The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [78]
Environment fair with one exception and well worth watching and all possible help. Keep contact. Fee: $1 (?)’
‘It is a difficult decision to make this year,’ he said to Portia.
‘But I suppose I will have to confer the award on Lancy Davis.’
‘If you done decide, then--come tell me about some of these here presents.’
The gifts to be distributed at the party were in the kitchen.
There were paper sacks of groceries and clothing, all marked with a red Christmas card. Anyone who cared to come was invited to the party, but those who meant to attend had stopped by the house and written (or had asked a friend to write) their names in a guest book kept on the table in the hall for that purpose. The sacks were piled on the floor. There were about forty of them, each one depending in size on the need of the receiver. Some gifts were only small packages of nuts or raisins and others were boxes almost too heavy for a man to lift The kitchen was crowded with good things. Doctor Copeland stood in the doorway and his nostrils quivered with pride.
I think you done right well this year. Folks certainly have been kindly.’
‘Pshaw!’ he said. This is not a hundredth part of what is needed.’
‘Now, there you go, Father! I know good and well you just as pleased as you can be. But you don’t want to show it.
You got to find something to grumble about. Here we haves about four pecks of peas, twenty sacks of meal about fifteen pounds of side meat, mullet, six dozen eggs, plenty grits, jars of tomatoes and peaches. Apples and two dozen oranges. Also garments. And two mattresses and four blankets. I call this something!’
‘A drop in the bucket.’
Portia pointed to a large box in the corner. These here--what you intend to do with them?’
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.