Chapter 26 Part Two-14

Blasphemer! Simms screamed. God will get you. You and all your crew. God remembers the scoffers. He watches 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 corner store for Coca-Colas and peanut-butter crackers. Simms began to work on him again. When he left for the show Simms ran along behind him. Come to this corner 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 in the afternoon until midnight. The crowd was a tough one. With the new spring he felt an undertone of trouble. One night he was working on the machinery 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 colored girl by the ticket booth of the flying- jinny. He wrenched them apart, but still they struggled to get at each other. The crowd took sides and there was a bedlam of noise. The white girl was a hunchback. She held something tight in her hand.

seen you, the colored girl yelled. I ghy beat that hunch off your back, too.' Hush your mouth, you black nigger!' Low-down factory tag. I done paid my money and I ghy ride. White man, you make her give me back my ticket.' Black nigger slut!' Jake looked from one to 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. "No nigger going to put her hands on no white girl while------? "You quit that pushing me. I'm ready to hit back even if your skin do be white."

Roughly Jake pushed into the thick of the crowd. All right! he yelled. "Move on—break it up. Every damnnone 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 colored girl. bet I one of the few peoples here who done saved over fifty cents till Friday night. I done ironed double this week. I done paid a good nickel for that ticket she holding. now I means to ride. Jake settled the trouble quickly. He let the hunchback keep the disputed ticket and issued another one to the colored girl. For the rest of that evening there were no more quarrels. But Jake moved alertly through the crowd. 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 manage the booths. This did not count 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 in the trailer for several minutes; 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 protecting it from something.

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 and help them to see the truth. Once he invited them to a pool room for a drink. But they were so dumb he couldn't help them. Soon after this he overheard the conversation between them that caused the trouble. It was an early Sunday morning, almost two oclock, and he had been checking the accounts with Patterson. 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 name. The two oper-

Iators had finished work and were smoking together. Jake listened. If theres anything I hate worse than a nigger its 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 reckon?' 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 cant look at him without laughing.' He neednt act biggity with me.' Jake watched them follow the path toward Weavers Lane. His first thought was to rush out and confront 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 corner 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 reckon I am. But what are you? They stood beneath a street light. from him. The neighborhood was deserted. You pasty-faced, shrunk-gutted, ricket-ridden little rats! I could reach out and choke your stringy necks—one to each hand. Runt or no, I could lay you on this sidewalk where they'd 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: In the future I suggest you come to me whenever you feel the need to make remarks about my height, weight, accent, demeanor, or ideology. And that last is not what I take a leak with either —case you dont know. We will discuss it together.' Afterward Jake treated the two men with angry contempt. Behind his back they jeered at him. One afternoon he found that the engine of the swings had been delicately 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 carefully 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 inert, for twelve or thirteen hours. bite his nails only a few months before seemed to have gone. And yet beneath his inertia Jake felt the old tension. Of all the places he had been this was the loneliest town of all. Or it would be without Singer. Only he and Singer understood the truth h. 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-blackened tree at the corner 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 sulfur and hog fat and greased his body every morning. He clawed himself raw and it seemed that the itching would never be soothed. One night he broke loose. had mixed gin and whiskey and was very drunk. It was almost morning. 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: "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! ShuddupF The fellows in the hall were pushing against the door: ?You drunk bull! Youll be a sight dumber when we get thu with you.' How many out there? Jake roared. He banged anempty bottle on the windowsill. Come on, everybody. Come one, come all. Ill settle you three at a time.' That's 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. and laughed himself to sleep. On an April morning 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 angle . The sun shone hot on his open, glassy eyes and flies hovered over the dried blood that covered his chest. The dead man held a red-and-yellow cane 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 police. No clues were found. Two days later the family of the dead man claimed his body at the morgue. At the Sunny Dixie there were frequent fights and quarrels. Sometimes two friends would come 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. Beneath 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 constantly. The old man liked to come with a soapbox and a Bible and take a stand in the middle of the crowd to preach. He talked of the second coming of Christ. Day of Judgment would be October , . 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 and set up his stand no arguments could make him budget He made Jake a present of a Gideon Bible, and told him to pray on his knees for one hour each night and to hurl away every glass of beer or cigarette that was offered him. They quarreled over walls and fences. Jake had begun to 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 in the streets. If it had not been for Singer, Jake knew that 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 understood 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 was open. The room was empty. He sat alone for more than two hours. At last he heard Singers footsteps on the stairs. I was wondering about you. Where you been?* Singer smiled. He brushed off his hat with a handkerchief and put it away. Then delicately 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?' Singer took 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! Singer put on a pot of coffee and got out his chessboard. Jake tore the note to pieces and rolled the fragments between his sweating palms. But something can be done about this, he said after a while. You know it?' Singer nodded uncertainly. I want to see the boy and hear the whole story. When can 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 can 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 screen door. Beside him Singer stood 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 opened the door for them. I certainly trust you not been waiting long. So many folks been coming 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 kitchen 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. room. The dark voices he had heard back in the hall were silent. "These here are two white gentlemens come 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 nose there was a latticed impression from the front screen door. Thats not it, he said. I come to talk with your brother.' The Negroes in the room were standing. Singer motioned to 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 corner was a boy without legs whose trousers were folded and pinned beneath 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. Singer that you heard Father speak about. And this other white gentleman is Mr. Blount and he a very close friend of Mr. Singer. They just kindly come to inquire about us in our trouble. She turned to Jake and motioned to the three other people in the room. This other boy leaning on the window is my brother too. Named Buddy. is two dear friends of my Father. Named Mr. Marshall Nicolls and Mr. John Roberts. I think it a good idea to understand who all is in a room with you.' Thanks, Jake said. He turned to Willie again. I just want you to tell me about it so I can get it straight in my mind.' This the way it is, Willie said. I feel like my feet is still hurting. I got this here terrible misery down in my toes. Yet the hurt in my feet is down where my feet should be if they were on my --legs . And not where my feet is now. It a hard thing to understand. My feet hurt me so bad all the time and I dont know where they are. They never given them back to me. 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 took a stick to him. Then this other boy he tries to run off. And I follow him. It all come about so quick I dont remember good just how it were. Then they took 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 seems to me like you meaning to get me into trouble.' Trouble! Jake said rudely. "What in the name of Christ do you think youre in now?" Less us quiet down, Portia said nervously. "This here the way it is, Mr. Blount. They done let Willie off at the camp before his time were served. But they done also impressed it on him not to—I believe you understand what us means. Naturally Willie he scared. Naturally us means to be careful—cause that the best thing us can do. We already got enough trouble as is.' What happened to the guards?' Them w-white men were fired. That what they told me.' And where are your friends now?' "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. "This here what Willie means. You see, during them three days when they hurt so bad they commenced to quarrel. Willie dont ever want to see any of them again . That one thing Father and Willie done argued about already. This here Buster------' "Buster got a wooden leg, said the boy by the window. seen him on the street 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 reckons us can 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 known where my ff-feets are. doctor never given them back to me. I sure do wish I knew where they are.' Jake looked around him with dazed, gin-clouded eyes. Everything seemed unclear and strange. The heat in the kitchen 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 wrapped in newspaper to dim its strength, most of the light came from between the chinks 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 come back so that they could leave. 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?' "Yes, sir. He is a medical doctor." There was a scuffle on the steps outside and the back door opened. A warm, fresh breeze lightened the heavy air. First a tall boy dressed hi a linen suit and gilded shoes entered the room with a sack in his arms. Behind him came a young boy of about seventeen. Hey, Highboy. Hey there, Lancy, Willie said. What you all brought me?' Highboy bowed elaborately to Jake and placed on the table 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 Doctor, Miss Portia? Lancy asked. ?Honey, he been mighty sick these days. What worries me is he so strong. It a bad sign when a person sick as he is suddenly come to be so strong. Portia turned to 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 Doctor my family regards.' Us certainly do appreciate this, Portia said. "Father was speaking of you just the other day. He has 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 leaned toward Jake and seemed about to speak to him. The old man wore a pair of pin-striped trousers and a morning coat with a flower in the buttonhole. He cleared his throat and said: Pardon me, sir—but unavoidably we overheard a part of your conversation with William regarding the trouble he is now in. Inevitably we have considered 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 government.' A postman, repeated John Roberts. With your permission------ Marshall Nicolls took a yellow silk handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly blew his nose. Naturally we have discussed this matter extensively. And without doubt as members of the colored race here in this free country 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 danger this amicable relationship already established. Then by gradual means a better condition will come about.' Jake turned from one to the other. I dont seem to follow you. The heat was suffocating him. He wanted to get out. A film seemed to have settled over his eyeballs so that all the faces around him were blurred. Across the room Willie was playing 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 done wet 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 forget this misery. If I just knew where my f-feets are now and could drink a glass of gin ever night I wouldn't 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 on the table and set down one plate and a fork. She poured a large tumblerful of the wine. You just make yourself comfortable 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 lipstick and drew a red line to 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 between the two old men. The home-made wine was rich and strong as brandy. Willie started a low dolorous tune on his harp. Portia snapped her fingers and shuffled around the room. Jake turned to Marshall Nicolls. *You say Portias father is a doctor?' "Yes, sir. Yes, indeed. A skilled doctor. Whats the matter with him?" The two Negroes glanced warily at each other. He were in an accident, said John Roberts. What kind of an accident?' 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 earnestly 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 not recognized fully enough certain elements 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 cant understand a thing you say.' Marshall Nicolls and John Roberts exchanged 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 once 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 knew he was gone. While you were sitting at the table with your peach puff he came to the doorway and held out his watch to show it were time for him to go. looked straight at him and shaken your head. I thought you knew that.' Maybe I was thinking about something else. He turned to Willie and said angrily to him: I never did even get to tell you what I come here for, I didnt come 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 afterwards I would have ex-plained why. And maybe it might have meant something. Maybe it------' He felt they were laughing at him. Confusion caused him to forget 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. in a dark closet smelling of medicine. Then his hand was turning another doorknob.