The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [81]
The box contained nothing but junk--a headless doll, some duty lace, a rabbit skin. Doctor Copeland scrutinized each article. ‘Do not throw them away. There is use for everything.
These are the gifts from our guests who have nothing better to contribute. I will find some purpose for them later.’
‘Then suppose you look over these here boxes and sacks so I can commence to tie them up. There ain’t going to be room here in the kitchen. Time they all pile in for the refreshments.
I just going to put these here presents out on the back steps and in the yard.’
The morning sun had risen. The day would be bright and cold.
In the kitchen there were rich, sweet odors. A dishpan of coffee was on the stove and iced cakes filled a shelf in the cupboard.
‘And none of this comes from white people. All from colored.’
‘No,’ said Doctor Copeland. ‘That is not wholly true. Mr.
Singer contributed a check for twelve dollars to be used for coal. And I have invited him to be present today.’
‘Holy Jesus!’ Portia said. ‘Twelve dollars!’
‘I felt that it was proper to ask him. He is not like other people of the Caucasian race.’
‘You right,’ Portia said. ‘But I keep thinking about my Willie. I sure do wish he could enjoy this here party today. And I sure do wish I could get a letter from him. It just prey on my mind.
But here! Us got to quit this here talking and get ready. It mighty near time for the party to come.’
Time enough remained. Doctor Copeland washed and clothed himself carefully. For a while he tried to rehearse what he would say when the people had all come. But expectation and restlessness would not let him concentrate. Then at ten o’clock the first guests arrived and within half an hour they were all assembled.
‘Joyful Christmas to you!’ said John Roberts, the postman. He moved happily about the crowded room, one shoulder held higher than the other, mopping his face with a white silk handkerchief.
‘Many happy returns of the day!’ The front of the house was thronged. Guests were blocked at the door and they formed groups on the front porch and in the yard. There was no pushing or rudeness; the turmoil was orderly. Friends called out to each other and strangers were introduced and clasped hands. Children and young people clotted together and moved back toward the kitchen. ‘Christmas gift!’ Doctor Copeland stood in the center of the front room by the tree. He was dizzy. He shook hands and answered salutations with confusion. Personal gifts, some tied elaborately with ribbons and others wrapped in newspapers, were thrust into his hands. He could find no place to put them. The air thickened and voices grew louder. Faces whirled about him so that he could recognize no one. His composure returned to him gradually. He found space to lay aside the presents in his arms. The dizziness lessened, the room cleared. He settled his spectacles and began to look around him.
‘Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!’ There was Marshall Nicolls, the pharmacist, in a long-tailed coat, conversing with his son-in-law who worked on a garbage truck. The preacher from the Most Holy Ascension Church had come. And two deacons from other churches. Highboy, wearing a loud checked suit, moved sociably through the crowd. Husky young dandies bowed to young women in long, bright-colored dresses. There were mothers with children and deliberate old men who spat into gaudy handkerchiefs. The room was warm and noisy.
Mr. Singer stood in the doorway. Many people stared at him.
Doctor Copeland could not remember if he had welcomed him or not. The mute stood by himself. His face resembled somewhat a picture of Spinoza. A Jewish face. It was good to see him.
The doors and the windows were open. Draughts blew through the room so that the fire roared. The noises quieted.
The seats were all filled and the young people sat in rows on the floor. The hall, the porch, even the yard were crowded with silent guests. The time had come for him to speak--and what was he to say? Panic tightened his throat. The room waited. At a sign from John Roberts all sounds were