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！
He caught the itch。 He mixed some sulphur 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。 He had been sitting alone for many hours。 He 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 don't…knows。 Suddenly he bawled out in a loud
voice： 〃This is the truth！ You bastards don't know anything。
You don't know。 You don't know！1
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！ You'll be a sight dumber when we get thu with
you。'
'How many out there？' Jake roared。 He banged an
empty bottle on the windowsill。 'Come on； everybody。 Come
one； come all。 I'll 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 Singer's room。 He sprawled on the floor 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 Negro's 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。 He
said that the Day of Judgment would be October 2； 1951。 He
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 budge。 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 begun246
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 Singer's 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
Singer's door was open。 The room was empty。 He sat alone for
more than two hours。 At last he heard Singer's 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 deliberately 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 don't 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！' he said again。
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。
'
13
247
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。 The glow from the stove was the only light in the
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。 'That's
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； don't 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 inquire248
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。 And these here
over by the stove 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 feets is still
hurting。 I got this here terrible misery down in my toes。 Yet
the hurt in my feets is down where my feets should be if they
were on my 1…1…legs。 And not where my feets is now。 It a hard
thing to understand。 My feets hurt me so bad all the time and
I
don't know where they is。 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 don't remember—
very good。
'
'Course you remember； Honey。 You done already told us over
and over。
'
'Well' The boy's voice was timid and sullen。 *Us
were all out on the road and this here Buster say something to
the guard。 The w…white man taken a stick to him。 Then this
other boy he tries to run off。 And I follow him。 It all come
about so quick I don't remember good just how it were。 Then
they taken 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 seem to me like you meaning to get
me into trouble。
'
Trouble！' Jake said rudely。 〃What in the name of Christ do you
think you'