometimes almost wished he was a mother and that Mid Baby were his kids.

    Abruptly Biff turned from the cash register.

    The neers were in a mess. For two weeks he hadnt filed a single one. He lifted a stack of them from uhe ter.

    With a practiced eye he glanced from the masthead to the bottom of the sheet. Tomorrow he would look over the stacks of them in the ba and see about ging the system of files. Build shelves and use those solid boxes ed goods were shipped in for drawers. ologically from October ,, on up to the present date. With folders and top markings outlining historical events. Three sets of outlines—oernational beginning with the Armistid leading through the Munich aftermath, the sed national, the third all the local dope from the time Mayor Lester shot his wife at the try club up to the Hudson Mill fire. Everything for the past twenty years docketed and outlined and plete. Biff beamed quietly behind his hand as he rubbed his jaw. A Alice had wanted him to haul out the papers so she could turn the room into a ladies toilet. That was just what she had nagged him to do, but for once he had battered her down. For that oime.

    With peaceful absorption Biff settled down to the details of the neer before him. He read steadily and with tration, but from habit some sedary part of him was alert to everything around him. Jake Blount was still talking, and often he would hit his fist oable. The mute sipped beer. Mick walked restlessly around the radio and stared at the ers. Biff read every word in the first paper and made a few notes on themargins.

    Then suddenly he looked up with a surprised expression. His mouth had been open for a yawn and he s shut. The radio swung into an old song that dated back to the time when he and Alice were engaged. Just a Babys Prayer at Twilight. They had takereetcar one Sunday to Old Sardis Lake and had rented a rowboat. At su he played on the mandolin while she sang. She had on a sailor hat, and whe his arm around her waistshe—Alice-------A drag for lost feelings. Biff folded the neersand put them bader the ter. He stood on one foot

    and theher. Finally he called across the room to Mick.

    Youre not listening, are you?’

    Mick turned off the radio. No. Nothing on tonight. All of that he would keep out of his mind, and trate on something else. He leaned over the ter and watched one er after ahen at last his attentioed oe at the middle table. He saw Mick edge gradually up to him and at his invitation sit down. Singer poio something on the menu and the waitress brought a Coca-Cola for her. Nobody but a freak like a deaf-mute, cut off from other people, would ask a right young girl to sit down to the table where he was drinking with another man. Blount and Mick both kept their eyes on Sihey talked, and the mutes expression ged as he watched them. It was a funny thing. The reason—was it in them or in him? He sat very still with his hands in his pockets, and because he did not speak it made him seem superior. What did that fellow think and realize? What did he know？

    Twice during the evening Biff started to go over to the middle table, but each time he checked himself. After they were goill wondered what it was about this mute —and in the early dawn when he lay in bed he turned over questions and solutions in his mind without satisfa. The puzzle had taken root in him. It worried him in the back of his mind a him uneasy. There was something wrong.

    [.ANY times Doctor Copeland talked to Mr. Siruly he was not like other white men. He was a wise man, and he uood the strong, true purpose in a way that other white men could not. He listened, and in his face there was somethile and Jewish, the knowledge of one who belongs to a race that is oppressed. On one occasioook Mr. Singer with him on his rounds. He led him through cold and narrow passages smelling of dirt and siess and fried fatback. He showed him a successful skin graft made on the face of a atient who had been severely burned. He treated a syphilitic child and pointed out to Mr. Sihe sg eruption on the palms of the hand, the dull, opaque surface of the eye, the sloping upper front incisors. They visited two-room shacks that housed as

    many as twelve or fourteen persons. In a room where the fire burned low and e on the hearth they were helpless while an old man strangled with pneumonia. Mr. Singer walked behind him and watched and uood. He gave o the children, and because of his quietness and de he did not disturb the patients as would have another visitor.

    The days were chilly and treacherous. Iown there was an outbreak of influenza so that Dr. Copeland was busy most of the hours of the day and night. He drove through the Negro ses of the town in the high Dodge automobile he had used for the past nine years. He kept the isinglass curtains so the windows to cut off the draughts, and tight around his neck he wore his gray wool shawl. During this time he did not see Portia or William hboy, but oftehought of them. Once when he was aortia came to see him a a note and borrowed half a sack<dfn></dfn> of meal.

    There came a night when he was so exhausted that, although there were other calls to make, he drank hot milk ao bed. He was cold and feverish so that at first he could not rest.

    Then it seemed that he had only begun to sleep when a voice called him. He got up wearily and, still in his long flannel nightshirt, he opehe front door. It ortia.

    &quot;The Lord Jesus help us, Father, she said. Doctor Copeland stood shivering with his nightshirt drawn close around his waist. He held his hand to his throat and looked at her and waited.

 Part Two-4

    It about our Willie. He been a bad boy and do hisself in mighty bad trouble. And us got to do something. Doctor Copeland walked from the hall with rigid steps. He stopped in the bedroom for his bathrobe, shawl, and slippers a back to the kit. Portia was waiting for him there. The kit was lifeless and cold. All right. What has he done? What is it? Just wait a minute. Just let me find brain room so I  study it all out and tell it to you plain.’

    He crushed some sheets of neer lying on thehearth and picked up a few sticks of kindling.

    Let me make the fire, Portia said. You just sit down at the table, and soon as this here stove is hot us going to have a cup of coffee. Then maybe it all wont seem so bad.’

    &quot;There is not any coffee. I used the last of it yesterday. &gt; When he said this Portia began to cry. Savagely she stuffed paper and wood into the stove and lighted it with a trembling hand. &quot;This here the way it is, she said. Willie and Highboy were messing around tonight at a place where they got no business being. You know how I feels like I always got to keep my Willie and my Highboy close to me? Well, if Id been there none of this trouble would of e about. But I were at the Ladies Meeting at the churd them boys got restless.

    They went down to Madame Rebas Palace of Sweet Pleasure.

    And Father, this is sure one bad, wicked place. They got a man sells tickets on the bug— but they also got these strutting, bad-blood, tail-shaking nigger gals and these here red satin curtains and------’

    Daughter, said Doctor Copeland irritably. He pressed his hands to the side of bis head. I know the place. Get to the point.’

    Love Jones were there—and she is one bad cal.

    Willie he drunk liquor and shimmied around with her until first thing you know he were in a fight. He were in a fight with this boy named Junebug—over Love. And for a while they fights there with their hands and then this Junebug got out his knife. Our Willie didnt have no knife, so he eo bellow and run around the parlor. Then finally Highboy found Willie a razor and he backed up and nearbout cut this Junebugs head off.’

    Doctor Copeland drew his shawl closer around him. Is he dead?’

    &quot;That boy too mean to die. He in the hospital, but he going to be out and making trouble again before long.’

    And William?’

    The polie in and taken him to the jail in the Black Maria. He still locked up.’

    And he did not get hurt?’

    Oh, he got a busted eye and a little k cut out his behind.

    But it wont bother him none. What I t uand is how e he would be messing around with that Love. She at least ten shades blacker than I is and she the ugliest nigger I ever seen. She walk like she have a egg

    between her legs and dont want to break it. She aint even . And here Willie do the buck like this over her.’

    Doctor Copeland leaned closer to the stove and groaned. He coughed and his face stiffened. He held his paper handkerchief to his mouth and it became spotted with blood.

    The dark skin of his face took on a greenish pallor.

    Course Highboy e and tell me soon as it all happened.

    Uand, my Highboy didnt have nothing to do with these here bad gals. He were just keeping Willie pany. He so grieved about Willie he been sitting out oreet curb in front of the jail ever sihe fire-colored tears rolled down Portias face. You know how us three has always been. Us haves our own plan and nothing ever went wrong with it before. Even money hasnt bothered us none. Highboy he pay the rent and I buys the food-—and Willie he takes care of Saturday Night. Us has always been like three-piece twinses.’

    At last it was m. The mill whistles blew for the first shift. The sun came out and brightehe  saus hanging on the wall above the stove. They sat for a long time.

    Portia pulled at the rings on her ears until her lobes were irritated and purplish red. Doctor Copeland still held his head in his hands.

    Seem to me, Portia said finally, if us  just get a lot of white peoples to write letters about Willie it might help out some. I already been to see Mr. Brannon. He writtely what I told him to. He were at his cafe after it all happened like he is ever night. So I just went in there and explained how it was. I taketer home with me. I do it in the Bible so I wont lose it or dirty it’

    What did the letter say?’

    Mr. Brannon he wrote just hike I asked him to. The letter tell about how Willie has been w for Mr. Brannon going on three year. It tell how Willie is one fine upstanding colored boy and how he hasnt ever been in no trouble before now. It tell how he always had plenty ces to take things in the cafe if he were like some other type of colored boy and how------’

    Pshaw! said Doctor Copeland. All that is no good.’

    Us just t sit around and wait. With Willie locked up in the jail. My Willie, who is such a sweet boy even if he

    did d tonight. Us just t sit around and wait’

    We will have to. That is the only thing we  do.’

    Well, I know I aint’

    Portia got up from the chair. Her eyes roved distractedly around the room as though searg for something. Then abruptly she went toward the front door.

    Wait a minute, said Doctor Copeland. Where do you io go now?’

    I got to work. I sure got to keep my job. I sure have to stay on with Mrs. Kelly a my pay ever week.’

    I want to go to the jail, said Doctor Copeland. Maybe I  see William.’

    I going to drop by the jail on my way to work. I got to send Highboy off to his work, too—else he liable to sit there grieving about Willie all the m.’

    Doctor Copeland dressed hurriedly and joined Portia in the hall. They went out into the cool, blue autumn m. The men at the jail were rude to them and they were able to find out very little. Doctor Copeland theo sult a lawyer with whom he had had dealings before. The following days were long and full of worried thoughts. At the end of three weeks the trial for William was held and he was victed of assault with a deadly on. He was senteo nine months of hard labor a immediately to a prison in<u>藏书网</u> the northern part of the state.

    Even now the strong true purpose was always in him, but he had no time in which to think on it He went from one house to another and the work was unending. Very early in the m he drove off iomobile, and then at eleven oclock the patients came to the office. After the sharp autumn air outside there would be a hot, stale odor in the house that made him cough. The benches in the hall were always full of sid patient Negroes who waited for him, and sometimes even the front pord his bedroom would be crowded. All the day and frequently half the night there was work. Because of the tiredness in him he wanted sometimes to lie down on the floor a with his fists and cry. If he could rest he might get well. He had tuberculosis of the lungs, and he measured his temperature four times a day and had an X-ray once a month.

    But he could not rest. For there was ahing bigger thairedness—and this was the strong true></a> purpose.

    He would think of this purpose until sometimes, after a long day and night of work, he would bee blank so that he would fet for a minute just what the purpose was. And then it would e to him again and he would be restless and eager to take on a ask. But the words often stu his mouth, and his voiow was hoarse and not loud as it had been before. He pushed the words into the sid patient faces of the Negroes who were his people.

    Oftealked to Mr. Singer. With him he spoke of chemistry and the enigma of the universe. Of the infinitesimal sperm and the cleavage of the ripened egg. Of the plex million-fold division of the cells. Of the mystery of living matter and the simplicity of death. And also he spoke with him of race.

    My people were brought from the great plains, and the dark, green jungles, he said oo Mr. Singer. On the long ed jouro the coast they died by the thousands. Only the strong survived. ed in the foul ships that brought them here they died again. Only the hardy Negroes with will could live. Beaten and ed and sold on the block, the least of these strong ones perished again. And finally through the bitter years the stro of my people are still here. Their sons and daughters, their grandsons and great grandsons.’

    I e to borrow and I e to ask a favor, Portia said.

    Doctor Copeland was alone in his kit when she walked through the hall and stood in the doorway to tell him this. Two weeks had passed since William had bee aortia was ged. Her hair was not oiled and bed as usual, her eyes were bloodshot as though she had partaken of strong drink. Her cheeks were hollow, and with her sorrowful, honey-colored face she truly resembled her mother now.

    You know them nice white plates and cups you have?’

    *You may have them ahem.’

    No, I only wants to borrow. And also I e here to ask a favor of you.’

    Anything you wish, said Doctor Copeland.

    Portia sat down across the table from her father. Tirst Isuppose I better explain. Yesdiddy I got this here message from Grandpapa saying they all ing in tomorrow and spend the night and part of Sunday with us. Course they been mighty worried about Willie, and Grandpapa feel like us all ought to get together again. He right, too. I sure do want to see our ffolks again. I been mighty homesick since Willie been gone.’

    You may have the plates and anything else you  find around here, Doctor Copeland said. But hold up your shoulders, Daughter. Your carriage is bad.’

    It going to be a real reunion. You know this is the first time Grandpapa have spent the night in town for twenty years. He havent ever slept outside of his own home except two times in his whole life. And anyway he kind of nervous at night. All during the dark he have to get up and drink water and be sure the childrens is covered up and all right. I a little worried about if Grandpapa will be fortable here.’

    Anything of mine you think you will need——’

    Course Lee Ja bringing them in, said Portia. And with Lee Ja it going to take them all day to get here.  not expeg them till around supper-time. Crandpapa always so patient with Lee Ja he wouldnt make him hurry none.’

    My soul! Is that old mule still alive? He must be fully eighteen years old.’

    He even older than that. Grandpapa been w him now for twenty years. He done had that mule so long he always say it just like Lee Ja is one of his blood kin. He uand and love Lee Ja like he do his own grandchildrens. I never seen a human who know so good what a animal is thinking as Grandpapa. He haves a close feeling for everthing that walks as.’

    Twenty years is a long time to work a mule.’

    It sure is. Now Lee Ja is right feeble. But Grandpapa sure do take good care of him. When they plows out i sun Lee Ja haves a great big straw hat on his head just like Grandpapa—with holes cut for his ears. That mules straw hat is a real joke, and Lee Ja wont budge a step when he

    going to plow without that hat is on his head.’

    Doctor Copeland took down the white a dishes fromthe shelf and began to  them ia neer. Have you enough pots and pans to cook all the food you will need?’

    Plenty, Portia said. I not going to any special trouble.

    Granpapa, he Mr. Thoughtful hisself—and he always bring in something to help out when the f ambly e to dinner. I only going to have plenty meal and cabbage and two pounds of nice mullet. Sounds good.’

    Portia laced her nervous yellow fiogether. &quot;There ohing I havent told you yet. A surprise. Buddy going to    be here as well as Hamilton. Buddy just e back from Mobile.

    He helping out on the farm now.’

    &quot;It has been five years since I last saw Karl Marx. And that just what I e to ask you about,* said Portia. You remember when I walked in the door I told you I e to borrow and to ask a favor.’

    Doctor Copeland cracked the points of his fingers. Yes. Well, I e to see if I t get you to be there tomorrow at the reunion. All your childrens but Willie going to be there.

    Seem to me like you ought to join us. I sure will be glad if you e.’

    Hamilton and Karl Marx and Portia—and William. Doctor Copeland removed his spectacles and pressed his fingers against his eyelids. For a minute he saw the four of them very plainly as they were a long time ago. Then he looked up and straightened his glasses on his hank you, he said. I will e.’

    That night he sat alone by the stove in the dark room and remembered. He thought back to the time of his childhood.

    His mother had been born a slave, and after freedom she was a washerwoman. His father reacher, who had onown John Brown. They had taught him, and out of the two or three dollars they had earned each week they saved. When he was seventeen years old they had sent him North with eighty dollars hidden in his shoe. He had worked in a blacksmiths shop and as a waiter and as a bellboy in a hotel.

    And all the while he studied and read ao school. His

    father died and his mother did not live long without him. After ten years of struggle he was a doctor and he knew his mission and he came Southagain.

    IHe married and made a home. He went endlessly from house to house and spoke the mission and the truth. The hopeless suffering of his people made in him a madness, a wild and evil feeling of destru. At times he drank strong liquor a his head against the floor. In his heart there was a savage violence, and once he grasped the poker from the hearth and struck down his wife. She took Hamilton, Karl Marx, William, and Portia with her to her fathers home. He wrestled in his spirit and fought down the evil blaess. But Daisy did not e ba. A years later when she died his sons were not children any more and they did not return to him. He was left an old man in ay house.

    Promptly at five oclock the  afternoon he arrived at the house where Portia and Highboy lived. They resided in the part of town called Sugar Hill, and the house was a narrow cottage with a pord two rooms. From ihere was a babble of mixed voices. Doctor Copeland approached stiffly and stood in the doorway holding his shabby felt hat in his hand.

    The room was crowded and at first he was not noticed. He sought the faces of Karl Marx and Hamilton. Besides them there was Grandpapa and two children who sat together on the floor. He was still looking into the faces of his sons when Portia perceived him standing in the door. Here Father, she said.

    The voices stopped. Grandpapa turned around in his chair. He was thin a and very wrinkled. He was wearing the same greenish-black suit that he had worn thirty years before at his daughters wedding. Across his vest there was a tarnished br<mark>?</mark>ass watch . Karl Marx and Hamilton looked at each other, then down at the floor, and finally at their father.

    Be Mady------ said the old man. Been a longtime. A real long time.’

    Aint it, though! Portia said. This here the first reunion us is all had in many a year. Highboy, you get a chair from the kit. Father, here Buddy and Hamilton. Doctor Copeland shook hands with his sons. They were both tall and strong and awkward. Against their blue shirts and overalls their skin had the same rich brown color as did Portias. They did not look him in the eye, and in their faces there was her love nor hate.

    It sure is a pity everybody couldnt e—Aunt Sara and Jim and all the rest, said Highboy. But this here is a real pleasure to us.’

    Wagon too full, said one of the children. Us had to walk a long piece cause the wagon too full anyways.’

    Grandpapa scratched Ms ear with a matchstick. Somebody got to stay home.’

    Nervously Portia licked her dark, thin lips. It our Willie I thinking about. He were always a big one for any kind of party or to-do. My mind just wont stay off our Willie.’

    Through the room there was a quiet murmur of agreement.

    The old man leaned ba bis chair and waggled his head up and down. Portia, Hon, supposing you reads to us a little while. The word of God sure do mean a lot in a time of trouble.’

    Portia took up the Bible from the table in the ter of the room. art you want to hear now, Grandpapa?’

    It all the book of the Holy Lord. Just any place your eye fall on will do.’

    Portia read from the Book of Luke. She read slowly, trag the words with her long, limp fihe room was still.

    Doctor Copeland sat on the edge of the group, crag his knuckles, his eyes wandering from one point to ahe room was very small, the air close and stuffy. The four walls were cluttered with dars and crudely painted advertisements from magazines. On the mahere was a vase of red paper roses. The fire on the hearth burned slowly and the wavering light from the oil lamp made shadows on the wall. Portia read with such slow rhythm that the words slept in Doctor Copelands ears and he was drowsy. Karl Marx lay

    sprawled upon the floor beside the children. Hamilton and Highboy dozed. Only the old man seemed to study the meaning of the words.

    Portia fihe chapter and closed the book.

    I done pondered over this thing a many a time/ said Grandpapa.

    The people in the room came out of their drowsiness. What? asked Portia.

    It this way. You recall them parts Jesus raising the dead and g the sick?’

    Course we does, sir, said Highboy deferentially.e CULLERSIMany a day when I be plowing or w, Grandpapa said slowly, I dohought and reasoned about the time when Jesus going to desd again to this earth. Cause I done always wa so much it seem to me like it will be while I am living. I doudied about it many a time. And this here the way I done pla. I reason I will get to stand before Jesus with all my childrens and grandchil-drens and great grandchildrens and kinfolks and friends and I say to him, &quot;Jesus Christ, us is all sad colored peoples.&quot; And then he will place His holy hand upon our heads and straightway us will be white as cotton. That the plan and reasoning that been in my heart a many and a many a time.’

    A hush fell on the room. Doctor Copeland jerked the cuff of his sleeves and cleared his throat. His pulse beat too fast and his throat was tight Sitting in the er of the room he felt isolated and angry and alone.

    Has any of you ever had a sign from Heaven? asked Grandpapa.

    I has, sir, said Highboy. Once when I were sick with the pneumonia I seen Gods face looking out the fireplace at me. It were a large white mans face with a white beard and blue eyes.’

    I seen a ghost, said one of the children—the girLOnce I seen------ begatle boy.

    Grandpapa held up his hand. You childrens hush. You, . I Celia—and you, Whitman—it now the time for you to * listen but not be heard, he said. Only oime has I had a real sign.

    And this here the way it e about. It were in the summer of last year, and hot. I were trying to dig up the roots of that big oak stump he hogpen and when I leaned down a kind of catch, a misery, e suddenly in the small of my back. I straightened up and then aU arou dark. I were holding my hand to my bad looking up at the sky when suddenly I seen this little angel. It were a little white girl angel—look to me about the size of a field pea—with yellow hair and a white robe. Just flying arouhe sun. After that I e in the house and prayed. I studied the Bible for three days before I went out in the field again.’

    Doctor Copelahe old evil anger in him. The words rose inchoately to his throat and he could not speakthem. They would listen to the old mao words of reason they would. not attend. These are my people, he tried to tell himself—but because he was dumb this thought did not help him now. He sat tense and sullen.

    It a queer thing, said Grandpapa suddenly. Be Mady, you a fine doctor. How e I get them miseries sometime in the small of my back after I been digging and planting food while? How e that misery bother me?’

    How old are you now?’

    I somewhere betweey ay year old.’

    The old man loved medie and treatment Always when he used to e in with his family to see Daisy he would have himself examined and take home medie and salves for the whole group of them. But when Daisy left him the old man did not e anymore and he had to tent himself with purges and kidney pills advertised in the neers. Now the old man was looking at him with timid eagerness.

    Drink plenty of water, said Doctor Copeland. A as much as you .’

    Portia went into the kit to prepare the supper. Warm smells began to fill the room. There was quiet, idle talking, but Doctor Copeland did not listen or speak. Now and then he looked at Karl Marx or Hamilton. Karl Marx talked about Joe

    Louis. Hamilton spoke mostly of the hail that had ruined some of the crops. When they caught their fathers eye they grinned and shuffled their feet on the floor. He kept staring at them with angry misery.

    Doctor Copeland clamped his teeth down hard. He had thought so much about Hamilton and Karl Marx and William and Portia, about the real true purpose he had had for them, that the sight of their faces made a black swollen feeling in him. If once he could tell it all to them, from the far away beginning until this very night, the telling would ease the sharp ache in his heart. But they would not listen or uand.

    He hardened himself so that each muscle in his body was rigid and strained. He did not listen or look at anything around him.

    He sat in a er like a man who is blind and dumb. Soon they went into the supper table and the old man said grace.

    But Doctor Copeland did When Highbht out a pint ,bottle of gin, and they laughed and passed the bottle from mouth to mouth, he refused that also. He sat in rigid silence, and at last he picked up his hat ahe house without a farewell. If he could not speak the whole long truth no other word would e to him.

    He lay tense and wakeful throughout the night. Then the  day was Sunday. He made half a dozen calls, and in the middle of the m he went to Mr. Singers room. The visit bluhe feeling of loneliness in him so that when he said good-bye he eace with himself once more.

    However, before he was out of the house this peace had left him. An act occurred. As he started dowairs he saw a white man carrying a large paper sad he drew close to the banisters so that they could pass each other. But the white man was running up the steps two at a time, without looking, and they collided with such force that Doctor Copeland was left sid breathless.

    Christ! I didnt see you.’

    Doctor Copeland looked at him closely but made no answer.

    He had seen this white man once before. He remembered the stunted, brutal-looking body and the huge, awkward hands.

    Then with sudden ical i he observed the white mans face, for in his eyes he saw a strange, fixed, and withdrawn look of madness.

    Sorry, said the white man.

    Doctor Copeland put his hand on the banister and passed on.

    IW HO was that? Jake Blount asked. Who was the tall, &quot; thin colored man that just e out of here?’

    The small room was very . The sun lighted a bowl of purple grapes oable. Singer sat with his chair tilted bad his hands in his pockets, looking out of the window.

    I bumped into him oeps and he gave me this look—why, I never had anybody to look at me so dirty.’

    Jake put the sack of ales down oable. He realizedI with a shock that Singer did not know he was in the room. He walked over to the window and touched Singer on theshoulder.

    I dido bump into him. He had no cause toact like that.’

    Jake shivered. Although the sun was bright there was a chill in the room. Singer held up his forefinger a into the hall.

    Wheurned he brought with him a scuttle of coal and some kindling. Jake watched him kneel before the hearth.

    ly he broke the sticks of kindling over his knee and arrahem on the foundation of paper. He put the coal on acc to a system. At first the fire would not draw. The flames quivered weakly and were smothered by a black roll of smoke. Singer covered the grate with a double sheet of neers. The draught gave the fire new life. In the room there was a r sound. The paper glowed and was sucked inward. A crag e sheet of flame filled the grate.

    The first m ale had a fine mellow taste. Jake gulped his share down quickly and wiped his mouth with file back of his

    hand.

    There was this lady I knew a long time ago, he said. You sort of remind me of her, Miss Clara. She had a little farm in Texas. And made pralio sell iies. She was a tall, big, fine-looking lady. Wore those long, baggy sweaters and clodhopper shoes and a mans hat. Her husband was dead when I knew her. But what Im getting at is this: If it hadnt been for her I might never have known. I might have gone on through life like the millions of others who dont know. I would have just been a preacher or a linthead or a salesman.

    My whole life might havebeen wasted.’

    Jake shook his head wly.

    To uand you got to know what went before. You see, I lived in Gastonia when I was a youngun. I was a knoeed little runt, too small to put in the mill. I worked as pin boy in a bowling joint and got meals for pay. Then I heard a smart, quick boy could make thirty ts a day stringing tobaot very far from there. So I went and made that thirty ts a day.

    That was^ when I was ten years old. I just left my folks. I didnt write. They were glad I was gone. You uand how those things are.And besides, nobody could read a letter but my sister.’

    He waved his hand in the air as though brushing something from his face. But I mean this. My first belief was Jesus.

    There was this fellow w in the same shed with me. He had a tabernacle and preached every night. I went and listened and I got this faith. My mind was on Jesus all day long. In my spare time I studied the Bible and prayed. Then one night I took a hammer and laid my hand oable. I was angry and I drove the nail all the way through. My hand was o the table and I looked at it and the fingers fluttered and turned blue.’

    Jake held out his palm and poio the ragged, dead-white scar in the ter.

    I wao be an eva. I meant to travel around the try preag and holding revivals. In the meantime I moved around from one place to another, and when I was nearly twenty I got to Texas. I worked in a pe grove near

    where Miss Clara lived. I got to know her and at night sometimes I would go to her house. She talked to me.

    Uand, I didnt begin to know all at ohats not the way it happens to any of us. It was gradual. I began to read. I would work just so I could put aside enough moo knock off for a while and study. It was like being born a sed time.

    Just us who know  uand what it means. We have opened our eyes and have seen. Were like people from way off yonder somewhere.’

    Singer agreed with him. The room was fortable in a homey way. Singer brought out from the closet the tin box in which he kept crackers and fruit and cheese. He se-  * lected an e and peeled it slowly. He pulled off shreds  of pith until the fruit was transparent in the sun. He sec-  i tiohe e and divided the plugs between them.   * Jake ate two ses at a time and with a loud whoosh spat the seeds into the fire. Sie his share slowly and deposited his seeds ly in the palm of one hand. They opewo more ales.

    And how many of us are there in this try? Maybe ten thousand. Maybe twenty thousand. Maybe a lot more. I been to a lot of places but I never met but a few of us. But say a man does know. He sees the world as it is and he looks back thousands of years to see how it all e about.

 Part Two-5

    He watched the slow agglutination of capital and power and he sees its pinoday. He sees America as a crazy house.

    He sees how men have to rob their brothers in order to live.

    He sees children starving and women w sixty hours a week to get to eat. He sees a whole damn army of unemployed and billions of dollars and thousands of miles of land wasted.

    He sees war ing. He sees how when people suffer just so much they get mean and ugly and something dies in them. But the main thing he sees is that the whole system of the world is built on a lie. And although its as plain as the shining sun—the dont-knows have lived with that lie so long they just t see it.’

    The red corded vein in Jakes forehead swelled angrily. He grasped the scuttle on the hearth and rattled an avalanche of coal on the fire. His foot had goo sleep, aamped it

    so hard that the floor shook.

    I been all over this place. I walk around. I talk. I try to explain to them. But what good does it do? Lod!’

    He gazed into the fire, and a flush from the ale a deepehe color of his face. The sleepy tingling in his foot spread up his leg. He drowsed and saw the colors of the fire, the tints of green and blue and burning yellow. Youre the only one, he said dreamily. &quot;The only one.’

    He was a stranger no longer. By now he knew every street, every alley, every fen all the sprawling slums of the town.

    He still worked at the Sunny Dixie. During the fall the show moved from one vat lot to another, staying always within the fringes of the city limit, until at last it had encircled the town. The locations were ged but the settings were alike—a strip of wasteland bordered by rows of rotted shacks, and somewhere near a mill, a cotton gin, or a bottling plant. The crowd was the same, for the most part factory workers and Negroes. The show was gaudy with colored lights in the evening. The wooden horses of the flying-jinny revolved in the circle to the meical music. The swings whirled, the rail around the penny throwing game was always crowded.

    From the two booths were so藏书网ld drinks and bloody brown hamburgersand cotton dy.

    He had been hired as a maist, but gradually the range of his duties widened. His coarse, bawling voice called out through the noise, and tinually he was loung-ing from one pla the show grounds to another. Sweat stood out on his forehead and often his mustache was soaked with beer. On Saturday his job was to keep the people in order. His squat, hard body pushed through the crowd with savage energy. Only his eyes did not share the violence of the rest of him, Wide gazih his massive scowling forehead, they had a withdrawn and distracted appearance.

    He reached home between twelve and one in the m. The house where he lived was squared into four rooms and the rent was a dollar fifty per person. There rivy in the bad a hydrant ooop. In his room the walls and floor had a wet, sour smell. Sooty, cheap lace curtains hung at the

    window. He kept his good suit in his bag and hung his overalls on a nail. The room had  and ho electricity. However, a street light shoside the window and made a pale greenish refle inside. He never lighted the oil lamp by his bed unless he wao read. The acrid smell of burning oil in the cold room ed him.

    If he stayed at home he restlessly walked the floor. He sat on the edge of the unmade bed and gnawed savagely at the broken, dirty ends of his fingernails. The sharp taste of grime lingered in his mouth. The loneliness in him was so keen that he was filled with terror. Usually he had a pint of bootleg white lightning. He drank the raw liquor and by daylight he was warm and relaxed. At five oclock the whistles from the mills blew for the first shift. The whistles made lost, eerie echoes, and he could never sleep until after they had sounded.

    But usually he did not stay at home. He went out into the narrow, empty streets. In the first dark hours of the m the sky was blad the stars hard and bright. Sometimes the mills were running. From the yellow-lighted buildings came the racket of the maes. He waited at the gates for the early shift. Young girls iers and print dresses came out into the dark street. The men came out carrying their dinner pails.

    Some of them always went to a streetcar caf for Coca-Cola or coffee befoing home, and Jake went with them. Ihe noisy mill the men could hear plainly every word that oken, but for the first hour outside they were deaf.

    I Ireetcar Jake drank Coca-Cola with whiskey added. He talked. The winter dahite and smoky and cold. He looked with drunken urgento the drawn, yellow faces of the men. Often he was laughed at, and when this happened he held his stunted body very straight and spoke sfully hi words of many syllables. He stuck his little finger out from his glass and haughtily twisted his mustache. And if he was still laughed at he sometimes fought. He swung his big brown fists with crazed violend sobbed aloud.

    After such ms he returo the show with relief. It eased him to push through the crowds of people. The he rank stinks, the shouldering tact of human flesh soothed his jangled nerves.

    Because of the blue laws hi the town the show closed for the Sabbath. On Sunday he got up early in the m and took from the suitcase his serge suit. He went to the main street.

    First he dropped into the New York Cafe and bought a sack of ales. Then he went to Singers room. Although he kneeople iown by name or face, the mute was his only friend. They would idle in the quiet room and drink the ales.

    He would talk, and the words created themselves from the dark ms spent ireets or hi his room alohe words were formed and spoken with relief.

    The fire had died down. Singer laying a game of fools with himself at the table. Jake had been asleep. He awoke with a nervous quiver. He raised his head and turo Singer.

    Yeah, he said as though in ao a suddeion.

    Some of us are unists. But not allof us------. Myself, Im not a member of the unistParty. Because in the first place I never knew but one of them.

    You  bum around for years and not meet unists.

    Arouheres no office where you  go up and say you want to join—and if there is I never heard of it. And you just dont take off for New York and join. As I say I never knew but one—and he was a seedy little teetotaler whose breath stunk. We had a fight. Not that I hold that against the unists. The main fact is I dont think so much of Stalin and Russia. I hate every damn try and goverhere is. But even so maybe I ought tojoined up with the unists first place. Im not certain one way or the other. What do you think?’

    Singer wrinkled his forehead and sidered. He reached for his silver pencil and wrote on his pad of paper that he didnt know.

    But theres this. You see, we just t settle down after knowing, but we got to ad some of us go nuts. Theres too much to do and you dont know where to start It makes you crazy. Even me—Ive dohings that when I look back at

    them they dont seem rational Once I started an anization myself. I picked out twenty lint-heads and talked to them until I thought they knew. Our motto was one word: A. Huh! We meant to start riots—stir up all the big trouble we could.

    Our ultimate goal was freedom—but a real freedom, a great freedom made possible only by the sense of justice of the human souL Our motto, &quot;A,&quot; sighe razing of capitalism. In the stitution (drawn up by myself) certain statutes dealt with the sing of our motto from &quot;A&quot; to &quot;Freedom&quot; as soon as our work was through.’

    Jake sharpehe end of a matd picked a troublesome cavity in a tooth. After a moment he tinued:&quot;Thehe stitution was all written down and the first followers well ahen I went out on a hitch-hiking tour tanize po units of the society. Within three months I came back, and what do you re I found? What was the first heroic a? Had their righteous fury overe planned a so tha<s></s>t they had gone ahead without me? Was it destruurder, revolution?’

    Jake leaned forward in his chair. After a pause he said somberly:My friend, they had stole the fifty-seven dollars and thirty ts from the treasury to buy uniform caps and free Saturday suppers. I caught them sitting around the fereable, rolling the boheir caps on their heads, and a ham and a gallon of gin in easy reach.’

    A timid smile from Singer followed Jakes outburst of laughter. After a while the smile on Singers face grew strained and faded. Jake still laughed. The vein in his forehead swelled, his face was dusky red. He laughed too long. Singer looked up at the clod indicated the time—half-past twelve. He took his watch, his silver pencil and pad, his cigarettes and matches from the mantel and distributed them among his pockets. It was diime.

    But Jake still laughed. There was something maniacal in the sound of his laughter. He walked about the room, jingling the ge in his pockets. His long, powerful arms swung tense and awkward. He began to name over parts of his ing

    meal. When he spoke of food his face was fierce with gusto.

    With each word he raised his upper lip like a ravenous animal.

    Roast beef with gravy. Rice. And cabbage and light bread.

    And a big hunk of apple pie. Im famished. Oh, Johnny, I  hear the Yankees ing. And speaking of meals, my friend, did I ever tell you about Mr. Clark Patterson, the gentleman who owns the Sunny Dixie Show? Hes so fat he hasnt seen his privates for twenty years, and all day he sits in his trailer playing solitaire and smoking reefers. He orders his meals from a short-order joint nearby and every day he breaks his fast with------’

    Jake stepped back so that Singer could leave the room. He always hung back at doorways when he was with the mute. He always followed and expected Sio lead. As they desded the stairs he tio talk with nervous volubility. He kept his brown, wide eyes on Singers face.

    The afternoon was soft and mild. They stayed indoors. Jake had brought back with them a quart of whiskey. He sat brooding and silent on the foot of the bed, leaning now and then to fill his glass from the bottle on the floor. Singer was at his table by the window playing a game of chess. Jake had relaxed somewhat. He watched the game of his friend ahe mild, quiet afternoon merge with the darkness of evening.

    The firelight made dark, silent waves on the walls of the room.

    But at night the tension came in him again. Singer had put away his chess men and they sat fag each other.

    Nervousness made Jakes lips twitch raggedly and he drank to soothe himself. A backwash of restlessness and desire overcame him. He drank down the whiskey and began to talk again to Sihe words swelled with him and gushed from his mouth. He walked from the window to the bed and back again—again and again. And at last thedeluge of swollen words took shape and he delivered them to the mute with drunken emphasis:The things they have doo us! The truths they have turned into lies. The ideals they have fouled and made vile. Take Jesus. He was one of us. He knew. When He said that it is harder for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to ehe kingdom of God —he damn well meant

    just what he said. But look what the Church has doo Jesus during the last two thousand years. What they have made of him. How they have turned every word he spoke for their own vile ends. Jesus would be framed and in jail if he was living today. Jesus would be one who really knows. Me and Jesus would sit across the table and I would look at him and he would look at me and we would both know that the other knew. Me and Jesus and Karl Marx could all sit at a table and------And look what has happeo our freedom. The men who fought the Ameri Revolution were no more like these D.A.R. dames than Im a pot-bellied, perfumed Pekingese dog.

    They meant what they said about freedom. They fought a real revolution. They fought so that this could be a try where every man would be free and equal. Huh! And that meant every man was equal in the sight of Nature—with an equal ce. This didhat twenty per t of the people were free to rob the hty per t of the means to live.

    This didnt mean for one rich man to sweat the piss out of ten thousand poor men so that he  get richer. This didhe tyrants were free to get this try in such a fix that millions of people are ready to do anything—cheat, lie, or whack off their right arm—just to work for three squares and a flop. They have made the word freedom a blasphemy. You hear me? They have made the word freedom stink like a skunk to all who know.’

    The vein in Jakes forehead throbbed wildly. His mouth worked vulsively. Singer sat up, alarmed, Jake tried to speak again and the words choked in his mouth. A shudder passed through his body. He sat down in the chair and pressed his trembling lips with his fingers. Then he said huskily:Its this way, Singer. Being mad is no good. Nothing we  do is any good. Thats the way it seems to me. All we？

    do is go around telling the truth. And as soon as enough of the dont knows have learhe truth then there wont be any use fhting. The only thing for us to do is let them know.

    All thats needed. But how? Huh?’

    The fire shadoed against the walls. The dark, shadowy waves rose higher and the room took on motion. The room rose and fell and all balance was gone. Alone Jake felt himself sink downward, slowly in wavelike motions downward into a shadowed o. In helplessness and terror he strained his eyes, but he could see nothing except the dark and scarlet waves that roared hungrily over him. Then at last he made out the thing which he sought. The mutes face was faint and very far away. Jake closed his eyes.

    The  m he awoke very late. Singer had been gone for hours. There was bread, cheese, an e, and a pot of coffee oable. When he had finished his breakfast it was time for work. He walked somberly, his head bent, across the town toward his room. When he reached the neighborhood where he lived he passed through a certain narrow street that was flanked on one side by a smoke-blaed brick warehouse. On the wall of this building there was something that vaguely distracted him. He started to walk on, and then his attention was suddenly held. On the wall a message was written in bright red chalk, the letters drawn thickly and curiously formed:Ye shall eat the flesh of the mighty, and drink the blood of the princes of the earth.

    He read the message twid looked anxiously up and dowreet. No one was in sight. After a few minutes of puzzled deliberatioook from his pocket a thick red pencil and wrote carefully beh the inscription:Whoever wrote the above meet me here tomorrow at noon, Wednesday, November . Or the  day.

    At twelve oclock the  day he waited before the wall. .

    Now and then he walked impatiently to the er to look : up and dowreets. No one came. After an hour he ■   had to leave for the show.The  day he waited, also.

    Then on Friday there was a long, slow winter rain. The wall was sodden and the messages streaked so that no word could be read. The rain tinued, gray and bitter and cold.

    ICK, Bubber said. I e to believe we all gonna drown. It was true that it like to never quit raining. Mrs. Wells rode them bad forth to school in her car, and every afternoon they had to stay on the front porch or in the house. She and Bubber played Parcheesi and Old Maid and shot marbles on the living-r. It was nearing along toward Christmas time and Bubber began to talk about the Little Lord Jesus and the red bicycle he wanted Santa Claus t him. The rain was silver on the win-dowpanes and the sky was wet and cold and gray. The river rose so high that some of the factory people had to move out of their houses. The looked like the rain would keep on and on forever it suddenly stopped. They woke up one m and the bright sun was shining. By afternoon the weather was almost warm as summer. Mick came home late from school and Bubber and Ralph and Spareribs were on the front sidewalk. The kids looked hot and sticky and their winter clothes had a sour smell. Bubber had his slingshot and a pocketful of rocks.

    Ralph sat up in his wagon, his hat crooked on his head, and he was fretful. Spareribs had bis new rifle with him. The sky was a wonderful blue.

    We waited for you a long time, Mick, Bubber said. Where you been?’

    She jumped up the front steps three at a time and threw her sweater toward the hat rack. Practig on the piano in the gym.’

    Every afternooayed after school for an hour to play.

    The gym was crowded and noisy because the girls team had basketball games. Twice today she was hit on the head with the ball. But getting a ce to sit at a piano was worth any amount of knocks and trouble. She would arrange bunches of ogether until the sound camethat she wanted. It was eaiser than she had thought. After the first two or three hours she figured out some sets of chords in the bass that would fit in with the main tune her right hand laying. She could pick out almost any pieow. And she made up new music too. That was better than just copying tunes. When her hands hunted out these beautiful new sounds it was the best feeling she had ever known.

    She wao learn how to read music already written down.

    Delores Brown had taken music lessons for five years. She paid Delores the fifty ts a week she got for lunch moo give her lessons. This made her very hungry all through the day. Delores played a good many fast, runny pieces—but Delores did not know how to answer all the questions she wao know. Delores only taught her about the different scales, the major and minor chords, the values of the notes, and such beginning rules as those.

    Mick slammed the door of the kit stove. &quot;This all we got to eat?’

    Honey, it the best I  do for you, Portia said. Just pones and margarine. As she ate she drank a glass of water to help wash down the swallows.

    Quit ag so greedy. Nobody going to snatch it out your hand.’

    The kids still hung around in front of the house. Bubber had put his slingshot in his pocket and now he played with the rifle. Spareribs was ten years old and his father had died the month before and this had been his fathers gun-All the smaller kids loved to hahat rifle. Every few minutes Bubber would haul the gun up to his shoulder. He took aim and made a loud pow sound.

    Dont monkey with the trigger, said Spareribs.  got the gun loaded.’

    Mick fihe bread and looked around for something to do. Harry Minowitz was sitting on his front porch banisters with the neer. She was glad to see him. For a joke she threw up her arm and hollered to him, Heil!’

    But Harry didnt take it as a joke. He went into his front hall and shut the door. It was easy to hurt his feelings. She was sorry, because lately she and Harry had been right good friends. They had allayed in the same gahey were kids, but in the last three years he had been at Vocational while she was still in grammar school. Also he worked at part-time jobs. He grew up very suddenly and quit hanging around the bad front yards with kids. Sometimes she could see him reading the paper in his bedroom or undressing late at night. In m藏书网athematid history he was the smartest boy at Vocational. Often, now that she was in high

    school too, they would meet each other on the way home and walk together. They were in the same shop class, and ohe teacher made them parto assemble a motor. He read books a up with the neers every day. World politics were all the time on his mind. He talked slow, and sweat stood out on his forehead when he was very serious about something. And now she had made him mad with her.

    I wonder has H<dfn></dfn>arry still got his gold piece, Spareribs said.

    What gold piece?’

    When a Jew boy is born they put a gold pie the bank for him. Thats what Jews do.’

    Shucks. You got it mixed up, she said. Its Catholics youre thinking about. Catholics buy a pistol for a baby soon as its born. Some day the Catholics mean to start a war and kill everybody else.’

    Nuns give me a funny feeling, Spareribs said. It scares me when I see one oreet.’

    She sat down oeps and laid her head on her knees. She went into the inside room. With her it was like there was two places—the inside room and the outside room. School and the family and the things that happened every day were iside room. Mister Singer was in both rooms. Fn tries and plans and music were in the inside room. The songs she thought about were there. And the symphony. When she was by herself hi this inside room the music she had heard that night after the party would e back to her. This symphony grew slow like a big flower in her mind. During the day sometimes, or when she had just waked up in the m, a new part of the symphony would suddenly e to her. Then she would have to go into the inside room and listen to it many times and try to join it into the parts of the symphony she remembered. The inside room was a very pri- vate place. She could be in the middle of a house full of people and still feel like she was locked up by herself.

    Spareribs stuck his dirty hand up to her eyes because she had been staring off at space. She slapped him.

    What is a nun? Bubber asked.

    A Catholic lady, Spareribs said. A Catholic lady with a big black dress that es up over her head.’

    She was tired of hanging around with the kids. She would go to the library and look at pictures iional Geographic.

    Photographs of all the fn places in the world. Paris, France. And big ice glaciers. And the wild jungles in Africa.

    You kids see that Ralph do out ireet, she said.

    Bubber rested the big rifle on his shoulder. Briory back with you.’

    It was like that kid had been born knowing how to read. He was only in the sed grade but he loved to read stories by himself—and he never asked anybody else to read to him.

    What kind you want this time?’

    Pick out some stories with something to eat in them. I like that one a whole lot about them German kids going out in the forest and ing to this house made out of all different kinds of dy and the witch. I like a story with something to eat in it.’

    Ill look for one, said Mick.

    But Im getting kinda tired of dy, Bubber said. See if you t bring me a story with something like a barbecue sandwi it. But if you t find none of them Id like a cowboy story.’

    She was ready to leave when suddenly she stopped and stared.

    The kids stared too. They all stood still and looked at Baby Wilson ing doweps of her house across the street.

    Aint Baby cute! said Bubber softly.

    Maybe it was the sudden hot, sunny day after all those rainy weeks. Maybe it was because their dark winter clothes were ugly to them on an afternoon like this one. Anyway Baby looked like a fairy or something in the picture show. She had on her last years soiree e—with a little pink-gauze skirt that stuck out short and stiff, a pink body waist, pink dang shoes, and even a little pinkpocketbook. With her yellow hair she ink and white and gold—and so small and  that it almost hurt to watch her. She prissed across the street in a cute way, but would not turn her face toward them.

    e over here, said Bubber. Lemme look at your little pink pocketbook------’

    Baby passed them along the edge of the street with her head

    held to one side. She had made up her mind not to speak to them.

    There was a strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street, and when Baby reached it she stood still for a sed and then turned a handspring.

    Dont pay no mind to her, said Spareribs. She always tries to show off. Shes going down to Mister Brannons cafe to get dy. Hes her uncle and she gets it free.’

    Bubber rested the end of the rifle on the ground. The big gun was too heavy for him. As he watched Baby walk off dowreet he kept pulling the straggly bangs of his hair. That sure is a cute little pink pocketbook, he said.

    Her Mama always talks about how talented she is, said Spareribs. She thinks shes gon Baby in the movies.’

    It was too late to go look at the National Geographic. Supper was almost ready. Ralph tuned up to cry and she took him off the wagon and put him on the ground. Now it was December, and to a kid Bubbers age that was a long time from summer.

    All last summer Baby had e out in that pink soiree e and danced in the middle of the street. At first the kids would flock around and watch her, but soon they got tired of it. Bubber was the only one who would watch her as she came out to dance. He would sit on the curb ao her when he saw a car ing. He had watched Baby do her soiree dance a huimes—but summer had been gone for three months and now it seemed o him again.

    I sure do wish I had a e, Bubber said.

    What kind do you want?’

    A real cool e. A real pretty one made out of all different colors. Like a butterfly. Thats what I want for Christmas. That and a bicycle!’

    Sissy, said Spareribs.

    Bubber hauled the big rifle up to his shoulder again and took aim at a house across the street. Id dance around inmy e if I had one. Id wear it every day to sick sat on the front steps a her eyes on Ralph. Bubber wasnt a sissy like Spareribs said. He just loved pretty things.

    Shed better not let old Spareribs get away with that.

    A persons got to fight for every sihing they get, she

    said slowly. And Ive noticed a lot of times that the farther down a kid es in the family the better the kid really is.

    Younger kids are always the toughest. Im pretty hard cause Ive a lot of them on top of me. Bubber —he looks sick, and likes pretty things, but hes got guts underh that. If all this is true Ralph sure ought to be a real strong one when hes old enough to get around. Even though hes just seventeen months old I  read something hard and tough in that Ralphs face already.’

    Ralph looked around because he knew he was being talked about. Spareribs sat down on the ground and grabbed Ralphs hat off his head and shook it in his face to tease him.

    AH right! Mick said. You know what  do to you if you start him to cry. You just better watch out’

    Everything was quiet. The sun was behind the roofs of the houses and the sky in the west urple and pink. On the  block there was the sound of kids skating. Bubber leaned up against a tree and he seemed to be dreaming about something. The smell of supper came out of the house and it would be time to eat soon.

    Lookit, Bubber said suddenly. Here es Baby again. She sure is pretty in the pink e.’

    Baby walked toward them slowly. She had been given a prize box of pop dy and was reag in the box for the prize. She walked in that same prissy, dainty way. You could tell that she khey were all looking at her.

    Please, Baby------ Bubber said whearted topass them. Lemme see your little pink pocketbook and touch your pink e.’

    Baby started humming a song to herself and did not listen. She passed by without letting Bubber play with her. She only ducked her head and gri him a little.

    Bubber still had the big rifle up to his shoulder. He made a loud pow sound and pretended like he had shot Then he called to Baby again—in a soft, sad voice like hewas  calling a little kitty.  Please,  Baby—e here, Baby------’

    He was too quiick to stop him. She had just seen his hand origger when there was the terrible ping of the

    gun. Baby crumpled down to the sidewalk. It was like she was o the steps and couldnt move or scream. Spareribs had his arm up over his head.

    Bubber was the only ohat didnt realize. Get up, Baby, he hollered. I aint mad with you.’

    It all happened in a sed. The three of them reached Baby at the same time. She lay crumpled down on the dirty sidewalk.

    Her skirt was over her head, showing her pink panties and her little white legs. Her hands were open—ihere was the prize from the dy and iher the pocketbook. There was blood all over her hair ribbon and the top of her yellow curls. She was shot in the head and her face was turned down toward the ground.

    So much happened in a sed. Bubber screamed and dropped the gun and ran. She stood with her hands up to her fad screamed too. Then there were many people. Her Dad was the first to get there. He carried Baby into the house.

    Shes dead, said Spareribs. Shes shot through the eyes. I seen her face.’

    Mick walked up and down the sidewalk, aou her mouth wheried to ask was Baby killed. Mrs.

    Wilson came running down the block from the beauty parlor where she worked. She went into the house and came back out again. She walked up and down ireet, g and pulling a ring on and off her fihen the ambulance came and the doctor went in to Baby. Mick followed him. Baby was lying on the bed in the front room. The house was quiet as a church.

    Baby looked like a pretty little doll on the bed. Except for the blood she did not seem hurt. The doctor bent over and looked at her head. After he fihey took Baby out on a stretcher. Mrs. Wilson and her Dad got into the ambulah her.

 Part Two-6

    The hous<bdo></bdo>e was still quiet. Everybody had fotten about Bubber. He was nowhere around. An hour passed. Her Mama and Hazel aa and all the boarders waited in the front room. Mister Siood in the doorway.

    After a long time her Dad came home. He said Baby wouldnt

    die but that her skull was fractured. He asked for Bubber.

    Nobody knew where he was. It was dark outside. They called Bubber in the back yard and ireet.<u></u> They sent Spareribs and some other boys out to hunt for him. It looked like Bubber had gone clear out of the neighborhood. Harry went around to a house where they thought he might be.

    Her Dad walked up and down the front porch. I never have whipped any of my kids yet, he kept saying. I never believed in it. But Im sure going to lay it onto that kid as soon as I get my hands on him.’

    Mick sat on the banisters and watched down the dark street. I  manage Bubber. Once he es back I  take care of him all right.’

    You go out and hunt for him. You  find him better than anybody else.’

    As soon as her Dad said that she suddenly knew where Bubber was. In the back yard there was a big oak and in the summer they had built a tree house. They had hauled a big box up in this oak, and Bubber used to love to sit up iree house by himself. Mick left the family and the boarders on the front pord walked back through the alley of the dark yard.

    She stood for a minute by the trunk of the tree. Bubber—, she said quietly. Its Mick.’

    He didnt answer, but she knew he was there. It was like she could smell him. She swung up on the lowest brand climbed slowly. She was really mad with that kid and would have to teach him a lesson. When she reached the tree house she spoke to him again<mark></mark>—and still there wasnt any answer. She climbed into the big box a around the edges. At last she touched him. He was sged up in a er and his legs were trembling. He had been holding his breath, and wheouched him the sobs and the breath came out all at once.

    I—I didnt mean Baby to fall. She was just so little and cute—seemed to me like I just had to take a pop at her.’

    Mick sat down on the floor of the tree house. Babys dead, she said. They got a lot of people hunting for you.’

    Bubber quit g. He was very quiet.

    *You know what Dads doing in the house?It was like she could hear Bubber listening.

    You know Warden Lawes—you heard him over the radio.

    And you know Sing Sing. Well, our Dads writing a letter to Warden Lawes for him to be a little bit kind to you when they catch you and send you to Sing Sing.’

    The words were so awful-sounding in the dark that a shiver came over her. She could feel Bubber trembling.

    They got little electric chairs there—just your size. And wheurn on the juice you just fry up like a piece of burnt ba. Then you go to Hell.’

    Bubber was squeezed up in the er and there was not a sound from him. She climbed over the edge of the box to get down. You better stay up here because they got poli guarding the yard. Maybe in a few days I  bring vou something to eat’

    Mick leaned against the trunk of the oak tree. That would teach Bubber all right. She had always managed him and she knew more about that kid than anybody else. Once, about a year or two ago, he was always wanting to stop off behind bushes and pee and play with himself awhile. She had caught on to that pretty quick. She gave him a good slap every time it happened and in three days he was cured. Afterwards he never even peed normal like other kids—he held his hands behind him. She always had to hat Bubber and she could always manage him. In a little while she would go back up to the tree house and bring him in. After this he would never want to pick up a gun again in all his life.

    There was still this dead feeling in the house. The boarders all sat on the front porch without talking or rog in the chairs.

    Her Dad and her Mama were in the front room. Her Dad drank beer out of a bottle and walked up and down the floor. Baby was going to get well all right, so this worry was not about her. And nobody seemed to be anxious about Bubber. It was something else.

    That Bubber!&quot; said Etta.

    Tm shamed to go out of the house after this, Hazel said.

    Etta and Hazel went into the middle room and closed the door.

    Bill was in his room at the back. She didnt want to talk with them. She stood around in the front hall and thought it over by herself.

    Her Dads footsteps stopped. It was deliberate, he said. Its not like the kid was just fooling with the gun and it went off by act. Everybody who saw it said he took deliberate aim.’

    I wonder when well hear from Mrs. Wilson, her Mama said.

    ■Well hear plenty, all right!’

    I re we will.’

    Now that the sun was down the night was cold again like November. The people came in from the front pord sat in the living-room—but nobody lighted a fire. Micks sweater was hanging o rack, so she put it on and stood with her shoulders bent over to keep warm. She thought about Bubber sitting out in the cold, dark tree house. He had really believed every word she said. But he sure deserved to worry some. He had nearly killed that Baby.

    Mick, t you think of some place where Bubber might be?her Dad asked.

    Hes in the neighborhood, I re.’

    Her Dad walked up and down with the empty beer bottle in his hand. He walked like a blind man and there was sweat on his face. The poor kids scared to e home. If we could find him Id feel better. Ive never laid a hand on Bubber. He oughtnt be scared of me.’

    She would wait until an hour and a half was gone. By that time he would be plenty sorry for what he did. She always could mahat Bubber and make him learn.

    After a while there was a big excitement in the house. Her Dad telephoned again to the hospital to see how Baby was, and in a few minutes Mrs. Wilson called back. She said she wao have a talk with them and would e to the house.

    Her Dad still walked up and down the front room like a blind man. He drank three more bottles of beer. The way it all happened she  sue my britches off. All she could get would be the house outside of the me. But the way it happened we dont have any eback at all.’

    Suddenly Mick thought about something. Maybe they would really try Bubber in court and put him in a childrens jail.

    Maybe Mrs. Wilson would send him to reform saybe they would really do something terrible to

    Bubber. She wao go out to the tree house right away and sit with him and tell him not to worry. Bubber was always so thin and little and smart. She would kill anybody that tried to send that kid out of the family. She wao kiss him and bite him because she loved him so much.

    But she couldnt miss anything. Mrs. Wilson would be there in a few minutes and she had to know what was going on. Then she would run out and tell Bubber that all the things she said were lies. And he would really have learhe lesson he had ing to him.

    A teajdcab drove up to the sidewalk. Everybody waited on the front porch, very quiet and scared. Mrs. Wilson got out of the taxi with Mister Brannon. She could hear her Dad grinding his teeth together in a nervous way as they came up the steps. They went i<dfn></dfn>nto the front room and she followed along after them and stood in the doorway. Etta and Hazel and Bill and the boarders kept out of it.

    Ive e to talk over all this with you, Mrs. Wilson said.

    The front room looked tacky and dirty and she saw Mister Brannon notice everything. The mashed celluloid doll and the beads and junk Ralph played with were scattered on the floor.

    There was beer on her Dads workbench, and the pillows on the bed where her Dad and Mama slept were right gray.

    Mrs. Wilso pulling the wedding ring on and off her finger. By the side of her Mister Brannon was very calm. He sat with his legs crossed. His jaws were blue-blad he looked like a gangster in the movies. He had always had this grudge against her. He always spoke to her in this rough voice different from the way he talked to other people. Was it because he knew about the time she and Bubber swiped a pack of chewing gum off his ter? She hated him.

    It all boils down to this, said Mrs. Wilson. &quot;Your kid shot my baby in the head on purpose.’

    Mick stepped into the middle of the room. *No, he didnt, she said. I was right there. Bubber had been aiming that gun at me and Ralph and everything around there.

    He just happeo aim it at Baby and his finger slipped. I

    was right there.’

    Mister Brannon rubbed his nose and looked at her in a sad way. She sure did hate him.

    I know how you all feel—so I want to e to the point right now.’

    Micks Mama rattled a bunch of keys and her Dad sat very still with his big hands hanging over his knees.

    Bubber didnt have it in his mind beforehand, Mick said. He just------’

    Mrs. Wilson jabbed the ring on and oft her finger. Wait a minute. I know how everything is. I could bring it to court and sue for every t you own.’

    Her Dad didnt have any expression on his face. I tell you ohing, he said. We dont have much to sue for. All we got is------’

    Just listen to me, said Mrs. Wilson. I havent e here with any lawyer to sue you. Bartholomew—Mister Brannon—and I talked it over when we came and we just about agree on the main points. In the first place, I want to do the fair, hohing—and in the sed place, I dont want Babys name mixed up in no on lawsuit at her age.’

    There was not a sound and everybody in the room sat stiff in their chairs. Only Mister Brannon halfway smiled at Mick, but she squinted her eyes back at him in a tough way.

    Mrs. Wilson was very nervous and her hand shook when she lighted a cigarette. I dont want to have to sue you or anything like that. All I want is for you to be fair. Im not asking you to pay for all the suffering and g Baby went through with until they gave her something to sleep. Theres not any pay that would make up for that. And Im not asking you to pay for the damage this will do to her career and the plans we had made. Shes going to have to wear a bandage for several months. She woo dan the soiree—maybe therell even be a little bald pla her head.’

    Mrs. Wilson and her Dad looked at each other like they was hypnotized. Then Mrs. Wilson reached around to her pocketbook and took out a slip of paper.&quot;The things you got to pay are just the actual price of what it

    will cost us in moheres Babys private room in the hospital and a private il she  e home. Theres the operating room and the doctors bill— and for once I ihe doctor to be paid right away. Also, they shaved all Babys hair off and you got to pay me for the perma <var></var>wave I took her to Atlanta to get—so when her hair grows baatural she  have another one. And theres the price of her e and other little extra bills like that. Ill write all the items down just as soon as I know what theyll be. Im trying to be just as fair and ho as I , and youll have to pay the total when I bring it to you.’

    Her Mama smoothed her dress over her knees and took a quick, short breath. Seems to me like the childrens ward would be a lot better than a private room. When Mick had penumonia------’

    I said a private room.’

    Mister Brannon held out his white, stumpy hands and balahem like they was on scales. Maybe in a day or two Baby  move into a double room with some other kid.’

    Mrs. Wilson spoke hard-boiled. You heard what I said. Long as your kid shot my Baby she certainly ought to have every advail she gets well.’

    Youre in yhts, her Dad said. God knows we dont have anything now—but maybe I  scrape it up. I realize youre n to take advantage of us and I appreciate it. Well do what we .’

    She wao stay and hear everything that they said, but Bubber was on her mind. Whehought of him sitting up in the dark, cold tree house thinking about Sing Sing she felt uneasy. She went out of the room and down the hall toward the back door. The wind was blowing and the yard was very dark except for the yellow square that came from the light i. When she looked back she saw Portia sitting at the table with her long, thin hands up on her face, very still.

    The yard was lonesome and the wind made quick, scary shadows and a m kind of sound in the darkness.

    She stood uhe oak tree. Then just as she started to reach for the first limb a terrible notion came over her.

    It came to her all of a sudden that Bubber was gone. She

    called him and he did not answer. She climbed quid quiet as a cat.

    Say! Bubber!’

    Without feeling in the box she knew he wasnt there. To make sure she got into the box a in all the ers. The kid was gone. He must have started down the minute she left. He was running away for sure now, and with a smart kid like Bubber it was no telling where theyd catch him.

    She scrambled dowree and ran to the front porch. Mrs.

    Wilson was leaving and they had all e out to the front steps with her.

    Dad! she said. We got to do something about Bubber. Hes run away. Im sure he left our block. We all got to get out and hunt him.’

    Nobody knew where to go or how to begin. Her Dad walked up and dowreet, looking in all the alleys. Mister Brannon telephoned for a teaxi for Mrs. Wilson and then stayed to help with the hunt. Mister Singer sat on the banisters of the pord he was the only person who kept calm. They all waited for Mick to plan out the best places to look for Bubber. But the town was so big and the little kid so smart that she couldnt think what to do.

    Maybe he had goo Portias house over in Sugar Hill. She went bato the kit where Portia was sitting at the table with her hands up to her face.

    I got this sudden notion he went down to your house. Help us hunt him.’

    How e I didnt think of that! I bet a nickel my little scared Bubber been staying in my home all the time.’

    Mister Brannon had borrowed an automobile. He and Mister Singer and Micks Dad got into the car with her and Portia.

    Nobody knew what Bubber was feeling except her. Nobody knew he had really run away like he was esg to save his life.

    Portias house was dark except for the checkered moonlight on the floor. As soon as they stepped ihey could tell there was nobody iwo rooms. Portia lighted the front lamp.

    The rooms had a colored smell, and they were crowded with cut-out pictures on the walls andthe lace table covers and lace pillows on the bed. Bubber was

    not there.

    He been here, Portia suddenly said. I  tell somebody been in here.’

    Mister Singer found the pencil and piece of paper o table. He read it quickly and then they all looked at it The writing was round and scraggly and the smart little kid hadnt misspelled but one word. The note said:Dear Portia,I goo Florada. Tell every body.

    Yours truly, Bubber KellyThey stood around surprised and stumped. Her Dad looked out the dooricked his h his thumb in a worried way. They were all ready to pile in the car and ride toward the highway leading south.

    Wait a minute, Mick said. Even if Bubber is seven years old hes got brains enough not to tell us where hes going if he wants to run away. That about Florida is just a trick.’

    A trick? her Dad said.

    Yeah. There only two places Bubber knows very much about.

    One is Florida and the other is Atlanta. Me and Bubber and Ralph have been olanta road many a time. He knows how to start there and thats where hes headed. He always talks about what hes going to do whes a ce to go to Atlanta.’

    They went out to the automobile again. She was ready to climb into the back seat when Portia pinched her on the elbow. You know what Bubber done? she said in a quiet voice. Dont you tell nobody else, but my Bubber done also taken my gold earrings off my dresser. I hought my Bubber would have done such a thing to me.’

    Mister Brannon started the automobile. They rode slow, looking up and dowreets for Bubber, headed toward the Atlanta road.

    It was true that in Bubber there was a tough, mean streak. He was ag different today than he had ever acted before. Up until now he was always a quiet little kid who never really done anything mean. When anybodysfeelings were hurt it always made him ashamed and nervous.

    Then how e he could do all the things he had dooday？

    They drove very slow out the Atlanta road. They passed the last line of houses and came to the dark fields and woods. All along they had stopped to ask if anyone had seen Bubber. Has a little barefooted kid in corduroy knickers been by this way? But even after they had gone about ten miles nobody had seen or noticed him. The wind came in cold and strong from the open windows and it was late at night.

    They rode a little farther and the back toward town. Her Dad and Mister Brannon wao look up all the children in the sed grade, but she made them turn around and go ba the Atlanta road again. All the while she remembered the words she had said to Bubber. About Baby being dead and Sing Sing and Warden Lawes. About the small electric chairs that were just his size, and Hell. In the dark the words had souerrible.

    They rode very slow for about half a mile out of town, and then suddenly she saw Bubber. The lights of the car showed him up in front of them very plain. It was funny. He was walking along the edge of the road and he had his thumb out trying to get a ride. Portias butcher knife was stu his belt, and on the wide, dark road he looked so small that it was like he was five years old instead of seven.

    They stopped the automobile and he ran to get in. He couldnt see who they were, and his face had the squint-eyed look it always had wheook aim with a marble. Her Dad held him by the collar. He hit with his fists and kicked. Then he had the butcher knife in his hand. Their Dad ya away from him just in time. He fought like a little tiger in a trap, but finally they got him into the car. Their Dad held him in his lap on the way home and Bubber sat very stiff, not leaning against anything.

    They had t him into the house, and all the neighbors and the boarders were out to see the otion. They dragged him into the front room and when he was there he backed off into a er, holding his fists very tight and with his squinted eyes looking from one person to the other Like he was ready to fight the whole crowd.

    He hadnt said one word sihey came into the house

    until he began to scream: &quot;Mick do! I didnt do it Mick do!’

    There were never any kind of yells like the ones Bub-ber made. The veins in his neck stood out and his fists were hard as little rocks.

    You t get me! Nobody  get me! he kept yelling.

    Mick shook him by the shoulder. She told him the things she had said were stories. He finally knew what she was saying but he wouldnt hush. It looked like nothing could stop that screaming.

    I hate everybody! I hate everybody!’

    They all just stood around. Mister Brannon rubbed his nose and looked down at the floor. Then finally he went out very quietly. Mister Singer was the only one who seemed to know what it was all about. Maybe this was because he didhat awful noise. His face was still calm, and whenever Bubber looked at him he seemed to get quieter. Mister Singer was different from any other man, and at times like this it would be better if other people would let him manage. He had more sense and he khings that ordinary people couldnt know. He just looked at Bubber, and after a while the kid quieted down enough so that their Dad could get him to bed.

    In the bed he lay on his fad cried. He cried with long, big sobs that made him tremble all over. He cried for an hour and nobody ihree rooms could sleep. Bill moved to the living-room sofa and Mick got into bed with Bubber. He would her touch him or snug up to him. Then after another hour  and hiccoughing he went to sleep.

    She was awake a long time. In the dark she put her arms around him and held him very close. She touched him all over and kissed him everywhere. He was so soft and little and there was this salty, boy smell about him. The love she felt was so hard that she had to squeeze him to her until her arms were tired. In her mind she thought about Bubber and music together. It was like she could never do anything good enough for him. She would never hit him or even tease him again. She slept all night with her arms around his head. Then in the m when she woke up he was gone. But after that night there was not much of a ce for

    her to tease him any more—her or anybody else. After he shot Baby the kid was not ever like little Bubber again. He always kept his mouth shut and he didnt fool around with anybody.

    Most of the time he just sat in the back yard or in the coal house by himself. It got closer and closer toward Christmas time. She really wanted a piano, but naturally she didnt say anything about that. She told everybody she wanted a Micky Mouse watch. When they asked Bubber what he wanted from Santa Claus he said he didnt want anything. He hid his marbles and jaife and would aouch his story books.

    After that night nobody called him Bubber any more. The big kids in the neighborhood started calling him Baby-Killer Kelly. But he didnt speak much to any person and nothing seemed to bother him. The family called him by his real name—Gee. At first Mick couldnt stop calling him Bubber and she didnt want to stop. But it was funny how after about a week she just naturally called him Gee like the others did.

    But he was a different kid— Geoing around by himself always like a person much older and with nobody, not even her, knowing what was really in his mind.

    She slept with him on Christmas Eve night. He lay in the dark without talking. Quit ag so peculiar, she said to him. Less talk about the wise men and the way the children in Holland put out their wooden shoes instead of hanging up their stogs.’

    Gee wouldnt answer. He went to sleep.

    She got up at four oclo the m and waked everybody in the family. Their Dad built a fire in the front room and thehem go into the Christmas tree and see what they got. Gee had an Indian suit and Ralph a rubber doll. The rest of the family just got clothes. She looked all through her stog for the Mickey Mouse watch but it wasnt there. Her presents were a pair of brown Oxford shoes and a box of cherry dy. While it was still dark she and Gee went out on the sidewalk and cracked oes and shot firecrackers and ate up the whole two-layer box of cherry dy. And by the time it was daylight they were sick to the stomad tired out. She lay down on die sofa. She shut her eyes a into the inside room.

    EIGHT oclock Doctor Copeland sat at his desk, studying a sheaf of papers by the bleak m light from the window.

    Beside him the tree, a thick-fringed cedar, rose up dark and green to the ceiling. Sihe first year he began to practice he had given an annual party on Christmas Day, and now all was in readiness. Rows of benches and chairs lihe walls of the front rooms. Throughout the house there was the sweet spiced odor of newly baked cake and steaming coffee. In the office with him Portia sat on a bench against the wall, her hands cupped beh her , her body bent almost double.

    Father, you been scrouched over the desk since five oclock.

    You got no busio be up. You ought to stayed in bed until time for the to-do.’

    Doctor Copeland moistened his thick lips with his tongue. So much was on his mind that he had no attention to give to Portia. Her presence fretted him.

    At last he turo her irritably. Why do you sit there moping?’

    I just got worries, she said. For ohing, I worried about our Willie.’

    William?’

    You see he been writing me regular ever Sunday. The letter will get here on Monday or Tuesday. But last week he didnt write. Course I not really anxious. Willie—he always so good-natured and sweet I know he going to be all right. He been transferred from the prison to the  gang and they going to work up somewhere north of Atlanta. Two weeks ago he wrote this here letter to say they going to attend a church service today, and he done asked me to send him his suit of clothes and his red tie.’

    ?Is that all William said?’

    He written that this Mr. B. F. Mason is at the prison, too. And that he run into Buster Johnson—he a boy Willie used to know. And also he done asked me to please send him his harp because he t be happy without he got his harp to play on. I do everthing. Also a checker set and a white-iced cake.

    But I sure hope I hears from him in the  few days.’

    Doctor Copelands eyes glowed with fever and he could not rest his hands. Daughter, we shall have to discuss this later. It is getting late and I must finish here. You go back to the kit ahat all is ready.’

    Portia stood up and tried to make her face bright and happy.

    What you done decided about that five-dollar prize?’

    As yet I have been uo decide just what is the wisest course, he said carefully.

    A certain friend of his, a Negro pharmacist, gave an award of five dollars every year to the high-school student who wrote the best essay on a given subject. The pharmacist always made Doctor Copeland sole judge of the papers and the winner was annou the Christmas party. The subject of the position this year was My Ambition: How I  Better the Position of the Negro Ra Society. There was only one essay worthy of real sideratiohis paper was so childish and ill-advised that it would hardly be prudent to fer upon it the award. Doctor Copeland put on his glasses and re-read the essay with deep tration.

    This is my ambition. First I wish to attend Tuskegee College but I do not wish to be a man like Booker Washington or Doctor Carver. Then when I deem that my education is plete I wish to start off being a fine lawyer like the one who defehe Scottsboro Boys. I would only take cases for colored people against white people. Every day our people are made in every way and by every means to feel that they are inferior. This is not so. We are a Rising Race. And we ot sweat beh the white mans burdens for long. We ot always sow where others reap.

    I want to be like Moses, who led the children of Israel from the land of the oppressors. I want to get up a Secret anization of Colored Leaders and Scholars. All colored people will anize uhe dire of these picked leaders and prepare for revolt. Other nations in the world who are ied in the plight of our rad who would like to see the Uates divided would e to our aid. All colored people will anize and there will be a revolution, and at the close coloredpeople will take up all the territory east of the Mississippi and

    south of the Potomac. I shall set up a mighty try uhe trol of the anization of Colored Leaders and Scholars.

    No white person will be alloassport—and if they get into the try they will have no legal rights.

    I hate the whole white rad will work always so that the colored race  achieve revenge for all their sufferings. That is my ambition.

    Doctor Copelahe fever warm in his veins. The tig of the clo his desk was loud and the sound jarred his nerves. How could he give the award to a boy with such wild notions as this? What should he decide？

    The other essays were without any firm tent at all. The young people would not think. They wrote only about their ambitions and omitted the last part of the tide altogether. Only one point was of some signifii of the lot of twenty-five began with the sentence, I do not want to be a servant. After that they wished to fly airplanes, or be prizefighters, or preachers or dancers. One girls sole ambition was to be kind to the poor.

 Part Two-7

    The writer of the essay that troubled him was Lancy Davis. He had known the identity of the author before he turhe last sheet over and saw the signature. Already he had some trouble with Lancy. His older sister had go to work as a servant when she was eleven years old and she had been raped by her employer, a white man past middle age. Then a year or so later he had received an emergency call to attend Lancy.

    Doctor Copelao the filing case in his bedroom where he kept notes on all of his patients. He took out the card marked Mrs. Dan Davis and Family and glahrough the notations until he reached Laname. The date was four years ago. The entries on him were written with more care thahers and in ink: thirteen years old—past puberty.

    Unsuccessful attempt self-emasculation. Oversexed and hyperthyroid. Wept boisterously during two visits, though little pain. Voluble—very glad to see Lucy Davis—mother washerwoman. Intelligent talk through paranoiac.

    Enviro fair with one exception and well worth watg and all possible help. Keep tact. Fee: $ (?)’

    It is a difficult decision to make this year, he said to Portia.

    &quot;But I suppose I will have to fer the award on Lancy Davis.’

    If you done decide, then—e tell me about some of these here presents.’

    The gifts to be distributed at the party were i.

    There were paper sacks of groceries and clothing, all marked with a red Christmas card. Anyone who cared to e was io the party, but those who meant to attend had stopped by the house and written (or had asked a friend to write) their names in a guest book kept oable in the hall for that purpose. The sacks were piled on the floor. There were about forty of them, eae depending in size on the need of the receiver. Some gifts were only small packages of nuts or raisins and others were boxes almost too heavy for a man to lift The kit was crowded with good things. Doctor Copeland stood in the doorway and his nostrils quivered with pride.

    think you dht well this year. Folks certainly have been kindly.’

    Tshaw! he said. This is not a huh part of what is needed.’

    ?Now, there you go, Father! I know good and well you just as pleased as you  be. But you dont want to show it.

    You got to find something to grumble about. Here we haves about four pecks of peas, twenty saeaL about fifteen pounds of side meat, mullet, six dozen eggs, plenty grits, jars of tomatoes and peaches. Apples and two dozen es. Also garments. And two mattresses and four blas. I call this something!’

    A drop in the bucket.’

    Portia poio a large box in the er. These here —what you io do with them?’

    The box tained nothing but junk—a headless doll, some duty lace, a rabbitskin. Doctor Copeland scrutinized each article. Do not throw them away. There is use for everything.

    These are the gifts from uests who have nothier to tribute. I will find some purpose for them later.&quot;Then suppose you look over these here boxes and sacks so I

    eo tie them up. There aint going to be room here i. Time they all pile in for the refreshments.

    I just going to put these here presents out on the back steps and in the yard.’

    The m sun had risen. The day would be bright and cold.

    I there were rich, sweet odors. A dishpan of coffee was oove and iced cakes filled a shelf in the cupboard.

    And none of this es from white people. All from colored.’

    No, said Doctor Copeland. That is not wholly true. Mr.

    Singer tributed a check for twelve dollars to be used for coal. And I have invited him to be present today. Holy Jesus! Portia said. Twelve dollars! I felt that it roper to ask him. He is not like other people of the Caucasian race.’

    Yht, Portia said. But I keep thinking about my Willie. I sure do wish he could enjoy this here party today. And I sure do wish I could get a letter from him. It just prey on my mind.

    But here! Us got to quit this here talking a ready. It mighty ime for the party to e.’

    Time enough remained. Doctor Copeland washed and clothed himself carefully. For a while he tried to rehearse what he would say when the people had all e. But expectation alessness would not let him trate. Then at ten oclock the first guests arrived and within half an hour they were all assembled.

    Joyful Christmas to you! said John Roberts, the postman. He moved happily about the crowded room, one shoulder held higher thaher, mopping his face with a white silk handkerchief.

    Many happy returns of the day! The front of the house was thronged. Guests were blocked at the door and they formed groups on the front pord in the yard. There was no pushing or rudeness; the turmoil was orderly. Friends called out to each other and strangers were introduced and clasped hands. Children and young people clotted together and moved back toward the kit. Christmas gift!’

    Doctor Copeland stood in the ter of the front room by the tree. He was dizzy. He shook hands and answered salutations with fusion. Personal gifts, some tied elaborately with

    ribbons and others ed in neers, were thrust into his hands. He could find no place to put them. The air thied and voices grew louder. Faces whirled about him so that he could reize no one. His posure returo him gradually. He found space to lay aside the presents in his arms. The dizziness lessehe room cleared. He settled his spectacles and began to look around him.

    Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! There was Marshall Nicolls, the pharmacist, in a long-tailed coat, versing with his son-in-laorked on a garbage truck. The preacher from the Most Holy Assion Church had e. And two deas from other churches. Highboy, wearing a loud checked suit, moved sociably through the crowd. Husky young dandies bowed to young women in long, bright-colored dresses. There were mothers with children and deliberate old men who spat into gaudy handkerchiefs. The room was warm andnoisy.

    Mr. Siood in the doorway. Many people stared at him.

    Doctor Copeland could not remember if he had weled him or not. The mute stood by himself. His face resembled somewhat a picture of Spinoza. A Jewish face. It was good to see him.

    The doors and the windows were open. Draughts blew through the room so that the fire roared. The noises quieted.

    The seats were all filled and the young people sat in rows on the floor. The hall, the porch, even the yard were crowded with silent guests. The time had e for him to speak—and what was he to say? Panic tightened his throat. The room waited. At a sign from John Roberts all sounds were hushed.

    My People, began Doctor Copeland blankly. There ause. Then suddenly the words came to him.

    This is the eenth year that we have gathered together in this room to celebrate Christmas Day. When our people first heard of the birth of Jesus Christ it was a dark time. Our people were sold as slaves in this town on the courthouse square. Sihen we have heard and told thestory of His life more times than we could remember. So today our story will be a different one.

    One hundred and twenty years ago another man was born in the try that is known as Germany—a try far across the Atlantic O. This man uood as did Jesus. But his thoughts were not ed with Heaven or the future of the dead. His mission was for the living. For the great masses of human beings who work and suffer and work until they die.

    For people who take in washing and work as cooks, who pick cotton and work at the hot dye vats of the factories. His mission was for us, and the name of this man was Karl Marx.

    Karl Marx was a wise maudied and worked and uood the world around him. He said that the world was divided into two classes, the poor and the rich. For every rich man there were a thousand poor people who worked for this rich man to make him richer. He did not divide the world into Negroes or white people or ese—to Karl Marx it seemed that being one of the millions of poor people or one of the few rich was more important to a man than the color of his skin.

    The life mission of Karl Marx was to make all human beings equal and to divide the great wealth of the world so that there would be no poor or rid each person would have his share. This is one of the as Karl Marx left to us: &quot;From each acc to his ability, to each acc to his needs.&quot;‘

    A wrinkled, yellow palm waved timidly from the halL Were he the Mark in the Bible<mark></mark>?’

    Doctor Copeland explained. He spelled the two names and cited dates. Are there any more questions? I wish eae of you to feel free to start or enter into any discussion.’

    I presume Mr. Marx was a Christian church man? asked the preacher.

    He believed in the holiness of the human spirit*

    Were he a white man?’

    Yes. But he did not think of himself as a white man. He said, &quot;I sider nothing human as alien to myself.&quot; He thought of himself as a brother to all people.’

    Doctor Copeland paused a moment lohe faces around him were waiting.

    &quot;What is the value of any piece of property, of any

    merdise we buy in a store? The value depends only ohing—and that is the work it took to make or to raise this article. Why does a brick house ore than a cabbage? Because the work of many men goes into the making of one brick house. There are the people who made the bricks and mortar and the people who cut dowrees to make the planks used for the floor. There are the men who made the building of the brick house possible. There are the men who carried the materials to the ground where the house was to be built. There are the men who made the wheelbarrows and trucks that carried the materials to this place. Then finally there are the workmen who built the house. A brick house involves the labor of many, many people—while any of us  raise a cabbage in his back yard. A brick house costs more than a cabbage because it takes more work to make. So when a man buys this brick house he is paying for the labor that went to make it. But who gets the mohe profit? Not the many men who did the work—but the bosses who trol them. And if you study this further you will find that these bosses have bosses above them and those bosses have bosses higher up —so that the real people who trol all this work, which makes any article worth money, are very few. Is this clear so far?’

    Us uand!’

    But did they? He started all over aold what he had said.

    This time there were questions.

    But dont clay for these here bricks oney? And dont it take moo rent land and raise crops on?’

    That is a good point, said Doctor Copeland. Land, clay, timber—those things are called natural resources. Man does not make these natural resources—man only develops them, only uses them for work. Therefore should any one persroup of persons owhings? How  a man own ground and spad sunlight and rain for crops? How  a man say &quot;this is mine&quot; about those things and refuse to let others share them? Therefore Marx says that these natural resources should belong to everyone, not divided into little pieces but used by all the people acc to their ability to work. It is like this. Say a man died a his mule to his four sons. The sons

    rwould not wish to cut up the mule to four parts and each take his share. They would own and work the mule together. That is the way Marx says all of the natural resources should be owned—not by one group of rich people but by all the workers of the world as a whole.

    &quot;We in this room have no private properties. Perhaps one or two of us may own the homes we live in, or have a dollar or two set aside—but we own nothing that does not tribute directly toward keeping us alive. All that we own is our bodies. And we sell our bodies every day we live. We sell them when we go out in the m to our jobs and when we labor all day. We are forced to sell at any price, at any time, for any purpose. We are forced to sell our bodies so that we  eat and live. And the price which is given us for this is only enough so that we will have the strength to labor longer for the profits of others. Today we are not put up on the platforms and sold at the courthouse square. But we are forced to sell our strength, our time, our souls during almost every hour that we live. We have been freed from one kind of slavery only to be delivered into another. Is this freedom? Are we yet free men?&quot;A deep voice called out from the front yard. &quot;That the real truth!’

    That how things is!’

    ?And we are not alone in this slavery. There are millions of others throughout the world, of all colors and races and creeds. This we must remember. There are many of our people who hate the poor of the white race, and they hate us. The people in this town living by the river who work in the mills.

    People who are almost as mu need as we are ourselves.

    This hatred is a great evil, and no good  ever e from it.

    We must remember the words of Karl Marx ahe truth acc to his teags. The injustice of need must bring us all together and not separate us. We must remember that we all make the things of this earth of value because of our labor.

    These main truths from Karl Marx we must keep in our hearts

    always and not fet.

    But my people! We in this room—we Negroes—have another mission that is for ourselves alone. Within us there is a strong, true purpose, and if we fail in this purpose we will be forever lost. Let us see, then, what is the nature of this special mission.’

    Doctor Copeland loosehe collar of his shirt, for in his throat there was a choked f eeling. The grievous love he felt within him was too much. He looked around him at the hushed guests. They waited. The groups of people in the yard and on the porch stood with the same quiet attention as did those in the room. A deaf old man leaned forward with his hand to his ear. A woman hushed a fretful baby with a pacifier. Mr.

    Siood attentively in the doorway. Most of the young people sat on the floor. Among them was Lancy Davis. The boys lips were nervous and pale. He clasped his knees very tightly with his arms, and his young face was sullen. All the eyes in the room watched, and ihere was hunger for truth.

    Today we are to fer the five-dollar award upon the high-school student who wrote the best essay oopic, &quot;My Ambition: How I  Better the Position of the Negro Ra Society.&quot; This year the award goes to Lancy Davis. Doctor Copeland took an envelope from his pocket &quot;There is no need for me to tell you that the value of this award is not wholly in the sum of mo represents— but the sacred trust and faith that goes with it.’

    Lancy rose awkwardly to his feet. His sullen lips trembled. He bowed and accepted the award. Do you wish me to read the essay I have written?’

    No, said Doctor Copeland. But I wish you to e and talk with me sometime this week.’

    Yes, sir. The room was quiet again.

    &quot;I do not wish to be a servant!&quot; That is the desire I have read over and over in these essays. Servant? Only one in a thousand of us is allowed to be a servant. We do not work! We do not serve!’

    The laughter in the room was uneasy.

    Listen! O of five of us labors to build roads, or to take

    care of the sanitation of this city, or works in a sawmill or on a farm. Another o of the five is uo get any work at all. But the other three out of this five— the greatest number of our people? Many of us cook for those who are inpetent to prepare the food that they themselves eat.

    Many work a lifetime tending flar-dens for the pleasure of one or two people. Many of us polish slick waxed floors of fine houses. Or we drive automobiles for rich people who are too lazy to drive themselves. We spend our lives doing thousands of jobs that are of no real use to anybody. We labor and all of our labor is wasted. Is that servio, that is slavery.

    We labor, but our labor is wasted. We are not allowed to serve. You students here this m represent the fortunate few of our race. Most of our people are not allowed to go to school at all. For eae of you there are dozens of young people who  hardly write their names. We are dehe dignity of study and wisdom.

    &quot;From each acc to his ability, to each acc to his needs.&quot; All of us here know what it is to suffer for real need.

    That is a great injustice. But there is one injustice bitterer even than that—to be dehe right to work acc to ones ability. To labor a lifetime uselessly. To be dehe ce to serve. It is far better for the profits of our purse to be taken from us than to be robbed of the riches of our minds and souls.

    Some of you young people here this m may feel the o be teachers or nurses or leaders of your race. But most of you will be denied. You will have to sell yourselves for a useless purpose in order to keep alive. You will be thrust bad defeated. The young chemist picks cotton.<var></var> The young writer is uo learn to read. The teacher is held in useless slavery at some ironing board. We have no representatives in gover. We have no vote. In all of this great try we are the most oppressed of all people. We ot lift up our voices. Our tongues rot in our mouths from lack of use. Our hearts grow empty and lose strength for our purpose.

    People of the Negro race! We bring with us all the riches of the human mind and soul. We offer the most precious of all

    gifts. And our s are held in s and pt. ifts are trampled in the mud and made useless. ut to labor more useless than the work of beasts. Negroes! We must arise and be whole again! We must be free!’

    In the room there was a murmur. Hysteria mounted. Doctor Copeland choked and ched his fists. He felt as though he had swelled up to the size of a giant. The love inhim made his chest a dynamo, and he wao shout so that his voice could be heard throughout the town. He wao fall upon the floor and call out in a giant voice. The room was full of moans an>?９９lib.</a>d shouts.

    Save us!’

    Mighty Lord! Lead us from this wilderness of death！

    Hallelujah! Save us, Lord!’

    He struggled for the trol in htm. He struggled and at last the discipliurned. He pushed down the shout in him and sought for the strong, true voice.

    Attention! he called. We will save ourselves. But not by prayers of m. Not by indolence or strong drink. Not by the pleasures of the body or by ignoranot by submission and humbleness. But by pride. By dignity. By being hard and strong. We must build strength for our real true purpose.’

    He stopped abruptly and held himself very straight. Each year at this time we illustrate in our small way the first a from Karl Marx. Every one of you at this gathering has brought in advane gift. Many of you have denied yourselves fort that the needs of others may be lessened. Each of you has given acc to his best ability, without thought to the value of the gift he will receive iurn. It is natural for us to share with each other. We have long realized that it is more blessed to give than to receive.

    The words of Karl Marx have always been known in our hearts: &quot;From each acc to his ability, to each acc to his needs.&quot; ‘

    Doctor Copeland was silent a long time as though his words were plete. Then he spoke again:Our mission is to walk with strength and dignity through the days of our humiliation. Our pride must be strong, for we

    know the value of the human mind and soul. We must teach our children. We must sacrifice so that they may earn the dignity of study and wisdom. For the time will e. The time will e when the riches in us will not be held in s and pt. The time will e when we will be allowed to serve. When we will labor and our labor will not be wasted.

    And our mission is to await this time with strength and faith.’

    It was finished. Hands were clapped, feet were stamped upon the floor ahe hard winter ground outside. Theodor of hot, strong coffee floated from the kit. John Roberts took charge of the presents, calling out the names written on the cards. Portia ladled the coffee from the dish-pan oove while Marshall Nicolls passed slices of cake.

    Doctor Copeland moved about among the guests, a little crowd always surrounding him.

    Someone  his elbow: He the one your Buddy named for? He answered yes. Lancy Davis followed him with questions; he answered yes to everything. The joy made him feel like a drunken man. To tead exhort and explain to his people—and to have them uand. That was the best of all. To speak the truth aended.

    Us certainly have had one fiime at this party.’

    He stood in the vestibule saying good-bye. Over and over he shook hands. He leaned heavily against the wall and only his eyes moved, for he was tired.

    I certainly do appreciate.’

    Mr. Singer was the last to leave. He was a truly good man. He was a white man of intelled true knowledge. In him there was none of the mean insolence. When all had departed he was the last to remain. He waited and seemed to expee final word.

    Doctor Copeland held his hand to his throat because his larynx was sore. Teachers, he said huskily. That is reatest need. Leaders. Someoo unite and guide us.’

    After the festivity the rooms had a bare, ruined look. The house was cold. Portia was washing the cups i.

    The silver snow on the Christmas tree had been tracked over the floors and two of the ors were broken.

    He was tired, but the joy and the fever would not let him rest

    Beginning with the bedroom, he set to work to put the house in order. Oop of the filing case there was a loose card—the note on Lancy Davis. The words that he would say to him began to form in his mind, and he was restless because he could not speak them now. The boys sullen face was full of heart and he could not thrust it from his thoughts. He opehe top drawer of the file to replace the card, A, B, C—he thumbed through the letters nervously. Then his eye was fixed on his own name: Copeland, Be Mady.

    In the folder were several lung X-rays and a short case history.

    He held an X-ray up to the light. On the upper left lung there was a bright place like a calcified star. And lower down a large clouded spot that duplicated itself in the right lung farther up. Doctor Copeland quickly replaced the X-rays in the folder. Only the brief notes he had written on himself were still in his hand. The words stretched out large and scrawling so that he could hardly read them. —calcif. of lymph glands—very pronouhiing of hili. Lesions arrested—duties resumed.  —lesion reopened—X-ray shows------ Hecould not read the notes. At first he could not make out the words, and then when he read them clearly they made no reason. At the finish there were three words: Prognosis: Dont know.’

    The old black, violent feeling came in him again. He leaned down and wrenched open a drawer at the bottom of the case.

    A jumbled pile of letters. Notes from the Association for the Adva of Colored People. A yellowed letter from Daisy. A note from Hamilton asking for a dollar and a half.

    What was he looking for? His hands rummaged in the drawer and then at last he arose stiffly.

    Time wasted. The past hone.

    Portia peeled potatoes at the kit table. She was slumped over and her face was dolorous.

    Hold up your shoulders, he said angrily. And cease moping.

    You mope and drool around until I ot bear to look on you.’

    I were just thinking about Willie, she said. Course the letter is only three days due. But he got no busio worry me like

    this. He not that kind of a boy. And I got this queer feeling.’

    Have patience, Daughter.’

    I re I have to.’

    There are a few calls I must make, but I will be back shortly.’

    O.K.’

    All will be well, he said.

    Most of his joy was gone in the bright, cool noonday sun. The diseases of his patients lay scattered in his mind. An abscessed kidney. Spinal meningitis. Potts disease. He lifted the k of the automobile from the back seatUsually he hailed some passing Negro from the street to k the car for him. His people were always glad to help and serve. But today he fitted the k and tur vigorously himself. He wiped the perspiration from his face with the sleeve of his overcoat and hurried to get beh the wheel and on his way.

    How much that he had said today was uood? How much would be of any value? He recalled the words he had used, and they seemed to fade and lose their strength. The words left unsaid were heavier on his heart. They rolled up to his lips and fretted them. The faces of his suffering people moved in a swelling mass before his eyes. And as he steered the automobile slowly dowreet his heart turned with this angry, restless love.

    J. HE town had not known a winter as cold as this one for years. Frost formed on the windowpanes and whitehe roofs of houses. The winter afternoons glowed with a hazy lemon light a?９９lｉｂ?nd shadows were a delicate blue. A thin coat of ice crusted the puddles ireets, and it was said on the day after Christmas that only ten miles to the north there was a light fall of snow.

    A ge came over Singer. Often he went out for the long walks that had occupied him during the months when Antonapoulos was first gohese walks extended for miles in every dire and covered the whole of the town. He rambled through the dense neighborhoods along the river that were more squalid than ever sihe mills had been slack this winter. In many eyes there was a look of somber loneliness. Noeople were forced to be idle, a certain

    restlessness could be felt. There was a fervid outbreak of new beliefs. A young man who had worked at the dye vats in a mill claimed suddenly that a great holy power had e in him. He said it was his duty to deliver a new set of as from the Lord, The young ma up a tabernacle and hundreds of people came eaight to roll on the ground and shake each other, for they believed that they were in the presence of something more than human. There was murder, too. A woman who couldnot make enough to eat believed that a foreman had cheated on her work tokens and she stabbed him ihroat. A family of Negroes moved into the end house on one of the most dismal streets, and this caused so mudignation that the house was burned and the black maen by his neighbors. But these were is. Nothing had really ged. The strike that was talked about never came off because they could not get together. All was the same as before. Even on the coldest nights the Sunny Dixie Shoen. The people dreamed and fought and slept as much as ever. And by habit they shorteheir thoughts so that they would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.

    Singer walked through the scattered odorous parts of towhe Negroes crowded together. There was maiety and violence here. Often the fine, sharp smell of gin lingered in the alleys. Warm, sleepy firelight colored the windows.

    Meetings were held in the churches almost every night.

    fortable little houses set off in plots of brown grass—Singer walked in these parts also. Here the children were huskier and more friendly ters. He roamed through the neighborhoods of the rich. There were houses, very grand and old, with white ns and intricate fences ht iron.

    He walked past the big brick houses where automobiles honked in the driveways and where the plumes of smoke rolled lavishly from eys. And out to the very edges of the roads that led from the town to general stores where fanners came on Saturday nights and sat around the stove. He wandered often about the four main business blocks that were brightly lighted and then through the black, deserted alleys

    behind. There was no part of the town that Singer did not know. He watched the yellow squares of light reflect from a thousand windows. The winter nights were beautiful. The sky was a cold azure and the stars were very brightOften it happened now that he would be spoken to and stopped during these walks. All kinds of people became acquainted with him. If the person who spoke to him was a stranger, Singer presented his card so that his silence would be uood. He came to be known through all the town. He walked with his shoulders very straight a his hands always stuffed down into his pockets. Hisgray eyes seemed to take ihing around him, and in his face there was still the l<samp>..</samp>ook of peace that is seen most often in those who are very wise or very sorrowful. He was always glad to stop with anyone wishing his pany. For after all he was only walking and going nowhere.

 Part Two-8

    Now it came about that various rumors started iown ing the mute. In the years before with An-tonapoulos they had walked bad forth to work, but except for this they were always aloogether in their rooms. No one had bothered about them then—and if they were observed it was the big Greek on whom attention was focused. The Singer of those years was fotten.

    So the rumors about the mute were rid varied. The Jews said that he was a Jew. The merts along the main street claimed he received a large legad was a very rich man. It was whispered in one browbeateile union that the mute was an anizer for the C.I.O. A lourk who had roamed into the town years ago and who languished with his family behind the little store where they sold linens claimed passioo his wife that the mute was Turkish. He said that when he spoke his language the mute uood. And as he claimed this his voice grew warm and he fot to squabble with his children and he was full of plans and activity. One old man from the try said that the mute had e from somewhere near his home and that the mutes father had the fiobacco crop in all the try. All these things were said about him.

    Antonapoulos! Within Sihere was always the memory of

    his friend. At night when he closed his eyes the Greeks face was there in the darkness—round and oily, with a wise ale smile. In his dreams they were always together.

    It was more than a year now since his friend had gone away.

    This year seemed her long nor short. Rather it was removed from the ordinary sense of time—as when one is drunk or half-asleep. Behind each hour there was always his friend. And this buried life with Antonapoulos ged and developed as did the happenings around him. During the first few months he had thought most of the terrible weeks before Antonapoulos was taken away—of thetrouble that followed his Illness, of the summons for arrest, and the misery in trying to trol the whims of his friend. He thought of times in the past when he and Antonapoulos had been unhappy. There was one recolle, far in the past, that came ba several times.

    They never had no friends. Sometimes they would meet other mutes—there were three of them with whom they became acquainted during the ten years. But something always happened. One moved to aate the week after they met him. Another was married and had six children and did not talk with his hands. But it was their relation with the third of these acquaintahat Singer remembered when his friend was gone.

    The mutes name was Carl. He was a sallow young man who worked in one of the mills. His eyes were pale yellow and his teeth so brittle and transparent that they seemed pale and yellow also. In his blue-overalls that hung limp over his skinny little body he was like a blue-and-yell doll.

    They invited him to dinner and arrao meet him beforehand at the store where Antonapoulos worked. The Greek was still busy when they arrived. He was finishing a batch of caramel fudge in the cooking room at the back of the store. The fudge lay golden and glossy over the long marble-topped table. The air was warm and rich with sweet smells.

    Antonapoulos seemed pleased to have Carl watch him as he glided the knife down the warm dy and cut it into squares.

    He offered their new friend a er of the fudge on the edge

    of his greased knife, and showed him the trick that he alerformed for anyone when he wished to be liked. He poio a vat of syrup boiling oove and fanned his fad squinted his eyes to show how hot it was. The his hand in a pot of cold water, plu into the boiling syrup, and swiftly put it bato the water again. His eyes bulged and he rolled out his tongue as though he were i agony.

    He even wrung his hand and hopped on one foot so that the building shook. Then he smiled suddenly and held out his hand to show that it was a joke and hit Carl on the shoulder.

    It ale winter evening, and their breath clouded in the cold air as they walked with their arms interlocked dowreet Singer was in the middle and he left themon the sidewalk twice while he went into stores to shop. Carl and Antonapoulos carried the sacks of groceries, and Singer held to their arms tightly and smiled all the way home. Their rooms were cozy and he moved happily about. making versation with Carl. After the meal the two of them talked while Antonapoulous watched with a slow smile. Often the big Greek would lumber to the closet and pour out drinks of gin. Carl sat by the window, only drinking when Antonapoulos pushed the glass into his face, and then taking solemn little sips. Singer could not ever remember his friend so cordial to a stranger before, ahought ahead with pleasure to the time when Carl would visit them often.

    Midnight had passed whehing happehat ruihe festive party. Antonapoulos returned from one of his trips to the closet and his face had a gl look. He sat on his bed and began to stare repeatedly at their new friend with expressions of offense and great disgust. Siried to make eager versation to hide this stranee behavior, but the Greek ersistent. Carl huddled in a chair, nursing his bony knees, fasated and bewildered by the grimaces of the big Greek. His face was flushed and he swallowed timidly. Singer could ighe situation no longer, so at last he asked Antonapoulos if his stomach pained him or if he perhaps felt bad and wished to go to sleep. Antonapoulos shook his head.

    He poio Carl and began to make all the gestures of

    obsity which he khe disgust on his face was terrible to see. Carl was small with fear. At last the big Greek ground his teeth and rose from his chair. Hurriedly Carl picked up his cap ahe room. Singer followed him dowairs.

    He did not know how to explain his friend to this stranger.

    Carl stood hunched in the doorway downstairs, limp, with his peaked cap pulled down over his face. At last they shook hands and Carl went away.

    Antonapoulos let him know that while they were not notig, their guest had goo the closet and drunk up all the gin.

    No amount of persuasion could vionapoulos that it was he himself who had fihe bottle. The big Greek sat up in bed and his round face was dismal and reproachful.

    Large tears trickled slowly down to the neck of his undershirt and he could not be -forted. At last he went to sleep, but Singer was awake in the dark a long time. They never saw Carl again.

    Then years later there was the time Antonapoulos took the rent money from the vase on the mantelpied spent it all on the slot maes. And the summer afternoon Antonapoulos went downstairs o get the paper. He suffered so from the summer heat. They bought aric refrigerator on the installment plan, and Antonapoulos would suck the cubes of ice stantly and eve a few of them melt in bed with him as he slept. And the time Antonapoulos got drunk and threw a bowl of mai in his face.

    Those ugly memories wove through his thoughts during the first months like bad threads through a carpet. And then they were gone. All the times that they had been unhappy were fotten. For as the year went on his thoughts of his friend spiraled deeper until he dwelt only with the Antonapoulos whom he alone could know.

    This was the friend to whom he told all that was in his heart.

    This was the Antonapoulos who no one kneise but him. As the year passed his friend seemed to grow larger in his mind, and his face looked out in a very grave and subtle way from the darkness at night. The memories of his friend ged in his mind so that he remembered nothing that was wrong or foolish—only the wise and good.

    He saw Antonapoulos sitting in a large chair before him. He

    sat tranquil and unmoving. His round face was inscrutable.

    His mouth was wise and smiling. And his eyes were profound.

    He watched the things that were said to him. And in his wisdom he uood.

    This was the Antonapoulos who now was always in his thoughts. This was the friend to whom he wao tell things that had e about. For something had happened in this year.

    He had bee in an alien land. Alone. He had opened his eyes and around him there was much he could not uand.

    He was bewildered.

    He watched the words shape on their lips.

    We Negroes want a ce to be free at last. And freedom is only the right to tribute. We want to serve and to share, to labor and in turn e that which is due to us. But you are the only white man I have ever en- tered who realizes this terrible need of my people.

    You see, Mister Singer? I got this musi me all the time. I got to be a real musi. Maybe I dont know anything now, but I will when Im twenty. See, Mister Singer? And then I mean to travel in a fn try where theres snow.

    Lets finish up the bottle. I want a small one. For we were thinking of freedom. Thats the word like a worm in my brain.

    Yes? No? How much? How little? The word is a signal for pirad theft and ing. Well be free and the smartest will then be able to enslave the others. But! But there is another meaning to the word. Of all words this one is the most dangerous. We who know must be wary. The word makes us feel good—in fact the word is a great ideal. But its with this ideal that the spiders spin their ugliest webs for us.

    The last one rubbed his nose. He did not e often and he did not say much. He asked questions.

    The four people had been ing to his rooms now for more than seven months. They never came together—always alone.

    And invariably he met them at the door with a cordial smile.

    The want for Antonapoulos was always with him—just as it had been the first months after his friend had gone—and it was better to be with any person than to be too long alo was like the time yea<s></s>rs ago when he had made a pledge to Antonapoulos (and even written it on a paper and tacked it on the wall above his bed)—a pledge that he would give up

    cigarettes, beer, a for one month. The first days had been very bad. He could not rest or be still. He visited Antonapoulos so much at the fruit store that Charles Parker was unpleasant to him. When he had finished all the engraving on hand he would dawdle around the front of the store with the watchmaker and the salesgirl or wander out to some soda fountain to drink a Coca-Cola. In those days being near any stranger was better than thinking alone about the cigarettes and beer ahat he wanted.

    At first he had not uood the four people at all. They talked and they talked—and as the months went oalked more and more. He became so used to their lips that he uood each word they said. And then aftera while he knew what eae of them would say before he began, because the meaning was always the same.

    His hands were a torment to him. They would not rest. They twitched in his sleep, and sometimes he awoke to find them shaping the words in his dreams before his face. He did not like to look at his hands or to think about them. They were slender and brown and very strong. In the years before he had always tehem with care. In ihe winter he used oil to prevent chapping, and he kept the cuticles pushed down and his nails always filed to the shape of his fiips. He had loved to wash and tend his hands. But now he only scrubbed them roughly with a brush two times a day and stuffed them bato his pockets.

    When he walked up and down the floor of his room he would crack the joints of his fingers and jerk at them until they ached. Or he would strike the palm of one hand with the fist of the other. And then sometimes when he was alone and his thoughts were with his friend his hands would begin to shape the words before he knew about it. Then when he realized he was like a man caught talking aloud to himself. It was almost as though he had done some moral wrong. The shame and the sorrow mixed together and he doubled his hands and put them behind him. But they would not let him rest.

    Siood ireet before the house where he and Antonapoulos had lived. The late afternoon was smoky and

    gray. In the west there were streaks of cold yellow and rose. A ragged winter sparrow flew in patterns against the smoky sky and at last came to light on a ga>藏书网</a>ble of the house. The street was deserted.

    His eyes were fixed on a window on the right side of the sed story. This was then- front room, and behind was the big kit where Antonapoulos had cooked all their meals.

    Through the lighted window he watched a woman move bad forth across the room. She was large and vague against the light and she wore an apron. A man sat with the evening neer in his hand. A child with a slice of bread came to the windoressed his nose against the pane. Singer saw the room just as he had leftit—with the large bed for Antonapoulos and the iron cot for himself, the big overstuffed sofa and the camp chair. The broken sugar bowl used for an ash tray, the damp spot on the ceiling where the roof leaked, the laundry box in the er.

    On late afternoons like this there would be no light i except the glow from the oil-burners of the big stove.

    Antonapoulos always turhe wicks so that only a ragged fringe of gold and blue could be seen inside each burhe room was warm and full of the good smells from the supper.

    Antonapoulos tasted the dishes with his wooden spoon and they drank glasses of red wine. On the linoleum rug before the stove the flames from the burners made luminous refles—five little golden lanterns. As the milky twilight grew darker these little lanterns were more intense, so that when at last the night had e they burned with vivid purity. Supper was always ready by that time and they would turn on the light and draw their chairs to the table.

    Singer looked down at the dark front door. He thought of them going out together in the m and ing home at night.

    There was the broken pla the pavement where Antonapoulos had stumbled ond hurt his elbow. There was the mailbox whe<var></var>re their bill from the light pany came each month. He could feel the warm touch of his friends arm against his fingers.

    The street was dark now. He looked up at the window once more and he saw the strange woman and the man and the child

    in a group together. The emptiness spread in him. All was gone. Antonapoulos was away; he was not here to remember.

    The thoughts of his friend were somewhere else. Singer shut his eyes and tried to think of the asylum and the room that Antonapoulos was in tonight. He remembered the narrow white beds and the old men playing slapja the er. He held his eyes shut tight, but that room would not bee clear in his mind. The emptiness was very deep inside him, and after a while he glanced up at the window once more and started down the dark sidewalk where they had walked together so many times.

    It was Saturday night. The main street was thick with people.

    Shivering Negroes in overalls loitered before the windows of the te store. Families stood in line be-fore the ticket box of the movie and young boys and girls stared at the posters on display outside. The traffi the automobiles was so dangerous that he had to wait a long time before crossing the street.

    He passed the fruit store. The fruits were beautiful ihe windows—bananas, es, alligator pears, bright little cumquats, and even a few pineapples. But Charles Parker waited on a er ihe face of Charles Parker was very ugly to him. Several times when Charles Parker was away he had ehe store and stood around a long while.

    He had even goo the kit in the back where Antonapoulos made the dies. But he never went into the store while Charles Parker was ihey had both taken care to avoid each other sihat day when Antonapoulos left on the bus. When they met ireet they always turned away without nodding. Once when he had wao send his friend a jar of his favorite tupelo honey he had ordered it from Charles Parker by mail so as not to be obliged to meet him.

    Siood before the window and watched the cousin of his friend wait on a group of ers. Business was always good on Saturday night. Antonapoulos sometimes had to work as late as ten oclock. The big automatic pop popper was he door. A clerk shoved in a measure of kernels and the  whirled ihe case like giant flakes of snow. The

    smell from the store was warm and familiar. Peanut hulls were trampled on the floor.

    Singer passed on dowreet. He had to weave his way carefully in the crowds to keep from being jostled. The streets were strung with red and greeric lights because of the holidays. People stood in laughing groups with their arms about each other. Young fathers nursed cold and g babies on their shoulders. A Salvatiirl in her red-and-blue boinkled a bell on the er, and when she looked at Singer he felt obliged to drop a  into the pot beside her.

    There were beggars, both Negro and white, who held out caps or crusty hands. The neon advertisements cast an e glow on the faces of the crowd.

    He reached the er where he and Antonapoulos had once seen a mad dog on an August afternoon. Then he passed the room above the Army and Navy Store whereAntonapoulos had had his picture taken every pay-day. He carried many of the photographs in his pocket now. He turned west toward the river. Ohey had taken a piid crossed the bridge aen in a field oher side.

    Singer walked along the main street for about an hour. In all the crowd he seemed the only one alo last he took out his watd turoward the house where he lived.

    Perhaps one of the people would e this evening to his room. He hoped so.

    He mailed Antonapoulos a large box of presents for Christmas. Also he presented gifts to each of the four people and to Mrs. Kelly. For all of them together he had bought a radio and put it oable by the window. Doctor Copeland did not notice the radio. Biff Brannon noticed it immediately and raised his eyebrows. Jake Blou it turned on all the time he was there, at the same station, and as he talked he seemed to be shouting above the music, for the veins stood out on his forehead. Mick Kelly did not uand when she saw the radio. Her face was very red and she asked him over and over if it was really his and whether she could listen. She worked with a dial for several minutes before she got it to the place that suited her. She sat leaning forward in her chair with her hands on her knees, her mouth open and a pulse beating

    very fast iemple. She seemed to listen all over to whatever it was she heard. She sat there the whole afternoon, and when she gri him once her eyes were wet and she rubbed them with her fists. She asked him if she could e in and listen sometimes when he was at work and he nodded yes. So for the  few days whenever he opehe door he found her by the radio. Her hand raked through her short rumpled hair and there was a look in her face he had never seen before.

    One night soon after Christmas all four of the people ced to visit him at the same time. This had never happened before.

    Singer moved about the room with smiles and refreshments and did his best in the way of politeo make his guests fortable. But something was wrong.

    Doctor Copeland would not sit dowood in thedoorway, hat in hand, and .９９ｌｉｂ?only bowed coldly to the others.

    They looked at him as though they wondered why he was there. Jake Blount opehe beers he had brought with him and the foam spilled down on his shirtfront. Mick Kelly listeo the musi the radio. Biff Brannon sat on the bed, his knees crossed, his eyes sing the group before him and then being narrow and fixed.

    Singer was bewildered. Always each of them had so much to say. Yet now that they were together they were silent. When they came in he had expected an outburst of some kind. In a vague way he had expected this to be the end of something.

    But in the room there was only a feeling of strain. His hands worked nervously as though they were pulling things unseen from the air and binding them together.

    Jake Blount stood beside Doctor Copeland. I know your face.

    We run into each other once before—oeps outside.’

    Doctor Copeland moved his tongue precisely as though he clipped out his words with scissors. I was not aware that we were acquainted, he said. Then his stiff body seemed to shrink. He stepped batil he was just outside the threshold of the room.

    Biff Brannon smoked his cigarette posedly. The smoke lay in thin layers across the room. He turo Mid

    when he looked at her a blush reddened his face. He half-closed his eyes and in a moment his face was bloodless once more. And how are you getting on with your business now?’

    What business? Mick asked suspiciously.

    Just the business of living, he said. School—and so forth.’

    O.K., I re, she said.

    Eae of them looked at Singer as though in expectation.

    He uzzled. He offered refreshments and smiled.

    Jake rubbed his lips with the palm of his hand. He left off trying to make versation with Doctor Copeland and sat down on the bed beside Biff. You know who it is that used to write those bloody warnings in red chalk on the fences and walls around the mills??No, Biff said. What bloody warnings?’

    Mostly from the Old Testament I been w about that for a long time.’

    Each person addressed his words mainly to the mute. Their thoughts seemed to verge in him as the spokes of a wheel lead to the ter hub.

    The cold has been very unusual, BifE said finally. The other day I was looking through some old records and I found that in the year  the thermometer got down to ten degrees Fahre.

    It was only sixteen degrees this m, and thats the coldest sihe big freeze that year.’

    There were icicles hanging off the roof of the coal house this m, Mick said.

    cWe didnt take in enough money last week to meet the payroll, Jake said.

    They discussed the weather some more. Eae seemed to be waiting for the others to go. Then on an impulse they all rose to leave at the same time. Doctor Cope-la first and the others followed him immediately. When they were gone Siood alone in the room, and as he did not uand the situation he waet it He decided to write to Antonapoulos that nightThe fact that Antonapoulos could not read did not prevent Singer from writing to him. He had always known that his friend was uo make out the meaning of words on paper, but as the months went by he began to imagihat perhaps he had been mistaken, that perhaps Antonapoulos only kept his knowledge of letters a secret from everyone. Also, it ossible

    there might be a deaf-mute at the asylum who could read his letters and then explaio his friend. He thought of several justifications for his letters, for he always felt a great o write to his friend when he was bewildered or sad. Once written, however, these letters were never mailed. He cut out the ic strips from the m and evening papers ahem to his friend each Sunday. And every month he mailed a postal money order. But the loers he wrote to Antonapoulos accumulated in his pockets until he would destroy them.

    When the four people had gone, Singer slipped on hiswarm gray overcoat and his gray felt hat a his room. He always wrote his letters at the store. Also, he had promised to deliver a certain piece of work the  m, and he wao finish it now so that there would be no question of delay. The night was sharp and frosty. The moon was full and rimmed with a golden light. The rooftops were black against the starlit sky. As he walked he thought of ways to begin his letter, but he had already reached the store before the first sentence was clear in his mind. He let himself into the dark store with his key and switched on the front lights.

    He worked at the very end of the store. A cloth curtain separated his place from the rest of the shop so that it was like a small private room. Besides his workbend chair there was a heavy safe in the er, a lavatory with a greenish mirror, and shelves full of boxes and worn-out clocks. Singer rolled up the top of his bend removed from its felt case the silver platter he had promised to have ready. Although the store was cold he took off his coat and turned up the blue-striped cuffs of his shirt so that they would not get in his way.

    For a long time he worked at the monogram in the ter of the platter. With delicate, trated strokes he guided the scriver on the silver. As he worked his eyes had a curiously peing look of hunger. He was thinking of his letter to his friend Antonapoulos.

    Midnight had passed before the work was finished. Whe the platter away his forehead was damp with excitement. He cleared his bend began to write. He loved to shape words with a pen on paper and he formed the letters with as much care as if the paper had been a plate of silver.

    My Only Friend:I see from azihat the Society meets this year at a vention in Ma. They will have speakers and a four-course ba. I imagi. Remember we allao attend one of the ventions but we never did. I wish now that we had. I wish we were going to this one and I have imagined how it would be. But of course I could never go without you. They will e from many states and they will all be full of words and long dreams from the

    heart. There is also to be a special service at one of the churches and some kind of a test with a gold medal for the prize. I write that I imagine all this. I both do and do not. My hands have been still so long that it is difficult to remember how it is. And when I imagihe vention I think of all the guests being like you, my Friend.

    I stood before our home the other day. Other people live in it now. Do you remember the big oak tree in front? The branches were cut back so as not to interfere with the telephone wires and the tree died. The limbs are rotten and there is a hollow pla the trunk. Also, the cat here at the store (the one you used to stroke and foe something poisonous and died. It was very sad.

    Singer held the pen poised above the paper. He sat for a long while, ered tense, without tinuing the letter. Theood up and lighted himself a cigarette. The room was cold and the air had a sour stale odor—the mixed smells of kerosene and silver polish and tobacco. He put on his overcoat and muffler and began writing again with slow determination.

    You remember the four people I told you about when I was there. I drew their pictures for you, the black man, the young girl, the oh the mustache, and the man who owns the New York Cafe. There are some things I should like to tell you about them but how to put them in words I am not sure.

    They are all very busy people. In fact they are so busy that it will be hard for you to picture them. I do not mean that they work at their jobs all day and night but that they have much business in their minds always that does not let them rest.

    They e up to my room and talk to me until I do not uand hoerson  open and shut his or her mouth so much without being weary. (However, the New York Cafe owner is different—he is not just like the others. He has a very black beard so that he has to shave twice daily, and he owns one of these electric razors. He watches. The others all have somethingthey hate. And they all have something they love more thaing or sleeping or wine or friendly pany. That is why they are always so busy.）

    The oh the mustache I think is crazy. Sometimes he

    speaks his words very clear like my teacher long ago at the school. Other times he speaks such a language that I ot follow. Sometimes he is dressed in a plain suit, and the ime he will be black with dirt and smelling bad and in the overalls he wears to work. He will shake his fist and say ugly drunken words that I would not wish you to know about. He thinks he and I have a secret together but I do not know what it is. A me write you something hard to believe. He  drink three pints of Happy Days whiskey and still talk and walk on his feet and not wish for the bed. You will not believe this but it is true.

    I rent my room from the girls mother for $ per month. The girl used to dress in short trousers like a boy but now she wears a blue skirt and a blouse. She is not yet a young lady. I like her to e and see me. She es all the time now that I have a radio for them. She likes music. I wish I knew what it is she hears. She knows I am deaf but she thinks I know about music.

    The black man is sick with ption but there is not a good hospital for him to go to here because he is black. He is a doctor and he works more than anyone I have ever seen. He does not talk like a black man at all. roes I find it hard to uand because their tongues do not move enough for the words. This black man frightens me sometimes. His eyes are hot and bright. He asked me to a party and I went. He has many books. However, he does not own any mystery books. He does not drink or eat meat or attend the movies.

 Part Two-9

    Yah Freedom and pirates. Yah Capital and Democrats, says the ugly oh the mustache. Then he tradicts himself and says, Freedom is the greatest of all ideals. I just got to get a ce to write this musi me and be a musi. I got to have a ce says the girl. We are not allowed to serve, says the black Doctor. That is the Godlike need for my people. Aha, says the owner of the New York Cafe&quot;. He is a thoughtful one.

    That is the way they talk when they e to my room. Those words in their heart do not let them rest, so they are always very busy. Then you would think when they are together they would be like those of the Society who meet at the vention in Ma this week. But that is not so. They all came to my

    room at the same time today. They sat like they were from different cities. They were even rude, and you know how I have always said that to be rude and not attend to the feelings of others is wrong. So it was like that. I do not uand, so I write it to you because I think you will uand. I have queer feelings. But I have written of this matter enough and I know you axe weary of it. I am also.

    It has been five months and twenty-one days now. All of that time I have been alohout you. The only thing I  imagine is when I will be with you again. If I ot e to you soon I do not know whatSinger put his head down on the bend rested. The smell and the feel of the slick wood against his cheek reminded him of his schooldays. His eyes closed and he felt sick. There was only the face of Antonapoulos in his mind, and his longing for his friend was so sharp that he held his breath. After some time Singer sat up and reached for his pen.

    The gift I ordered for you did not e in time for the Christmas box. I expect it shortly. I believe you will like it and be amused. I think of us always and remember everything. I long for the food you used to make. At the New York Cafe it is much worse than it used to be. I found a cooked fly in my soup not long ago. It was mixed with the vegetables and the noodles like letters. But that is nothing. The way I need you is a loneliness I ot bear. Soon I will e again. My vacation is not due for six months more but I think I  arra before then.

    I think I will have to. I am not meant to be alone and without you who uand.

    Always,JOHN SI was two oclo the m before he was home again.

    The big, crowded house was in darkness, but he felt his way carefully up three flights of stairs and did not stumble. He took from his pockets the cards he carried about with him, his watch, and his fountaihen he folded his clothes ly over the back of his chair. His gray-flannel pajamas were warm and soft. Almost as soon as he pulled the blao his

    he was asleep.

    Out of the blaess of sleep a dream formed. There were dull yellow lanterns lighting up a dark flight of stoeps.

    Antonapoulos k the top of these steps. He was naked and he fumbled with something that he held above his head and gazed at it as though in prayer. He himself k halfway doweps. He was naked and cold and he could not take his eyes from Antonapoulos and the thing he held above him.

    Behind him on the ground he felt the oh the mustache and the girl and the black man and the last ohey k naked and he felt their eyes on him. And behind them there were unted crowds of kneeling people in the darkness.

    His own hands were huge windmills aared fasated at the unknown thing that Antonapoulos held. The yellow lanterns swayed to and fro in the darkness and all else was motionless. Then suddenly there was a ferment. In the upheaval the steps collapsed and he felt himself falling downward. He awoke with a jerk. The early light whitehe window. He felt afraid.

    Such a long time had passed that something might have happeo his friend. Because Antonapoulos did not write to him he would not know. Perhaps his friend had fallen and hurt himself. He felt su urge to be with him once more that he would arra at any cost—and immediately.

    In the post-office that m he found a noti his box that a package had e for him. It was the gift he had ordered for Christmas that did not arrive in time. The gift was a very fine one. He had bought it on the install-ment plan to be paid for over a period of two years. The gift was a moving-picture mae for private use, with a half-dozen of the Mickey Mouse and Popeye edies that Antonapoulos enjoyed.

    Singer was the last to reach the store that m. He hahe jeweler for whom he worked a formal written request for leave on Friday and Saturday. And although there were four weddings on hand that week, the jeweler hat he could go.

    He did not let anyone know of the trip beforehand, but on

    leaviacked a o his door saying that he would be absent for several days because of business. He traveled at night, and the train reached the place of his destination just as the red winter dawn was breaking.

    Iernoon, a little before time for the visiting hour, he went out to the asylum. His arms were loaded with the parts of the moving-picture mae and the basket of fruit he carried his friend. He went immediately to the ward where he had visited Antonapoulos before.

    The corridor, the door, the rows of beds were just as he remembered them. He stood at the threshold and looked eagerly for his friend. But he saw at ohat though all the chairs were occupied, Antonapoulos was not there.

    Singer put down his packages and wrote at the bottom of one of his cards, Where is Spiros Antonapoulos? A nurse came into the room and he handed her the card. She did not uand. She shook her head and raised her shoulders. He went out into the corridor and hahe card to everyo. Nobody khere was such a pani him that he began motio<bdo>..</bdo>ning with his hands. At last he met an interne in a white coat. He plucked at the internes elbow and gave him the card. The interne read it carefully and then guided him through several halls. They came to a small room where a young woman sat at a desk before some papers. She read the card and then looked through some files in a drawer.

    Tears of nervousness and fear swam in Singers eyes. The young woman began deliberately to write on a pad of paper, and he could not restrain himself from twisting around to see immediately what was being written about his friend.

    Mr. Antonapoulos has been transferred to the infirmary. He is ill with nephritis. I will have someone show you the way.

    On the way through the corridors he stopped to pick up the packages he had left at the door of the ward. The basket of fruit had been stolen, but the other boxes were intact. He followed the inter of the building and across a plot of grass to the infirmary.

    Antonapoulos! When they reached the proper ward he saw him at the first glance. His bed laced in the middle of the room and he was sitting propped with pillows. He wore a scarlet dressing-gown and green silk pajamas and a turquoise

    ring. His skin ale yellow color, his eyes very dreamy and dark. His black hair was touched at the temples with silver. He was knitting. His fat fingers worked with the long ivory needles very slowly. At first he did not see his friend.

    Then when Siood before him he smiled serenely, without surprise, and held out his jeweled hand.

    A feeling of shyness araint such as he had never known before came over Singer. He sat down by the bed and folded his hands on the edge of the terpane. His eyes did not leave the face of his friend and he was deathly pale. The splendor of his friends raiment startled him. On various occasions he had sent him each article of the outfit, but he had not imagined how they would look when all bined.

    Antonapoulos was more enormous than he had remembered.

    The great pulpy folds of his abdomen showed beh his silk pajamas. His head was immense against the white pillow. The placid posure of his face was so profound that he seemed hardly to be aware mat Singer was with him.

    Singer raised Ms hands timidly and began to speak. His strong, skilled fingers shaped the signs with loving precision.

    He spoke of the cold and of the long months alone. He mentioned old memories, the cat that had died, the store, the place where he lived. At each pause Antonapoulos nodded graciously. He spoke of the four people and the long visits to his room. The eyes of his friend were moist and dark, and in them he saw the little regled pictures of himself that he had watched a thousand times. Thewarm blood flowed back to his fad his hands quied.

    He spoke at length of the black man and the oh the jerking mustache and the girl. The designs of his hands shaped faster and faster. Antonapoulos nodded with slow gravity.

    Eagerly Singer leaned closer and he breathed with long, deep breaths and in his eyes there were bright tears.

    Then suddenly Antonapoulos made a slow circle in the air with his plump forefinger. His finger circled toward Singer and at last he poked his friend iomach. The big Greeks smile grew very broad auck out his fat, pink tongue.

    Singer laughed and his hands shaped the words with wild speed. His shoulders shook with laughter and his head hung

    backward. Why he laughed he did not know. Antonapoulos rolled his eyes. Singer tio laugh riotously until his breath was gone and his firembled. He grasped the arm of his friend and tried to steady himself. His laughs came sloainfully like hiccoughs.

    Antonapoulos was the first to pose himself. His fat little feet had untucked the cover at the bottom of the bed. His smile faded and he kicked ptuously at the bla. Singer hasteo put things right, but Antonapoulos frowned and held up his finger regally to a nurse who assing through the ward. When she had straightehe bed to his liking the big Greek ined his head so deliberately that the gesture seemed one of beion rather than a simple nod of thanks.

    Theurned gravely to his friend again.

    As Sialked he did not realize how the time had passed.

    Only when a nurse brought Antonapoulos his supper on a tray did he realize that it was late. The lights in the ward were turned on and outside the windows it was almost dark. The other patients had trays of supper before them also. They had put down their work (some of them wove baskets, others did leatherwork or knitted) and they were eating listlessly.

    Besides Antonapoulos they all seemed very sid colorless.

    Most of them needed a haircut and they wore seedy gray nightshirts slit down the back. They stared at the two mutes with wonder.

    Antonapoulos lifted the cover from his dish and ied the food carefully. There was fish and some vege-tables. He picked up the fish and held it to the light in the palm of his hand for a thh examination. Thee with relish. During supper he began to point out the various people in the room. He poio one man in the er and made faces of disgust. The man s him. He poio a young boy and smiled and nodded and waved his plump hand.

    Singer was too happy to feel embarrassment. He picked up the packages from the floor and laid them on the bed to distract his friend. Antonapoulos took off the ings, but the mae did not i him at all. He turned back to his supper.

    Singer hahe nurse a note explaining about the movie.

    She called an interne and then they brought in a doctor. As the three of them sulted they looked curiously at Sihe news reached the patients and they propped up on their elbows excitedly. Only Antonapoulos was not disturbed.

    Singer had practiced with the movie beforehand. He set Dp the s so that it could be watched by all the patients. Then he worked with the projector and the film. The ook out the supper trays and the lights in the ward were turned off. A Mickey Mouse edy flashed on the s.

    Singer watched his friend. At first Antonapoulos was startled.

    He heaved himself up for a better view and would have risen from the bed if the nurse had not restrained him. Theched with a beaming smile. Singer could see the other patients calling out to each other and laughing. Nurses and orderlies came in from the hall and the whole ward was in otion. When the Mickey Mouse was finished Singer put on a Popeye film. Then at the clusion of this film he felt that the eai had lasted long enough for the first time. He switched on the light and the ward settled down again. As the inter the mae under his friends bed he saw Antonapoulos slyly cut his eyes across the ward to be certain that each person realized that the mae was his.

    Singer began to talk with his hands again. He khat he would soon be asked to leave, but the thoughts he had stored in his mioo big to be said in a short time. He talked with frantic haste. In the ward there was an old man whose head shook with palsy and who picked feeblytat his eyebrows. He ehe old man because he lived with Antonapoulos day after day. Singer would have exged places with him joyfully.

    His friend fumbled for something in his bosom. It was the little brass cross that he had always worn. The dirty string had been replaced by a red ribbon. Sihought of the dream aold that, also, to his friend. In his haste the signs sometimes became blurred and he had to shake his hands and

    begin all over. Antonapoulos watched him with his dark, drowsy eyes. Sitting motionless in his bright, rich garments he seemed like some wise king from a legend.

    The interne in charge of the ward allowed Sio stay for an hour past the visiting time. Then at last he held out his thin, hairy wrist and showed him his watch. The patients were settled for sleep. Singers hand faltered. He grasped his friend by the arm and looked ily into his eyes as he used to do each m when they parted for work. Finally Singer backed himself out of the room. At the doorway his hands signed a broken farewell and then ched into fists.

    During the moonlit January nights Singer tio walk about the streets of the town each evening when he was not ehe rumors about him grew bolder. An old Negro woman told hundreds of people that he khe ways of spirits e back from the dead. A certain piece-worker claimed that he had worked with the mute at another mill somewhere else iate—and the tales he told were uhe rich thought that he was rid the poor sidered him a poor man like themselves. And as there was no way to disprove these rumors they grew marvelous and very real. Each man described the mute as he wished him to be.

    HY？

    The question flowed through Biff always, unnoticed, like the blood in his veins. He thought of people and of objects and of ideas and the question was in him. Midnight, the dark m, noon. Hitler and the rumors ofwar. The price of loin of pork and the tax on. beer. Especially he meditated on the puzzle of the mute. Why, for instance, did Singer go away orain and, when he was asked where he had been, pretend that he did not uand the question? And why did everyone persist in thinking the mute was exactly as they wanted him to be —when most likely it was all a very queer mistake? Singer sat at the middle table three times a day. He ate what ut before him—except cabbage and oysters. In the babbr></abbr>ttling tumult of voices he alone was silent. He liked best little green soft butter beans and he

    stacked them in a  pile on the prongs of his fork. And sopped their gravy with his biscuits.

    Biff thought also of death. A curious i occurred. One day while rummaging through the bathroom closet he found a bottle of Agua Florida that he had overlooked when taking Lucile the rest of Alices etics. Meditatively he held the bottle of perfume in his hands. It was four months now since her death—and each month seemed as long and full of leisure as a year. He seldom thought of her.

    Biff uncorked the bottle. He stood shirtless before the mirror and dabbled some of the perfume on his dark, hairy armpits.

    The st made him stiffen. He exged a deadly secret glah himself in the mirror and stood motionless. He was stunned by the memories brought to him with the perfume, not because of their clarity, but because they gathered together the whole long span of years and were plete. Biff rubbed his nose and looked sideways at himself. The boundary of death. He felt in him each mihat he had lived with her. And now their life together was whole as only the past  be whole. Abruptly Biff turned away.

    The bedroom was done over. His entirely now. Before it had been tacky and flossy and drab. There were always stogs and pink rayon knickers with holes in them hung on a string across the room to dry. The iron bed had been flaked and rusty, decked with soiled lace boudoir pillows. A bony mouser from downstairs would arch its bad rub mournfully against the slop jar.

    All of this he had ged. He traded the iron bed for a studio couch. There was a thick red rug on the floor, andhe had bought a beautiful cloth of ese blue to hang on the side of the wall where the cracks were worst. He had unsealed the fireplad kept it laid with pine logs. Over the mantel was a small photograph of Baby and a colored picture of a little boy i holding a ball in his hands. A glassed case in the er held the curios he had collected—spes of butterflies, a rare arrowhead, a curious rock shaped like a human profile. Blue-silk cushions were oudio couch, and he had borrowed Luciles sewing-mae to make deep

    red curtains for the windows. He loved the room. It was both luxurious ae. Oable there was a little Japanese pagoda with glass pendants that tinkled with strange musical tones in a draught.

    In this room nothing reminded him of her. But often he would uncork the bottle of Agua Florida and touch the stopper to the lobes of his ears or to his wrists. The smell mingled with his slow ruminations. The sense of the past grew in him.

    Memories built themselves with almost architectural order. In a box where he stored souvenirs he came across old pictures taken before their marriage. Alice sitting in a field of daisies.

    Alice with him in a oe on the river. Also among the souvenirs there was a large bone hairpin that had beloo his mother. As a little boy he had loved to watch her b and knot her long black hair. He had thought that hairpins were curved as they were to copy the shape of a lady and he would sometimes play with them like dolls. At that time he had a cigar box full of scraps. He loved the feel and colors of beautiful cloth and he would sit with his scraps for hours uhe kit table. But when he was six his mother took the scraps away from him. She was a tall, <cite></cite>strong woman with a sense of duty like a man. She had loved him best. Even now he sometimes dreamed of her. And her wold wedding ring stayed on his finger always.

    Along with the Agua Florida he found in the closet a bottle of lemon rinse Alice had always used for her hair. One day he tried it on himself. The lemon made his dark, white-streaked hair seem fluffy and thick. He liked it. He discarded the oil he had used to guard against baldness and rinsed with the lemon preparatiularly. Certainwhims that he had ridiculed in Alice were now his own. Why？

    Every m Louis, the colored boy downstairs, brought him a cup of coffee to drink in bed. Ofte propped on the pillows for an hour before he got up and dressed. He smoked a cigar and watched the patterns the sunlight made on the wall. Deep hi meditation he ran his forefinger between his long, crooked toes. He remembered.

    Then from noon until five in the m he worked

    downstairs. And all day Sunday. The business was losing mohere were many slack hours. Still at meal-times the place was usually full and he saw hundreds of acquaintances every day as he stood guard behind the cash register.

    What do you stand and think about all the time? Jake Blount asked him. You look like a Jew in Germany.’

    I am ah part Jew, Biff said. My Mrandfather was a Jew from Amsterdam. But all the rest of my folks that I know about were Scotch-Irish.’

    It was Sunday m. ers lolled at the tables and there were the smell of tobacd the rustle of neer.

    Some men in a er booth shot dice, but the game was a quiet one.

    Wheres Singer? Biff asked. Wont you be going up to his place this m?’

    Blounts face turned dark and sullen. He jerked his head forward. Had they quarreled—but how could a dummy quarrel? No, for this had happened before. Blount hung around sometimes and acted as though he were having an argument with himself. But pretty soon he would go—he always did—and the two of them would e in together, Blount talking.

    You live a fine life. Just standing behind a cash register. Just standing with your hand open.’

    Biff did not take offense. He leaned his weight on his elbows and narrowed his eyes. Lets me and you have a serious talk.

    What is it you want anyway?’

    Blount smacked his hands down on the ter. They were warm ay and rough. Beer. And one of them kittle packages of cheese crackers with peanut butter in the ihats not what I meant, Biff said. But well e around to it later.’

    The man uzzle. He was always ging. He still drank like a crazy fish, but liquor did n him down as it did some men. The rims of his eyes were often red, and he had a nervous trick of looking back startled over his shoulder. His head was heavy and huge on his thin neck. He was the sort of fellow that kids laughed at and dogs wao bite. Yet when

    he was laughed at it cut him to the quick—he gh and loud like a sort of . And he was always suspeg that somebody was laughing.

    Biff shook his head thoughtfully. e, he said. &quot;What makes you stick with that show? You  find somethier than that. I could give you a part-time job here.’

    Christamighty! I wouldnt park myself behind that cash box if you was to give me the whole damn place, lock, stock, and barrel.’

    There he was. It was irritating. He could never have friends or eve along with people.

    Talk sense, Biff said. Be serious.’

    A er had e up with his ched he made ge.

    The place was still quiet. Blount was restless. Biff felt him drawing away. He wao hold him. He reached for two A-l cigars on the shelf behind the ter and offered Blount a smoke. Warily his mind dismissed one question after another, and then finally he asked:If you could choose the time in history you could have lived, what era would you choose?’

    Blount licked his mustache with his broad, wet tongue. If you had to choose between being a stiff and never asking another question, which would you take?’

    Sure enough, Biff insisted. Think it over.’

    He cocked his head to one side and peered down over his long his was a matter he liked to hear others talk about.

    A Greece was his. Walking in sandals on the edge of the blue Aegean. The loose robes girdled at the waist. Children.

    The marble baths and the plations iemples.

    Maybe with the Incas. In Peru.’

    Biffs eyes sed over him, stripping him naked. Hesaw Blount burned a rich, red brown by the sun, his face smooth and hairless, with a bracelet of gold and precious stones on his forearm. When he closed his eyes the man was a good Inca. But when he looked at him again the picture fell away. It was the nervous mustache that did not belong to his face, the way he jerked his shoulder, the Adams apple on his thin neck, the bagginess of his trousers. And it was more than

    that.

 Part Two-10

    Or maybe around .’

    &quot;That was a good time to be living, Biff agreed.

    Blount shuffled his feet self-sciously. His face was rough and unhappy. He was ready to leave. Biff was alert to detain him. Tell me—why did you ever e to this town anyway? He knew immediately that the question had not been a politie and he was disappointed with himself. Yet it was queer how the man could land up in a place like this.

    Its the Gods truth I dont know.’

    They stood quietly for a moment, both leaning on the ter.

    The game of di the er was fihe first dinner order, a Long Island duck special, had been served to the fellow who mahe A. and P. store. The radio was turned halfway between a church sermon and a swing band.

    Blount leaned over suddenly and smelled Biffs face.

    Perfume?’

    Shaving lotion, Biff said posedly.

    He could not keep Blount lohe fellow was ready to go.

    He would e in with Singer later. It was always like this.

    He wao draw Blount out pletely so that he could uaaiions ing him. But Blount would never really talk—only to the mute. It was a most peculiar thing.

    &quot;Thanks for the cigar, Blount said. See you later.’

    So long.’

    Biff watched Blount walk to the door with his rolling, sailor-like gait. Theook up the duties before him. He looked over the display in the window. The days menu had been pasted on the glass and a special dinner with all the trimmings was laid out to attract ers. It looked bad. Right nasty.

    The gravy from the duck had run into the berry saud a fly, was stu the dessert.Hey, Louis! he called. Take this stuff out of the window.

    And brihat red pottery bowl and some fruit.’

    He arrahe fruits with an eye for color and design. At last the decoration pleased him. He visited the kit and had a talk with the cook. He lifted the lids of the pots and she food inside, but without heart for the matter. Alice always had

    dohis part. He disliked it. His nose sharpened when he saw the greasy sink with its scum of food bits at the bottom. He wrote down the menus and the orders for the  day. He was glad to leave the kit and take his stand by the cash register again.

    Lucile and Baby came for Sunday dihe little Md was not so good now. The bandage was still on her head and the doctor said it could not e off until  month. The binding of gauze in place of the yellow curls made her head look naked.

    Say hello to Uncle Biff, Hon, Lucile prompted.

    Baby bridled fretfully. Hello to Unca Biff Hon, she gassed.

    She put up a struggle when Lucile tried to take off her Sunday coat. Now you just behave yourself, Lucile kept saying. &quot;You got to take it off or youll cateumonia when we go out again.. Now you just behave yourself.’

    Biff took the situation in charge. He soothed Baby with a ball of dy gum and eased the coat from her shoulders. Her dress had lost its set iruggle with Lucile. He straighte so that the yoke was in line across her chest He retied her sash and crushed the bow to just the right shape with his fingers. Theted Baby on her little behind. We got some strawberry ice cream today, he said.

    Bartholomew, youd make a mighty good mother.’

    Thanks, Biff said. Thats a pliment’

    We just been to Sunday School and church. Baby, say the verse from the Bible you learned for your Uncle Biff.’

    The kid hung bad pouted. Jesus wept, she said finally.

    The s that she put iwo words made it sound like a terrible thing.

    Want to see Louis? Biff asked. Hes ba the kit.’

    I wanna see Willie. I wanna hear WMe play the harp.’

    &quot;Now, Baby, youre just trying yourself, Lucile said im-patiently. You know good ahat Willies not here.

    Willie was sent off to the peiary.’

    But Louis, Biff said. He  play the harp, too. Go tell him to get the ice cream ready and play you a tune.’

    Baby went toward the kit, dragging one heel on the floor.

    Lucile laid her hat on the ter. There were tears in her eyes. You know I always said this: If a child is kept  and well cared for and pretty then that child will usually be sweet and smart. But if a childs dirty and ugly then you t expeything much. What Im trying to get at is that Baby is so shamed over losing her hair and that bandage on her head that it just seems like it makes her cut the buck all the time. She wont practice her elocution—she wont do a thing. She feels so bad I just t manage her.’

    If youd quit pig with her so much shed be all right.’

    At last he settled them in a booth by the window. Lucile had a special and there was a breast of chi cut up fine, cream of wheat, and carrots for Baby. She played with her food and spilled milk on her little frock. He sat with them until the rush started. Then he had to be on his feet to keep things going smoothly.

    People eating. The wide-open mouths with the food pushed in.

    What was it? The line he had read not long ago. Life was only a matter of intake and alimentation and reprodu. The place was crowded. There was a swing band on the radio.

    Thewo he was waiting for came in. Singer ehe door first, very<u></u> straight and swank in his tailored Sunday suit.

    Blount followed along just behind his elbow. There was something about the way they walked that struck him. They sat at their table, and Blount talked and ate with gusto while Singer watched politely. When the meal was fihey stopped by the cash register for a few mihen as they went out he noticed again there was something about their walking together that made him pause and question himself.

    What could it be? The suddenness with which the memory opened up deep down in his mind was a shock. The big deaf-mute moron whom Singer used to walk with sometimes on the way to work. The sloppy Greek who made dy for Charles Parker.The Greek always walked ahead and Singer followed. He had never noticed them much because they never came into the place. But why had he not remembered this? Of all times he had wondered about the mute to  su angle. See everything in the landscape except the three waltzing

    elephants. But did it matter after all？

    Biff narrowed his eyes. How Singer had been before was not important. The thing that mattered was the way Blount and Mick made of him a sort of home-made God. Owing to the fact he was a mute they were able to give him all the qualities they wanted him to have. Yes. But how could such a strahing e about? And why？

    A one-armed man came hi and Biff treated him to a whiskey on the house. But he did not feel like talking to anyone.

    Sunday dinner was a family meal. Men who drank beer by themselves on weeknights brought their wives and little kids with them on Sunday. The highchair they kept in the back was often needed. It was two-thirty and though many tables were occupied the meal was almost over. Biff had been on his feet for the past four hours and was tired. He used to stand for fourteen or sixteen hours and not notiy effects at all. But now he had aged. siderably. There was no doubt about it.

    Or maybe matured was the word. Not aged—certainly not—yet. The waves of sound in the room swelled and subsided against his ears. Matured. His eyes smarted and it was as though some fever in him made everything tht and sharp.

    He called to one of the waitresses: Take over for me will you, please? Im going out.’

    The street was empty because of Sunday. The sun shone bright and clear, without warmth. Biff held the collar of his coat close to his neck. Alone ireet he felt out of pocket.

    The wind blew cold from the river. He should turn bad stay in the restaurant where he belonged. He had no business going to the place where he was headed. For the past four Sundays he had dohis. He had walked in the neighborhood where he might see Mick. And there was something about it that was—not quite right. Yes. Wrong. He walked slowly down the sidewalk opposite the housewhere she lived. Last Sunday she had been reading the funny papers on the front steps. But this time as he glanced swiftly toward the house he saw she was not there. But tilted the brim of his felt hat down over his eyes. Perhaps she would e

    into the place later. Often on Sunday after supper she came for a hot cocoa and stopped for a while at the table where Singer was sitting. On Sunday she wore a different outfit from the blue skirt and sweater she wore on other days. Her Sunday dress was wine-colored silk with a dingy lace collar. Once she had had on stogs—with runs in them. Always he wao set her up to something, to give to her. And not only a sundae or some sweet to eat—but something real. That was all he wanted for himself—to give to her. Biffs mouth hardened.

    He had dohing wrong but in him he felt a strange guilt.

    Why? The dark guilt in all men, unreed and without a name.

    On the way home Biff found a penny lying half cealed by rubbish iter. Thriftily he picked it up, ed the  with his handkerchief, and dropped it into the black pocket purse, he carried. It was four oclock when he reached the restaurant. Business was stagnant. There was not a single er in the place.

    Business picked up around five. The boy he had retly hired to work part time showed up early. The boys name was Harry Minowitz. He lived in the same neighborhood with Mid Baby. Eleven applits had answered the ad in the paper, but Harry seemed to be best bet. He was well developed for his age, a. Biff had noticed the boys teeth while talking to him during the interview. Teeth were always a good indication. His were large and very  and white. Harry wlasses, but that would not matter in the work. His mother made ten dollars a week sewing for a tailor dowreet, and Harry was an only child.

    Well, Biff said. Youve been with me a week, Harry. Think yoing to like it? Sure, sir. Sure I like it.’

    Biff turhe ring on his finger. Lets see. What time do you get off from school? &quot;Three oclock, sir.Well, that gives you a couple of hours for study and recreation. Then here from six to ten. Does that leave you enough time for plenty of sleep?’

    Plenty. I dont need hat much.’

    You need about nine and a half hours at ye, son. Pure, wholesome sleep.’

    He felt suddenly embarrassed. Maybe Harry would think it was none of his business. Which it wasnt anyway. He started to turn aside and then thought of something.

    ?You go to Vocational?’

    Harry nodded and rubbed his glasses on his shirtsleeve.

    Lets see. I know a lot of girls and boys there. Alva Richards—I know his father. And Maggie Henry. And akid named Mick Kelly------ He felt as though his earshad caught afire. He knew himself to be a fool. He wao turn and walk away a he only stood there, smiling and mashing his h his thumb. You know her? he asked faintly.

    Sure, I live right  door to her. But in s a senior while shes a freshman.’

    Biff stored this meager informatioly in his mind to be thought over later when he was alone. Business will be quiet here for a while, he said hurriedly. Til leave it with you. By now you know how to hahings. Just waty ers drinking beer and remember how many theyve drunk so you wont have to ask them and depend on what they say. Take your time making ge arack of what goes on.’

    Biff shut himself in his room downstairs. This was the place where he kept his files. The room had only one small window and looked out on the side alley, and the air was musty and cold. Huge stacks of neers rose up to the ceiling. A home-made filing case covered one wall. he door there was an old-fashioned rog-chair and a small table laid with a pair of shears, a diary, and a mandolin. Because of the piles of neer it was impossible to take more than two steps in any dire. Biff rocked himself in the chair and languidly plucked the strings of the mandolin. His eyes closed and he began to sing in a doleful voice:II went to the animal fair.

    The birds and the beasts were t<big></big>here,And the old baboon by the light of the moonWas bing his auburn hair.

    He finished with a chord from the strings and the last sounds shivered to silen the cold air.

    To adopt a couple of little children. A boy and a girl. About three or four years old so they would always feel like he was their own father. Their Dad. Our Father. The little girl like Mick (or Baby?) at that age. Round cheeks and gray eyes and flaxen hair. And the clothes he would make for her—pink crgpe de e frocks with dainty smog at the yoke and sleeves. Silk socks and white buckskin shoes. And a little red-velvet coat and cap and muff for wihe boy was dark and black-haired. The little boy walked behind him and copied the things he did. In the summer the three of them would go to a cottage on the Gulf and he would dress the children in their sun suits and guide<q></q> them carefully into the green, shallow waves. And then they would bloom as he grew old. Our Father. And they would e to him with questions and he would ahem.

    Why not？

    Biff took up his mandolin again. Tum-ti-tim-ti-tee, ti-tee, the wedd-ing of the painted doll The mandolin mocked the refrain. He sang through all the verses and wagged his foot to the time. Then he played K-K-K-Katie, and Loves Old Sweet Song. These pieces were like the Agua Florida in the way they made him remember. Everything. Through the first year when he was happy and when she seemed happy even too. And when the bed came down with them<var></var> twi three months. And he didnt know that all the time her brain was busy with how she could save a nickle or squeeze out ara dime. And then him with Rio and the girls at her place. Gyp and Madeline and Lou. And then later when suddenly he lost it. When he could lie with a woman no longer. Mothero-eod! So that at first it seemed everything was gone.

    Lucile always uood the whole set-up. She khe kind of woman Alice was. Maybe she knew about him,too. Lucile would urge them to get a divorce. And she did all a person could to try thten out their messes.

    Biff winced suddenly. He jerked his hands from the strings of the mandolin so that a phrase of music was chopped off. He sat tense in his chair. Then suddenly he laughed quietly to himself. What had made him e across this? Ah, Lordy Lordy Lord! It was the day of his twenty-ninth birthday, and Lucile had asked him to drop by her apartment when he finished with an appoi at the dentists. He expected from this some little remembrance—a plate of cherry tarts ood shirt. She met him at the door and blindfolded his eyes before he ehen she said she would be ba a sed. In the silent room he listeo her footsteps and when she had reached the kit he broke wind. He stood in the room with his eyes blindfolded and pooted. Then all at once he knew with horror he was not alohere was a titter and soo rolling whoops of laughter deafened him. At that minute Lucile came bad undid his eyes. She held a caramel cake on a platter. The room was full of people. Leroy and that bund Alice, of course. He wao crawl up the wall. He stood there with his bare face hanging out, burning hot all over. They kidded him and the  hour was almost as bad as the death of his mother— the way he took it.

    Later that night he drank a quart ofwhiskey. And for weeks after------Mod！

    Biff chuckled coldly. He plucked a few chords on his mandolin and started a rollig cowboy song. His voice was a mellow tenor and he closed his eyes as he sang. The room was almost dark. The damp chill peed to his bones so that his legs ached with rheumatism.  .

    At last he put away his mandolin and rocked slowly in ? the darkness. Death. Sometimes he could almost feel it in the room with him. He rocked to and fro in the chair. What did he uand? Nothing. Where was he headed? Nowhere. What did he want? To know. What? A mean-ing. Why? A riddle.

    Broken pictures lay like a scattered jigsaw puzzle in his head.

    Alice soaping ihtub. Mussolinis mug. Mick pulling the baby in a wagon. A roast turkey on display. Blounts mouth. The face of Singer. He felt himself wait-

    fing. The room was pletely dark. From the kit he could hear Louis singing.

    Biff stood up and touched the arm of his chair to still its rog. When he opehe door the hall outside was very warm and bright. He remembered that perhaps Mick would e. He straightened his clothes and smoothed back his hair.

    A warmth and liveliness returo him. The restaurant was in a hubbub. Beer rounds and Sunday supper had begun. He smiled genially to young Harry aled himself behind the cash register. He took in the room with a glance like a lasso.

    The place was crowded and humming with he bowl of fruit in the window was a genteel, artistic display. He watched the door and tio examihe room with a practiced eye. He was alert and ily waiting. Singer came finally and wrote with his silver pencil that he wanted only soup and whiskey as he had a cold. But Mick did not e.

    i HE never even had a o herself any more. They were that poor. Money was the main thing. All the time it was money, money, mohey had to pay through the nose for Baby Wilsons private room and private nurse. But even that was just one bill. By the time ohing aid for something else always would crop up. They owed around two hundred dollars that had to be paid right away. They lost the house. Their Dad got a hundred dollars out of the deal ahe bank take over the me. Then he borrowed another fifty dollars and Mister Singer went oe with him.

    Afterward they had to worry about rent every month instead of taxes. They were mighty near as poor as factory folks. Only nobody could look down on them.

    Bill had a job in a bottling plant and made ten dollars a week.

    Hazel worked as a helper in a beauty parlor fht dollars.

    Etta sold tickets at a movie for five dollars. Each of them paid half of what they earned for their keep. Then the house had six boarders at five dollars a head. And Mister Singer, who paid

    his rent very prompt. With what their Dad picked up it all came to about two hundreddollars a month—and out of that they had to feed the six boarders pretty good ahe family and pay rent for the whole house and keep up the payments on the furniture.

    Gee and her did any lunch money now. She had to stop the music lessons. Portia saved the leftovers from the dinner for her and Gee to eat after school. All the time they had their meals i. Whether Bill and Hazel aa sat with the boarders or ate i depended on how much food there was. I they had grits and grease and side meat and coffee for breakfast. For supper they had the same thing along with whatever could be spared from the dining-room. The big kids griped whehey had to eat i. And sometimes she and Gee were dht hungry for two or three days.

    But this was iside room. It had nothing to do with musid fn tries and the plans she made. The winter was cold. Frost was on the windowpanes. At night the fire in the living-room crackled very warm. All the family sat by the fire with the boarders, so she had the middle bedroom to herself. She wore two sweaters and a pair of Bills outgrown corduroy pants. Exciteme her warm. She would bring out her private box from uhe bed and sit on the floor to work.

    In the big box there were the pictures she had pai the gover free art class. She had taken them out of Bills room. Also in the box she kept three mystery books her Dad had given her, a pact, a box of watch parts, a rhione necklace, a hammer, and some notebooks. Oebook was marked oop with red crayon— PRIVATE. KEEP OUT.

    PRIVATE—and tied with a string.

    She had worked on musi this notebook all the winter. She quit studying school lessons at night so she could have more time to spend on music. Mostly she had written just little tunes—songs without any words and without even any bass o them. They were very short. But even if the tunes were only half a page long she gave them names and drew her initials underh them. Nothing in this book was a real piece

    or a position. They were just songs in her mind she wao remember. She hem how they reminded her—Afrid A Big Fighf and The Snowstorm.’

    She couldnt write the music just like it sounded in her mind.

    She had to thin it down to only a few notes; otherwise she got too mixed up to go further. There was so much she didnt know about how to write music. But maybe after she learned how to write these simple tunes fairly quick she could begin to put down the whole musi her mind.

    In January she began a certain very wonderful piece called This Thing I Want, I Know Not What It was a beautiful and marvelous song—very slow and soft. At first she had started to<dfn>９９ｌｉb?</dfn> write a poem along with it, but she couldnt think of ideas to fit the music. Also it was hard to get a word for the third lio rhyme with what. This new song made her feel sad aed and happy all at once. Music beautiful as this was hard to work on. Any song was hard to write. Something she could hum in two minutes meant a whole weeks work before it was down iebook—after she had figured up the scale and the time and every note.

    She had to trate hard and sing it many times. Her voice was always hoarse. Her Dad said this was because she had bawled so much when she was a baby. Her Dad would have to get up and walk with her every night when she was Ralphs age. The only thing would hush her, he always said, was for him to beat the coal scuttle with a poker and sing Dixie.’

    She lay ooma the cold floor and thought. Later on—when she was twenty—she would be a great world-famous poser. She would have a whole symphony orchestra and duct all of her music herself. She would stand up on the platform in front of the big crowds of people. To duct the orchestra she would wear either a real mans evening suit or else a red dress spangled with rhiohe curtains of the stage would be red velvet and M.K. would be printed on them in gold. Mister Singer would be there, and afterward they would go out a fried chi. He would admire her and

    t her as his very best friend. Gee would bring up big wreaths of flowers to the stage. It would be in New York City or else in a fn try. Famous people would point at her—cCULLBRSCarole Lombard and Arturo Tosi and Admiral Byrd.

 Part Two-11

    And she could play the Beethoven symphony any time she wao. It was a queer thing about this music she had heard last autumn. The symphony stayed inside her always and grew little by little. The reason was this: the whole symphony was in her mind. It had to be. She had heard every note, and somewhere in the back of her mind the whole of the music was still there just as it had been played. But she could do nothing t it all out again. Except wait and be ready for the times when suddenly a new part came to her. Wait for it to grow like leaves grow slowly on the branches of a spring oak tree.

    In the inside room, along with music, there was Mister Singer.

    Every afternoon as soon as she finished playing on the piano in the gym she walked down the main street past the store where he worked. From the front window she couldnt see Mister Singer. He worked in the back, behind a curtain. But she looked at the store where he stayed every day and saw the people he khen every night she waited on the front porch for him to e home. Sometimes she followed him upstairs. She sat on the bed and watched him put away his hat and undo the button on bis collar and brush his hair. For some reason it was like they had a secret together. Or like they waited to tell each other things that had never been said before.

    He was the only person in the inside room. A long time ago there had been others. She thought bad remembered how it was before he came. She remembered a girl way ba the sixth grade named Celeste. This girl had str<q>.９9lｉb.</q>aight blonde hair and a turned-up nose and freckles. She wore a red-wool jumper with a white blouse. She walked pigeon-toed. Every day she brought an e for little recess and a blue tin box of lunch f recess. Other kids would gobble the food they had brought at little recess and then were hungry later—but not Celeste. She pulled off the crusts of her sandwiches and

    ate only the soft middle part. Always she had a stuffed hard-boiled egg and she would hold it in her hand, mashing the yellow with her thumb so that the print of her finger was left there.

    Celeste alked to her and she alked to Celeste.

    Although that was what she wanted more than anything else.

    At night she would lie awake and think about  Celeste. She would plan that they were best friends and think about the time whee could e home with her to eat supper and spend the night. But that never happened.

    The way she felt about Celeste would never let her go up and make friends with her like she would any other person. After a year Celeste moved to another part of town ao another school.

    Then there was a boy called Buck. He was big and had pimples on his face. Wheood by him in lio mar at eight-thirty he smelled bad—like bis britches needed airing. Buck did a nose dive at the principal ond was suspended. When he laughed he lifted his upper lip and shook all over. She thought about him like she had thought about Celeste. Then there was the lady who sold lottery tickets for a turkey raffle. And Miss Anglin, who taught the seventh grade.

    And Carole Lombard in the movies. All of them.

    But with Mister Sihere was a differehe way she felt about him came on her slowly, and she could not think bad realize just how it happehe other people had been ordinary, but Mister Singer was not The first day he rang the doorbell to ask about a room she had looked a long time into his face. She had opehe door and read over the card he handed her. Then she called her Mama a ba the kit to tell Portia and Bubber about him. She followed him and her Mama up the stairs and watched him poke the mattress on the bed and roll up the shades to see if they worked. The day he moved she sat on the front porch banisters and watched him get out of the teaxi with his suitcase and his chessboard. Then later she listeo him thump around in his room and imagined about him. The rest came in a gradual way. So that now there was this secret feeliween them. She talked to him more than she had ever talked to a person before. And if he could have talked he

    would have told her many things. It was like he was some kind of a great teacher, only because he was a mute he did not teach. In the bed at night she planned about how she was an orphan and lived with Mister Singer—just the two of them in a fn house where in the wi would s<var>.</var>now. Maybe in a little Switzerland town with the high glaciers and the mountains all around. Where rocks werecCULLERSon top of all the houses and the roofs were steep and pointed.

    Or in France where the people carried home bread from the store without its being ed. Or in the fn try of Norway by the gray winter o.

    In the m the first thing she would think of him. Along with music. Whe on her dress she wondered where she would see him that day. She used some of Ettas perfume or a drop of vanilla so that if she met him in the hall she would smell good. She went to school late so she could see him e dowairs on his way to work. And iernoon and night she never left the house if he was there.

    Eaew thing she learned about him was important. He kept his toothbrush and toothpaste in a glass on his table. So instead of leavioothbrush ohroom shelf she kept it in a glass, also. He didnt like cabbage. Harry, who worked for Mister Brannoiohat to her. Now she could cabbage either. When she learned new facts about him, or when she said something to him and he wrote a few words with his silver pencil, she had to be off by herself for a long time to think it over. When she was with him the main thought in her mind was to store up everything so that later she could live it over and remember.

    But in the inside room with musid Mister Singer was not all. Many things happened iside room. She fell dowairs and broke off one of her froh. Miss Minner gave her two bad cards in English. She lost a quarter in a vat lot, and although she and Gee hunted for three days they never found it This happened:Oernoon she was studying for an English test out on the back steps. Harry began to chop wood over on his side of the fend she hollered to him. He came and diagrammed a few sentences for her. His eyes were quick behind his horn-

    rimmed glasses. After he explaihe English to her he stood up and jerked his hands in and out the pockets of his lumberjack. Harry was always full of energy, nervous, and he had to be talking or doing something every minute.

    You see, theres just two things nowadays, he said.

    He liked to surprise people and sometimes she didnt know how to answer him.

    Its the truth, theres just two things ahead nowadays.’

    ?What?’

    Militant Democracy or Fascism.’

    Dont you like Republis?’

    Shucks, Harry said. Thats not what I mean.’

    He had explained all about the Fascists oernooold how the Nazis made little Jew childre down on t?９9ｌｉb.heir hands and knees a grass from the ground. He told about how he plao assassiler. He had it all worked out thhly. He told about how there wasnt any justice or freedom hi Fascism. He said the neers wrote deliberate lies and people didnt know what was going on in the world.

    The Nazis were terrible—everybody khat. She plotted with him to kill Hitler. It would be better to have four or five people in the spiracy so that if one missed him the others could bump him off just the same. And even if they died they would all be heroes. To be a hero was almost like being a great musi.

    Either one or the other. And although I dont believe in war Im ready to fight for what I know is right’

    Me too, she said. Id like to fight the Fascists. I could dress up like a boy and nobody could ever telL Cut my hair off and all.’

    It was a bright winter afternoon. The sky was blue-green and the branches of the oak trees in the back yard were blad bare against this color. The sun was warm. The day made her feel full of energy. Music was hi her mind. Just to be doing something she picked up a ten-penny nail and drove it into the steps with a few good s. Their Dad heard the sound of the hammer and came out in his bathrobe to stand around awhile. Uhe tree there were tenters horses, and

    little Ralph was busy putting a ro top of one and then carrying it over to the other one. Bad forth. He walked with his hands out to balance himself. He was bowlegged and his diapers dragged down to his knees. Gee was shooting marbles. Because he needed a haircut his face looked thin.

    Some of his permaeeth had already e—but they were small and blue like he had beeing blackberries. Hedrew a line for taw and lay on his stomach to take aim for the first hole. When their Dad went back to his watch work he carried Ralph with him. And after a while Gee went off into the alley by himself. Since he shot Baby he wouldnt buddy with a single person.

    I got to go, Harry said. I got to be at work before six. You like it at the cafe? Do you get good things to eat free?’

    Sure. And all kinds of folks e in the place. I like it better than any job I ever had. It pays more.’

    I hate Mister Brannon, Mick said. It was true that even though he never said anythio her he always spoke in a rough, funny way. He must have known all along about the pack of chewing-gum she and Gee swiped that time. And then why would he ask her how her business was ing along—like he did up in Mister Singers room? Maybe he thought they took things regular. And they didnt. They certainly did not. Only once a little water-color set from the te store. And a nickel pencil-sharpener.

    I t stand Mister Brarmon.’

    Hes all right, Harry said. Sometimes he seems a right queer kind of person, but hes not crabby. When you get to know him.’

    Ohing Ive thought about, Mick said. A boy has a better advantage like that than a girl. I mean a boy  usually get some part-time job that dont take him out of school and leaves him time for other things. But theres not jobs like that firls. When a girl wants a job she has to quit school and work full time. Id sure like to earn a couple of bucks a week like you do, but theres just not any way.’

    Harry sat oeps and untied his shs. He pulled at them until one broke. A man es to the amed Mr.

    Blount. Mr. Jake Blount. I like to listen to him. I learn a lot

    from the things he says when he drinks beer. Hes given me some new ideas.’

    I know him good. He es here every Sunday.’

    Harry unlaced his shoe and pulled the broken string to evehs so he could tie it in a bow again. Listen—herubbed his glasses on his lumberja a nervous way— You  mention to him what I said. I mean I doubt if he would remember me. He dont talk to me. He just talks to Mr. Singer.

    He might think it was funny if you —you know what I mean.’

    O.K. She read between the words that he had a crush on Mister Blount and she knew how he felt. I wouldion it.’

    Dark came on. The moon, white like milk, showed in the blue sky and the air was cold. She could hear Ralph and Gee and Portia i. The fire iove made the kit window a warm e. There was the smell of smoke and supper.

    You know this is something I never have told anybody, he said. I hate to realize about it myself.’

    ?What?’

    You remember when you first began to read the neers and think about the things you read?’

    Sure.’

    I used to be a Fascist. I used to think I was. It was this way.

    You know all the pictures of the people e in Europe marg and singing songs and keeping step together. I used to think that was wonderful. All of them pledged to each other and with one leader. All of them with the same ideals and marg iogether. I didnt worry much about what was happening to the Jewish minorities because I didnt want to think about it. And because at the time I didnt want to think like I was Jewish. You see, I didnt know. I just looked at the pictures and read what it said underh and didnt uand. I never knew what an awful thing it was. I thought I was a Fascist. Of course later on I found out different.’

    His voice was bitter against himself a ging from a mans voice to a young boys.

    Well, you didnt realize then------ she said.

    It was a terrible transgression. A moral wrong.’

    That was the way he was. Everything was either very right or very wrong—with no middle way. It was wrong for anyone uwenty to touch beer or wine or smoke a cigarette. It was a terrible sin for a person to cheat on a test, but not a sin to copy homework. It was a moral wrongfirls to wear lipstick or sun-backed dresses. It was a terrible sin to buy anything with a German or Japanese label, no matter if it cost only a nickel.

    She remembered Harry back to the time when they were kids.

    Once his eyes got crossed and stayed crossed for a year. He would sit out on his front steps with his hands between his knees and watch everything. Very quiet and cross-eyed. He skipped two grades in grammar school and when he was eleven he was ready for Vocational. But at Vocational when they read about the Jew in Ivahe other kids would look around at Harry and he would e home and cry. So his mother took him out of school. He stayed out for a whole year.

    He grew taller and very fat. Every time she climbed the fence she would see him making himself something to eat in his kit. They both played around on the block, and sometimes they would wrestle. When she was a kid she liked to fight with boys— not real fights but just in play. She used a bination jujitsu and boxing. Sometimes he got her down and sometimes she got him. Harry never was very rough with anybody. When little kids ever broke any toy they would e to him and he always took the time to fix it. He could fix anything. The ladies on the block got him to fix their electric lights or sewing-maes when something i went wrong. Then when he was thirteearted back   at Vocational and began to study hard. He threers and worked on Saturdays and read. For a long time she didnt see much of him—until after that party she gave. He was very ged.

    ILike this, Harry said. It used to be I had some big ? ambition for myself all the time. A great engineer reat doctor or lawyer. But now I dont have it that way. ? All I  think about is what happens in the world now. i About Fascism and the terrible things in Europe—and on f the other hand

    Democracy. I mean I t think and work on what I mean to be in life because I think too much about this other. I dream about killing Hitler every night And I wake up in the dark very thirsty and scared of some- ■ thing—I dont know what’

    She looked at Harrys fad a deep, serious feeling made her sad. His hair hung over his forehead. His upper lip was thin and tight, but the lower one was thid it trembled. Harry didnt look old enough to be fifteen. With the darkness a cold wind came. The wind sang up in the oak trees on the blod bahe blinds against the side of the house. Dowreet Mrs. Wells was calling Sucker home.

    The dark late afternoon made the sadness heavy inside her. I want a piano—I want to take music lessons, she said to herself. She looked at Harry and he was lag his thin fiogether in different shapes. There was a warm boy smell about him.

    What was it made her act like she suddenly did? Maybe it was remembering the times when they were younger. Maybe it was because the sadness made her feel queer. But anyway all of a sudden she gave Harry a push that nearly knocked him off the steps. S.O.B. to yrandmother, she hollered to him.

    Then she ran. That was what kids used to say in the neighborhood when they picked a fight Harry stood up and looked surprised. He settled his glasses on his nose and watched her for a sed. Then he ran back to the alley.

    The cold air made her strong as Samson. When she laughed there was a short, quick echo. She butted Harry with her shoulder a a holt ohey wrestled hard and laughed. She was the tallest but his hands were strong. He didnt fight good enough and she got him on the ground. Then suddenly he stopped moving and she stopped too. His breathing was warm on her ned he was very still. She felt his ribs against her knees and his hard breathing as she sat on him. They got up together. They did not laugh any more and the alley was very quiet. As they walked across the dark back yard for some reason she felt funny. There was nothing to feel queer about, but suddenly it had just happened. She gave him a little push and he pushed her back. Then she laughed again a all right.

    So long, Harry said. He was too old to climb the fence, so he ran through the side alley to the front of his house.

    Gosh its hot! she said. I could smother in here.’

    Portia was warming her supper iove. Ralphbanged his spoon on his high-chair tray. Gees dirtylittle hand pushed up his grits with a piece of bread andhis eyes were squinted in a faraway look. She helped her-self to white meat and gravy and grits and a few raisins and mixed them up together on her plate. She ate three bites of them. She ate until all the grit<var>９9lｉｂ?</var>s were go still she wasnt full.

    She had thought about Mister Singer all the day, and as soon as supper was over she went upstairs. But when she reached the third floor she saw that his door en and his room dark. This gave her ay feeling.

    Downstairs she couldnt sit still and study for the English test.

    It was like she was s she couldnt sit on a chair in a room the same as other people. It was like she could knock down all the walls of the house and then march through the streets big as a giant.

    Finally she got out her private box from uhe bed. She lay oomad looked over the notebook. There were about twenty songs now, but she didnt feel satisfied with them. If she could write a symphony! For a whole orchestra—how did you write that? Sometimes several instruments played oe, so the staff would have to be very large. She drew five lines across a big sheet of test paper—the lines about an inch apart. When a note was for violin or cello or flute she would write the name of the instrument to show. And when they all played the same ogether she would draw a circle around them. At the top of the p<samp>藏书网</samp>age she wrote SYMPHONY in large letters. And uhat MICK KELLY. Then she couldnt go any further.

    If she could only have music lessons！

    If only she could have a real piano！

    A long time passed before she could get started. The tunes were in her mind but she couldnt figure how to write them. It looked like this was the hardest play in the world. But she kept on figuring until Etta and Hazel came into the room and

    got into bed and said she had to turn the light off because it was eleven oclock.

    -T OR six weeks Portia had waited to hear from William. Every evening she would e to the house and ask Doctor Copeland the same question: You seen anybody whogotten a letter from Willie yet? And every night he was obliged to tell her that he had heard nothing.

    At last she asked the question no more. She would e into the hall and look at him without a word. She drank. Her blouse was often half unbuttoned and her shs loose.

    February came. The weather turned milder, then hot. The sun glared down with hard brilliance. Birds sang in the bare trees and children played out of doors barefoot and o the waist. The nights were torrid as in midsummer. Then after a few days winter oown again. The mild skies darkened. A chill rain fell and the air turned dank and bitterly cold. Iown the Negroes suffered badly. Supplies of fuel had been exhausted and there was a struggle everywhere for warmth. An epidemic of pneumonia raged through the wet, narrow streets, and for a week Doctor Copeland slept at odd hours, fully clothed. Still no word came from William. Portia had written four times and Doctor Copeland twice.

    During most of the day and night he had no time to think. But occasionally he found a ce to rest for a moment at home.

    He would drink a pot of coffee by the kit stove and a deep uneasiness would e in him. Five of his patients had died.

    And one of these was Augustus Be Mady Lewis, the little deaf-mute. He had been asked to speak at the burial service, but as it was his rule not to attend funerals he was uo accept this invitation. The five patients had not been lost because of any negligen his part. The blame was in the long years of want which lay behind. The diets of bread and sowbelly and syrup, the crowding of four and five persons to a single room. The death of poverty. He brooded on this and drank coffee to stay awake. Often he held his hand to his , for retly a slight tremor in the nerves of his neck made his head nod unsteadily when he was tired.

    Then during the fourth week of February Portia came to the house. It was only six oclo the m and he was sitting by the fire i, warming a pan of milk for breakfast. She was badly intoxicated. He smelled the keen, sweetish odor of gin and his nostrils widened with disgust. He did not look at her but busied him-self with his breakfast. He crumpled some bread in a booured over it hot milk. He prepared coffee and laid the table.

    Then when he was seated before his breakfast he looked at Portia sternly. Have you had your m meal?’

    I not going to eat breakfast, she said.

    You will . If you io get to work today;’

    I not going to work.’

    A dread came in him. He did not wish to question her further.

    He kept his eyes on his bowl of milk and drank from a spoon that was unsteady in his hand. When he had finished he looked up at the wall above her head. Are you toied?’

    I going to tell you. You going to hear about it. Just as soon as I able to say it I going to tell you.’

    Portia sat motionless in the chair, her eyes moving slowly from one er of the wall to the other. Her arms hung down limp and her legs were twisted loosely about each other.

    Wheurned from her he had for a moment a perilous sense of ease and freedom, which was more acute because he khat soon it was to be shattered. He mehe fire and warmed his hands. Then he rolled a cigarette. The kit was in a state of spotless order and liness. The saus on the wall glowed with the light of the stove and behind eae there was a round, black shadow.

    It about Willie.’

    I know. He rolled the cigarette gingerly between his palms.

    His eyes glanced recklessly about him, greedy for the last sweet pleasures.

    Once I mentioo you this here Buster Johnson were at the prison with Willie. Us knowed him before. He were sent home yestiddy. So?’

    Buster been crippled for life.’

    His head quavered. He pressed his hand to his  to steady himself, but the obstirembling was difficult to trol.

 Part Two-12

    Last night these here friends e round to my house and say that Buster were home and had something to tellme about Willie. I run all the way and this here is what he said.’

    Yes.’

    There were three of them. Willie and Buster and this other boy. They were friends. Then this here trouble e up. Portia halted. She wet her finger with her tongue and then moistened her dry lips with her finger. It were something to do with the way this here white guard picked on them all the time. They were out on roadwork one day and Buster he sassed bad theher boy he try to run off in the woods. They taken all three of them. They taken all three of them to the camp and put them in this here ice-cold room.’

    He said yes again. But his head quavered and the word sounded like a rattle in his throat.

    It were about six weeks ago, Portia said. You remember that cold spell then. They put Willie and them boys in this room like ice.’

    Portia spoke in a low voice, and she her paused between words nor did the grief in her face soften. It was like a low song. She spoke and he could not uand. The sounds were distin his ear but they had no shape or meaning. It was as though his head were the prow of a boat and the sounds were water that broke on him and then flowed past. He felt he had to look behind to find the words already said.

    . . . and their feets swolled up and they lay there and struggle on the floor and holler out. And nobody e. They hollered there for three days and three nights and nobody e.’

    I am deaf, said Doctor Copeland. I ot uand.’

    They put our Willie and them boys in this here ice-cold room.

    There were a rope hanging down from the ceiling. They taken their shoes off and tied their bare feets to this rope. Willie and them boys lay there with their backs on the floor and their feets in the air. And their, feets swolled up and they struggle on the floor and holler out. It were ice-cold in the room and their feets froze. Their feets swolled up and they hollered for three nights and three days. And nobody e.

    Doctor Copeland pressed his head with his hands, but still the steady trembling would not stop. I ot hear what you say.’

    Then at last they e to get them. They quickly taken Willie and them boys to the sick ward and their legs were all swolled and froze. Gangrehey sawed off both our Willies feet.

    Buster Johnson lost one foot and the other boy got well. But our Willie—he crippled for life now. Both his feet sawed off.’

    The words were finished and Portia leaned over and struck her head upoable. She did not oan, but she struck her head again and again on the hard-scrubbed top of the table. The bowl and spoon rattled and he removed them to the sink. The words were scattered in his mind, but he did not try to assemble them. He scalded the bowl and spoon and washed out the dish-towel. He picked up something from the floor and put it somewhere.

    Crippled? he asked. William?’

    Portia knocked her head oable and the blows had a rhythm like the slow beat of a drum and his heart took up this rhythm also. Quietly the words came alive and fitted to the meaning and he uood.

    When will they send him home?’

    Portia leaned her drooping head on her arm. Buster dont know that. Soon afterward they separate all three of them in different places. They sent Buster to another camp. Since Willie only haves a few more months he think he liable to be home soon now.’

    They drank coffee and sat for a long time, looking into each others eyes. His cup rattled against his teeth. She poured her coffee into a saucer and some of it dripped down on her lap.

    William------ Doctor Copeland said. As he pronouhe name his teeth bit deeply into his tongue and he moved his jaw with pain. They sat for a long while. Portia held his hand.

    The bleak m light made the windows gray. Outside it was still raining.

    If I means to get to work I better go on now, Portia said.

    He followed her through the hall and stopped at the hat-rack to put on his coat and shawl. The open door let in a gust of wet, cold air. Highboy sat out oreet curb with a wet neer over his head for prote. Along the

    sidewalk there was a fence. Portia leaned against this as she walked. Doctor Copeland followed a few paces after her and his hands, also, touched the boards of the feo steady himself. Highboy trailed behind them.

    He waited for the black, terrible anger as though for some beast out of the night. But it did not e to him. His bowels seemed weighted with lead, and he walked slowly and lingered against fences and the cold, wet walls of buildings by the way. Dest into the depths until at last there was no further chasm below. He touched the solid bottom of despair and there took ease.

    In this he knew a certain strong and holy gladness. The persecuted laugh, and the black slave sings to his ed soul beh the whip. A song was in him now—although it was not music but only the feeling of a song. And the sodden heaviness of peace weighted down his limbs so that it was only with the strong, true purpose that he moved. Why did he go onward? Why did he not rest here upotom of utmost humiliation and for a while take his tent？

    But he went onward.

    ?Uncle, said Mick. You think some hot coffee would make you feel better?’

    Doctor Copeland looked into her face but gave no sign that he heard. They had crossed the town and e at last to the alley behind the Kellys house. Portia had entered first and then he followed. Highboy remained oeps outside. Mid her two little brothers were already i. Portia told of William. Doctor Copeland did not listen to the words but her voice had a rhythm—a start, a middle, and an end. Then when she was finished she began all over. Others came into the room to hear.

    Doctor Copeland sat on a stool in the er. His coat and shawl steamed over the back of a chair by the stove. He held his hat on his knees and his long, dark hands moved nervously around the worn brim. The yellow insides of his hands were so moist that occesionally he wiped them with a handkerchief.

    His head trembled, and all of his muscles were stiff with the effort to make it be still.Mr. Singer came into the room. Doctor Copeland raised up his

    fa. Have you heard of this? he asked. Mr. Singer nodded. In his eyes there was no horror or pity or hate. Of all those who knew, his eyes alone did not express these reas. For he alone uood this thing.

    Mick whispered to Portia, &quot;Whats your fathers name?’

    He named Be Mady Copeland.’

    Mick leaned over close to Doctor Copeland and shouted in his face as though he were deaf. Be, dont you think some hot coffee would make you feel a little better?’

    Doctor Copeland started.

    Quit..hat h, Portia said. He  hear well as you .’

    Oh, said Mick. She emptied the grounds from the pot and put the coffee oove to boil again.

    The mute still lingered in the doorway. Doctor Copeland still looked into his face. You heard?’

    Whatll they do to those prison guards? Mick asked.

    Honey, I just dont know, Portia said. I just dont know.’

    Id do something. Fd sure do something about it.’

    Nothing us could do would make no difference. Best thing us  do is keep our mouth shut’

    &quot;They ought to be treated just like they did Willie and them.

    Worse. I wish I could round up some people and kill those men myself.’

    &quot;That aint no Christian way to talk, Portia said. Js  just rest bad know they going to be chopped up with pitchforks and fried everlasting by Satan.’

    Anyway Willie  still play his harp.’

    With both feets sawed off that about all he  do.’

    The house was full of noise and u. In the room above the kit someone was moving furniture about. The dining-room was crowded with boarders. Mrs. Kelly hurried bad forth from the breakfast table to the kit. Mr. Kelly wandered about in a baggy pair of trousers and a bathrobe.

    The young Kelly children ate greedily i. Doors banged and voices could be heard in all parts of the house.

    Mick handed Doctor Copeland a cup of coffee mixed with watery milk. The milk gave the drink a gray-blue sheen. Some of the coffee had sloshed over into the saucer,

    so first he dried the saucer and the rim of the cup with his handkerchief. He had not wanted coffee at all.

    I wish I could kill them, Mick said.

    The house quieted. The people in the dining-room went out to work. Mid Gee left for school and the baby was shut into one of the front rooms. Mrs. Kelly ed a towel around her head and took a broom with her upstairs.

    The mute still stood in the doorway. Doctor Copeland gazed up into his face. You know of this? he asked again. The words did not sound—they choked in his throat—but his eyes asked the question all the same. Thee was gone.

    Doctor Copeland and Portia were alone. He sat for some time oool in the er. At last he rose to go.

    *You sit back down, Father. Us going to stay together this m. I going to fry some fish and have egg-bread and potatoes for the dinner. You stay on here, and then I means to serve you a good hot meal.’

    You know I have calls.’

    Less us just this one day. Please, Father. I feels like I going to really bust loose. Besides, I dont want you messing around ireets by yourself.’

    He hesitated ahe collar of his overcoat. It was very damp. Daughter, I am sorry. You know I have visits.’

    Portia held his shawl over the stove until the wool was hot.

    She buttoned his coat and turned up the collar about his neck.

    He cleared his throat and spat into one of the squares of paper that he carried with him in his pocket Then he burhe paper iove. On the way out he stopped and spoke to Highboy oeps. He suggested that Highboy stay with Portia if he could arrao get leave from work.

    The air ierg and cold. From the low, dark skies the drizzling rain fell steadily. The rain had seeped into the garbage s and in the alley there was the rank odor of wet refuse. As he walked he balanced himself with the help of a fend kept his dark eyes on the ground.

    He made all the strictly necessary visits. Theeo office patients from noon until two oclock. Afterward he sat at his desk with his fists ched tight. But it was useless to try to cogitate on this thing.

    He wished never again to see a human face. Yet at the same time he could not sit alone in the empty room<tt>９９ｌｉb?t>. He put on his overcoat a out again into the wet, cold street. In his pocket were several prescriptions to be left at the pharmacy.

    But he did not wish to speak with Marshall Nicolls. He went into the store and laid the prescriptions upon the ter. The pharmacist turned from the powders he was measuring and held out both his hands. His thick lips worked soundlessly for a moment before he gained his poise.

    Doctor, he said formally. &quot;You must be aware that I and all our colleagues and the members of my lodge and church—we have your sorrow uppermost in our minds and wish to extend to you our deepest sympathy.’

    Doctor Copeland turned shortly a without a word. That was too little. Something more was he strong, true purpose, the will to justice. He walked stiffly, his arms held close to his sides, toward the main street. He cogitated without success. He could think of no white person of power in all the toas both brave and just. He thought of every lawyer, every judge, every public official with whose name he was familiar—but the thought of eae of these white men was bitter in his heart. At last he decided on the judge of the Superior Court. When he reached the courthouse he did not hesitate but entered quickly, determio see the judge that afternoon.

    The wide front hall was empty except for a few idlers who lounged in the doorways leading to the offices oher side.

    He did not know where he could find the judges office, so he wandered uainly through the building, looking at the placards on the doors. At last he came to a narrow passage.

    Halfway through this corridor three white men stood talking together and blocked the way. He drew close to the wall to pass, but one of them turo stop him.

    What you want?’

    &quot;Will you please tell me where the judges office is located?’

    The white man jerked his thumb toward the end of the passage. Doctor Copeland reized him as a deputy sheriff.

    They had seen each other dozens of times but the deputy did not remember him. All white people looked

    similar to Negroes but Negroes took care to differentiate between them. Oher hand, all Negroes looked similar to white men but white men did not usually bother to fix the face of a Negro in their minds. So the white man said, What you want, Reverend?’

    The familiar joking title led him.  am not a minister, he said, I am a physi, a medical doy name is Be Mady Copeland and I wish to see the judge immediately ent business.’

    The deputy was like other white men in that a clearly enunciated speech maddened him. Is that so? he mocked. He wi his friends. Then I am the deputy sheriff and my name is Mister Wilson and I tell you the judge is busy. e bae other day.’

    It is imperative that I see the judge, Doctor Copeland said. I will wait.’

    There was a bench at the entrance of the passage a down. The three white men tio talk, but he khat the sheriff watched him. He was determined not to leave.

    More than half an hour passed. Several white me freely bad forth through the corridor. He khat the deputy was watg him a rigid, his hands pressed between his knees. His sense of prudeold him to go away aurn later iernoohe sheriff was not there.

    All of his life he had been circumspe his dealings with such people. But now something in him would not let him withdraw.

    e here, you! the deputy said finally.

    His head trembled, and when he arose he was not steady on his feet. Yes?’

    What you say you wao see the judge about?’

    I did not say, said Doctor Copeland. I merely said that my business with him was urgent.’

    ?You t stand up straight. You been drinking liquor, havent you? I smell it on your breath.’

    &quot;That is a lie, said Doctor Copeland slowly.  have not——’

    The sheriff struck him on the face. He fell against the wall.

    Two white men grasped him by the arm and dragged him doweps to the main floor. He did not resist.

    Thats the trouble with this try, the sheriff said. These

    damn biggity niggers like him.He spoke no word ahem do with him as they would. He waited for the terrible anger a it arise in him. Rage made him weak, so that he stumbled. They put him into the wagon with two men as guards. They took him to the station and then to the jail. It was only when they ehe jail that the strength of his rage came to him. He broke loose suddenly from their grasp. In a er he was surrouhey struck him on the head and shoulders with their clubs. A glorious strength was in him and he heard himself laughing aloud as he fought He sobbed and laughed at the same time. He kicked wildly with his feet. He fought with his fists and even struck at them with his head. Then he was clutched fast so that he could not move. They dragged him foot by foot through the hall of the jail. The door to a cell ened. Someone behind kicked him in the groin and he fell to his knees on the floor.

    In the cramped cubicle there were five other prisoners— three Negroes and two white men. One of the white men was very old and drunk. He sat on the floor and scratched himself. The other white prisoner was a boy not more than fifteen years of age. The three Negroes were young. As Doctor Copeland lay on the bunk looking up into their faces he reized one of them.

    How e you here? the young man asked. Aint you Doctor Copeland?’

    He said yes.

    *My name Dary White. You taken out my sisters tonsils last year.’

    The icy cell ermeated with a rotten odor. A pail brimming with urine was in a er. Cockroaches crawled upon the walls. He closed his eyes and immediately he must have slept, for when he looked up again the small barred window was blad a bright light burned in the hall. Four empty tin plates were on the floor. His dinner of cabbage and bread was beside him.

    He sat on the bunk and sneezed violently several times. When

    he breathed the phlegm rattled in his chest. After a while the young white boy began to sneeze also. Doctor Copeland ran out of squares of paper and had to use sheets from a notebook in his pocket. The white boyleaned over the pail in the er or simply let the water run from his o the front of his shirt. His eyes were dilated, his clear cheeks flushed. He huddled on the edge of a bunk and groaned.

    Soon they were led out to the lavatory, and on their return they prepared for sleep. There were six men to occupy four bunks. The old man lay sn on the floor. Dary and another boy squeezed into a bunk together.

    The hours were long. The light in the hall burned his eyes and the odor in the cell made every breath a disfort. He could not keep warm. His teeth chattered and he shook with a hard chill. He sat up with the dirty bla ed around him and swayed to and fro. Twice he reached over to cover the white boy, who muttered and threw out his arms in sleep. He swayed, hi<big></big>s head in his hands, and from his throat there came a singing moan. He could not think of William. Nor could he even cogitate uporong, true purpose and draw strength from that. He could only feel the misery in him.

    Theide of his fever turned. A warmth spread through him. He lay back, and it seemed he sank down into a place warm and red and full of fort.

    The  m the sun came out. The strange Southern winter was at its end. Doctor Copeland was released. A little group waited outside the jail for him. Mr. Singer was there.

    Portia and Highboy and Marshall Nicolls were present also.

    Their faces were fused and he could not see them clearly.

    The sun was very bright.

    Father, dont you know that aint no way to help our Willie? Messing around at a white folks courthouse? Best thing us  do is keep our mouth shut and wait.’

    Her loud voice echoed wearily in his ears. Thev climbed into a teaxicab, and then he was home and his face pressed into the fresh white pillow.

    M

    ICK could not sleep all night. Etta was sick, so she had to sleep in the living-room. The sofa was too narrow and short. She had nightmares about Willie. Nearly a month had gone by since Portia had told about what theyhad doo him—but still she couldnt fet it. Twi the night she had these bad dreams and woke up on the floor. A bump came out on her forehead. Then at six oclock she heard Bill go to the kit and fix his breakfast. It was daylight, but the shades were down so that the room was half-dark. She felt queer waking up in the living-room. She didnt like it. The sheet was twisted around her, half on the sofa and hah* on the floor. The pillowbbr>９９lｉｂ?</abbr> was in the middle of the room. She got up and opehe door to the hall. Nobody was oairs. She ran in her nightgown to the ba.

    Move ee. KThe kid lay in the very ter of the bed. The night had been warm and he was naked as a jay bird. His fists were shut tight, and even in sleep his eyes were squinted like he was thinking about something very hard to figure out. His mouth en and there was a little wet spot on the pillow. She pushed him.

    Wait------ he said in his sleep.

    Move over on your side. ?Wait------Lemme just finishthis  here  dream—th<s></s>ishere------’

    She hauled him over where he belonged and lay down close to him. When she opened her eyes again it was late, because the sun shone in through the back window. Gee was gone.

    From the yard she heard kids voices and the sound of water runnia and Hazel were talking in the middle room. As she dressed a sudden notion came to her. She liste the door but it was hard to hear what they said. She jerked the door open quick to surprise them.

    They were reading a movie magazia was still in bed.

    She had her hand halfway over the picture of an actor. From here up dont you think he favors that boy who used to date with------’

    How you feel this m, Etta? Mick asked. She looked down uhe bed and her private box was still in the exact place where she had left it

    A lot you care, Etta said.

    You  try to pick a fight’

    Ettas face eaked. There was a terrible pain iomad her ovary was diseased. It had something to do with being unwell. The doctor said they would have to cut out her ovary right away. But their Dad said they would have to wait. There wasnt any money.

    ?How do you expect me to act, anyway? Mick said. *I ask you a polite question and then you start to nag at me. I feel like I ought to be sorry for you because youre sick, but you wo me be det. Therefore I naturally get mad. She pushed back the bangs of her hair and looked close into the mirror. Boy! See this bump I got! I bet my heads broke. Twice I fell out last night and it seemed to me like I hit that table by the sofa. I t sleep in the living-room. That sofa cramps me so much I t stay in it’

    Hush that talking so loud,Hazel said.

    Mielt down on the floor and pulled out the big box. She looked carefully at the string that was tied around it. Say, have either of you fooled with this?’

    Shoot! Etta said. What would we want to mess with your junk for?’

    You just better not. Id kill anybody that tried to mess with my private things.’

    Listen to that, Hazel said. &quot;Mick Kelly, I think youre the most selfish person Ive ever known. You dont care a thing in the world about anybody but------’

    Aw, poot! She slammed the door. She hated both of them.

    That was a terrible thing to think, but it was true.

    Her Dad was i with Portia. He had on bis bathrobe and was drinking a cup of coffee. The whites of his eyes were red and his cup rattled against his saucer. He walked round and round the kit table.

    What time is it? Has Mister Singer go?’

    ?He been gone, Hon, Portia said. It near about ten oclock.’

    Ten oclock! Golly! I never have slept that late before.*

    *What you keep in that big hatbox you tote around with you?’

    Mick reached into the stove and brought out half a dozen biscuits. Ask me no questions and Til tell you no lies. A bad

    end es to a person who pries.*

    If theres a little extra milk I think Til just have it poured over some crumbled bread, her Dad said. Grave yard soup. Maybe that will help settle my stomach.Mick split open the biscuits and put slices of fried white meat ihem. She sat down on the back steps to eat her breakfast. The m was warm and bright. Spare-ribs and Sucker were playing with Gee in the back yard. Sucker wore his sun suit and the other two kids had taken off all their clothes except their shorts. They were scooting each other with the hose. The stream of water sparkled bright in the sun.

    The wind blew out sprays of it like mist and in this mist there were the colors of the rainbow. A line of clothes flapped in the wind—white sheets, Ralphs blue dress, a red blouse and nightgow and fresh and blowing out in different shapes. The day was almost like summer-time. Fuzy little yellowjackets buzzed around the honeysuckle on the alley fence.

    &quot;Watch me hold it up over my head! Gee hollered. Watch how the water runs down.’

    She was too full of energy to sit still. Gee had filled a meal sack with dirt and hung it to a limb of the tree for a pung bag. She began to hit this. Puck! Pock! She hit it in time to the song that had been in her mind when she woke up. Gee had mixed a sharp ro the dirt and it bruised her knuckles.

    Aoow! You skeeted the water right in my ear. Its busted my eardrum. I t even hear. Gimme here. Let me skeet some. Sprays of the water blew into her face, and ohe kids turhe hose on her legs. She was afraid her box would get wet, so she carried it with her through the alley to the front porch. Harry was sitting on his steps reading the neer.

    She opened her box and got out the notebook. But it was hard to settle her mind on the song she wao write down.

    Harry was looking over in her dire and she could not think.

    She and Harry had talked about so many things lately. Nearly every day they walked home from school together. They talked about God. Sometimes she would wake up in the night and shiver over what they had said. Harry a.

    That was a religion, the same as Baptist or Catholic or Jew.

    Harry believed that after you were dead and buried you ged to plants and fire and dirt and clouds and water. It took thousands of years and then finally you were a part of all the world. He said he thoughtI that was better than being one single angel. Anyhow it was better than nothing.

    Harry threw the neer into his hall and then came over.

    Its hot like summer, he said. And only March.’

    Yeah. I wish we could go swimming.’

    We would if there lace.’

    Theres not any place. Except that try club pool.’

    I sure would like to do something—to get out and go somewhere.’

    &quot;Me too, she said, Wait! I know one place. Its out in the try about fifteen miles. Its a deep, wide creek in the woods. The Girl Scouts have a camp there in the summer-time. Mrs. Wells took me and Gee ae and Sucker swimming there oime last year.’

    If you want to I  get bicycles and we  go tomorrow. I have a holiday one Sunday a month.’

    Well ride out and take a piiner, Mick said.

    O.K. ITl borrow the bikes.’

    It was time for him to go to work. She watched him walk dowreet. He swung his arms. Halfway down the block there was a bay tree with low branches. Harry took a running jump, caught a limb, and ed himself. A happy feeling came in her because it was true they were real good friends.

    Also he was handsome. Tomorrow she would borrow Hazels blue necklad wear the sfflc dress. And for dihey would take jelly sandwiches and Nehi. Maybe Harry would bring something queer, because they ate orthodox Jew. She watched him until he turhe er. It was true that he had grown to be a very good-looking fellow.

    Harry in the try was different from Harry sitting on the

    back steps reading the neers and thinking about Hitler.

    They left early in the m. The wheels he borrowed were the kind for boys—with a bar between the legs. They strapped the lunches and bathing-suits to the fenders and were gone before nine oclock. The m was hot and sunny. Within an hour they were far out of town on a red clay road. The fields were bright and ereen and the sharp smell of pirees was in the air. Harry talked in a very excited way. The warm wind blew into their faces. Her mouth was very dry and she was hungry.

 Part Two-13

    See that house up on the hill there? Less us stop a some water.’

    No, we better wait. Well water gives you typhoid.’

    I already had typhoid. I had pneumonia and a broken leg and a ied foot.’

    I remember.’

    Yeah, Mick said. Me and Bill stayed in the front room when we had typhoid fever ae Wells would run past on the sidewalk holding his nose and looking up at the window. Bill was very embarrassed. All my hair came out so I was bald-headed.’

    I bet were at least ten miles from town. Weve been riding an hour and a half—fast riding, too.’

    I sure am thirsty, Mick said. And hungry. What you got in that sack for lunch?’

    Cold liver pudding and chi salad sandwiches and pie.’

    Thats a good piiner. She was ashamed of what she had brought. I got two hard-boiled eggs—already stuffed—with separate little packages of salt and pepper. And sandwiches—blackberry jelly with butter. Everything ed in oil paper.

    And paper napkins.’

    I didnt intend for you t anything, Harry said. *My Mother fixed lunch for both of us. I asked you out here and all. Well e to a store soon a cold drinks.’

    They rode half an hour longer before they finally came to the filling-station store. Harry propped up the bicycles and she went in ahead of him. After the bright glare the store seemed dark. The shelves were stacked with slabs of white meat, s of oil, and saeal. Flies buzzed over a big, sticky jar of

    loose dy on the ter.

    ?What kind of drinks you got? Harry asked.

    The storeman started to hem over. Mick opehe ice box and looked inside. Her hands felt good in the cold water.

    I want a chocolate Nehi. You got any of them?’

    Ditto, Harry said. Make it two.’

    No, wait a minute. Heres some ice-cold beer. I want a bottle of beer if you  treat as high as that Harry ordered one for himself, also. He thought it wasa sin for anybody uwenty to drink beer—but maybe he just suddenly wao be a sport. After the first swallow he made a bitter face. They sat oeps in front of the store.

    Micks legs were so tired that the muscles in them jumped.

    She wiped the neck of the bottle with her hand and took a long, cold pull. Across the road there was a big empty field of grass, and beyond that a fringe of pine woods. The trees were every color of green—from a bright yellow-green to a dark color that was almost black. The sky was hot blue.

    I like beer, she said. I used to sop bread down in the drops our Dad left. I like to lick salt out my hand while I drink. This is the sed bottle to myself Ive ever had.’

    The first swallow was sour. But the rest tastes good.’

    The storeman said it was twelve miles from town. They had four more miles to go. Harry paid him and they were out i sun again. Harry was talking loud and he kept laughing without any reason.

    Gosh, the beer along with this hot sun makes me dizzy. But I sure do feel good, he said.

    I t wait to get in swimming.’

    There was sand in the road and they had to throw all their weight on the pedals to keep from bogging. Harrys shirt was stuck to his back with sweat. He still kept talking. The road ged to red clay and the sand was behind them. There was a slow colored song in her mind—one Portias brother used to play on his harp. She pedaled in time to it.

    Then finally they reached the place she had been looking for.

    &quot;This is it! See that sign that says PRIVATE? We got to climb the bob-wire fend then take that path there—see!’

    The woods were very quiet. Slick pine needles covered the ground. Within a few mihey had reached the creek. The water was brown and swift. Cool. There was no sound except from the water and a breeze singing high up in the pirees.

    It was like the deep, quiet woods made them timid, and they walked softly along the bank beside the creek.

    Dont it look pretty.’

    Harry laughed. What makes you whisper? Listen here!He clapped his hand over his mouth and gave a long Indian whoop that echoed back at them. e os jump ier and cool off.’

    Arent you hungry?’

    O.K. Then well eat first. Well eat half the lunow and half later on when we e out’

    She uned the jelly sandwiches. When they were finished Harry balled the papers ly and stuffed them into a hollow tree stump. Theook his shorts a dowh.

    She shucked off her clothes behind a bush and struggled into Hazels bathing-suit The suit was too small and cut her between the legs.

    &quot;You ready? Harry hollered.

    She heard a splash ier and when she reached the bank Harry was already swimming. Dont dive yet until I find out if there are any stumps or shallow places, he said. She just looked at his head bobbing ier. She had never inteo dive, anyway. She couldnt even swim. She had been in swimming only a few times in her life—and then she always wore water-wings or stayed out of parts that were over her head. But it would be sissy to tell Harry. She was embarrassed. All of a suddeold a tale:I dont dive any more. I used to dive, high dive, al<s></s>l the time.

    But once I busted my head open, so I t dive any more. She thought for a mi was a double jaife dive I was doing. And when I came up there was blood all ier.

    But I didnt think anything about it and just began to do swimming tricks. These people were h at me. Then I found out where all this blood ier was ing from.

    And I never have swam good since.’

    Harry scrambled up the bank. Gosh! I never heard about that.’

    She meant to add on to the tale to make it sound more reasonable, but instead she just looked at Harry. His skin was light brown and the water made it shining. There were hairs on his chest and legs. Iight trunks he seemed very naked. Without his glasses his face was wider and more handsome. His eyes were wet and blue. He was looking at her and it was like suddenly they got embarrassed.

    The waters about te deep except over oher bank, and there its shallow.,Less us get going. I bet that cold water feels good.’

    She wasnt scared. She felt the same as if she had got caught at the top of a very high tree and there was nothing to do but just climb down the best way she could—a dead-calm feeling. She edged off the bank and was in ice-cold water. She held to a root until it broke in her hands and then she began to swim.

    Once she choked a under, but she kept going and didnt lose any face. She swam and reached the other side of the bank where she could tou. Then she felt good.

    She smacked the water with her fists and called out crazy words to make echoes.

    Watch here!’

    Harry shimmied up a tall, thin little tree. The trunk was limber and when he reached the top it swayed down with him. He dropped into the water.

    Me too! Watch me do it!’

    &quot;Thats a sapling.’

    She was as good a climber as anybody on the block. She copied exactly what he had done and hit the water with a hard smack. She could swim, too. Now she could swim O.K.

    They played follow the leader and ran up and down the bank and jumped in the cold brown water. They hollered and jumped and climbed. They played around for maybe two hours. Then they were standing on the bank and they both looked at each other and there dido be anythio do. Suddenly she said:Have you ever swam naked?’

    The woods was very quiet and for a minute he did not answer.

    He was cold. His titties had turned hard and purple. His lips were purple and his teeth chattered. I—I dont think so.’

    This excitement was in her, and she said something she dido say. I would if you would. I dare you to.’

    Harry slicked back the dark, wet bangs of his hair. O.K.’

    They both took off their bathing-suits. Harry had his back to her. He stumbled and his ears were red. Theuroward each other. Maybe it was half an hour they stood there—maybe not more man a minute.Harry pulled a leaf from a tree and tore it to pieces. We better get dressed.’

    All through the piiner her of them spoke. They spread the dinner on the ground. Harry divided everything in half. There was the hot, sleepy feeling of a summer afternoon.

    In the deep woods they could hear no sound except the slow flowing of the water and the songbirds. Harry held his stuffed egg and mashed the yellow with his thumb. What did that make her remember? She heard herself breathe.

    Then he looked up over her shoulder. &quot;Listen here. I think youre so pretty, Mick. I never did think so before. I dont mean I thought you were very ugly—I just mean that------’

    She threine e ier. Maybe we better start back if we want to be home before dark.’

    No, he said. Lets lie down. Just for a minute.’

    He brought handfuls of pine needles and leaves and gray moss. She sucked her knee and watched him. Her fists were tight and it was like she was tense all over.

    Now we  sleep and be fresh for the trip home.’

    They lay on the soft bed and looked up at the dark-green pine clumps against the sky. A bird sang a sad, clear song she had never heard before. One high note like an oboe —and then it sank down five tones and called again. The song was sad as a question without words.

    I love that bird, Harry said. I think its a vireo.’

    I wish we was at the o. On the bead watg the ships far out oer. You went to the beae summer—exactly what is >?</a>it like?’

    His voice was rough and low. Well—there are the waves.

    Sometimes blue and sometimes green, and in the bright sun they look glassy. And on the sand you  pick up these little shells. Like the kind we brought ba a cigar box. And over

    the water are these white gulls. We were at the Gulf of Mexico—these cool bay breezes blew all the time and there its never baking hot like it is here. Always------’

    Snow, Mick said. Thats what I want to see. Cold, white drifts of snow like in pictures. Blizzards. White, cold snow that keeps falling soft and falls on and on and on through all the winter. Snow like in Alaska.’

    They both tur the same time. They were close against each other. She felt him trembling and her fists were tight enough to crack. Oh, God, he kept saying over and over. It was like her head was broke off from her body and thrown away. And her eyes looked up straight into the blinding sun while she ted something in her mind. And then this was the way.

    This was how it was.

    They pushed the wheels slowly along the road. Harrys head hung down and his<bdo>藏书网</bdo> shoulders were bent. Their shadows were long and bla the dusty road, for it was late afternoon.

    Listen here, he said.

    Yeah.’

    &quot;We got to uand this. We got to. Do you—any?’

    I dont know. I re ndt.’

    Listen here. We got to do something. Lets sit down.’

    They dropped the bicycles and sat by a ditch beside the road.

    They sat far apart from each other. The late sun burned down on their heads and there were brown, crumbly ant beds all around them.

    We got to uand this, Harry said.

    He cried. He sat very still and the tears rolled down Ms white face. She could not think about the thing that made him cry.

    An ant stung her on the ankle and she picked it up in her fingers and looked at it very close.

    Its this way, he said.  never had even kissed a girl before.’

    Me her. I never kissed any boy. Out of the family.*

    Thats all I used to think about—was to kiss this certain girl. I used to plan about it during school and dream about it at night.

    And then once she gave me a date. And I could tell she meant for me to kiss her. And I just looked at her in the dark and I

    couldnt That was all I had thought about—to kiss her—and wheime came I couldnt.’

    She dug a hole in the ground with her finger and buried the dead ant.

    It was all my fault. Adultery is a terrible sin any way you look at it. And you were two years youhan me and just a kid.&quot;No, I wasnt. I wasnt any kid. But now I wish I was, though.’

    listen here. If you think we ought to we  get married—secretly or any other way.’

    Mick shook her head. I didnt like that. I ne<dfn></dfn>ver will marry with any boy.’

    I never will marry either. I know that And Im not just saying so—its true.’

    His face scared her. His nose quivered and his bottom lip was mottled and bloody where he had bitten it. His eyes were bright a and scowling. His face was whiter than any face she could remember. She turned her head from him.

    Things would be better if only he would just quit talking. Her eyes looked slowly arou the streaked red-and-white clay of the ditch, at a broken whiskey bottle, at a piree across from them with a sign advertising for a man for ty sheriff. She wao sit quiet for a long time and not think and not say a word.

    Im leaving town. Im a good meid I  get a job some other place. If I stayed home Mother could read this in my eyes.’

    Tell me.  you look at me ahe difference?’

    Harry watched her face a long time and hat he could.

    Then he said:Theres just one more thing. In a month or two IT send you my address and you write and tell me for sure whether youre all right.’

    ?How you mean? she asked slowly.

    He explaio her. All you o write is &quot;O.K.&quot; and then TO know.’

    They were walking home again, pushing the wheels. Their shadows stretched out giant-sized on the road. Harry was bent

    over like an old beggar a wiping his nose on his sleeve.

    For a mihere was a bright, golden glow over everything before the sun sank down behind the trees and their shadows were gone on the road before them. She felt very old, and it was like something was heavy inside her. She was a grown person now, whether she wao be or not.

    They had walked the sixteen miles and were in the dark alley at home. She could see the yellow light from their kit.

    Harrys house was dark—his mother had note home. She worked for a tailor in a shop on a side street.

    Sometimes even on Sunday. When you looked through the window you could see her bending over the mae in the back or pushing a long needle through the heavy pieces of goods. She never looked up while you watched her. And at night she cooked these orthodox dishes for Harry and her.

    Listen here------ he said.

    She waited in the dark, but he did not finish. They shook hands with each other and Harry walked up the dark alley between the houses. When he reached the sidewalk he turned and looked back over his shoulder. A light shone on his fad it was white and hard. Then he was gone.

    This here is a riddle, Gee said.

    I listening.’

    Two Indians was walking on a trail. The one in front was the son of the one behind but the one behind was not his father.

    What kin was they?’

    Less see. His stepfather.’

    Geri Portia with his little square, blue teeth.

    His uhen.’

    You t guess. It was his mother. The trick is that you dont think about a Indian being a lady.’

    She stood outside the room and watched them. The doorway framed the kit like a picture. I was homey and . Only the light by the sink was turned on and there were shadows in the room. Bill and Hazel played black-jack at the table with matches for money. Hazel felt the braids of her hair with her plump, pink fingers while Bill sucked in his cheeks a the cards in a very serious way. At the sink Portia was drying the dishes with a  checked towel. She looked

    thin and her skin was golden yellow, her greased black hair slicked . Ralph sat quietly on the floor and Gee.was trying a little harness on him made out of old Christmas tinsel.

    This here is another riddle, Portia. If the hand of a clock points to half-past two------’

    She went into the room. It was like she had expected them to move back when they saw her and stand aroundin a circle and look. But they just gla her. She sat down at the table and waited.

    Here you e traipsing in after everbody done finished supper. Seem to me like I never will get off from work.’

    Nobody noticed her. She ate a big plateful of cabbage and salmon and finished off with ju. It was her Mama she was thinking about. The door opened and her Mama came in and told Portia that Miss Brown had said she found a bedbug in her room. To get out the gasoline.

    Quit frowning like that, Mick. Youre ing to the age where you ought to fix up and try to look the best you .

    And hold on—dont barge out like that when I speak with you—I mean you to give Ralph a good spoh before he goes to bed.  his nose and ears good.’

    Ralphs soft hair was sticky with oatmeal. She wiped it with a dishrag and rinched his fad hands at the sink. Bill and Hazel fiheir game. Bills long fingernails scraped oable as he took up the matches. Gee carried Ralph off to bed. She and Portia were alone i.

    Listen! Look at me. Do you notiything different? Sure I notice, Hon.’

    Portia put on her red hat and ged her shoes. Well—?’

    Just you take a little grease and rub it on your face. Your nose already done peeled very bad. They say grease is the best thing for bad sunburn.’

    She stood by herself in the dark back yard, breaking off pieces of bark from the oak tree with her fingernails. It was almost worse this way. Maybe she would feel better if they could look at her and tell. If they knew.

    Her Dad called her from the back steps. &quot;Miick! ?Yes, sir. The telephone.&quot;

    Gee crowded up close and tried to listen in, but she pushed him away. Mrs. Minowitz talked very loud aed.

    My Harry should be home by now. You know where he is?’

    *No, maam.’

    He said you two would ride out on bicycles. Where should he be now? You know where he is? No, maam, Mick said again.

    N.

    ow that the days were hot again the Sunny Dixie Show was always crowded. The March wind quieted. Trees were thick with their foliage of ocherous green. The sky was a cloudless blue and the rays of the surohe air was sultry.

    Jake Blount hated this weather. He thought dizzily of the long, burning summer months ahead. He did not feel well. Retly a headache had begun to trouble him stantly. He had gained weight so that his stomach developed a little pouch. He had to leave the top button of his trousers undone. He khat this was alcoholic fat, but he kept on drinking. Liquor helped the ache in his head. He had only to take one small glass to make it better. Nowadays one glass was the same to him as a quart. It was not the liquor of the moment that gave him the kick—but the rea of the first swallow to all the alcohol which had saturated his blood during these last months. A spoonful of beer would help the throbbing in his head, but a quart of whiskey could not make him drunk.

    He cut out liquor entirely. For several days he drank only water and e Crush. The pain was hke a crawling worm in his head. He worked wearily during the long afternoons and evenings. He could not sleep and it was agony to try to read.

    The damp, sour stink in his room infuriated him. He lay restless in the bed and when at last he fell asleep daylight had e.

    A dream haunted him. It had first e to him four months ago<s>..</s>. He would awake with terror—but the strange point was that never could he remember the tents of this dream. Only the feeling remained when his eyes were opened. Each time his fears at awakening were so identical that he did not doubt but what these dreams were the same. He was used to dreams,

    the grotesque nightmaresof drink that led him down into a madmans region of disorder, but always the m light scattered the effects of these wild dreams and he fot them.

    This blank, stealthy dream was of a different nature. He awoke and could remember nothing. But there was a sense of mehat lingered in him long after. Then he awoke one m with the old fear but with a faint remembrance of the darkness behind him. He had been walking among a crowd of people and in his arms he carried something. That was all he could be sure about. Had he stolen? Had he been trying to save some possession? Was he being hunted by all these people around him? He did not think so. The more he studied this simple dream the less he could uand. Then for some time afterward the dream did not return.

    He met the writer of signs whose chalked message he had seen the past November. From the first day of their meeting the old man g to him like an evil genius. His name was Simms and he preached on the sidewalks. The winter cold had kept him indoors, but in the spring he was out oreets all day.

    His white hair was soft and ragged on his ned he carried around with him a womans big silk pocketbook full of chalk and Jesus ads. His eyes were bright and crazy. Simms tried to vert him.

    Child of adversity, I smell the sinful stink of beer on thy breath. And you smoke cigarettes. If the Lord had wanted us to smoke cigarettes He would have said so in His Book. The mark of Satan is on thy brow. I see it. Repent. Let me show you the light.&quot;Jake rolled up his eyes and made a slow pious sign in the air.

    Then he opened his oil-stained hand. I reveal this only to you, he said in a low stage voice. Simms looked down at the scar in his palm. Jake leaned closer and whispered: And theres the n. The sign you know. For I was born with them.’

    Simms backed against the fence. With a womanish gesture he lifted a lock of silver hair from his forehead and smoothed it ba his head. Nervously his tongue licked the ers of his mouth. Jake laughed.

 Part Two-14

    Blasphemer! Simms screamed. God will get you. You and all

    your crew.  God remembers the scoffers. Hewatches after me. God watches everybody but He watches me the most. Like He did Moses. God tells me things in the night.

    God will get you.’

    He took Simms down to a er store for Coca-Colas a-butter crackers. Simms began to work on him again.

    When he left for the show Simms ran along behind him.

    e to this er tonight at seven oclock. Jesus has a message just for you.’

    The first days of April were windy and warm. White clouds trailed across the blue sky. In the wind there was the smell of the river and also the fresher smell of fields beyond the town.

    The show was crowded every day from four iernoon until midnight. The crowd was a tough one. With the new spring he felt an uone of trouble.

    One night he was w on the maery of the swings when suddenly he was roused from thought by the sounds of angry voices. Quickly he pushed through the crowd until he saw a white girl fighting with a cirl by the ticket booth of the flying-jinny. He wrehem apart, but still they struggled to get at each other. The crowd took sides and there was a bedlam of he white girl was a hunchback. She held something tight in her hand.

    seen you, the cirl yelled. I ghy beat that hunch off your back, too.’

    Hush your mouth, you blaigger!’

    Low-down factory tag. I done paid my money and I ghy ride.

    White man, you make her give me back my ticket.’

    Blaigger slut!’

    Jake looked from oo the other. The crowd pressed close.

    There were mumbled opinions on every side.

    I seen Lurie drop her ticket and I watched this here white lady pick it up. That the truth, a colored boy said.

    &quot;No nigger going to put her hands on no white girl while------？

    &quot;You quit that pushing me. I ready to hit back even if your skin do be white.’

    Roughly Jake pushed into the thick of the crowd. All right!

    he yelled. &quot;Move on—break it up. Every damnone of you. There was something about the size of his fists that made the people drift sullenly away. Jake turned back to the two girls.

    This here the way it is, said the cirl.  bet I one of the few peoples here who done saved over fifty ts till Friday night. I done ironed double this week. I done paid a good nickel for that ticket she holding. And now I means to ride.Jake settled the trouble quickly. He let the hunchback keep the disputed ticket and issued another oo the cirl. For the rest of that evening there were no more quarrels. But Jake moved alertly through the crowd. He was troubled and uneasy.

    In addition to himself there were five other employees at the show—two men to operate the swings and take tickets and three girls to mahe booths. This did not t Patterson.

    The show-owner spent most of his time playing cards with himself in his trailer. His eyes were dull, with the pupils shrunken, and the skin of his neck hung in yellow, pulpy folds.

    During the past few months Jake had had two raises in pay. At midnight it was his job to report to Patterson and hand over the takings of the evening. Sometimes Patterson did not notice him until he had been irailer for several minutes; he would be staring at the cards, sunk in a stupor. The air of the trailer was heavy with the stinks of food and reefers. Patterson held his hand over his stomach as though proteg it from something. He always checked over the ats very thhly.

    Jake and the two operators had a squabble. These men were both former doffers at one of the mills. At first he had tried to talk to them ahem to see the truth. Once he ihem to a pool room for a drink. But they were so dumb he couldhem. Soon after this he overheard the versatioweehat caused the trouble. It was an early Sunday m, almost two oclock, and he had been cheg the ats with Patterson. Wheepped out of the trailer the grounds seemed empty. The moon was bright.

    He was thinking of Singer and the free day ahead. Then as he passed by the swings he heard someone speak his he two oper-

    Iators had finished work and were smoking together. Jake listened.

    If theres anything I hate worse than a s a Red.’

    He tickles me. I dont pay him no mind. The way he struts around. I never seen such a sawed-off runt. How tall is he, you re?’

    Around five foot But he thinks he got to tell everybody so much. He oughta be in jail. Thats where. The Red Bolshivik.’

    He just tickles me. I t look at him without laughing.’

    He  act biggity with me.’

    Jake watched them follow the path toward Weavers Lane. His first thought was to rush out and front them, but a certain shrinking held him back. For several days he fumed in silence.

    Then one night after work he followed the two men for several blocks and as they turned a er he cut in front of them.

    I heard you, he said breathlessly. It so happened I heard every word you said last Saturday night. Sure Im a Red. At least I re I am. But what are you? They stood beh a street light. The two men stepped back from him. The neighborhood was deserted. You pasty-faced, shrunk-gutted, ricket-ridden little rats! I could reach out and choke your stringy necks—oo each hand. Runt or no, I could lay you on this sidewalk where theyd have to scrape you up with shovels.’

    The two men looked at each other, cowed, and tried to walk on. But Jake would not let them pass. He kept step with them, walking backward, a furious sneer on his face.

    All I got to say is this: Iure I suggest you e to me whenever you feel the o make remarks about my height, weight, at, demeanor, or ideology. And that last is not what I take a leak with either—case you dont knoill discuss it together.’

    Afterward Jake treated the two men with angry pt.

    Behind his back they jeered at him. Oernoon he found that the engine of the swings had been deliberately damaged and he had to work three hours overtime to fix it. Always he felt someone was laughing at him. Each time he heard the girls talking together he drew himself up straight and laughed carelessly aloud to himself as though thinking of some private joke.The warm southwest winds from the Gulf of Mexico were heavy with the smells of spring. The days grew longer and the sun was bright. The lazy warmth depressed him. He began to drink again. As soon as work was done he went home and lay down on his bed. Sometimes he stayed there, fully clothed and i, for twelve or thirteen hours. The restlesshat had caused him to sob and bite his nails only a few months before seemed to have gone. A beh his iia Jake felt the old tension. Of all the places he had been this was the loown of all. Or it would be without Singer. Only he and Singer uood the truth. He knew and could not get the dont-knows to see. It was like trying to fight darkness or heat or a stink in the air. He stared morosely out of his window. A stunted, smoked-blaed tree at the er had put out new leaves of a bilious green. The sky was always a deep, hard blue. The mosquitoes from a fetid stream that ran through this part of the town buzzed in the room.

    He caught the itch. He mixed some sulphur and hog fat and greased his body every m. He clawed himself raw and it seemed that the itg would never be soothed. One night he broke loose. He had been sitting alone for many hours. He had mixed gin and whiskey and was very drunk. It was almost m. He leaned out of the window and looked at the dark silent street. He thought of all the people around him.

    Sleeping. The dont-knows. Suddenly he bawled out in a loud voice: &quot;This is the truth! You bastards dont know anything.

    You dont know. You dont know!The street awoke angrily. Lamps were lighted and sleepy curses were called to him. The men who lived in the house rattled furiously on his door. The girls from a cat-house across the street stuck their heads out of the windows.

    You dumb dumb dumb dumb bastards. You dumb dumb dumb dumb------’

    Shuddup! ShuddupFThe fellows in the hall were pushing against the door: ?You drunk bull! Youll be a sight dumber whe thu with you.’

    How many out there? Jake roared. He banged ay bottle on the windowsill. e<s>99ｌib.</s> on, everybody. e one, e all. Ill settle you three at a time.’

    Thats right, Honey, a whore called.

    The door was giving way. Jake jumped from the window and ran through a side alley. Hee-haw! Hee-haw! he yelled drunkenly. He was barefooted and shirtless. An hour later he stumbled into Singers room. He sprawled on the floor and laughed himself to sleep.

    On an April m he found the body of a man who had been murdered. A young Negro. Jake found him in a ditch about thirty yards from the showgrounds. The Negros throat had been slashed so that the head was rolled back at a crazy ahe sun sho on his open, glassy eyes and flies hovered over the dried blood that covered his chest. The dead man held a red-and-yellow e with a tassel like the ones sold at the hamburger booth at the show. Jake stared gloomily down at the body for some time. Then he called the polio clues were found. Two days later the family of the dead man claimed his body at the mue.

    At the Sunny Dixie there were frequent fights and quarrels.

    Sometimes two friends would e to the show arm in arm, laughing and drinking—and before they left they would be struggling together in a panting rage. Jake was always alert.

    Beh the gaudy gaiety of the show, the bright lights, and the lazy laughter, he felt something sullen and dangerous.

    Through these dazed, disjointed weeks Simms nagged his footsteps stantly. The old man liked to e with a soapbox and<df</dfn> a Bible and take a stand in the middle of the crowd to preach. He talked of the sed ing of Christ. He said that the Day of Judgment would be October , . He

    would point out certain drunks and scream at them in his raw, worn voice. Excitement made his mouth fill with water so that his words had a wet, gurgling sound. Once he had slipped in a up his stand numents could make him budge. He made Jake a present of a Gideon Bible, and told him to pray on his knees for one hour eaight and to hurl away every glass of beer arette that was offered him.

    They quarreled over walls and fences. Jake had begunto carry chalk in his pockets, also. He wrote brief sentences.

    He tried to word them so that a passerby would stop and ponder over the meaning. So that a man would wonder. So that a man would think. Also, he wrote short pamphlets and distributed them ireets.

    If it had not been for Singer, Jake khat he would have left the town. Only on Sunday, when he was with his friend, did he feel at peace. Sometimes they would go for a walk together or play chess—but more often they spent the day quietly in Singers room. If he wished to talk Singer was always attentive. If he sat morosely through the day the mute uood his feelings and was not surprised. It seemed to him that only Singer could help him now.

    Then one Sunday when he climbed the stairs he saw that Singers door en. The room was empty. He sat alone for more than two hours. At last he heard Singers footsteps oairs.

    I was w about you. Where you been?*

    Singer smiled. He brushed off his hat with a handkerchief and put it away. Then deliberately he took his silver pencil from his pocket and leaned over the mantelpiece to write a note.

    What you mean? Jake asked when he read what the mute had written. Whose legs are cut off?’

    Siook back the note and wrote a few additional sentences.

    Huh! Jake said. That dont surprise me.’

    He brooded over the piece of paper and then crumpled it in his hand. The listlessness of the past month was gone and he was tense and uneasy. Huh! he said again.

    Singer put on a pot of coffee and got out his chessboard. Jake tore the o pieces and rolled the fragments between his

    sweating palms.

    But something  be done about this, he said after a while.

    You know it?’

    Singer nodded uainly.

    I want to see the boy ahe whole story. When  you take me around there?’

    Singer deliberated. Then he wrote on a pad of paper, Tonight.’

    Jake held his hand to his mouth and began to walk restlessly around the room. We  do something.’

    J AKE and Singer waited on the front porch. When they pushed the doorbell there was no sound of a ring in the darkened house. Jake knocked impatiently and pressed his nose against the s door. Beside him Siood wooden and smiling, with two spots of color on his cheeks, for they had drunk a bottle of gin together. The evening was quiet and dark. Jake watched a yellow light shaft softly through the hall. And Portia opehe door for them.

    I certainly trust you not been waiting long. So many folks been ing that us thought it wise to untach the bell. You gentlemens just let me take you hats—Father been mighty sick.’

    Jake tiptoed heavily behind Singer down the bare, narrow hall.

    At the threshold of the kit he stopped short The room was crowded and hot. A fire burned in the small wood stove and the windows were closed tight. Smoke mingled with a certain Negro smell. The glow from the stove was the only light in the room. The dark voices he had heard ba the hall were silent.

    &quot;These here are two white gentlemens e to inquire about Father, Portia said. I think maybe he be able to see you but I better go on in first and prepare him.’

    Jake fingered his thick lower lip. On the end of his here was a latticed impression from the front s door. Thats not it, he said. I e to talk with your brother.’

    The Negroes in the room were standing. Singer motioo them to be seated again. Two grizzled old men sat down on a bench by the stove. A loose-limbed mulatto lounged against

    the window. On a camp cot in a er was a boy without legs whose trousers were folded and pinned beh his stumpy thighs.

    Good evening, Jake said awkwardly. Your name Copeland?’

    The boy put his hands over the stumps of his legs and shrank back close to the wall. My name Willie.’

    Honey, dont you worry none, said Portia. This here is Mr.

    Sihat you heard Father speak about. And this other white gentleman is Mr. Blount and he a very close friend of Mr.

    Sihey just kindly e to inquireabout us in our trouble. She turo Jake and motioo the three other people in the room. This other boy leaning on the window is my brother too. Named Buddy. And these here over by the stove is two dear friends of my Father. Named Mr.

    Marshall Nicolls and Mr. John Roberts. I think it a good idea to uand who all is in a room with you.’

    Thanks, Jake said. He turo Willie again. I just want you to tell me about it so I  get it straight in my mind.’

    This the way it is, Willie said. I feel like my feets is still hurting. I got this here terrible misery down in my toes. Yet the hurt in my feets is down where my feets should be if they were on my --legs. And not where my feets is now. It a hard thing to uand. My feets hurt me so bad all the time and I dont know where they is. They never given them bae.

    They s-somewhere more than a hundred m-miles from here.’

    I mean about how it all happened, Jake said.

    Uneasily Willie looked up at his sister. I dont remember—very good.’

    Course you remember, Honey. You done already told us over and over.’

    Well------ The boys voice was timid and sullen. *Uswere all out on the road and this here Buster say something to the guard. The w-white man taken a sti. Then this other boy he tries to run off. And I follow him. It all e about so quick I dont remember good just how it were. Theaken us back to the camp and------’

    I know the rest, Jake said. But give me the names and addresses of the other two boys. And tell me the names of the guards.’

    Listen here, white man. It seem to me like you meaning to get me into trouble.’

    Trouble! Jake said rudely. &quot;What in the name of Christ do you think youre in now?’

    Less us quiet down, Portia said nervously. &quot;This here the way it is, Mr. Blount. They do Willie off at the camp before his time were served. But they done also impressed it on him not to—I believe you uand what us means. Naturally Willie he scared. Naturally us means tobe careful—cause that the best thing us  do. We already got enough trouble as is.’

    What happeo the guards?’

    Them w-white men were fired. That what they told me.’

    And where are your friends now?’

    &quot;What friends?’

    ?Why, the other two boys.’

    They n-not my friends, Willie said. Us all has had a big falling out’

    How you mean?’

    Portia pulled her earrings so that the lobes of her ears stretched out like rubber. &quot;This here what Willie means. You see, during them three days when they hurt so bad they eo quarrel. Willie dont ever want to see any of them again. That ohing Father and Willie done argued about already. This here Buster------’

    &quot;Buster got a wooden leg, said the boy by the window.  seen him oreet today.’

    This here Buster dont have no folks and it were Fathers idea to have him move on in with us. Father want to round up all the boys together. How he res us  feed them I sure dont know.’

    That aint a good idea. And besides us was never very good friends anyway. Willie felt the stumps of his legs with his dark, strong hands. I just wish I knowed where my f-f-feets are. That the main thing worries me. The doctor never given them bae. I sure do wish I knowed where they are.’

    Jake looked around him with dazed, gin-clouded eyes.

    Everything seemed unclear and strahe heat in the

    kit dizzied him so that voices echoed in his ears. The smoke choked him. The light hanging from the ceiling was turned on but, as the bulb was ed in neer to dim its strength, most of the light came from between the ks of the hot stove. There was a red glow on all the dark faces around him. He felt uneasy and alone. Singer had left the room to visit Portias father. Jake wanted him to e back so that they could leave. He walked awkwardly across the floor and sat down on the bench between Marshall Nicolls and John Roberts.

    Where is Portias father? he asked.Doctor Copeland is in the front room, sir, said Roberts.

    Is he a doctor?’

    &quot;Yes, sir. He is a medical doctor.’

    There was a scuffle oeps outside and the back door opened. A warm, fresh breeze lightehe heavy air. First a tall boy dressed hi a linen suit and gilded shoes ehe room with a sa his arms. Behind him came a young boy of about seventeen.

    Hey, Highboy. Hey there, Lancy, Willie said. What you all brought m<tt></tt>e?’

    Highboy bowed elaborately to Jake and placed oable two fruit jars of wine. Lancy put beside them a plate covered with a fresh white napkin.

    This here wine is a present from the Society, Highboy said.

    And Lancys mother sent some peach puffs.’

    How is the Doiss Portia? Lancy asked.

    ?Honey, he been mighty sick these days. What worries me is he s. It a bad sign when a person sick as he is suddenly e to be s. Portia turo Jake. Dont you think it a bad sign, Mr. Blount?’

    Jake stared at her dazedly. I dont know.’

    Lancy glanced sullenly at Jake and pulled down the cuffs of his outgrown shirt. Give the Doy familys regards.’

    Us certainly do appreciate this, Portia said. &quot;Father eaking of you just the other day. He haves a book he wants to give you. Wait just one minute while I get it and rinch out this plate to return to your Mother. This were certainly a kindly thing for her to do.’

    Marshall Nicolls leaoward Jake and seemed about to speak to him. The old man wore a pair of pin-striped trousers and a m coat with a flower itonhole. He cleared his throat and said: Pardon me, sir—but unavoidably we overheard a part of your versation with William regarding the trouble he is now in. Iably we have sidered what is the best course to take.’

    You one of his relatives or the preacher in his church?’

    ?No, I am a pharmacist. And John Roberts on your left is employed in the postal department of the gover.’

    A postmaed John Roberts.

    With your permission------ Marshall Nicolls took a yellow silk handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly blewhis nose. Naturally we have discussed this matter extensively.

    And without doubt as members of the colored race here in this free try of America we are anxious to do our part toward extending amicable relationships.’

    We wish always to do the right thing, said John Roberts.

    And it behooves us to strive with care and not endahis amicable relationship already established. Then by gradual means a better dition will e about.’

    Jake turned from oo the other. I doo follow you. The heat was suffog him. He wao get out. A film seemed to have settled o<mark></mark>ver his eyeballs so that all the faces around him were blurred.

    Across the room Willie laying his harp. Buddy and Highboy were listening. The music was dark and sad. When the song was finished Willie polished his harp on the front of his shirt. I so hungry and thirsty the slobber in my mouth do out the tune. I certainly will be glad to taste some of that boogie-woogie. To have something good to drink is the only thing m-made me fet this misery. If I just knowed where my f-feets are now and could drink a glass of gin ever night I wouldnt mind so much.’

    Dont fret, Hon. You going to have something, Portia said.

    Mr. Blount, would you care to take a peach puff and a glass of wine?’

    Thanks, Jake said. That would be good.’

    Quickly Portia laid a cloth oable a down one plate and a fork. She poured a large tumblerful of the wine. You just make yourself fortable here. And if you dont mind I going to serve the others.’

    The fruit jars were passed from mouth to mouth. Before Highboy passed a jar to Willie he borrowed Portias lipstid drew a red lio set the boundary of the drink. There were gurgling noises and laughter. Jake finished his puff and carried his glass back with him to his place betweewo old men. The home-made wine was rid strong as brandy.

    Willie started a low dolorous tune on his harp. Portia snapped her fingers and shuffled around the room.

    Jake turo Marshall Nicolls. *You say Portias father is a doctor?’

    &quot;Yes, sir. Yes, indeed. A skilled doctor.Whats the matter with him?’

    The two Negroes glanced warily at each other.

    He were in an act, said John Roberts.

    What kind of an act?’

    A bad one. A deplorable one.’

    Marshall Nicolls folded and unfolded his silk handkerchief.

    As we were remarking a while ago, it is important not to impair these amicable relations but to promote them in all ways early possible. We members of the colored race must strive in all ways to uplift our citizens. The Doctor in yonder has strived in every way. But sometimes it has seemed to me like he had nnized fully enough certais of the different races and the situation.’

    Impatiently Jake gulped down the last swallows of his wine.

    Christ sake, man, speak out plain, because I t uand a thing you say.’

    Marshall Nicolls and John Roberts exged a hurt look.

    Across the room Willie still sat playing music. His lips crawled over the square holes of the harmonica like fat, puckered caterpillars. His shoulders were broad and strong.

    The stumps of his thighs jerked in time to the music. Highboy danced while Buddy and Portia clapped out the rhythm.

    Jake stood up, and on his feet he realized that he was drunk. He staggered and then glanced vindictively around

    him, but no one seemed to have noticed. Wheres Singer? he asked Portia thickly.

    The music stopped. Why, Mr. Blount, I thought you knowed he was gone. While you were sitting at the table with your peach puff he e to the doorway and held out his watch to show it were time for him to go. You looked straight at him and shaken your head. I thought you khat.’

    May<bdi></bdi>be I was thinking about something else. He turo Willie and said angrily to him: I never did eveo tell you what I e here for, I didnt e to ask you to do anything.

    All I wanted—all I wanted was this. You and the other boys were to testify what happened and I was to explain why. Why is the only important thing—not what. I would have pushed you all around in a wagon and you would have told your story and afterward I would have ex-plained why. And maybe it might have meant something.

    Maybe it------’

    He felt they were laughing at him. fusion caused him tet what he had meant to say. The room was full of dark, strange faces and the air was too thick to breathe. He saw a door and staggered across to it. He was in a dark closet smelling of medie. Then his hand was turning another doorknob.

 Part Two-15

    He stood ohreshold of a small white room furnished only with an iron bed, a et, and two chairs. On the bed lay the terrible Negro he had met oairs at Singers house. His face was very black against the white, stiff pillows.

    The dark eyes were hot with hatred but the heavy, bluish lips were posed. His face was motionless as a black mask except for the slow, wide flutters of his nostrils with each breath.

    Get out, the Negro said.

    Wait------ Jake said helplessly. Why do you say that?’

    This is my house.’

    Jake could not draw his eyes away from the Negros terrible face. But why?’

    You are a white man and a stranger.’

    Jake did not leave. He walked with cumbersome caution to

    one of the straight white chairs aed himself. The Negro moved his hands on the terpane. His black eyes glittered with fever. Jake watched him. They waited. In the room there was a feeling tense as spiracy or as the deadly quiet before an explosion.

    It was long past midnight. The warm, dark air of the spring m swirled the blue layers of smoke in the room. On the floor were crumpled balls of paper and a half-empty bottle of gin. Scattered ashes were gray on the terpane. Doctor Copeland pressed his head tensely into the pillow. He had removed his dressing-gown and the sleeves of his white cotton nightshirt were rolled to the elbow. Jake leaned forward in his chair. His tie was loosened and the collar of his shirt had wilted with sweat Through the hours there had growween them a long, exhausting dialogue. And noause had e.

    So the time is ready for------ Jake began.But Doctor Copeland interrupted him. Now it is perhaps necessary that we------ he murmured huskily. Theyhalted. Each looked into the eyes of the other and waited. I beg your pardon, Doctor Copeland said.

    Sorry, said Jake. Go on.’

    No, you tinue.’

    Well------ Jake said. I wont say what I started to say.

    Instead well have one last word about the South. The strangled South. The wasted South, The slavish South.’

    And the Negro people.’

    To steady himself Jake swallowed a long, burning draught from the bottle on the floor beside him. Then deliberately he walked to the et and picked up a small, cheap globe of the world that served as a paperweight. Slowly he turhe sphere in his hands. All I  say is this: The world is full of meanness and evil. Huh! Three fourths of this globe is in a state of war or oppression. The liars and fiends are united and the men who know are isolated and without defense. But! But if you was to ask me to point out the most uncivilized area on the face of this globe I would point here------’

    Watch sharp, said Doctor Copeland. Youre out in the o.’

    Jake turhe globe again and pressed his blunt, grimy thumb on a carefully selected spot. Here. These thirteen

    states. I know what Im talking about. I read books and I go around. I been in every damn one of these thirteen states. Ive worked in every one. And the reason I think like I do is this: We live in the richest try in the world. Theres plenty and to spare for no man, woman, or child to be in want. And in addition to this our try was founded on what should have been a great, true principle—the freedom, equality, and rights of eadividual. Huh! And what has e of that start? There are corporations worth billions of dollars—and hundreds of thousands of people who doo eat. And here ihirteen states the exploitation of human beings is so that—that its a thing you got to take in with your own eyes. In my life I seen things that would make a man go cray.

    At least ohird of all Southerners live and die er off than the lowest peasant in any European Fasciststate. The average wage of a worker on a tenant farm is only seventy-three dollars per year. And mind you, thats the average! The wages of sharecroppers run from thirty-five to y dollars per person. And thirty-five dollars a year means just about tes for a full days work. Everywhere theres pellagra and hookworm and anaemia. And just plain, pure starvation. But! Jake nibbed his lips with the knuckles of his dirty fist. Sweat stood out on his forehead. But! he repeated.

    Those are only the evils you  see and touch. The other things are worse. Im talking about the way that the truth has been hidden from the people. The things they have been told so they t see the truth. The poisonous lies. So they arent allowed to know.’

    And the Negro, said Doctor Copeland. To uand what is happening to us you have to------’

    Jake interrupted him savagely. Who owns the South? Corporations in the North own three fourths of all the South.

    They say the old cow grazes all over—in the south, the west, the north, and the east. But shes milked in just one place. Her old teats swing over just one spot when shes full. She grazes everywhere and is milked in New York. Take our ills, our pulp mills, our harness factories, our mattress factories.

    The North owns them. And what happens? Jakes mustache

    quivered angrily. Heres an example. Locale, a mill village acc to the great paternal system of Ameri industry.

    Absentee ownership. In the village is one huge brick mill and maybe four or five hundred shahe houses arent fit for human beings to live in. Moreover, the houses were built to be nothing but slums in the first place. These shanties are nothing but two or maybe three rooms and a privy— built with far less forethought than barns to house cattle. Built with far less attention to han sties for<tt>..t> pigs. For uhis system pigs are valuable and me. You t make pork chops and sausage out of skinny little mill kids. You t sell but half the people these days. But a pig------’

    Hold on! said Doctor Copeland. Yetting off on a ta. And besides, yiving no attention to the very separate question of the Negro. I ot get aword in edgeways. We have been over all this before, bat it is impossible to see the full situation without including us Negroes.’

    Back to our mill village, Jake said. A young linthead begins w at the fine wage of ebbr></abbr>ight or ten dollars a weeks at such times as he  get himself employed. He marries. After the first child the woman must work in the mill also. Their bined wages e to say eighteen dollars a week when they both got work. Huh! They pay a fourth of this for the shack the mill provides them. They buy food and clothes at a pany-owned or domiore. The store overcharges on every item. With three or four younguns they are held down the same as if they had on s. That is the whole principle of serfdom. Yet here in America we call ourselves free. And the funny thing is that this has been drilled into the heads of sharecroppers and lintheads and all the rest so hard that they really believe it. But its taken a hell of a lot of lies to keep them from knowing.’

    There is only one way out------ said Doctor Cbpeland.

    Two ways. And only two ways. Ohere was a time when this try was expanding. Every man thought he had a ce. Huh! But that period has gone—and gone food.

    Less than a hundred corporations have swallowed all but a few leavings. These industries have already sucked the blood

    and softehe bones of the people. The old days of expansiohe whole system of capitalistic democracy is—rotten and corrupt. There remains only two roads ahead. One: Fascism. Two: reform of the most revolutionary and perma kind.’

    And the Negro. Do not fet the Negro. So far as I and my people are ed the South is Fascist now and always has been.’

    Yeah.’

    &quot;The Nazis rob the Jews of their legal, eid cultural life. Here the Negro has always been deprived of these. And if wholesale and dramatic robbery of money and goods has not taken place here as in Germany, it is simply because the Negro has never been allowe<bdi></bdi>d to accrue wealth in the first place.’

    Thats the system, Jake said.

    The Jew and the Negro, said Doctor Copeland bitter-ry. The history of my people will be ensurate with the interminable history of the Jew—only bloodier and more violent. Like a certain species of sea gull. If you capture one of the birds and tie a red string of twine around his leg the rest of the flock will peck him to death.’

    Doctor Copeland took off his spectacles and rebound a wire around a broken hihen he polished the lenses on his nightshirt. His hand shook with agitation. Mr. Singer is a Jew.’

    No, youre wrong there.’

    But I am positive that he is. The name, Singer. I reized his race the first time I saw him. From his eyes. Besides, he told me so.’

    Why, he couldnt have, Jake insisted. &quot;Hes pure Anglo-Saxon if I ever saw it. Irish and Anglo-Saxon.’

    ?But------’

    Im certain. Absolutely.’

    Very well, said Doctor Copeland. We will not quarrel.’

    Outside the dark air had cooled so that there was a chill in the room. It was almost dawn. The early m sky was deep, silky blue and the moon had turned from silver to white. All was still. The only sound was the clear, lonely song of a

    spring bird in the darkness outside. Though a faint breeze blew in from the window the air in the room was sour and close. There was a feeling both of tenseness and exhaustion.

    Doctor Copeland leaned forward from the pillow. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands clutched the terpahe neck of his nightshirt had slipped down over his bony shoulder. Jakes heels were balanced on the rungs of his chair and his giant hands folded between his knees in a waiting and childlike attitude. Deep black circles were beh his eyes, his hair was u. They looked at each other and waited.

    As the silence grew lohe tenseness between them became more strained.

    At last Doctor Copeland cleared his throat and said: I am certain you did not e here for nothing. I am sure we have not discussed these subjects all through the night to no purpose. We have talked of everything now except the most vital subject of all—the way out. What must be done.’

    They still watched each other and waited. In the face ofeach there was expectation. Doctor Copeland sat bolt upright against the pillows. Jake rested his  in his hand and leaned forward. The pause tinued. And theantly they began to speak at the same time.

    Excuse me, Jake said. Go ahead.’

    No, you. You started first.’

    Go on.’

    Pshaw! said Doctor Copeland. tinue.’

    Jake stared at him with clouded, mystical eyes. Its this way.

    This is how I see it. The only solution is for the people to know. Ohe<s>９９lｉb?</s>y know the truth they  be oppressed no longer. Once just half of them know the whole fight is won.’

    Yes, ohey uand the ws of this society. But how do you propose to tell them?’

    Listen, Jake said. Think about  letters. If one person sends a letter to ten people and then each of the ten people sends letters to ten more—you get it? He faltered. Not that I write letters, but the idea is the same. I just go around telling.

    And if iown I  show the truth to just ten of the dont-knows, then I feel like some good has been done. See?’

    Doctor Copeland looked at Jake in surprise. Then he snorted.

    Do not be childish! You ot just go about talking.  letters indeed! Knows and dont-knows!’

    Jakes lips trembled and his brow lowered with quiger.

    O.K. What have you got to offer?’

    I will say first that I used to feel somewhat as you do on this question. But I have learned what a mistake that attitude is.

    For half a tury I thought it wise to be patient.’

    I didnt say be patient.’

    In the face of brutality I rudent. Before injustice I held my peace. I sacrificed the things in hand for the good of the hypothetical whole. I believed iongue instead of the fist.

    As an armainst oppression I taught patiend faith in the human soul. I kno wrong I was. I have been a traitor to myself and to my people. All that is rot. Now is the time to ad to act quickly. Fight ing with ing and might with might’

    But how? Jake asked. How?’

    Why, by getting out and doing things. By callingcrowds of people together aing them to demonstrate.’

    Huh! That last phrase gives you away— &quot;getting them to demonstrate.&quot; What good will it do if you get them to demonstrate against a thing if they dont know. Youre trying to stuff the hog by way of his ass.’

    Such vulgar expressions annoy me, Doctor Copeland said prudishly.

    For Christ sake! I dont care if they annoy you or not’

    Doctor Copeland held up his hand. Let us not get so overheated, he said. Let us attempt to see eye to eye with each other.’

    Suits me. I dont want to fight with you.’

    They were silent. Doctor Copeland moved his eyes from one er of the ceiling to the other. Several times he wet his lips to speak and each time the word remained half-formed and silent in his mouth. Then at last he said: My advice to you is this. Do not attempt to stand alone.’

    But------’

    But, nothing, said Doctor Copeland didactically. &quot;The most fatal thing a man  do is try to stand alone.’

    I see what yetting at.’

    Doctor Copeland pulled the neck of his nightshirt up over his bony shoulder and held it gathered tight to his throat. You believe iruggle of my people for their human rights?’

    The Ditation and his mild and husky question made Jakes eyes brim suddenly with tears. A quick, swollen rush of love caused him to grasp the black, bony hand on the terpane and hold it fast. Sure, he said.

    &quot;The extremity of our need?’

    Yes.’

    &quot;The lack of justice? The bitter inequality?’

    Doctor Copeland coughed and spat into one of the squares of paper which he kept beh his pillow. I have a program. It is a very simple, trated plan. I mean to focus on only one objective. In August of this year I plan to lead more thahousand Negroes in this ty on a march. A march to Washington. All of us together in one solid body. If you will look in the et yonder you will see a stack of letters which I have writtenthis week and will deliver personally. Doctor Copeland slid his nervous hands up and down the sides of the narrow bed.

    You remember what I said to you a short while ago? You will recall that my only advice to you was: Do not attempt to stand alone.’

    I get it, Jake said.

    *But once you ehis it must be all. First and foremost.

    Your work now and forever. You must give of your whole self without stint, without hope of personal return, without rest or hope of rest.’

    For the rights of the Negro in the South.’

    In the South and here in this very ty. And it must be either all or nothiher yes or no.’

    Doctor Copeland leaned ba the pillow. Only his eyes seemed alive. They burned in his face like red coals. The fever made his cheekbones a ghastly purple. Jake scowled and pressed his knuckles to his soft, wide, trembling mouth. Color rushed to his face. Outside the first pale light of m had e. The electric bulb suspended from the ceiling burned with ugly sharpness in the dawn.

    Jake rose to his feet and stood stiffly at the foot of the bed. He

    said flatly: No. Thats not the right a all. Im dead sure its not. In the first place, youd never get out of town. Theyd break it up by saying its a me<q>.</q>o public health—or some such trumped-up reason. Theyd arrest you and nothing would e of it. But even if by some miracle you got to Washington it wouldnt do a bit of good. Why, the whole notion is crazy.’

    The sharp rattle of phlegm sounded in Doctor Cope-lands throat. His voice was harsh. As you are so quick to sneer and n, what do you have to offer instead?’

    I didnt sneer, Jake said. I only remarked that your plan is crazy. I e here tonight with an idea much better than that. I wanted your son, Willie, and the other two boys to let me push them around in a wagon. They were to tell what happeo them and afterward I was to tell why. In other words, I was to give a talk on the dialectics of capitalism—and show up all of its lies. I would explain so that everyone would uand why those boys legs were cut off. And make everyone who saw them know.’

    Pshaw! Double pshaw! said Doctor Copeland furious-ly.  do not believe you have good sense. If I were a man who felt it worth my while to laugh I would surely laugh at that.

    Never have I had the opportunity to hear of suonsense first hand.’

    They stared at each other in bitter disappoi and anger.

    There was the rattle of a wagon ireet outside. Jake swallowed and bit his lips. Huh! he said finally. Youre the only one whos crazy. You got everythily backward.

    The only way to solve the Negro problem under capitalism is to geld every one of the fifteen million black men in these states.’

    So that is the kind of idea you harbor beh your ranting about justice.’

    I didnt say it should be done. I only said you couldhe forest for the trees. Jake spoke with sloainful care.

    The work has to start at the bottom. The old traditions smashed and the new ones created. Te a whole new pattern for the world. To make man a social creature for the

    first time, living in an orderly and trolled society where he is not forced to be unjust in order to survive. A social tradition in which------’

    Doctor Copeland clapped ironically. Very good, he said. But the ust be picked before the cloth is made. You and your crackpot do-nothing theories ------’

    Hush! Who cares whether you and your thousand Negroes straggle up to that stinking cesspool of a place called Washington? What difference does it make? What do a few people matter—a few thousand people, black, white, good or bad? When the whole of our society is built on a foundation of black lies.’

    Everything! Doctor Copeland panted. Everything! Everything！

    Nothing!’

    &quot;The soul of the mea and most evil of us on this earth is worth more in the sight of justice than------’

    Oh, the Hell with it! Jake said. Balls!’

    Blasphemer! screamed Doctor Copeland. Foul blasphemer!’

    Jake shook the iron bars of the bed. The vein in his forehead swelled to the point of bursting and his face was dark with rage. Short-sighted bigot!White------ Doctor Copelands voice failed him. Hestruggled and no sound would e. At last he was able t forth a choked whisper: Fiend.’

    The bright yellow m was at the window. Doctor Copelands head fell ba the pillow. His wisted at a broken angle, a fleck of bloody foam on his lips. Jake looked at him once before, sobbing with violence, he rushed headlong from the room.

    N&lt;ow she could not stay in the inside room. She had to be around somebody all the time. Doing something every minute. And if she was by herself she ted ured with numbers. She ted all the roses on the living-room aper. She figured out the cubic area of the whole house. She ted every blade of grass in the back yard and every leaf on a

    certain bush. Because if she did not have her mind on his terrible afraidness came in her. She would be walking home from school on these May afternoons and suddenly she would have to think of something quick. A good thing—very good. Maybe she would think about a phrase of hurrying jazz music. Or that a bowl of jello would be in the refrigerator whe home. Or plan to smoke a cigarette behind the coal house. Maybe she would try to think a long way ahead to the time when she would go north and see snow, or even travel somewhere in a fn land. But these thoughts about good things wouldnt last. The jello was gone in five minutes and the cigarette smoked. Then what was there after that? And the numbers mixed themselves up in her brain. And the snow and the fn land were a long, long time away. Then what was there？

    Just Mister Singer. She wao follow him everywhere. In the m she would watch him go down the front steps to work and then follow along a half a block behind him. Every afternoon as soon as school was over she hung around at the er he store where he worked. At four oclock he went out to drink a Coca-Cola. She watched him cross the street and go into the drugstore and finally e out again.

    She followed him home fromwork and sometimes even wheook walks. She always followed a long way behind him. And he did not know.

    She would go up to see him in his room. First she scrubbed her fad hands and put some vanilla on the front of her dress. She only went to visit him twice a week now, because she didnt want him to get tired of her. Most always he would be sitting over the queer, pretty chess game when she opehe door. And then she was with him.

    Mister Singer, have you ever lived in a place where it snowed in the wiime?’

    He tilted his chair back against the wall and nodded.

    In some different try than this one—in a fn place?’

    He nodded yes again and wrote on his pad with his silver pencil. Once he had traveled to Ontario, ada—across the river from Detroit ada was so far up north that the white

    snow drifted up to the roofs of the houses. That was where the Quints were and the St. Lawrence River. The people ran up and dowreets speaking French to each other. And far up in the north there were deep forests and white ice igloos.

    The arctic region with the beautiful northern lights.

    &quot;When you was in ada did you go out a any fresh snow a it with cream and sugar? Once I read where it was mighty good to eat that way.’

    He turned his head to one side because he didnt uand.

    She couldnt ask the question again because suddenly it sounded silly. She only looked at him and waited. A big, black shadow of his head was on the wall behind him. The electri cooled the thick, hot air. All was quiet. It was like they waited to tell each other things that had never been told before. What she had to say was terrible and afraid. But what he would tell her was so true that it would make everything all right. Maybe it was a thing that could not be spoken with words or writing. Maybe he would have to let her uand this in a different way. That was the feeling she had with him.

    I was just asking you about ada—but it didnt amount to anything, Mister Singer.’

    Downstairs in the home rooms there lenty of trouble.

    Etta was still so sick that she couldnt sleepcrowded three in a bed. The shades were drawn and the dark room smelled bad with a sick smell. Ettas job was gone, and that mea dollars less a week besides the doctors bill.

    Then one day when Ralph was walking around i he burned himself o kit stove. The bandages made his hands itd somebody had to watch him all the time else he would bust the blisters. On Gees birthday they had bought him a little red bike with a bell and a basket on the handlebars. Everybody had chipped in to give it to him. But whea lost her job they couldnt pay, and after two installments were past due the store sent a man out to take the wheel away. Gee just watched the man roll the bike off the porch, and when he passed Gee kicked the back fender and the into the coal house and shut the door.

    It was money, money, money all the time. They owed to the grocery and they owed the last payment on some furniture.

    And now sihey had lost the house they owed mohere too. The six rooms in the house were always taken, but nobody ever paid the rent on time.

    For a while their Dad went over every day to hunt another job.

    He couldnt do carpenter work any more because it made him jittery to be more than te off the ground. He applied for many jobs but nobody would hire him. Then at last he got this notion.

    Its advertising, Mick, he said. Tve e to the clusion thats all in the world the matter with my watch-repairing business right now. I got to sell myself. I got to get out a people know I  fix watches, and fix them good and cheap.

    You just mark my words. Fm going to build up this business so Ill be able to make a good living for this family the rest of my life. Just by advertising.’

    He brought home a dozes of tin and some red paint. For the  week he was very busy. It seemed to him like this was a hell of a good idea. The signs were all over the floor of the front room. He got down on his hands and knees and took great care over the printing of each letter. As he worked he whistled and wagged his head. He hadnt been so cheerful and glad in months. Every now and then he would have to dress in his good suit and go around the er flass of beer to calm himself. On the signs at first he had: Wilbur KellyWatch RepairingVery Cheap and Expert*Mick, I want them to hit yht bang in the eye. To stand out wherever you see them.’

    She helped him and he gave her three nickels. The signs were O.K. at first. Then he worked on them so much that they were ruined. He wao add more and more things —in the ers and at the top and bottom. Before he had fihe signs were plastered all over with Very Cheap and e At Ond You Give Me Any Watd I Make It Run.’

    You tried to write so mu the signs that nobody will read anything, she told him.

    He brought home some more tin ahe designing up to her. She paihem very plain, with great big block letters

    and a picture of a clock. Soon he had a whole stack of them. A fellow he knew rode him out in the try where he could nail them to trees and fes. At both ends of the block he put up a sign with a black hand pointing toward the house.

    And over the front door there was ann.

 Part Two-16

    The day after this advertising was finished he waited in the front room dressed in a  shirt and a tie. Nothing happehe jeweler who gave him overflow work to do at half price sent in a couple of clocks. That was all. He took it hard. He didnt go out to look for other jobs any more, but every minute he had to be busy around the house. He took down the doors and oiled the hinges— whether they  or not. He mixed the margarine for Portia and scrubbed the floors upstairs. He worked out a traptiohe water from the ice box could be draihrough the kit window. He carved some beautiful alphabet blocks for Ralph and ied a little needle-threader. Over the few watches that he had to work oook great pains.

    Mick still followed Mister Singer. But she didnt want to. It was like there was something wrong about her following after him without his knowing. Two or three days she played hookv from school. She walked behind him when he went to work and hung around on the er near hisstore all day. Whee his di Mister Brannons she went into the caf and spent a nickel for a sack of peanuts.

    Then at night she followed him on these dark, long walks. She stayed on the opposite side of the street from him and about a block behind. Wheopped, she stopped also—and when he walked fast she ran to keep up with him. So long as she could see him and be near him she was right happy. But sometimes this queer feeling would e to her and she khat she was doing wrong. So she tried hard to keep busy at home.

    She and her Dad were alike in the way that now they always had to be fooling with something. She kept up with all that went on in the house and the neighborhood. Spare-ribs big sister won fifty dollars at a movie bank night. Baby Wilson had the bandage off her head now, but her hair was cut short

    like a boys. She couldnt dan the soiree this year, and when her mother took her to see it Baby began to yell and cut up during one of the dahey had t her out of the Opera House. And on the sidewalk Mrs. Wilson had to whip her to make her behave. And Mrs. Wilson cried, too. Gee hated Baby. He would hold his nose and stop up his ears when she passed by the house. Pete Wells ran away from home and was gohree weeks. He came back barefooted and very hungry. He bragged about how he had gone all the way to New Orleans.

    Because of Etta, Mick still slept in the living-room. The short sofa cramped her so much that she had to make up sleep in study hall at school. Every ht Bill sed with her and she slept with Gee. Then a lucky break came for them.

    A fellow who had a room upstairs moved away. When after a week had gone by and nobody answered the ad in the paper, their Mama told Bill he could move up to the vat room.

    Bill was very pleased to have a platirely by himself away from the family. She moved in with Gee. He s>.?</a>lept like a little warm kitty and breathed very quiet.

    She khe night-time again. But not the same as in the last summer when she walked in the dark by herself and listeo the musid made plans. She khe night a different way now. In bed she lay awake. A queerafraidness came to her. It was like the ceiling was slowly pressing down toward her face. How would it be if the house fell apart? Oheir Dad had said the whole place ought to be ned. Did he mean that maybe some night when they were asleep the walls would crad the house collapse? Bury them under all the plaster and broken glass and smashed furniture? So that they could not move or breathe? She lay awake and her muscles were stiff. In the night there was creaking. Was that somebody walking —somebody else awake besides her—Mister Singer？

    She hought about Harry. She had made up her mind tet him and she did fet him. He wrote that he had a job with a garage in Birmingham. She answered with a card saying O.K. as they had planned. He sent his mother three dollars every week. It seemed like a very long time had passed sihey went to the woods together.

    During the day she was busy iside room. But at night she was by herself in the dark and figuring was not enough.

    She wanted somebody. She tried to keep Gee awake. It sure is fun to stay awake and talk in the dark. Less us talk awhile together.’

    He made a sleepy answer.

    See the stars out the window. If s a hard thing to realize that every single one of those little stars is a pla as large as the earth.’

    *How do they know that?’

    They just do. They got ways of measuring. Thats sce.’

    I dont believe in it’

    She tried to egg him on to an argument so that he would get mad and stay awake. He just let her talk and dido pay attention. After a while he said:Look, Mick! You see that branch of the tree? Dont it look like a pilgrim forefather lying down with a gun in his hand?’

    It sure does. Thats exactly what its like. And see over there on the bureau. Dont that bottle look like a funny man with a hat on?’

    ?Naw, Gee said. It dont look a bit like oo me.’

    She took a drink from a glass of water on the floor. Less me and you play a game—the name game. You  be It if you want to. Whichever you like. You  choose.fHe put his little fists up to his fad breathed in a quiet, even way because he was falling asleep.

    Wait, Gee! she said. &quot;Thisll be fun. Im somebody beginning with an M. Guess who I am.’

    Gee sighed and his voice was tired. Are you Harpo Marx?’

    No, Fm not even in the movies.’

    I dont know.’

    Sure you do. My name begins with the letter M and I live in

    Italy. You ought to guess this.’

    Gee turned over on his side and curled up in a ball.  ; He did not answer.

    My name begins with an M but sometimes Im called a  f name beginning with D. In Italy. You  guess. IThe room was quiet and dark and Gee was asleep. She pinched him and twisted his ear. He groaned but did not awake. She fitted in close to him and pressed her face against his hot little naked shoulder. He would sleep all through the night while she was figuring with decimals.

    Was Mister Singer awake in his room upstairs? Did the ceiling creak because he was walking quietly up and down, drinking a cold e crush and studying the chess men laid out oable? Had ever he felt a terrible afraidness like this one? No.

    He had never done anything wrong. He had never done wrong and his heart was quiet in the nighttime. Yet at the same time he would uand.

    If only she could tell him about this, then it would be better.

    She thought of how she would begin to tell him. Mister Singer—I know this girl not any older than I am— Mister Singer, I dont know whether you uand a thing like this or not—Mister Singer. Mister Singer. She said his name over and over.

    She loved him better than anyone in the family, better even than Gee or her Dad. It was a different love. It was not like anything she had ever felt in her life before.

    In the ms she and Gee would dress together and talk.

    Sometimes she wanted very much to be close to Gee. He had grown taller and ale and peaked. His soft, reddish hair lay raggedly over the tops of his little ears. His sharp eyes were always squinted so that his face had a strained look. His permaeeth were ing in, but they were blue and far apart like his baby teeth had  .

    been. Often his jaw was crooked because he had a habit of feeling out the sore eeth with his tongue.

    Listen here, Gee, she said. Do you love me?’

    Sure. I love you O.K.’

    It was a hot, sunny m during the last week of school.

    Gee was dressed and he lay on the floor doing his number work. His dirty little fingers squeezed the pencil tight and he kept breaking the lead point. When he was finished she held him

    by the shoulders and looked hard into his face. I mean a lot. A whole lot.’

    Lemme go. Sure I love you. Aint you my sister?’

    I know. But suppose I wasnt your sister. Would you love me then?’

    Gee backed away. He had run out of shirts and wore a dirty pullover sweater. His wrists were thin and blue-veihe sleeves of the sweater had stretched so that they hung loose and made his hands look very small.

    If you wasnt my sister then I might not know you. So I couldnt love you.’

    ?But if you did know me and I wasnt your sister.’

    *But how do you know I would? You t prove it.’

    ?Well, just take it franted and pretend.’

    I re I would like you all right. But I still say you t prove-------’

    Prove! You got that word on the brain. Ptove and trick.

    Everything is either a trick or its got to be proved. I t stand you, Gee Kelly. I hate you.’

    O.K. Then I dont like you her.’

    He crawled down uhe bed for something.

    *What you want uhere? You better leave my things alone.

    If I ever caught you meddling in my private box Id bust your head against the side of the wall. I would. Id stomp on your brains.’

    Gee came out from uhe bed with his spelling book. His dirty little paw reached in a hole itress where he hid his marbles. Nothing could faze that kid. He took his time about choosing three brown agates to take with him. Aw, shucks, Mick, he answered her. Gee was too little and too tough.

    There wasnt any sense in loving him. He knew even less about things than she did.

    School was out and she had passed every subjee with A plus and some by the skin of her teeth. The dayswere long and hot. Finally she was able to work hard at music again. She began to write down pieces for the violin and piano. She wrote songs. Always music was in her mind. She listeo Mister Singers radio and wandered around the house thinking about the programs she had heard.

    ?What ails Mick? Portia asked. What kind of cat is it got her tongue? She walk around and dont say a word. She not even greedy like she used to be. She getting to be a regular lady these days.’

    It was as though in some way she was waiting—but what she waited for she did not know. The sun burned down glaring and white-hot ireets. During the day she either worked hard at musiessed with kids. And waited. Sometimes she would look all around her quid this panic would e ihen in late Juhere was a sudden happening so important that it ged everything.

    That night they were all out on the porch. The twilight was blurred and soft. Supper was almost ready and the smell of cabbage floated to them from the open hall. All of them were together except Hazel, who had not e home from work, aa, who still lay si bed. Their Dad leaned ba a chair with his sock-feet on the banisters. Bill was oeps with the kids. Their Mama sat on the swing fanning herself with the neer. Across the street a girl new in the neighborhood skated up and down the sidewalk on one roller skate. The lights on the block were just beginning to be turned on, and far away a man was calling someone.

    Then Hazel e home. Her high heels clopped up the steps and she leaned back lazily on the banisters. In the half-dark her fat, soft hands were very white as she felt the back of her braided hair. I sure do wish Etta was able to work, she said. I found out about this job today.’

    What kind of a job? asked their Dad. Anything I could do, or just firls?’

    Just firl. A clerk down at Woolworths is going to get married  week.’

    &quot;The te store------ Mick said.

    You ied?’

    The question took her by surprise. She had just beenthinking about a sack of wintergreen dy she had bought there the day before. She felt hot and tense. She rubbed her bangs up from her forehead and ted the first few stars.

    Their Dad flipped his cigarette down to the sidewalk. ?No, he said. We dont want Mick to take on too much responsibility at her age. Let her get her growth out. Her growth through with, anyway.’

    I agree with you, Hazel said. I really do think it would be a

    mistake for Mick to have to wular. I dont think it would be right.’

    Bill put Ralph down from his lap and shuffled his feet oeps. Nobody ought to work until theyre around sixteen.

    Mick should have two more years and finish at Vocational—if we  make it.’

    Even if we have to give up the house and move down in mill town, their Mama said. I rather keep Mick at home for a while.’

    For a minute she had been scared they would try to er her into taking the job. She would have said she would run away from home. But the way they took the attitude they did touched her. She felt excited. They were all talking about her—and in a kindly way. She was ashamed for the first scared feeling that had e to her. Of a sudden she loved all of the family and a tightness came ihroat.

    About how much money is in it? she asked.

    Ten dollars.’

    Ten dollars a week?’

    Sure, Hazel said. Did you think it would be only ten a month?’

    Portia dont make but about that much.’

    Oh, colored people------ Hazel said.

    Mick rubbed the top of her head with her fist Thats a whole lot of money. A good deal.’

    Its not to be gri, Bill said. &quot;Thats what I make.’

    Micks tongue was dry. She moved it around in her mouth to gather up spit enough to talk. Ten dollars a week would buy about fifteen fried chis. Or five pairs of shoes or five dresses. Or installments on a radio. She thought about a piano, but she did not mention that aloud.It would tide us over, their Mama said. *But at the same time I rather keep Mick at home for a while. Now,whea------’

    Wait! She felt hot and reckless. I want to take the job. I  hold it down. I know I . Listen to little Mick, Bill said.

    Their Dad picked his teeth with a matchstid took his feet down from the banisters. Now, lets not rush into anything. I rather Mick take her time and think this out. We  get along

    somehow without her w. I meanto increase my watch work by sixty per t soon as------’

    I fot, Hazel said. I think theres a Christmas bonus every year.’

    Mick frowned. &quot;But I wouldnt be w then. Id be in school. I just want to work during vacation and then go back to school. Sure, Hazel said quickly.

    &quot;But tomorrow Ill go down with you and take the job if I  get it’

    It was as though a great worry and tightness left the family. In the dark they began to laugh and talk. Their Dad did a trick fee with a matchstid a handkerchief. Then he gave the kid fifty ts to go down to the er store for Coca-Colas to be drunk after supper. The smell of cabbage was stronger in the hall and pork chops were frying. Portia called.

    The boarders already waited at the table. Mick had supper in the dining-room. The cabbage leaves were limp and yellow on her plate and she could. When she reached for the bread she knocked a pitcher of iced tea over the table.

    Then later she waited on the front porch by herself for Mister Sio e home. In a desperate way she wao see him. The excitement of the hour before had died down and she was sick to the stomach. She was going to work in a te store and she did not want to work there. It was like she had been trapped into something. The job wouldnt be just for the summer—but for a long time, as long as she could see ahead.

    Ohey were used to the money ing in it would be impossible to do without again. That was the way things were.

    She stood in the dark aight to the banisters. A long time passed and Mister Siill did not e. At eleven oclock shewent out to see if she could find him. But suddenly she ghtened in the dark and ran bae.

    Then in the m she bathed and dressed very careful.

    Hazel aa loaned her the clothes to wear and primped her to look nice. She wore Hazels green silk dress and a green hat and high-heeled pumps with silk stogs. They fixed her face with rouge and lipstid plucked her eyebrows. She looked at least sixteen years old when they were finished.

    It was too late to back down now. She was really grown and ready to earn her keep. Yet if she would go to her Dad and tell him how she felt he would tell her to wait a year. And Hazel aa and Bill and their Mama, even now, would say that she didnt have to go. But she couldnt do it. She couldnt lose face like that. She went up to see Mister Sihe words came all in a rush:Listen—I believe I got this job. What do you think? Do you think its a good idea? Do you think its O.K. to drop out of school and work now? You think its good?’

    At first he did not uand. His gray eyes half-closed aood with his hands deep down in his pockets. There was the old feeling that they waited to tell each other things that had never been told before. The thing she had to say now was not much. But what he had to tell her would be right—and if he said the job sounded O.K. then she would feel better about it. She repeated the words slowly and waited.

    You think its good?’

    Mister Singer sidered. Then he nodded yes.

    She got the job. The maook her and Hazel back to a little offid talked with them. Afterward she couldnt remember how the manager looked or anything that had been said. But she was hired, and on the way out of the place she bought tes worth of Chocolate and a little modeling clay set fee. On Juhe fifth she was to start work. She stood for a long while before the window of Mister Singers jewelry store. Then she hung around on the er.TT e CULLERS_l HE time had e for Sio go to Antonapoulos again.

    The journey was a long one. For, although the distaween them was somethihan two hundred miles, the train meao points far out of the way and stopped for long hours at certain stations during the night. Singer would leave the town iernoon and travel all through the night and until the early m of the  day. As usual, he was ready far in advance. He plao have a full week with his friend this visit. His clothes had beeo the ers, his hat blocked, and his bags were in readiness. The gifts he would carry were ed in colored tissue paper—and in

    addition there was a deluxe basket of fruits done up in cellophane and a crate of late-shipped strawberries. On the m before his departure Singer ed his room. In his ice box he found a bit of left-oose liver and took it out to the alley for the neighborhood cat. On his door he tacked the same sign he had posted there before, stating that he would be absent for several days on business. During all these preparations he moved about leisurely with two vivid spots of color on his cheekbones. His face was very solemn.

    Then at last the hour for departure was at hand. He stood on the platform, burdened with his suitcases and gifts, and watched the train roll in oation tracks. He found himself a seat in the day coad hoisted his luggage on the rack above his head. The car was crowded, for the most part with mothers and children. The green plush seats had a grimy smell. The windows of the car were dirty and rice thrown at some ret bridal pair lay scattered on the floor. Singer smiled cordially to his fellow-travelers and leaned ba his seat. He closed his eyes. The lashes made a dark, curved fringe above the hollows of his cheeks. His right hand moved nervously inside his pocketFor a while his thoughts lingered iown he was leaving behind him. He saw Mid Doctor Copeland and Jake Blount and Biff Brannon. The faces crowded in on him out of the darkness so that he felt smothered. He thought of the quarrel between Blount and the Negro. Thenature of this quarrel was hopelessly fused in his mind —but each of them had on several occasions broken out into a bitter tirade against the other, the absent one. He had agreed with each of them in turn, though what it was they wanted him to san he did not know. And Mick —her face was urgent and she said a good deal that he did not uand in the least. And then Biff Brannon at the New York Caf. Brannon with his dark, iron-like jaw and his watchful eyes. And strangers who followed him about the streets and buttonholed him for unexplainable reasons. The Turk at the linen shop who flung his hands up in his fad babbled with his too make words the shape of which Singer had never imagined before.

    A certain mill foreman and an old blaan. A businessman on the main street and an ur who solicited soldiers for a whorehouse he river. Singer wriggled his shoulders uneasily. The train

    rocked with a smooth, easy motion. His head o rest on his shoulder and for a short while he slept.

    When he opened his eyes agaiown was far behind him. The town was fotten. Outside the dirty window there was the brilliant midsummer tryside. The sun slanted in strong, bronze-colored rays over the green fields of the new cotton. There were acres of tobacco, the plants heavy and green like some monstrous jungle weed. The orchards of peaches with the lush fruit weighting down the dwarfed trees. There were miles of pastures and tens of miles of wasted, washed-out land abao the hardier weeds. The train cut through deep green pine forests where the ground was covered with the slick brown needles and the tops of the trees stretched up virgin and tall into the sky. And farther, a long way south of the town, the cypress ss—with the gnarled roots of the trees writhing down into the brackish waters, where the gray, tattered moss trailed from the branches, where tropical water flowers blossomed in dankness and gloom. Then out again into the opeh the sun and the indigo-blue sky.

    Singer sat solemn and timid, his face turned fully toward the window.

    The great sweeps of spad the hard, elemental c almost blinded him. This kaleidoscopic variety of se, this abundance of growth and color,seemed somehow ected with his friend&quot;. His thoughts were with Antonapoulos. The bliss of their r<q></q>eunion almost stifled him. His nose inched and he breathed with quick, short breaths through his slightly open mouth.

    Antonapoulos would be glad to see him. He would enjoy the fresh fruits and the presents. By now he would be out of the sick ward and able to go on an excursion to the movies, and afterward to the hotel where they had eaten dinner on the first visit. Singer had written maers to Antonapoulos, but he had not posted them. He surrendered himself wholly to thoughts of his friend.

    The half-year since he had last been with him seemed her a long nor a short span of time. Behind each waking moment there had always been his friend. And this submerged union with Antonapoulos had grown and ged as though they were together in the flesh. Sometimes he thought of Antonapoulos with awe and self-abasement, sometimes with pride—always with love unchecked by criticism, freed of will. When he dreamed at night the face of his friend was

    always before him, massive ale. And in his waking thoughts they were eternally united.

    The summer evening came slowly. The sun sank down behind a ragged line of trees in the distand the sky paled. The twilight was languid and soft. There was a white full moon, and low purple clouds lay over the horizon. The earth, the trees, the unpainted rural dwellings darkened slowly. At intervals mild summer lightning quivered in the air. Singer watched all of this ily until at last the night had e, and his own face was reflected in the glass before him.

    Children staggered up and down the aisle of the car with dripping paper cups of water. An old man in overalls who had the seat before Singer drank whiskey from time to time from a Coca-Cola bottle. Between swallows he plugged the bottle carefully with a wad of paper. A little girl on the right bed her hair with a sticky red lollipop. Shoeboxes were opened and trays of supper were brought in from the dining-car.

    Singer did . He leaned ba his seat a desultory at of all that went on around him. At last the car settled down. Children lay on the broad plush seats and slept, while men and womendoubled up with their pillows aed as best they could.

    Singer did not sleep. He pressed his face close against the glass and straio see into the night. The darkness was heavy ay. Sometimes there atoonlight or the flicker of a lantern from the window of some house along the way. From the moon he saw that the train had turned from its southward course and was headed toward the east.

    The eagerness he felt was so keen that his nose was too pio breathe through and his cheeks were scarlet. He sat there, his face pressed close against the cold, sooty glass of the window, through most of the long night journey.

    The train was more than an hour late, and the fresh, bright summer m was well under way when they arrived.

    Singer went immediately to the hotel, a very good hotel where he had made reservations in advance. He unpacked his bags and arrahe presents he would take to Antonapoulos on the bed. From the menu the bellbht him he selected a luxurious breakfast—broiled bluefish, hominy, French toast,

    and hot black coffee. After breakfast he rested before the electri in his underwear. At noon he began to dress. He bathed and shaved and laid out fresh linen and his best seersucker suit At three oclock the hospital en for visiting hours. It was Tuesday and the eighteenth of July.

    At the asylum he sought Antonapoulos first in the sick ward where he had been fined before. But at the doorway of the room he saw immediately that his friend was not there.  he found his way through the corridors to the office where he had been takeime before. He had his question already written on one of the cards he carried about with him. The person behind the desk was not the same as the one who had been there before. He was a young man, almost a boy, with a half-formed, immature fad a lank mop of hair. Singer handed him the card and stood quietly, his arms heaped with packages, his weight resting on his heels.

    The young man shook his head. He leaned over the desk and scribbled loosely on a pad of paper. Singer read what he had written and the spots of color drained from his cheekbones instantly. He looked at the note a long time,his eyes cut sideways and his head bowed. For it was writtehat Antonapoulos was dead.

    On the way back to the hotel he was careful not to crush the fruit he had brought with him. He took the packages up to his room and then wandered down to the lobby. Behind a potted palm tree there was a slot mae. He ied a nickel but wheried to pull the lever he found that the mae was jammed. Over this i he made a great to-do. He ered the clerk and furiously demonstrated what had happened. His face was deathly pale and he was so beside himself that tear<big>..</big>s rolled down the ridges of his nose. He flailed his hands and even stamped oh his long, narrow, elegantly shoed foot on the plush carpet. Nor was he satisfied when his  was refunded, but insisted on cheg out immediately. He packed his bag and was obliged to work eically to make it close again. For in addition to the articles he had brought with him he carried away three towels, two cakes of soap, a pen and a bottle of ink, a roll of toilet paper, and a Holy Bible. He paid his bill and walked to the

    railway station to put his belongings in custody. The train did not leave until nine in the evening and he had the empty afternoon before him.

    This town was smaller than the one in which he lived. The business streets intersected to form the shape of a cross. The stores had a trified look; there were harnesses and sacks of feed in half of the display windows. Singer walked listlessly along the sidewalks. His throat felt swollen and he wao swallow but was uo do so. To relieve this strangled feeling he bought a drink in one of the drugstores.

    He idled in the barber shop and purchased a few trifles at the te store. He looked no one full in the fad his head drooped down to one side like a siimals.

    The afternoon was almost ended when a strahing happeo Singer. He had been walking slowly and irregularly along the curb of the street. The sky was overcast and the air humid. Singer did not raise his head, but as he passed the town pool room he caught a sidewise glance of something that disturbed him. He passed the pool room and then stopped in the middle of the street. Listlessly he retraced his steps and stood before the opendoor of the place. There were three mutes inside and they were talking with their hands together. All three of them were coatless. They wore bowler hats and bright ties. Each of them held a glass of beer in his left hand. There was a <var></var>certain brotherly resemblaween them.

    Singer went inside. For a moment he had trouble taking his hand from his pocket. Then clumsily he formed a word of greeting. He was clapped on the shoulder. A cold drink was ordered. They surrounded him and the fingers of their hands shot out like pistons as they questioned him.

    He told his own name and the name of the town where he lived. After that he could think of nothing else to tell about himself. He asked if they knew Spiros Antonapoulos. They did not know him. Siood with his hands dangling loose.

    His head was still ined to one side and his glance was oblique. He was so listless and cold that the three mutes in the bowler hats looked at him queerly. After a while they left him

    out of their versation. And when they had paid for the rounds of beers and were ready to depart they did not suggest that he join them.

    Although Singer had been adrift oreets for half a day he almost missed his train. It was not clear to him how this happened or how he had spent the hours before. He reached the station two minutes before the train pulled out, and barely had time t his luggage aboard and find a seat. The car he chose was almost empty. When he was settled he opehe crate of strawberries and picked them over with finicky care.

    The berries were of a giant size, large as walnuts and in full-blown ripeness. The green leaves at the top of bbr>藏书网</abbr>the rich-colored fruit were like tiny bouquets. Singer put a berry in his mouth and though the juice had a lush, wild sweethere was already a subtle flavor of decay. He ate until his palate was dulled by the taste and then reed the crate and placed it on the rack above him. At midnight he drew the window-shade and lay down on the seat. He was curled in a ball, his coat pulled over his fad head. In this position he lay in a stupor of half-sleep for about twelve hours. The ductor had to shake him when they arrived.

    Singer left his luggage in the middle of the station floor. Then he walked to the shop. He greeted the jeweler for whom he worked with a listless turn of his head. Whenhe went out again there was something heavy in his pocket For a while he rambled with bent head along the streets. But the unrefracted brilliance of the sun, the humid heat, oppressed him. He returo his room with swollen eyes and an ag head. After resting he drank a glass of iced coffee and smoked a cigarette. Then when he had washed the ash tray and the glass he brought out a pistol from his pocket and put a bullet in his chest.

 Part Three-1

    August 21,1939 M

    J. WILL not be hurried, Doctor Copeland said. Just let me be. Kindly allow me to sit here in peace a moment.’

    Father, us n to rush you. But it time now to get gone from here.’

    Doctor Copeland rocked stubbornly, his gray shawl drawn close around his shoulders. Although the m was warm and fresh, a small wood fire burned iove. The kit was bare of all

    furniture except the chair in which he sat. The other rooms were empty, too. Most of the furniture had been moved to Portias house, and the rest was tied to the automobile outside. All was in readiness except his own mind. But how could he leave when there was her beginning nor end, her truth nor purpose in his thoughts? He put up his hand to steady his trembling head and tio rock himself slowly in the creakingchair.

    Behind the closed door he heard their voices: I done all I . He determio sit there till he good and ready to leave.’

    Buddy and me done ed the a plates and------’

    Us should have left before the dew dried, said the old man. As is, night liable to catch us on the road.’

    Their voices quieted. Footsteps echoed in the empty hallway and he could hear them no more. On the floor beside him  and saucer. He filled it with coffee from the pot oop of the stove.

    As he rocked he drankthe coffee and warmed his fingers ieam. This could not truly be the end. Other voices called wordless in his heart. The voice of Jesus and of John Brown. The voice of the great Spinoza and of Karl Marx. The calling voices of all those who had fought and to whom it had been vouchsafed to plete their missions. The grief-bound voices of his people. And also the voice of the dead. Of the mute Singer, who was a righteous white man of uanding. The voices of the weak and of the mighty. The , rolling voice of his people growing always in strength and in power. The voice of the strong, true purpose. And in ahe words trembled on his lips—the words which  are surely the root of all human grief—so that he almost said aloud: Almighty Host! Utmost power of the universe! I have dohose things which I ought not to have done a uhose things which I ought to have done.

    So this ot truly be the end.’

    He had first e into the house with her whom he loved.

    And Daisy was dressed in her bridal gown and wore a white lace veil. Her skin was the beautiful color of dark honey and her laughter was sweet. At night he had shut himself in the bright room to study alone. He had tried to cogitate and to

    discipline himself to study. But with Daisy near him there was a strong desire in him that would not go away with study. So sometimes he surreo these feelings, and agai his lips aated with the books throughout the night.

    And then there were Hamilton and Karl Marx and William and Portia. All lost. No one remained.

    And Madyben and Benny Mae. And Benedine Madine and Mady Copeland. Those who carried his name. And those whom he had exhorted. But out of the thousands of them where was there oo whom he could entrust the mission and then take ease?   ,All of his life he had known it strongly. He had known the reason for his w and was sure in his heart because he knew each day what lay ahead of him. He would go with his bag from house to house, and on all things he would talk to them and patiently explain. And then in the night he would be happy in the knowledge that the day had been a day of purpose. And even without Daisy and Hamilton and Karl Marx and William and Portia hecould sit by the stove alone and take joy from this knowledge.

    He would drink a pot of turnip-green liquor a a pone of bread. A deep feeling of satisfa would be in him because the day was good.

    There were thousands of such times of satisfa. But what had been their meaning? Out of all the years he could think of no work of lasting value.

    After a while the door to the hall ened and Portia came in. I re I going to have to dress you like a baby, she said.

    Here your shoes and socks. Let me take off your bedroom shoes and put them o to get gone from here pretty soon.’

    Why have you dohis to me? he asked bitterly.

    What I doo you now?’

    You know full well that I do not want to leave. You pressed me into saying yes when I was in no fit dition to make a decision. I wish to remain where I have always been, and you know it.’

    Listen to you carry on! Portia said angrily. You done grumbled so much that I nearly worn out. You done fumed and fussed so that I right shamed for you.’

    Pshaw! Say what you will. You only e before me like a gnat. I know what I wish and will not be pestered into doing that which is wrong.’

    Portia took off his bedroom shoes and unrolled a pair of  black cotton socks. Father, less us quit this here argument. Us have all dohe best we know how. It ehe best plan for you to go out with Grandpapa and Hamilton and Buddy.

    They going to take good care of you and you going to get well.’

    No, I will not, said Doctor Copeland. But I would have recovered here. I know it.’

    Who you think could pay the note on this here house? How you think us could feed you? Who you think could take care you here?’

    I have always managed, and I  ma.’

    You just trying to be trary.’

    Pshaw! You e before me like a gnat. And I ignore you.’

    That certainly is a nice way to talk to me while I trying to put on your shoes and socks.’

    I am sorry. Five me, Daughter.Course you sorry, she said. Course we both sorry. Us t afford to quarrel. And besides, once we get you settled on the farm you going to like it. They got the prettiest vegetable garden I ever seen. Make my mouth slobber to think about it.

    And chis and two breed sows aeen peach trees.

    Ypu just going to be crazy about it there. I sure do wish it was me could get a ce to go.’

    I wish so, too.’

    How e you so determio grieve?’

    I just feel that I have failed, he said.

    How you mean you done failed?’

    I do not know. Just leave me be, Daughter. Just let me sit here in peace a moment.’

    O.K. But us got to get gone from here pretty soon.’

    He would be silent. He would sit quietly and ro the chair until the sense of order was in him once more. His head trembled and his bae ached.

    I certainly hope this, Portia said. I certainly hope that when I dead and gone as many peoples grieves for me as grieves for

    Mr. Singer. I sure would like to know I were going to have as sad a funeral as he had and as many peoples------’

    Hush! said Doctor Copeland roughly. &quot;You talk too much.’

    But truly with the death of that white man a dark sorrow had lain down in his heart. He had talked to him as to no other white man and had trusted him. And the mystery of his suicide had left him baffled and without support. There was her beginning o this sorrow. Nor uanding. Always he would return in his thoughts to this white man who was not i or scor<var></var>nful but who was just. And how  the dead be truly dead wheill live in the souls of those who are left behind? But of all this he must not think. He must thrust it from him now.

    For it was discipline he needed. During the past month the black, terrible feelings had arisen again to wrestle with his spirit. There was the hatred that for days had truly let him down into the regions of death. After the quarrel with Mr.

    Blounti the midnight visitor, there had been in him a murderous darkness. Yet now he could not clearly recall those issues which were the cause of their dispute. Ahe different ahat came in him when he looked oumps of Willies legs. The warring love and hatred —love for his people and hatred for the oppressors of his people—that left him exhausted and si spiritDaughter, he said. Get me my watd coat. I am going.’

    He pushed himself up with the arms of the chair. The floor seemed a far way from his fad after the long time in bed his legs were very weak. For a moment he felt he would fall.

    He walked dizzily across the bare room and stood leaning against the side of the doorway. He coughed and took from his pocket one of the squares of paper to hold over his mouth.

    Here your coat, Portia said. But it so hot outside you not going to .’

    He walked for the last time through the empty house. The blinds were closed and in the darkened rooms there was the smell of dust. He rested against the wall of the vestibule and the outside. The m was bright and warm. Many friends had e to say good-bye the night before and in the

    very early m—but now only the family was gregated on the porch. The wagon and the automobile were parked out ireet.

    Well, Be Mady, the old man said. I re yoa ghy be a little bit homesick these first few days. But wont be long.’

    I do not have any home. So why should T be homesick?*

    Portia wet her lips nervously and said: He ing back whenever he get good and ready. Buddy will be glad to ride him to town in the car. Buddy just love to drive.’

    The automobile was loaded. Boxes of books were tied to the running-board. The back seat was crowded with two chairs and the filing case. His office desk, legs in the air, had been fasteo the top. But although the car was weighted down the wagon was almost empty. The mule stood patiently, a brick tied to his reins.<q></q>

    Karl Marx, Doctor Copeland said. I^ook sharp. Go over the house and make sure that nothing is left. Bring the cup I left on the floor and my rog-chair.’

    Less us get started. I anxious to be home by diime, Hamilton said.At last they were ready. Highboy ked the automobile.

    Karl Marx sat at the wheel and Portia, Highboy, and William were crowded together on the back seat.

    Father, suppose you set on Highboys lap. I believe you be more fortable than scrouged up here with us and all this furniture.’

    *No, it is too crowded. I would rather ride in the wagon.’

    But you not used to the wagon, Karl Marx said. It going to be very bumpy and the trip liable to take all day.’

    &quot;That does not matter. I have ridden in many a wagon before this.’

    Tell Hamilton to e with us. I sure he rather ride iomobile.’

    Grandpapa had driven the wagon into town the day before.

    They brought with them a load of produce, peaches and cabbages and turnips, for Hamilton to sell in town. All except a sack of peaches had been marketed.

    Well, Be Mady, I see you riding home with me, the old man said.

    Doctor Copeland climbed into the back of the wagon. He was weary as though his bones were made of lead. His head trembled and a sudden spasm of nausea made him lie down flat on the rough boards.

    I right glad you ing, Grandpapa said. You uand I always had deep respect for scholars. Deep respect I able to overlook and fet a good many things if a man be a scholar.

    I very glad to have a scholar like you in the fambly again.’

    The wheels of the wagon creaked. They were on the way. I will return soon, Doctor Copeland said. After only a month or two I will return.’

    Hamilton he a right good scholar. I think he favors you some.

    He do all my figuring on paper for ></a>me and he read the neers. And Whitman I think he ghy be a scholar. Right now he able to read the Bible to me. And do number work.

    Small a child as he is. I always had a deep respect for scholars.’

    The motion of the wagon jolted his back. He looked up at the branches overhead, and thehere was no shade he covered his face with a handkerchief to shield his eyes from the sun. It was not possible that this could be the end. Always he had felt in him the strong, truepurpose. For forty years his mission was his life and his life was his mission. A all remaio be done and nothing was pleted.

    *Yes, Be Mady, I right glad to have you with us again. I been waiting to ask you about this peculiar feeling in my right foot. A queer feeling like my foot goo sleep. I taken  and rubbed it with li. I hoping you will find me a good treatment.’

 Part Three-2

    I will do what I .’

    ?Yes, I glad to have you. I believe in all Hnfolks stig together—blood kin and marriage kin. I believe in all us struggling along and helping each other out, and some day us will have a reward in the Beyond.’

    Pshaw! Doctor Copeland said bitterly. I believe in justiow.’

    What that you say you believe in? You speak so hoarse I aint

    able to hear you.’

    In justice for us. Justice for us Negroes.That right.’

    He felt the fire in him and he could not be still. He wao sit up and speak in a loud voice—yet wheried to raise himself he could not find the strength. The words in his heart grew big and they would not be silent But the old man had ceased to listen and there was no oo hear him.

    ?Git, Lee Ja. Git, Honey. Pick up your feets and quit this here poking. Us got a long way to go.’

    AfternoonJ AKE ran at a violent, clumsy pace. He went through Weavers Lane and then cut into a side alley, climbed a fence, and hastened onward. Nausea rose in his belly so that there was the taste of vomit in his throat. A barking dog chased beside him until he stopped long enough to threaten it with a rock.

    His eyes were wide with horror and he held his hand clapped to his open mouth.

    Christ! So this was the finish. A brawl. A riot. A fight with every man for himself. Bloody heads and eyes cut with broken bottles. Christ! And the wheezy music of the flying-$jinny above the he dropped hamburgers and cotton dy and the screaming younguns. And him in it all. Fighting blind with the dust and sun. The sharp cut of teeth against his knuckles. And laughing. Christ! And the feeling that he had let loose a wild, hard rhythm in him that wouldnt stop. And then looking close into the dead black fad not knowing.

    Not even knowing if he had killed or not. But wait. Christ! Nobody could have stopped it.

    Jake slowed and jerked his head nervously to look behind him.

    The alley was empty. He vomited and wiped his mouth and forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Afterward he rested for a minute a better. He had run for about eight blocks and with short cuts there was about half a mile to go. The dizziness cleared in his head so that from all the wild feelings he could remember facts. He started off again, this time at a steady jog.

    Nobody could have stopped it. All through the summer he had stamped them out like sudden fires. All but this one. And this

    fight nobody could have stopped. It seemed to blaze up out of nothing. He had been w on the maery of the swings and had stopped to get a glass of water. As he passed across the grounds he saw a white boy and a Negro walking around each other. They were both drunk. Half the crowd was drunk that afternoon, for it was Saturday and the mills had run full time that week. The heat and the sun were siing and there was a heavy stink in the air.

    He saw the two fighters close in on each other. But he khat this was not the beginning. He had felt a big fight ing for a long time. And the funny thing was he found time to think of all this. He stood watg for about five seds before he pushed into the crowd. In that short time he thought of many things. He thought of Singer. He thought of the sullen summer afternoons and the black, hot nights, of all the fights he had broken up and the quarrels he had hushed.

    Then he saw the flash of a pocketknife in the sun. He shouldered through a knot of people and jumped on the back of the Negro who held the khe ma down with him and they were on the ground together. The smell of sweat on the Negro was mixed with the heavy dust inhis lungs. Someorampled on his legs and his head was kicked. By the time he got to his feet again the fight had bee general. The Negroes were fighting the white men and the white men were fighting the Negroes. He saw clearly, sed by sed. The white boy who had picked the fight seemed a kind of leader. He was the leader of a gang that came often to the show. They were about sixteen years old and they wore white duck trousers and fancy rayon polo shirts.

    The Negroes fought back as best they could. Some had razors.

    He began to yell out words: Order! Help! Police! But it was like yelling at a breaking dam. There was a terrible sound in his ear—terrible because it was human a without words.

    The sound rose to a roar that deafened him. He was hit on the head. He could not see what went on around him. He saw only eyes and mouths and fists—wild eyes and half-closed eyes, wet, loose mouths and ched ones, black fists and white.

    He grabbed a knife from a hand and caught an upraised fist.

    Then the dust and the sun blinded him and the ohought in his mind was to get out and find a telephoo call for help.

    But he was caught. And without knowing when it happened he piled into the fight himself. He hit out with his fists ahe soft sqush of wet mouths. He fought with his eyes shut and his head lowered. A crazy sound came out of his throat. He hit with all his strength and charged with his head like a bull.

    Senseless words were in his mind and he was laughing. He did not see who he hit and did not know who hit him. But he khat the line-up of the fight had ged and now each man was for himself.

    Then suddenly it was finished. He tripped and fell over backward. He was knocked out so that it may have been a minute or it may have been much longer before he opened his eyes. A few drunks were still fighting but two dicks were breaking it up fast. He saw what he had tripped over. He lay half on and hah* beside the body of a young Negro boy. With only one look he khat he was dead. There was a cut on the side of his neck but it was hard to see how he had died in such a hurry. He khe face but could not place it. The boys mouth en and his eyes were open in surprise. The ground was littered with papers and broken bottles and trampled hamburgers. The head wasbroken off one of the jinny horses and a booth was destroyed.

    He was sitting up. He saw the dicks and in a panic he started to run. By now they must have lost his track.

    There were only four more blocks ahead, and then he would be safe for sure. Fear had shortened his breath so that he was winded. He ched bis fists and lowered his head. Then suddenly he slowed and halted. He was alone in an alley he main street. On one<u>藏书网</u> side was the wall of a building and he slumped against it, panting, the corded vein in his forehead inflamed. In his fusion he had run all the way across the town to reach the room of his friend. And Singer was dead. He began to cry. He sobbed aloud, and water dripped down from his nose a his mustache.

    A wall, a flight of stairs, a road ahead. The burning sun was like a heavy weight on him. He started back the way he had e. This time he walked slowly, wiping his wet face with

    the greasy sleeve of his shirt. He could not stop the trembling of his lips a them until he tasted blood.

    At the er of the  block he ran into Simms. The old codger was sitting on a box with his Bible on his khere was a tall board fence behind him, and on it a message was written with purple chalk.

    He Died to Save YouHear the Story of His Love and GraceEvery Nite . P.M.

    The street was empty. Jake tried to cross over to the other sidewalk, but Simms caught him by the arm.

    e, all ye dissolate and sore of heart. Lay down your sins and troubles before the blessed feet of Him who died to save you. Wherefoest thou, Brother Blount?’

    &quot;Home to hockey, Jake said. I got to hockey. Does the Saviour have anything against that?’

    Sihe Lord remembers all your transgressions. The Lord has a message for you this very night.’

    Does the Lord remember that dave you last week?’

    Jesus has a message for you at seven-fifteen tonight. You be here on time to hear His Word.’

    Jake licked his mustache. You have such a crowd every night I t get up close enough to hear.’

    &quot;There is a place for scoffers. Besides, I have had a sign that soon the Saviour wants me to builbbr></abbr>d a house for Him. On that lot at the er of Eighteenth Avenue and Sixth Street. A tabernacle large enough to hold five hundred people. Then you scoffers will see. The Lord prepareth a table before me in the presenine enemies; he anoih my head with oil.

    My cup ruh------’

    I  round you up a crowd tonight, Jake said.

    How?’

    Give me your pretty colored chalk. I promise a big crowd.’

    Ive seen yns, Simms said.  &quot;Workers! America Is the Richest try in the World Yet a Third of Us Are Starving.

    When Will We Unite and Demand Our Share?&quot;—all that.

    Yns are radical. I would you use my chalk.’

    But I dont plan to write signs.’

    Simms fihe pages of his Bible and waited suspiciously.

    Til get you a fine crowd. On the pavements at ead of the block Ill draw you some good-looking naked floozies. All in color with arrows to point the way. Sweet, plump, bare-tailed------’

    Babylonian! the old man screamed. Child of Sodom!<mark></mark> God will remember this.’

    Jake crossed over to the other sidewalk and started toward the house where he lived. So long, Brother.’

    Sihe old man called. You e back here at seven-fifteen sharp. Ahe message from Jesus that will give you faith. Be saved.’

    Singer was dead. And the way he had felt when he first heard that he had killed himself was not sad—it was angry. He was before a wall. He remembered all the innermost thoughts that he had told to Singer, and with his death it seemed to him that they were lost. And why had Singer wao end his life? Maybe he had gone insane. But anyway he was dead, dead, dead. He could not be seen or touched or spoken to, and the room where they had spent so many hours had beeed to a girl whoworked as a typist. He could go there no longer. He was alone.

    A wall, a flight of stairs, an open road.

    Jake locked the door of his room behind him. He was hungry and there was nothing to eat. He was thirsty and only a few drops of warm water were left icher by the table. The bed was unmade and dusty fluff had accumulated on the floor.

    Papers were scattered all about the room, because retly he had written many short notices and distributed them through the town. Moodily he gla one of the papers labeled The T.W.O.C. Is Your Best Friend. Some of the notices sisted of only oehers were lohere was one full-page mao entitled &quot;The Affinity Between Our Democrad, Fascism.’

    For a month he had worked on these papers, scribbling them during w hours, typing and making carbons oypewriter at the New York Caf, distributing them by hand.

    He had worked day and night. But who read them? What good

    had any of it done? A town this size was too big for any one man. And now he was leaving.

    But where would it be this time? The names of cities called to him—Memphis, Wilmington, Gastonia, New Orleans. He would go somewhere. But not out of the South. The old restlessness and hunger were in him again. It was different this time. He did not long for open spad freedom—just the reverse. He remembered what the Negro, Copeland, had said to him, Do not attempt to stand alohere were times when that was best.

    Jake moved the bed across the room. On the part of the floor the bed had hidden there were a suitcase and a pile of books and dirty clothes. Impatiently he began to pack. The old Negros face was in his mind and some of the words they had said came ba. Copeland was crazy. He was a fanatic, so that it was maddening to try to reason with him. Still the terrible ahat they had felt that night had been hard to uand. Copeland knew. And those who knew were like a handful of naked soldiers before an armed battalion. And what had they dohey had turo quarrel with each other.

    Copeland was wrong—yes—he was crazy. But on some points they might be able to work together after all. If they didnt talk too much. He would go and see him. A sudden urge tohurry came in him. Maybe that would be the best thing after all. Maybe that was the sign, the hand he had so long awaited.

    Without pausing to wash the grime from his fad hands he strapped his suitcase ahe room. Outside the air was sultry and the..re was a foul odor ireet. Clouds had formed in the sky. The atmosphere was so still that the smoke from a mill in the district went up in a straight, unbroken line.

    As Jake walked the suitcase bumped awkwardly against his knees, and often he jerked his head to look behind him.

    Copeland lived all the way across the town, so there was o hurry. The clouds in the sky grew steadily denser, and foretold a heavy summer rain before nightfall.

    When he reached the house where Copeland lived he saw that the shutters were drawn. He walked to the bad peered through the window at the abandoned kit. A hollow,

    desperate disappoi made his hands feel sweaty and his heart lose the rhythm of its beat He went to the house on the left but no one was at home. There was nothing to do except to go to the Kelly house and question Portia.

    He hated to be hat house again. He couldnt stand to see the hatra the front hall and the long flight of stairs he had climbed so many times. He walked slowly back across the town and approached by way of the alley. He went in the rear door. Portia was i and the little boy was with her.

    No, sir, Mr. Blount, Portia said. I know you were a mighty good friend of Mr. Singer and you uand what Father thought of him. But we taken Father out in the try this m and I know in my soul I got no busielling you exactly where he is. If you dont mind I rather speak out and not minch the matter.’

    You dont have to minything, Jake said. But why?’

    After the time you e to see us Father were so sick us expected him to die. It taken us a long time to get him able to sit up. He doing right well now. He going to get a lot stronger where he is now. But whether you uand this or not he right bitter against white peoples just now and he very easy to upset. And besides, if you dont mindspeaking out, what you want with Father,  anyway?’

    Nothing, Jake said. Nothing you would uand.’

    Us colored peoples have feelings just like anybody else. And I stand by <dfn></dfn>what I said, Mr. Blount. Father just a sick old colored man and he had enough trouble already. Us got to look after him. A anxious to see you—I know that.’

 Part Three-3

    Out ireet again he saw that the clouds had turned a deep, angry purple. Iagnant air there was a storm smell.

    The vivid green of the trees along the sidewalk seemed to steal into the atmosphere so that there was a strange greenish glow over the street. All was so hushed and still that Jake paused for a moment to sniff the air and look around him. Then he grasped his suitcase under his arm and began to run toward the awnings of the main street. But he was not quiough.

    There was oallic crash of thunder and the air chilled suddenly. Large silver drops of rain hissed on the pavement.

    An avalanche of water blinded him. When he reached the New

    York Cafe his clothes g wet and shriveled to his body and his shoes squeaked with water.

    Brannon pushed aside his neer and leaned his elbows on the ter. Now, this is really curious. I had this intuition you would e here just after the rain broke. I knew in my bones you were ing and that you would make it just too late. He mashed his h this thumb until it was white and flat. And a suitcase?’

    It looks like a suitcase, Jake said. And it feels like a suitcase.

    So if you believe iuality of suitcases I re this is one, all right.’

    You ought not to stand around like this. Go on upstairs and throw me down your clothes. Louis will ruhem with a hot iron.’

    Jake sat at one of the back booth tables aed his head in his hands. No, thanks. I just want to rest here a my wind again.’

    But your lips are turning blue. You look all knocked up.’

    Im all right. What I want is some supper.’

    Supper wont be ready for half an hour, Brannon said patiently.

    Any old leftovers will do. Just put them on a plate. You dont even have to bother to heat them.’

    The emptiness in him hurt. He wao look her backward nor forward. He walked two of his short, ky fingers across the top of the table. It was more than a year now since he had sat at this table for the first time. And how much further was he now than then? No further. Nothing had happened except that he had made a friend and lost him. He had given Singer everything and then the man had killed himself. So he was left out on a limb. And now it  to him to get out of it by himself and make a art again. At the thought of it panic came in him. He was tired. He leaned his head against the wall and put his feet on the seat beside him.

    Here you are, Brannon said. This ought to help out.’

    He put down a glass of some hot drink and a plate of chi pie. The drink had a sweet, heavy smell. Jake ihe

    steam and closed his eyes. Whats in it?’

    Lemon rind rubbed on a lump of sugar and boiling water with rum. Its a good drink.’

    How much do I owe you?’

    I dont know offhand, but Ill figure it out before you leave.’

    Jake took a deep draught of the toddy and washed it around in his mouth before swallowing. Youll never get the money, he said. I dont have it to pay you—and if I did I probably wouldnt anyway.’

    Well, have I been pressing you? Have I ever made you out a bill and asked you to pay up?’

    No, Jake said. You been very reasonable. And sihink about it youre a right det guy—from the personal perspective, that is.’

    Brannon sat across from him at the table. Something was on his mind. He slid the salt-shaker bad forth a<dfn></dfn> smoothing his hair. He smelled like perfume and his striped blue shirt was very fresh and . The sleeves were rolled and held in place by old-fashioned blue sleeve garters.

    At last he cleared his throat in a hesitating way and said: I was glang through the afternoon paper just before you came. It seems you had a lot of trouble at your place today.Thats right. What did it say?’

    &quot;Wait. Ill get it. Brannoched the paper from the ter and leaned against the partition of the booth. It says on the front page that at the Sunny Dixie Show, located so and so, there was a general disturbawo Negroes were fatally injured with wounds inflicted by khree others suffered minor wounds aaken for treatment to the city hospital. The dead were Jimmy Mad Lancy Davis. The wounded were John Hamlin, white, of tral Mill City, Various Wilson, Negro, and so forth and so on. Quote: &quot;A number of arrests were made. It is alleged that the disturbance was caused by labitation, as papers of a subversive nature were found on and about the site of disturbaher arrests are expected shortly.&quot; Brannon clicked his teeth together. The set-up of this paper gets worse every day. Subversive spelled with a u in the sed syllable and arrests with only one r.’

    &quot;Theyre smart, all right, Jake said sneeringly. * &quot;Caused by labitation.&quot; Thats remarkable.’

    Anyway, the whole thing is very unfortunate.’

    Jake held his hand to his mouth and looked down at his empty plate.

    What do you mean to do now?*

    Tm leaving. Im getting out of here this afternoon.’

    Brannon polished his nails on the palm of his hand. &quot;Well, of course its not necessary—but it might be a good thing. Why so headlong? No sense in starting out this time of day.’

    I just father.’

    I do not think it behooves you to make a art. At v the same time why dont you take my advi this? Myself—Im a servative and of course I think your opinions are radical.

    But at the same time I like to know all sides of a matter.

    Anyway, I want to see you straighten out. So why dont you go some place where you  meet a few people more or less like yourself? And thele down?’

    Jake pushed his plate irritably away from him. I dont know where Im going. Leave mealone. Im tired.’

    Brannon shrugged his shoulders a back to the ter.

    He was tired enough. The hot rum and the heavy sound of the rain made him drowsy. It felt good to be sitting safe in a booth and to have just eaten a good meal. If he wao he could lean over and take a nap—a short one. Already his head felt swollen and heavy and he was more fortable with his eyes closed. But it would have to be a short sleep because soon he must get out of here.

    How long will this rain keep on?’

    Brannons voice had drowsy overtones. You t tell— a tropical cloudburst. Migh<var></var>t clear up suddenly—or— might thin a little a in for the night.’

    Jake laid his head down on his arms. The sound of the rain was he swelling sound of the sea. He heard a clock tid the far-off rattle of dishes. Gradually his hands relaxed.

    They lay open, palm upward, oable.

    Then Brannon was shaking him by the shoulders and looking into his face. A terrible dream was in his mind. Wake up, Brannon was saying. Youve had a nightmare. I looked over

    here and your mouth en and you were groaning and shuffling your feet on the floor. I never saw anything to equal it.’

    The dream was still heavy in his mind. He felt the old terror that always came as he awakened. He pushed Brannon away and stood up. You dont have to tell me I had a nightmare. I remember just how it was. And Fve had the same dream for about fifteen times before.’

    He did remember now. Every other time he had been uo get the dream straight in his waking mind. He had been walking among a great crowd of people—like at the show. But there was also somethiern about the people around him. There was a terrible bright sun and the people were half-hey were silent and slow and their faces had a look in them of starvation. There was no sound, only the sun, and the silent crowd of people. He walked among them and he carried a huge covered basket. He was taking the basket somewhere but he could not find <mark>藏书网</mark>the place to leave it And in the dream there eculiar horror in wandering on and on through the crowd and not knowing where to lay down the burden he had carried in his arms so long.

    What was it? Brannon asked. Was the devil chasing you?Jake stood up ao the mirror behind the ter. His face was dirty and sweaty. There were dark circ<mark>..</mark>les beh his eyes. He wet his handkerchief uhe fountain faucet and wiped off his face. Theook out a pocket b aly bed his mustache.

    The dream was nothing. You got to be asleep to uand why it was such a nightmare.’

    The clock poio five-thirty. The rain had almost stopped.

    Jake picked up his suitcase ao the front door. So long. Ill send you a postcard maybe.’

    Wait, Brannon said. You t go now. Its still raining a little.’

    Just dripping off the awning. I rather get out of town before dark.’

    But hold on. Do you have any money? Enough to keep going for a week?’

    I dont need money. I been broke before. Brannon had an

    envelope ready and in it were two twenty-dollar bills. Jake looked at them on both sides and put them in his pocket. God knows why you do it. Youll never smell them again. But thanks. I wont fet. Good luck. A me hear from you. Adios. Good-bye.’

    The door closed behind him. When he looked back at the end of the block, Brannon was watg from the sidewalk. He walked until he reached the railroad tracks. Oher side there were rows of dilapidated two-room houses. In the cramped back yards were rotted privies and lines of torn, sms hung out to dry. For two miles there was not one sight of fort or space or liness. Even the earth itself seemed filthy and abandoned. Now and then there were signs that a vegetable row had been attempted, but only a few withered collards had survived. And a few fruitless, smutty fig trees. Little younguns swarmed in this filth, the smaller of them stark he sight of this poverty was so cruel and hopeless that Jake snarled and ched his fists.

    He reached the edge of town and turned off on a highway.

    Cars passed him by. His shoulders were too wide and his arms too long. He was s and ugly that no one wao take him in. But maybe a truck would stopbefore long. The late afternoon sun was out agai made the steam rise from the wet pavement. Jake walked steadily.

    As soon as the town was behind a new surge of energy came to him. But was this flight or was it onslaught? Anyway, he was going. All this to begin aime. The road ahead lay to the north and slightly to the west. But he would not go too far away. He would not leave the South. That was one clear thing. There was hope in him, and soon perhaps the outline of his journey would take form.

    EveningW HAT good was it? That was the question she would like to know. What the hell good was it. All the plans she had made, and the music. When all that came of it was this trap—the store, then home to sleep, and back at the stain. The clo front of the place where Mister Singer used to work poio seven. And she was just getting off. Whenever

    there was overtime the manager always told her to stay.

    Because she could stand longer on her feet and work harder befiving out than any irLThe heavy rain had left the sky a pale, quiet blue. Dark was ing. Already the lights were turned on. Automobile horns honked ireet and the newsboys hollered out the headlines in the papers. She didnt want to go home. If she went home now she would lie down on the bed and bawl. That was how tired she was. But if she went into the New York Caf and ate some ice cream she might feel O.K. And smoke and be by herself a little while.

    The front part of the caf was crowded, so she went to the very last booth. It was the small of her bad her face that got so tired. Their motto was supposed to be Keep on your toes and smile. Once she was out of the store she had to frown a long time to get her faatural again. Even her ears were tired. She took off the dangling green earrings and pihe lobes of her ears. She had bought the earrings the week before—and also a silver bangle bracelet. At first she had worked in Pots and Pans, but now they had ged her to e Jewelry.

    Good evening, Mick, Mister Brannon said. He wipedthe bottom of a glass of water with a napkin a oable.

    I want me a chocolate sundae and a nickel glass of draw beer.’

    Together? He put down a menu and pointed with Ms little fihat wore a ladys g. See—heres some nice roast chi or some veal stew. Why dont you have a little supper with me?’

    No, thanks. All I want is the sundae and the beer. Both plenty cold.’

    Mick raked her hair from her forehead. Her mouth en so that her cheeks seemed hollow. There were these two things she could never believe. That Mister Singer had killed himself and was dead. And that she was grown and had to work at Woolworths.

    She was the one who found him. They had thought the noise was a backfire from a car, and it was not until the  day  that they knew. She went in to play the radio. The blood was all over his ned when her Dad came he pushed her out of the room. She had run into the dark and hit herself with her fists. And then the  night he was in a coffin in the living-room. The uaker had put rouge and lipsti his faake him look natural. But he didnt look natural. He was very dead. And mixed with the smell of flowers there was this other smell so that she couldnt stay in the room. But through ail those days she held down the job. She ed packages and hahem across the ter and rung the money iill. She walked when she was supposed to walk and ate whe down to the table. Only at first when she went to bed at night she couldnt sleep. But now she slept like she was supposed to, also.

 Part Three-4

    Mick turned sideways in the seat so <u>..</u>that she could cross her legs. There was a run iog. It had started while she was walking to work and she had spit on it Then later the run had gone farther and she had stuck a little piece of chewing-gum on the end. But even that didnt help. Now she would have to go home and sew. It was hard to know what she could do about stogs. She wore them out so fast Unless she was the kind of on girl that would wear cotton stogs.

    She oughtnt to have e in here. The bottoms of her shoes were  worn out. She ought to have saved the twenty ts toward a new half-sole. Because if she kept on standing on a shoe with a hole in it what would happen? A blister would e on her foot. And she would have to pick it with a burnt needle. She would have to stay home from work and be fired.

    And then what would happen？

    Here you are, said Mister Brannon. But I never heard of such a bination before.’

    He put the sundae and the beer oable. She preteo  her fingernails because if she noticd him he would start talking. He didnt have this grudge against her any more, so he must have fotten about the pack of gum. Now he always wao talk to her. But she wao be quiet and by herself. The sundae was O.K., covered all over with chocolate

    and nuts and cherries. And the beer was relaxing. The beer had a ter taste after the ice cream and it made her drunk. <bdi></bdi>o music beer was best.

    But now no music was in her mind. That was a funny thing. It was like she was shut out from the inside room. Sometimes a quick little tune would e and go—but she never went into the inside room with music like she used to do. It was like she was too tense. Or maybe because it was like the store took all her energy and time. Wool-worths wasnt the same as school.

    When she used to e home from school she felt good and was ready to start w on the music. But now she was always tired. At home she just ate supper and slept and then ate breakfast a off to the stain. A song she had started in her private notebook two months before was still not finished. And she wao stay in the inside room but she didnt know how. It was like the inside room was locked somewhere away from her. A very hard thing to uand.

    Mick pushed her broken front tooth with her thumb. But she did have Mister Singers radio. All the installments hadnt been paid and she took on the responsibility. It was good to have something that had beloo him. And maybe one of these days she might be able to set aside a little for a sed-hand piano. Say two bucks a week. And she would anybody touch this private piano but her —only she might teach Gee little pieces. She wouldkeep it in the ba and play on it every night. And all day Sunday. But then suppose some week she couldnt make a payment. So then would they e to take it away like the little red bicycle? And suppose like she wouldhem.

    Suppose she hid the piano uhe house. Or else she would meet them at the front door. And fight. She would knock down both the two men so they would have shiners and broke noses and would be passed out on the hall floor.

    Mick frowned and rubbed her fist hard across her forehead.

    That was the way things were. It was like she was mad all the time. Not how a kid gets mad quick so that soon it is all over—but in another way. Only there was nothing to be mad at.

    Uhe store. But the store hadnt asked her to take the job.

    So there was nothing to be mad at. It was like she was

    cheated. Only nobody had cheated her. So there was nobody to take it out on. However, just the same she had that feeling.

    Cheated.

    But maybe it would be true about the piano and turn out O.K.

    Maybe she would get a ce soon. Else what the hell good had it all been—the way she felt about musid the plans she had made in the inside room? It had to be some good if anything made sense. And it was too and it was too and it was too and it was too. It was some good.

    All right！

    O.K！

    Some good.

    Night/LL was serene. As Biff dried his fad hands a breeze tihe glass pendants of the little Japanese pagoda oable. He had just awakened from a nap and had smoked his night cigar. He thought of Blount and wondered if by now he had traveled far. A bottle of Agua Florida was ohroom shelf aouched the stopper to his temples. He whistled an old song, and as he desded the narrow stairs the tu a broken echo behind him. Louis was supposed to be on duty behind the ter.

    But he had soldiered on the job and the place was deserted.

    The front door stood open to the empty street. The clo the oio seventeen minutes before midnight. The radio was on and there was talk about the crisis Hitler had cooked up over Danzig. He went back to the kit and found Louis asleep in a chair. The boy had taken off his shoes and unbuttoned his trousers. His head drooped on his chest. A lo spot on his shirt showed that he had been sleeping a good while. His arms hung straight down at his sides and the wonder was that he did not fall forward on his face. He slept soundly and there was no use to wake him. The night would be a quiet one.

    Biff tiptoed across the kit to a shelf which held a basket of tea olive and two water pitchers full of zinnias. He carried the flowers up to the front of the restaurant and removed the cellophane-ed platters of the last special from the display window. He was sick of food. A window of fresh

    summer flowers—that would be good. His eyes were closed as he imagined how it could be arranged. A foundation of the tea olive strewhe bottom, cool and green. The red pottery tub filled with the brilliant zinnias. Nothing more. He began te the window carefully. Among the flowers there was a freak plant, a zinnia with six broals and two red. He examihis curio and laid it aside to save. Then the window was finished aood ireet tard his handiwork. The awkward stems of the flowers had beeo just the right degree of restful looseness. The electric lights detracted, but when the sun rose the display would show at its best advantage. Dht artistic.

    The black, starlit sky seemed close to the earth. He strolled along the sidewalk, pausing oo kno e peel into the gutter with the side of his foot. At the far end of the  block two men, small from the distand motionless, stood arm in arm together. No one else could be seen. His place was the only store on all the street with an open door and lights inside.

    And why? What was the reason for keeping the place open all through the night when every other cafe iown was closed? He was often asked that question and could never speak the answer out in words. Not money.Sometimes a party would e for beer and scrambled eggs and spend five or ten dollars. But that was rare. Mostly they came o a time and ordered little and stayed long. And on some nights, between the hours of twelve and five ocloot a er would eher<dfn>..</dfn>e was no profit in it—that lain.

    But he would never close up for the night—not as long as he stayed in the business. Night was the time. There were those he would never have seen otherwise. A few came regularly several times a week. Others had e into the plaly once, had drunk a Coca-Cola, and never returned.

    Biff folded his arms across his chest and walked more slowly.

    Ihe arc of the street light h<tt></tt>is shadow showed angular and black. The peaceful silence of the night settled in him.

    These were the hours for rest aation. Maybe that was why he stayed downstairs and did not sleep. With a last quick

    glance he sed the empty street a inside.

    The crisis voice still talked on the radio. The fans on the ceiling made a soothing whirl. From the kit came the sound of Louis sn. He thought suddenly of poor Willie and decided to send him a quart of whiskey sometime soon.

    He turo the crossword puzzle in the neer. There icture of a woman to identify in the ter. He reized her and wrote the name—Mona Lisa—across the first spaces. Number one down was a word fgar, beginning with m and ters long. Mendit. Two horizontal was some word meaning to remove afar off. A six-letter word beginning with e. Elapse? He sourial binations of letters aloud. Eloign. But he had lost ihere were puzzles enough without this kind. He folded and put away the paper. He would e back to it later.

    He examihe zinnia he had inteo save. As he held it in the palm of his hand to the light the flower was not such a curious spe after all. Not worth saving. He plucked the soft, bright petals and the last one came out on love. But who? Who would he be loving now? No one person. Anybody det who came in out of the street to sit for an hour and have a drink. But no one persoHE HEART IS A LONELY HtTNTERhad known his loves and they were over. Alice, Madeline and Gyp. Finished. Leaving him either better or worse. Which? However you looked at it.

    And Mick. The one who in the last months had lived sely in his heart. Was that love doh too? Yes. It was finished. Early in the evenings Mick came in for a cold drink or a sundae. She had grown older. Her rough and childish ways were almost gone. And ihere was something ladylike and delicate about her that was hard to point out. The earrings, the dangle of her bracelets, and the new way she crossed her legs and pulled the hem of her skirt down past her knees. He watched her a only a sort of gentleness. In him the old feeling was gone. For a year this love had blossomed strangely. He had questio a huimes and found no answer. And now, as a summer flower shatters iember, it was fihere was no one.

    Biff tapped his h his forefinger. A fn voice was now speaking over the radio. He could not decide for certaiher the voice was German, French, or Spanish. But it sounded like doom. It gave him the jitters to listen to it. Wheur off the silence was deep and unbroken. He felt the night outside. Loneliness gripped him so that his breath quied. It was far too late to call Lucile oelephone and speak to Baby. Nor could he expect a er to e this hour. He went to the door and looked up and dowreet. All was empty and dark.

    Louis! he called. Are you awake, Louis?’

    No answer. He put his elbows on the ter and held his head in his hands. He moved his dark bearded jaw from side to side and slowly his forehead lowered in a frown.

    The riddle. The question that had taken root in him and would not let him rest. The puzzle of Singer and the rest of them.

    More than a year had gone by si had started. More than a year since Blount had hung around the pla his first long drunk ahe mute for the first time. Since Mick had begun to follow him in and out. And now for a month Singer had been dead and buried. And the riddle was still in him, so that he could not be tranquil.There was something not natural about it all—something like an ugly joke. Whehought of it he felt uneasy and in some unknown way afraid.

    He had managed about the funeral. They had left all that to him. Singers affairs were in a mess. There were installments due ohing he owned and the beneficiary of his life insurance was deceased. There was just enough to bury him.

    The funeral was at noon. The sun burned down on them with savage heat as they stood around the open dank grave. The flowers curled and turned brown in the sun. Mick cried so hard that she choked herself and her father had to beat her on the back. Blount scowled down at the grave with his fist to his mouth. The towns Negro doctor, who was somehow related to poor Willie, stood on the edge of the crowd and moao himself. And there were strangers nobody had ever seen or heard of befod knows where they came from or why

    they were there.

    The silen the room was deep as the night itself. Biff stood transfixed, lost in his meditations. Then suddenly he felt a quiing in him. His heart turned and he leaned his back against the ter for support. For in a swift radiance of illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and of valor.

    Of the endless fluid passage of humanity through eime. And of those who labor and of those who—one word—love. His soul expanded. But for a moment only. For in him he felt a warning, a shaft of terror. Betweewo worlds he was suspended. He saw that he was looking at his own fa the ter glass before him. Sweat glistened on his temples and his face was torted. One eye ened wider thaher. The left eye delved narrowly into the past while the right gazed wide and affrighted into a future of blaess, error, and ruin. And he was suspended between radiand darkness. Between bitter irony and faith. Sharply he turned away.

    Louis! he called. Louis! Louis!’

    Again there was no answer. But, mod, was he a sensible man or was he not? And how could this terror throttle him his when he didnt even know what caused it? And would he just stand here like a jittery ninny or would he pull himself together and be reasonable? Forafter all was he a sensible man or was he not? Biff wet his handkerchief beh the water tap and patted his drawn, tense face. Somehow he remembered that the awning had not yet been raised. As he went to the door his walk gaieadiness. And when at last he was inside again he posed himself soberly to await the m sun.天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》