The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [124]
Jake stared at her dazedly. ‘I don’t know.’
Lancy glanced sullenly at Jake and pulled down the cuffs of his outgrown shirt. ‘Give the Doctor my family’s regards.’
‘Us certainly do appreciate this,’ Portia said. ‘Father was speaking of you just the other day. He haves a book he wants to give you. Wait just one minute while I get it and rinse out this plate to return to your Mother. This were certainly a kindly thing for her to do.’
Marshall Nicolls leaned toward Jake and seemed about to speak to him. The old man wore a pair of pin-striped trousers and a morning coat with a flower in the buttonhole. He cleared his throat and said: ‘Pardon me, sir--but unavoidably we overheard a part of your conversation with William regarding the trouble he is now in. Inevitably we have considered what is the best course to take.’
‘You one of his relatives or the preacher in his church?’
‘No, I am a pharmacist. And John Roberts on your left is employed in the postal department of the government.’
‘A postman,’ repeated John Roberts.
‘With your permission--’ Marshall Nicolls took a yellow silk handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly blew his nose. ‘Naturally we have discussed this matter extensively.’
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.