按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
Portia got up and started toward the front door。 Willie and
Highboy followed quickly。 Doctor Copeland was the last to
come。
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 can't stand
77
this here fighting between 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 can'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 and
empty。 He stayed on the。 front porch until he could neither 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 come to him。
He wanted to remove Hamilton and Karl Marx and William
from his mind。 Each word that Portia had said to him came
back in 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
Benedict 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 man's face
when he smiled behind the yellow match flame on that rainy
night—and peace was in him。
B
Y 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 dinner at the New
York Cafe he bathed and dressed himself in78
79
one 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 welcome smile。
Mick loved to go up to Mister Singer's room。 Even if he was a
deaf…and…dumb mute he understood 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
new things 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 electric fan he acted in such a
kindly way that she was not embarrassed at all。 Except for her
Dad； Mister Singer was the nicest man she knew。
When Doctor Copeland wrote the note to John Singer about
Augustus Benedict Mady Lewis there was a polite reply and
an invitation for him to make a call when he found the
opportunity。 Doctor Copeland went to the back of the house
and sat with Portia awhile in the kitchen。 Then he climbed the
stairs to the white man's room。 There was truly none of the
quiet insolence about this man。 They had a lemonade together
and the mute wrote down the answer to the questions he
wished to know。 This man was different from any person of
the white race whom Doctor Copeland had ever encountered。
Afterward he pondered about this white man a long time。
Then later； inasmuch as he had been invited in a cordial
manner to return； he made another visit。
Jake Blount came every week。 When he walked up to Singer's
room the whole stairway shook。 Usually he car…A ried a
paper sack of beers。 Often his voice would come out y loud
and angry from the room。 But before he left his voice
gradually quieted。 When he descended 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 mute's room one night。 But as
he could never stay away from the restaurant for long； he left
in a half…hour。
Singer was always the same to everyone。 He sat in a
straight chair by the window with his hands stuffed tight into
his pockets； and nodded or smiled to show his guests that he
understood。
If he did not have a visitor in the evening； Singer went to a
late movie。 He liked to sit back and watch the actors talking
and walking about on the screen。 He never looked at the title
of a picture before going into a movie； and no matter what was
showing he watched each scene with equal interest。
Then； one day in July； Singer suddenly went away without
warning。 He left the door of his room open； and on the table in
an envelope adddessed to Mrs。 Kelly there were four dollars
for the past week's rent。 His few simple possessions were gone
and the room was very clean 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 in the town where
Antonapoulos was being kept in the asylum。 For months he
had planned this trip and imagined about each moment 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 changed 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 beneath all the tissue papers
in the boxes very carefully。 When he saw that nothing good to
eat had been concealed 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 slapjack in a
corner。 They did not notice Singer or Antonapoulos； and the
two friends sat alone on the other side of the room。
It seemed to Singer that years had passed since they had been
together。 There was so much to say that his80
hands 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 quick in him again that he
could not control himself。
Antonapoulos kept his dark； oily eyes on his friend and did
not move。 His hands fumbled languidly with the crotch of his
trousers。 Singer told him； among other things； about the
visitors who had been coming 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 come。 He drew
quick sketches of Jake Blount and Mick and Doctor Copeland。
Then as soon as he saw mat Antonapoulos was not interested
Singer crumpled the sketches and forgot about them。 When
the attendant came in to say that their time was up； Singer had
not finished half of the things he wanted to 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 second 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 advance。 They drove out into
the country 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
wanted to use force。 Antonapoulos sat stolidly and made
obscene 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 Singer threw the
unopened bottle out of the window Antonapoulos wept with
disappointment and offense。 The end of their little excursion
made Singer very sad。
His next visit was the last one； for his two weeks' vacation
was almost over。 Antonapoulos had forgotten