The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [140]
‘I do not know. Just leave me be, Daughter. Just let me sit here in peace a moment.’
‘O.K. But us got to get gone from here pretty soon.’ He would be silent. He would sit quietly and rock in the chair until the sense of order was in him once more. His head trembled and his backbone ached.
‘I certainly hope this,’ Portia said. ‘I certainly hope that when I dead and gone as many peoples grieves for me as grieves for Mr. Singer. I sure would like to know I were going to have as sad a funeral as he had and as many peoples--’
‘Hush!’ said Doctor Copeland roughly. ‘You talk too much.’
But truly with the death of that white man a dark sorrow had lain down in his heart. He had talked to him as to no other white man and had trusted him. And the mystery of his suicide had left him baffled and without support. There was neither beginning nor end to this sorrow. Nor understanding. Always he would return in his thoughts to this white man who was not insolent or scornful but who was just. And how can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind? But of all this he must not think. He must thrust it from him now.
For it was discipline he needed. During the past month the black, terrible feelings had arisen again to wrestle with his spirit. There was the hatred that for days had truly let him down into the regions of death. After the quarrel with Mr. Blount, the midnight visitor, there had been in him a murderous darkness. Yet now he could not clearly recall those issues which were the cause of their dispute. And then the different anger that came in him when he looked on the stumps of Willie’s legs. The warring love and hatred--love for his people and hatred for the oppressors of his people--that left him exhausted and sick in spirit ‘Daughter,’ he said. ‘Get me my watch and coat. I am going.’
He pushed himself up with the arms of the chair. The floor seemed a far way from his face and after the long time in bed his legs were very weak. For a moment he felt he would fall.
He walked dizzily across the bare room and stood leaning against the side of the doorway. He coughed and took from his pocket one of the squares of paper to hold over his mouth.
‘Here your coat,’ Portia said. ‘But it so hot outside you not going to need it.’
He walked for the last time through the empty house. The blinds were closed and in the darkened rooms there was the smell of dust. He rested against the wall of the vestibule and then went outside. The morning was bright and warm. Many friends had come to say goodbye the night before and in the very early morning--but now only the family was congregated on the porch. The wagon and the automobile were parked out in the street. ‘Well, Benedict Mady,’ the old man said. ‘I reckon yoa ghy be a little bit homesick these first few days. But won’t be long.’
‘I do not have any home. So why should I be homesick? Portia wet her lips nervously and said: ‘He coming back whenever he get good and ready. Buddy will be glad to ride him to town in the car. Buddy just love to drive.’ The automobile was loaded. Boxes of books were tied to the running-board. The back seat was crowded with two chairs and the filing case. His office desk, legs in the air, had been fastened to the top. But although the car was weighted down the wagon was almost empty. The mule stood patiently, a brick tied to his reins. ‘Karl Marx,’ Doctor Copeland said. ‘Look sharp. Go over the house and make sure that nothing is left. Bring the cup I left on the floor and my rocking-chair.’
‘Less us get started. I anxious to be home by dinnertime, ‘ Hamilton said. At last they were ready. Highboy cranked the automobile. Karl Marx sat at the wheel and Portia, Highboy, and William were crowded together on the back seat. ‘Father, suppose you set on Highboy’s lap. I believe you be more comfortable than scrouged up here with us and all this furniture.’
‘No, it is too crowded. I would rather ride in the wagon.’
‘But you not used to the wagon,’ Karl Marx said. ‘It going to be very bumpy and the trip liable to take all day.