carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第28节

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something　gentle　and　Jewish；　the　knowledge　of　one　who　
belongs　to　a　race　that　is　oppressed。　On　one　occasion　he　took　
Mr。　Singer　with　him　on　his　rounds。　He　led　him　through　cold　
and　narrow　passages　smelling　of　dirt　and　sickness　and　fried　
fatback。　He　showed　him　a　successful　skin　graft　made　on　the　
face　of　a　woman　patient　who　had　been　severely　burned。　He　
treated　a　syphilitic　child　and　pointed　

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out　to　Mr。　Singer　the　scaling　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　orange　on　the　hearth　they　were　helpless　while
an　old　man　strangled　with　pneumonia。　Mr。　Singer　walked
behind　him　and　watched　and　understood。　He　gave　nickels　to
the　children；　and　because　of　his　quietness　and　decorum　he　did
not　disturb　the　patients　as　would　have　another　visitor。
The　days　were　chilly　and　treacherous。　In　the　town　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
sections　of　the　town　in　the　high　Dodge　automobile　he　had
used　for　the　past　nine　years。　He　kept　the　isinglass　curtains
snapped　to　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　or　Highboy；　but　often　he
thought　of　them。　Once　when　he　was　away　Portia　came　to　see
him　and　left　a　note　and　borrowed　half　a　sack　of　meal。
There　came　a　night　when　he　was　so　exhausted　that；　although
there　were　other　calls　to　make；　he　drank　hot　milk　and　went　to
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　opened　the　front　door。　It　was　Portia。
〃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。
'It　about　our　Willie。　He　been　a　bad　boy　and　done　got　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　and　went
back　to　the　kitchen。　Portia　was　waiting　for　him　there。　The
kitchen　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　can　study　it　all　out　and　tell　it　to　you　plain。
'
He　crushed　some　sheets　of　newspaper　lying　on　the116


hearth　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　won't　seem　so　bad。
'



〃There　is　not　any　coffee。　I　used　the　last　of　it　yesterday。'　》　
When　he　said　this　Portia　began　to　cry。　Savagely　she　stuffed　
paper　and　wood　into　the　stove　and　lighted　it　with　a　trembling　
hand。　〃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　I'd　been　
there　none　of　this　trouble　would　of　come　about。　But　I　were　at　
the　Ladies'　Meeting　at　the　church　and　them　boys　got　restless。　
They　went　down　to　Madame　Reba's　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　colored　gal。　
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　didn't　have　no　knife；　so　he　commenced　to　
bellow　and　run　around　the　parlor。　Then　finally　Highboy　found　
Willie　a　razor　and　he　backed　up　and　nearbout　cut　this　
Junebug's　head　off。'　
Doctor　Copeland　drew　his　shawl　closer　around　him。　'Is　he　
dead？'　
〃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　police　come　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　chunk　cut　out　his　behind。　
But　it　won't　bother　him　none。　What　I　can't　understand　is　how　
come　he　would　be　messing　around　with　that　Love。　She　at　least　
ten　shades　blacker　than　I　is　and　she　

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the　ugliest　nigger　I　ever　seen。　She　walk　like　she　have　a　egg　


between　her　legs　and　don't　want　to　break　it。　She　ain't　even　
clean。　And　here　Willie　done　cut　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　come　and　tell　me　soon　as　it　all　happened。　
Understand；　my　Highboy　didn't　have　nothing　to　do　with　these　
here　bad　gals。　He　were　just　keeping　Willie　company。　He　so　
grieved　about　Willie　he　been　sitting　out　on　the　street　curb　in　
front　of　the　jail　ever　since。'　The　fire…colored　tears　rolled　down　
Portia's　face。　'You　know　how　us　three　has　always　been。　Us　
haves　our　own　plan　and　nothing　ever　went　wrong　with　it　
before。　Even　money　hasn't　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　morning。　The　mill　whistles　blew　for　the　first　
shift。　The　sun　came　out　and　brightened　the　clean　saucepans　
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　can　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　written　exactly　
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　taken　the　letter　home　with　me。　I　done　put　it　in　the　
Bible　so　I　won't　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　working　for　Mr。　Brannon　going　on　
three　year。　It　tell　how　Willie　is　one　fine　upstanding　colored　
boy　and　how　he　hasn't　ever　been　in　no　trouble　before　now。　It　
tell　how　he　always　had　plenty　chances　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　can't　sit　around　and　wait。　With　Willie　locked　up　in　the　
jail。　My　Willie；　who　is　such　a　sweet　boy　even　if　he118　


did　do　wrong　tonight。　Us　just　can't　sit　around　and　wait'　
'We　will　have　to。　That　is　the　only　thing　we　can　do。'　
'Well；　I　know　I　ain't'　
Portia　got　up　from　the　chair。　Her　eyes　roved　distractedly　
around　the　room　as　though　searching　for　something。　Then　
abruptly　she　went　toward　the　front　door。　
'Wait　a　minute；'　said　Doctor　Copeland。　'Where　do　you　intend　
to　go　now？'　
'I　got　to　work。　I　sure　got　to　keep　my　job。　I　sure　have　to　stay　on　
with　Mrs。　Kelly　and　get　my　pay　ever　week。'　
'I　want　to　go　to　the　jail；'　said　Doctor　Copeland。　'Maybe　I　can　
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　morning。'　
Doctor　Copeland　dressed　hurriedly　and　joined　Portia　in　the　
hall。　They　went　out　into　the　cool；　blue　autumn　morning。　The　
men　at　the　jail　were　rude　to　them　and　they　were　able　to　find　
out　very　little。　Doctor　Copeland　then　went　to　consult　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　convicted　of　
assault　with　a　deadly　weapon。　He　was　sentenced　to　nine　
months　of　hard　labor　and　sent　immediately　to　a　prison　in　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　morning　
he　drove　off　in　the　automobile；　and　then　at　eleven　o'clock　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　sick　and　
patient　Negroes　who　waited　for　him；　and　sometimes　even　the　
front　porch　and　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