Chapter 24 Part Two-12

Last night these here friends come 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 come up. Portia halted. She wet her finger with her tongue and then moistened her dry lips with her finger. with the way this here white guard picked on them all the time. They were out on roadwork one day and Buster he sassed back and then the other boy he try to run off in the woods. They took all three of them. They took 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 neither paused between words nor did the grief in her face soften. It was like a low song. She spoke and he could not understand. The sounds were distinct in 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 feet swolled up and they lay there and struggle on the floor and holler out. And nobody come. They hollered there for three days and three nights and nobody come.' I am deaf, said Doctor Copeland. I cannot understand.' They put our Willie and them boys in this here ice-cold room. There were a rope hanging down from the ceiling. They took their shoes off and tied their bare feet to this rope. Willie and them boys lay there with their backs on the floor and their feet in the air. And their, feet swolled up and they struggled on the floor and holler out. It were ice-cold in the room and their feet froze. Their feet swolled up and they hollered for three nights and three days. And nobody come.

Doctor Copeland pressed his head with his hands, but still the steady trembling would not stop. I cannot hear what you say.' Then at last they come to get them. They quickly took Willie and them boys to the sick ward and their legs were all swolled and froze. Gangrene. 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 upon the table. She did not cry or moan, 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 on the table 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 understood. 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 has 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 pronounced the 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 morning 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 on the street curb with a wet newspaper over his head for protection . 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 fence to steady himself.

He waited for the black, terrible anger as though for some beast out of the night. But it did not come to him. His bowls seemed weighted with lead, and he walked slowly and lingered against fences and the cold, wet walls of buildings by the way. Descent 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 outraged soul beneath the whip. A song was in him now—although it was not music but only the feeling of a song. sodden heavyness 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 upon the bottom of extreme humiliation and for a while take his content?

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 come at last to the alley behind the Kellys house. Portia had entered first and then he followed. Highboy remained on the steps outside. Mick and her two little brothers were already in the kitchen. 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. came into the room to hear.

Doctor Copeland sat on a stool in the corner. 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 occasionally 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 face to him. 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 reactions. thing.

Mick whispered to Portia, "What's your fathers name?" He named Benedict Mady Copeland.' Mick leaned over close to Doctor Copeland and shouted in his face as though he were deaf. Benedict, dont you think some hot coffee would make you feel a little better?' Doctor Copeland started. Quit that hollering, Portia said. He can hear well as you can.' Oh, said Mick. She emptied the grounds from the pot and put the coffee on the stove 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 can do is keep our mouth shut' "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.' "That aint no Christian way to talk, Portia said. Js can just rest back and know they going to be chopped up with pitchforks and fried everlasting by Satan." Anyway Willie can still play his harp.' With both feet sawed off that about all he can do.' The house was full of noise and unrest. In the room above the kitchen someone was moving furniture about. The dining-room was crowded with boarders. Mrs. Kelly hurried back and forth from the breakfast table to the kitchen. in a baggy pair of trousers and a bathrobe. The young Kelly children ate greedily in the kitchen. Doors banged and voices could be heard in all parts of the house. Mick handed Doctor Copeland a cup of coffee mixed with water 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. Mick and George left for school and the baby was shut into one of the front rooms. Mrs. Kelly wrapped 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. was gone. Doctor Copeland and Portia were alone. He sat for some time on the stool in the corner. At last he rose to go. *You sit back down, Father. Us going to stay together this morning. 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 feel like I going to really bust loose. Besides, I dont want you messing around in the streets by yourself.' He hesitated and felt the 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 burned the paper in the stove. On the way out he stopped and spoke to Highboy on the steps. He suggested that Highboy stay with Portia if he could arrange to get leave from work. The air was piercing and cold. From the low, dark skies the drizzling rain fell steadily. The rain had seen into the garbage cans and in the alley there was the rank odor of wet refuse. As he walked he balanced himself with the help of a fence and kept his dark eyes on the ground. He made all the strictly necessary visits. Then he attended to office patients from noon until two oclock. Afterward he sat at his desk with his fists clenched 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. He put on his overcoat and went 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 counter. 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. "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 and left without a word. That was too little. Something more was needed. The strong, true purpose, the will to justice. He walked stiffly, his arms held close to his sides, toward the main street. without success. He could think of no white person of power in all the town who was both brave and just. He thought of every lawyer, every judge, every public official with whose name he was familiar—but the thought of each one 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, determined to 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 on either side. He did not know where he could find the judges office, so he wandered uncertainly 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 turned to stop him. What you want?' "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 recognized 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. On the other 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 nettled him. am not a minister, he said, I am a physician, a medical doctor. My name is Benedict Mady Copeland and I wish to see the judge immediately on urgent business.' The deputy was like other white men in that a clearly enunciated speech maddened him. Is that so? he mocked. He winked at his friends. Then I am the deputy sheriff and my name is Mister Wilson and I tell you the judge is busy. Come back some 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 and he sat down. The three white men continued to talk, but he knew that the sheriff watched him. He was determined not to leave. More than half an hour passed. Several white men went freely back and forth through the corridor. He knew that the deputy was watching him and he sat rigid, his hands pressed between his knees. later in the afternoon when the sheriff was not there. All of his life he had been circumspect in his dealings with such people. But now something in him would not let him withdraw. Come 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 wanted to see the judge about?' I did not say, said Doctor Copeland. I merely said that my business with him was urgent.' ?You cant stand up straight. You been drinking liquor, havent you? I smell it on your breath.' "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 down the steps to the main floor. He did not resist. Thats the trouble with this country, the sheriff said. These damn biggity niggers like him. He spoke no word and let them do with him as they would. He waited for the terrible anger and felt 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 entered the jail that the strength of his rage came to him. He broke loose suddenly from their grasp. They 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. 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 was opened. 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 recognized one of them. How come you here? the young man asked. Aint you Doctor Copeland?' He said yes. *My name Dary White. You took out my sisters tonsils last year.' The icy cell was permeated with a rotten odor. A pail brimming with urine was in a corner. 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 black and a bright light burned in the hall. Four empty tin plates were on the floor. His dinner of cabbage and cornbread 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 corner or simply let the water run from his nose onto 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 snoring 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 discomfort. He could not keep warm. His teeth chattered and he shook with a hard chill. He sat up with the dirty blanket wrapped 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, his head in his hands, and from his throat there came a singing moan. think of William. Nor could he even cogitate upon the strong, true purpose and draw strength from that. He could only feel the misery in him. Then the tide 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 comfort. The next morning 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 confused 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 can do is keep our mouth shut and wait.' Her loud voice echoed wearily in his ears. Thev climbed into a ten-cent taxicab, 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 they had done to him—but still she couldn't forget it. Twice in 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 kitchen 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 pillow was in the middle of the room. She got up and opened the door to the hall. Nobody was on the stairs. She ran in her nightgown to the back room. Move over, George. KThe kid lay in the very center 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 was open 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 finish this here dream—this here------' 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. George was gone. From the yard she heard kids voices and the sound of water running. Etta and Hazel were talking in the middle room. As she dressed a sudden notion came to her. She listened at the door but it was hard to hear what they said. jerked the door open quick to surprise them. They were reading a movie magazine. Etta 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 morning, Etta? Mick asked. She looked down under the bed and her private box was still in the exact place where she had left it A lot you care, Etta said. You needn't try to pick a fight' Ettas face was peaked. There was a terrible pain in her stomach and 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 wasn't 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 you are sick, but you wont let me be decent. 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 cant sleep in the living-room. That sofa cramps me so much I cant stay in it' Hush that talking so loud, Hazel said. Mick knelt 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. "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 in the kitchen with Portia. He had on bis bathtub 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 kitchen table. What time is it? Has Mister Singer gone yet?' ?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 comes 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 inside them. sat down on the back steps to eat her breakfast. The morning was warm and bright. Spare-ribs and Sucker were playing with George in the back yard. Sucker wore his sun suit and the other two kids had taken off all their clothes except theirs. 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 nightgowns—wet 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. "Watch me hold it up over my head! George hollered. Watch how the water runs down." She was too full of energy to sit still. George had filled a meal sack with dirt and hung it to a limb of the tree for a punching 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. George had mixed a sharp rock in the dirt and it bruised her knuckles. Aoow! You skeeted the water right in my ear. Its busted my eardrum. I cant even hear. Gimme here. Let me skeet some. Sprays of the water blew into her face, and once the kids turned the hose on her legs. 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 newspaper. She opened her box and got out the notebook. But it was hard to settle her mind on the song she wanted to write down. Harry was looking over in her direction 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. That was a religion, the same as Baptist or Catholic or Jew. Harry believed that after you were dead and buried you changed 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 thought I that was better than being one single angel. Anyhow it was better than nothing. Harry threw the newspaper 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 was any place.' Theres not any place. Except that country club pool.' I sure would like to do something—to get out and go somewhere.' "Me too, she said, Wait! I know one place. Its out in the country 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 George and Pete and Sucker swimming there one time last year.' If you want to I can get bicycles and we can go tomorrow. I have a holiday one Sunday a month.' Well ride out and take a picnic dinner, Mick said. OK ITl borrow the bikes.' It was time for him to go to work. She watched him walk down the street. 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 chinned 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 necklace and wear the sfflc dress. And for dinner they would take jelly sandwiches and Nehi. Maybe Harry would bring something queer, because they ate orthodox Jew. . It was true that he had grown to be a very good-looking fellow. Harry in the country was different from Harry sitting on the back steps reading the newspapers and thinking about hitler. They left early in the morning. 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 morning 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 pine trees 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.