Part Three-2
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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?’
"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.’
"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. "Workers! America Is the Richest try in the World Yet a Third of Us Are Starving.
When Will We Unite and Demand Our Share?"—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 "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.’
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