The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [129]
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 endanger this amicable relationship already established. Then by gradual means a better condition will come about.’
Jake turned from one to the other. ‘I don’t 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 knowed where my f-feets are now and could drink a glass of gin ever night I wouldn’t mind so much.’
‘Don’t 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 don’t 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 Portia’s 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 Portia’s father is a doctor?’
‘Yes, sir. Yes, indeed. A skilled doctor.’
‘What’s 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 can’t 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. ‘Where’s Singer?’ he asked Portia thickly.
The music stopped. ‘Why, Mr. Blount, I thought you knowed he was gone. While you were sitting at the table with your peach puff he come to the doorway and held out his watch to show it were time for him to go. You looked straight at him and shaken your head. I thought you knowed 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 didn’t come to ask you to do anything.
All I wanted--all I wanted was this. You and the other boys were to testify what