Halsey: These aint th days of hounds an Uncle Tom’s Cabin, feller.
White folks aint in fer all them theatrics these days. Theys more
direct than that. If what they wanted was t get y, theyd have just
marched right in an took y where y sat. Somebodys down by th branch
chasin rabbits an atreein possums.
A shot is heard.
Halsey: Got him, I reckon. Saw Tom goin out with his gun. Tom’s pretty
lucky most times.
He goes to the bureau and lights the lamp. The circular fringe is
patterned on the ceiling. The moving shadows of the men are huge
against the bare wall boards. Halsey walks up to Kabnis, takes the
poker from his grip, and without more ado pushes him into a chair
before the dark hearth.
Halsey: Youre a mess. Here, Layman. Get some trash an start a fire.
Layman fumbles around, finds some newspapers and old bags, puts them
in the hearth, arranges the wood, and kindles the fire. Halsey sets a
black iron kettle where it soon will be boiling. Then takes from his
hip-pocket a bottle of corn licker which he passes to Kabnis.
Halsey: Here. This’ll straighten y out a bit.
Kabnis nervously draws the cork and gulps the licker down.
Kabnis: Ha. Good stuff. Thanks. Thank y, Halsey.
Halsey: Good stuff! Youre damn right. Hanby there dont think so. Wonder
he doesnt come over t find out whos burnin his oil. Miserly bastard,
him. Th boys what made this stuff—are y listenin t me, Kabnis? th boys
what made this stuff have got th art down like I heard you say youd
like t be with words. Eh? Have some, Layman?
Layman: Dont think I care for none, thank y jes th same, Mr. Halsey.
Halsey: Care hell. Course y care. Everybody cares around these parts.
Preachers an school teachers an everybody. Here. Here, take it. Dont
try that line on me.
Layman limbers up a little, but he cannot quite forget that he is on
school ground.
Layman: Thats right. Thats true, sho. Shinin is th only business what
pays in these hard times.
He takes a nip, and passes the bottle to Kabnis. Kabnis is in the
middle of a long swig when a rap sounds on the door. He almost
spills the bottle, but manages to pass it to Halsey just as the door
swings open and Hanby enters. He is a well-dressed, smooth, rich,
black-skinned Negro who thinks there is no one quite so suave and
polished as himself. To members of his own race, he affects the manners
of a wealthy white planter. Or, when he is up North, he lets it be
known that his ideas are those of the best New England tradition. To
white men he bows, without ever completely humbling himself. Tradesmen
in the town tolerate him because he spends his money with them. He
delivers his words with a full consciousness of his moral superiority.
Hanby: Hum. Erer, Professor Kabnis, to come straight to the point: the
progress of the Negro race is jeopardized whenever the personal habits
and examples set by its guides and mentors fall below the acknowledged
and hard-won standard of its average member. This institution, of which
I am the humble president, was founded, and has been maintained at a
cost of great labor and untold sacrifice. Its purpose is to teach our
youth to live better, cleaner, more noble lives. To prove to the world
that the Negro race can be just like any other race. It hopes to attain
this aim partly by the salutary examples set by its instructors. I
cannot hinder the progress of a race simply to indulge a single member.
I have thought the matter out beforehand, I can assure you. Therefore,
if I find your resignation on my desk by to-morrow morning, Mr. Kabnis,
I shall not feel obliged to call in the sheriff. Otherwise...”
Kabnis: A fellow can take a drink in his own room if he wants to, in
the privacy of his own room.
Hanby: His room, but not the institution’s room, Mr. Kabnis.
Kabnis: This is my room while I’m in it.
Hanby: Mr. Clayborn (the sheriff) can inform you as to that.
Kabnis: Oh, well, what do I care—glad to get out of this mud-hole.
Hanby: I should think so from your looks.
Kabnis: You neednt get sarcastic about it.
Hanby: No, that is true. And I neednt wait for your resignation either,
Mr. Kabnis.
Kabnis: Oh, you’ll get that all right. Dont worry.
Hanby: And I should like to have the room thoroughly aired and cleaned
and ready for your successor by to-morrow noon, Professor.
Kabnis (trying to rise): You can have your godam room right away. I
dont want it.
Hanby: But I wont have your cursing.
Halsey pushes Kabnis back into his chair.
Halsey: Sit down, Kabnis, till I wash y.
Hanby (to Halsey): I would rather not have drinking men on the
premises, Mr. Halsey. You will oblige me—
Halsey: I’ll oblige you by stayin right on this spot, this spot, get
me? till I get damned ready t leave.
He approaches Hanby. Hanby retreats, but manages to hold his dignity.
Halsey: Let me get you told right now, Mr. Samuel Hanby. Now listen t
me. I aint no slick an span slave youve hired, an dont y think it for
a minute. Youve bullied enough about this town. An besides, wheres
that bill youve been owin me? Listen t me. If I dont get it paid in by
tmorrer noon, Mr. Hanby (he mockingly assumes Hanby’s tone and manner),
I shall feel obliged t call th sheriff. An that sheriff’ll be myself
who’ll catch y in th road an pull y out your buggy an rightly attend t
y. You heard me. Now leave him alone. I’m takin him home with me. I got
it fixed. Before you came in. He’s goin t work with me. Shapin shafts
and buildin wagons’ll make a man of him what nobody, y get me? what
nobody can take advantage of. Thats all...
Halsey burrs off into vague and incoherent comment.
Pause. Disagreeable.
Layman’s eyes are glazed on the spurting fire.
Kabnis wants to rise and put both Halsey and Hanby in their places.
He vaguely knows that he must do this, else the power of direction
will completely slip from him to those outside. The conviction is just
strong enough to torture him. To bring a feverish, quick-passing flare
into his eyes. To mutter words soggy in hot saliva. To jerk his arms
upward in futile protest. Halsey, noticing his gestures, thinks it is
water that he desires. He brings a glass to him. Kabnis slings it to
the floor. Heat of the conviction dies. His arms crumple. His upper
lip, his mustache, quiver. Rap! rap, on the door. The sounds slap
Kabnis. They bring a hectic color to his cheeks. Like huge cold finger
tips they touch his skin and goose-flesh it. Hanby strikes a commanding
pose. He moves toward Layman. Layman’s face is innocently immobile.
Halsey: Whos there?
Voice: Lewis.
Halsey: Come in, Lewis. Come on in.
Lewis enters. He is the queer fellow who has been referred to. A tall
wiry copper-colored man, thirty perhaps. His mouth and eyes suggest
purpose guided by an adequate intelligence. He is what a stronger
Kabnis might have been, and in an odd faint way resembles him. As he
steps towards the others, he seems to be issuing sharply from a vivid
dream. Lewis shakes hands with Halsey. Nods perfunctorily to Hanby, who
has stiffened to meet him. Smiles rapidly at Layman, and settles with
real interest on Kabnis.
Lewis: Kabnis passed me on the road. Had a piece of business of my own,
and couldnt get here any sooner. Thought I might be able to help in
some way or other.
Halsey: A good baths bout all he needs now. An somethin t put his mind
t rest.
Lewis: I think I can give him that. That note was meant for me. Some
Negroes have grown uncomfortable at my being here—
Kabnis: You mean, Mr. Lewis, some colored folks threw it? Christ
Amighty!
Halsey: Thats what he means. An just as I told y. White folks more
direct than that.
Kabnis: What are they after you for?
Lewis: Its a long story, Kabnis. Too long for now. And it might involve
present company. (He laughs pleasantly and gestures vaguely in the
direction of Hanby.) Tell you about it later on perhaps.
Kabnis: Youre not going?
Lewis: Not till my month’s up.
Halsey: Hows that?
Lewis: I’m on a sort of contract with myself. (Is about to leave.)
Well, glad its nothing serious—
Halsey: Come round t th shop sometime why dont y, Lewis? I’ve asked y
enough. I’d like t have a talk with y. I aint as dumb as I look. Kabnis
an me’ll be in most any time. Not much work these days. Wish t hell
there was. This burg gets to me when there aint. (In answer to Lewis’
question.) He’s goin t work with me. Ya. Night air this side th branch
aint good fer him. (Looks at Hanby. Laughs.)
Lewis: I see...
His eyes turn to Kabnis. In the instant of their shifting, a vision of
the life they are to meet. Kabnis, a promise of a soil-soaked beauty;
uprooted, thinning out. Suspended a few feet above the soil whose
touch would resurrect him. Arm’s length removed from him whose will
to help... There is a swift intuitive interchange of consciousness.
Kabnis has a sudden need to rush into the arms of this man. His eyes
call, “Brother.” And then a savage, cynical twist-about within him
mocks his impulse and strengthens him to repulse Lewis. His lips curl
cruelly. His eyes laugh. They are glittering needles, stitching. With a
throbbing ache they draw Lewis to. Lewis brusquely wheels on Hanby.
Lewis: I’d like to see you, sir, a moment, if you dont mind.
Hanby’s tight collar and vest effectively preserve him.
Hanby: Yes, erer, Mr. Lewis. Right away.
Lewis: See you later, Halsey.
Halsey: So long—thanks—sho hope so, Lewis.
As he opens the door and Hanby passes out, a woman, miles down the
valley, begins to sing. Her song is a spark that travels swiftly to the
near-by cabins. Like purple tallow flames, songs jet up. They spread
a ruddy haze over the heavens. The haze swings low. Now the whole
countryside is a soft chorus. Lord. O Lord... Lewis closes the door
behind him. A flame jets out...
The kettle is boiling. Halsey notices it. He pulls the wash-tub from
beneath the bed. He arranges for the bath before the fire.
Halsey: Told y them theatrics didnt fit a white man. Th niggers, just
like I told y. An after him. Aint surprisin though. He aint bowed t
none of them. Nassur. T nairy a one of them nairy an inch nairy a time.
An only mixed when he was good an ready—
Kabnis: That song, Halsey, do you hear it?
Halsey: Thats a man. Hear me, Kabnis? A man—
Kabnis: Jesus, do you hear it.
Halsey: Hear it? Hear what? Course I hear it. Listen t what I’m tellin
y. A man, get me? They’ll get him yet if he dont watch out.
Kabnis is jolted into his fear.
Kabnis: Get him? What do you mean? How? Not lynch him?
Halsey: Na. Take a shotgun an shoot his eyes clear out. Well, anyway, it
wasnt fer you, just like I told y. You’ll stay over at th house an work
with me, eh, boy? Good t get away from his nobs, eh? Damn big stiff
though, him. An youre not th first an I can tell y. (Laughs.)
He bustles and fusses about Kabnis as if he were a child. Kabnis
submits, wearily. He has no will to resist him.
Layman (his voice is like a deep hollow echo): Thats right. Thats true,
sho. Everybody’s been expectin that th bust up was comin. Surprised um
all y held on as long as y did. Teachin in th South aint th thing fer
y. Nassur. You ought t be way back up North where sometimes I wish I
was. But I’ve hung on down this away so long—
Halsey: An there’ll never be no leavin time fer y.
4
A month has passed.
Halsey’s workshop. It is an old building just off the main street
of Sempter. The walls to within a few feet of the ground are of an
age-worn cement mixture. On the outside they are considerably crumbled
and peppered with what looks like musket-shot. Inside, the plaster has
fallen away in great chunks, leaving the laths, grayed and cobwebbed,
exposed. A sort of loft above the shop proper serves as a break-water
for the rain and sunshine which otherwise would have free entry to the
main floor. The shop is filled with old wheels and parts of wheels,
broken shafts, and wooden litter. A double door, midway the street
wall. To the left of this, a work-bench that holds a vise and a variety
of wood-work tools. A window with as many panes broken as whole, throws
light on the bench. Opposite, in the rear wall, a second window looks
out upon the back yard. In the left wall, a rickety smoke-blackened
chimney, and hearth with fire blazing. Smooth-worn chairs grouped about
the hearth suggest the village meeting-place. Several large wooden
blocks, chipped and cut and sawed on their upper surfaces are in the
middle of the floor. They are the supports used in almost any sort of
wagon-work. Their idleness means that Halsey has no worth-while job on
foot. To the right of the central door is a junk heap, and directly
behind this, stairs that lead down into the cellar. The cellar is known
as “The Hole.” Besides being the home of a very old man, it is used by
Halsey on those occasions when he spices up the life of the small town.
Halsey, wonderfully himself in his work overalls, stands in the doorway
and gazes up the street, expectantly. Then his eyes grow listless. He
slouches against the smooth-rubbed frame. He lights a cigarette. Shifts
his position. Braces an arm against the door. Kabnis passes the window
and stoops to get in under Halsey’s arm. He is awkward and ludicrous,
like a schoolboy in his big brother’s new overalls. He skirts the large
blocks on the floor, and drops into a chair before the fire. Halsey
saunters towards him.
Kabnis: Time f lunch.
Halsey: Ya.
He stands by the hearth, rocking backward and forward. He stretches his
hands out to the fire. He washes them in the warm glow of the flames.
They never get cold, but he warms them.
Kabnis: Saw Lewis up th street. Said he’d be down.
Halsey’s eyes brighten. He looks at Kabnis. Turns away. Says nothing.
Kabnis fidgets. Twists his thin blue cloth-covered limbs. Pulls closer
to the fire till the heat stings his shins. Pushes back. Pokes the
burned logs. Puts on several fresh ones. Fidgets. The town bell
strikes twelve.
Kabnis: Fix it up f tnight?
Halsey: Leave it t me.
Kabnis: Get Lewis in?
Halsey: Tryin t.
The air is heavy with the smell of pine and resin. Green logs spurt
and sizzle. Sap trickles from an old pine-knot into the flames. Layman
enters. He carries a lunch-pail. Kabnis, for the moment, thinks that he
is a day laborer.
Layman: Evenin, gen’lemun.
Both: Whats say, Layman.
Layman squares a chair to the fire and droops into it. Several town
fellows, silent unfathomable men for the most part, saunter in.
Overalls. Thick tan shoes. Felt hats marvelously shaped and twisted.
One asks Halsey for a cigarette. He gets it. The blacksmith, a
tremendous black man, comes in from the forge. Not even a nod from
him. He picks up an axle and goes out. Lewis enters. The town men look
curiously at him. Suspicion and an open liking contest for possession
of their faces. They are uncomfortable. One by one they drift into the
street.
Layman: Heard y was leavin, Mr. Lewis.
Kabnis: Months up, eh? Hell of a month I’ve got.
Halsey: Sorry y goin, Lewis. Just getting acquainted like.
Lewis: Sorry myself, Halsey, in a way—
Layman: Gettin t like our town, Mr. Lewis?
Lewis: I’m afraid its on a different basis, Professor.
Halsey: An I’ve yet t hear about that basis. Been waitin long enough,
God knows. Seems t me like youd take pity a feller if nothin more.
Kabnis: Somethin that old black cockroach over yonder doesnt like,
whatever it is.
Layman: Thats right. Thats right, sho.
Halsey: A feller dropped in here tother day an said he knew what you
was about. Said you had queer opinions. Well, I could have told him
you was a queer one, myself. But not th way he was driftin. Didnt mean
anything by it, but just let drop he thought you was a little wrong up
here—crazy, y’know. (Laughs.)
Kabnis: Y mean old Blodson? Hell, he’s bats himself.
Lewis: I remember him. We had a talk. But what he found queer, I think,
was not my opinions, but my lack of them. In half an hour he had
settled everything: boll weevils, God, the World War. Weevils and wars
are the pests that God sends against the sinful. People are too weak to
correct themselves: the Redeemer is coming back. Get ready, ye sinners,
for the advent of Our Lord. Interesting, eh, Kabnis? but not exactly
what we want.
Halsey: Y could have come t me. I’ve sho been after y enough. Most
every time I’ve seen y.
Kabnis (sarcastically): Hows it y never came t us professors?
Lewis: I did—to one.
Kabnis: Y mean t say y got somethin from that
celluloid-collar-eraser-cleaned old codger over in th mud hole?
Halsey: Rough on th old boy, aint he? (Laughs.)
Lewis: Something, yes. Layman here could have given me quite a deal,
but the incentive to his keeping quiet is so much greater than anything
I could have offered him to open up, that I crossed him off my mind.
And you—
Kabnis: What about me?
Halsey: Tell him, Lewis, for godsake tell him. I’ve told him. But its
somethin else he wants so bad I’ve heard him downstairs mumblin with th
old man.
Lewis: The old man?
Kabnis: What about me? Come on now, you know so much.
Halsey: Tell him, Lewis. Tell it t him.
Lewis: Life has already told him more than he is capable of knowing. It
has given him in excess of what he can receive. I have been offered.
Stuff in his stomach curdled, and he vomited me.
Kabnis’ face twitches. His body writhes.
Kabnis: You know a lot, you do. How about Halsey?
Lewis: Yes... Halsey? Fits here. Belongs here. An artist in your way,
arent you, Halsey?
Halsey: Reckon I am, Lewis. Give me th work and fair pay an I aint
askin nothin better. Went over-seas an saw France; an I come back. Been
up North; an I come back. Went t school; but there aint no books whats
got th feel t them of them there tools. Nassur. An I’m atellin y.
A shriveled, bony white man passes the window and enters the shop. He
carries a broken hatchet-handle and the severed head. He speaks with a
flat, drawn voice to Halsey, who comes forward to meet him.
Mr. Ramsay: Can y fix this fer me, Halsey?
Halsey (looking it over): Reckon so, Mr. Ramsay. Here, Kabnis. A little
practice fer y.
Halsey directs Kabnis, showing him how to place the handle in the vise,
and cut it down. The knife hangs. Kabnis thinks that it must be dull.
He jerks it hard. The tool goes deep and shaves too much off. Mr.
Ramsay smiles brokenly at him.
Mr. Ramsay (to Halsey): Still breakin in the new hand, eh, Halsey?
Seems like a likely enough faller once he gets th hang of it.
He gives a tight laugh at his own good humor. Kabnis burns red. The
back of his neck stings him beneath his collar. He feels stifled.
Through Ramsay, the whole white South weighs down upon him. The
pressure is terrific. He sweats under the arms. Chill beads run down
his body. His brows concentrate upon the handle as though his own life
was staked upon the perfect shaving of it. He begins to out and out
botch the job. Halsey smiles.
Halsey: He’ll make a good un some of these days, Mr. Ramsay.
Mr. Ramsay: Y ought t know. Yer daddy was a good un before y. Runs in
th family, seems like t me.
Halsey: Thats right, Mr. Ramsay.
Kabnis is hopeless. Halsey takes the handle from him. With a few deft
strokes he shaves it. Fits it. Gives it to Ramsay.
Mr. Ramsay: How much on this?
Halsey: No charge, Mr. Ramsay.
Mr. Ramsay (going out): All right, Halsey. Come down an take it out in
trade. Shoe-strings or something.
Halsey: Yassur, Mr. Ramsay.
Halsey rejoins Lewis and Layman. Kabnis, hangdog-fashion, follows him.
Halsey: They like y if y work fer them.
Layman: Thats right, Mr. Halsey. Thats right, sho.
The group is about to resume its talk when Hanby enters. He is all
energy, bustle, and business. He goes direct to Kabnis.
Hanby: An axle is out in the buggy which I would like to have shaped
into a crow-bar. You will see that it is fixed for me.
Without waiting for an answer, and knowing that Kabnis will follow, he
passes out. Kabnis, scowling, silent, trudges after him.
Hanby (from the outside): Have that ready for me by three o’clock,
young man. I shall call for it.
Kabnis (under his breath as he comes in): Th hell you say, you old
black swamp-gut.
He slings the axle on the floor.
Halsey: Wheeee!
Layman, lunch finished long ago, rises, heavily. He shakes hands with
Lewis.
Layman: Might not see y again befo y leave, Mr. Lewis. I enjoys t hear
y talk. Y might have been a preacher. Maybe a bishop some day. Sho do
hope t see y back this away again sometime, Mr. Lewis.
Lewis: Thanks, Professor. Hope I’ll see you.
Layman waves a long arm loosely to the others, and leaves. Kabnis goes
to the door. His eyes, sullen, gaze up the street.
Kabnis: Carrie K.’s comin with th lunch. Bout time.
She passes the window. Her red girl’s-cap, catching the sun, flashes
vividly. With a stiff, awkward little movement she crosses the
door-sill and gives Kabnis one of the two baskets which she is
carrying. There is a slight stoop to her shoulders. The curves of her
body blend with this to a soft rounded charm. Her gestures are stiffly
variant. Black bangs curl over the forehead of her oval-olive face.
Her expression is dazed, but on provocation it can melt into a wistful
smile. Adolescent. She is easily the sister of Fred Halsey.
Carrie K.: Mother says excuse her, brother Fred an Ralph, fer bein late.
Kabnis: Everythings all right an O.K., Carrie Kate. O.K. an all right.
The two men settle on their lunch. Carrie, with hardly a glance in the
direction of the hearth, as is her habit, is about to take the second
basket down to the old man, when Lewis rises. In doing so he draws
her unwitting attention. Their meeting is a swift sun-burst. Lewis
impulsively moves towards her. His mind flashes images of her life
in the southern town. He sees the nascent woman, her flesh already
stiffening to cartilage, drying to bone. Her spirit-bloom, even now
touched sullen, bitter. Her rich beauty fading... He wants to— He
stretches forth his hands to hers. He takes them. They feel like warm
cheeks against his palms. The sun-burst from her eyes floods up and
haloes him. Christ-eyes, his eyes look to her. Fearlessly she loves
into them. And then something happens. Her face blanches. Awkwardly
she draws away. The sin-bogies of respectable southern colored folks
clamor at her: “Look out! Be a _good_ girl. A _good_ girl. Look out!”
She gropes for her basket that has fallen to the floor. Finds it, and
marches with a rigid gravity to her task of feeding the old man. Like
the glowing white ash of burned paper, Lewis’ eyelids, wavering, settle
down. He stirs in the direction of the rear window. From the back yard,
mules tethered to odd trees and posts blink dumbly at him. They too
seem burdened with an impotent pain. Kabnis and Halsey are still busy
with their lunch. They havent noticed him. After a while he turns to
them.
Lewis: Your sister, Halsey, whats to become of her? What are you going
to do for her?
Halsey: Who? What? What am I goin t do?..
Lewis: What I mean is, what does she do down there?
Halsey: Oh. Feeds th old man. Had lunch, Lewis?
Lewis: Thanks, yes. You have never felt her, have you, Halsey? Well,
no, I guess not. I dont suppose you can. Nor can she... Old man?
Halsey, some one lives down there? I’ve never heard of him. Tell me—
Kabnis takes time from his meal to answer with some emphasis:
Kabnis: Theres lots of things you aint heard of.
Lewis: Dare say. I’d like to see him.
Kabnis: You’ll get all th chance you want tnight.
Halsey: Fixin a little somethin up fer tnight, Lewis. Th three of us an
some girls. Come round bout ten-thirty.
Lewis: Glad to. But what under the sun does he do down there?
Halsey: Ask Kabnis. He blows off t him every chance he gets.
Kabnis gives a grunting laugh. His mouth twists. Carrie returns from
the cellar. Avoiding Lewis, she speaks to her brother.
Carrie K.: Brother Fred, father hasnt eaten now goin on th second week,
but mumbles an talks funny, or tries t talk when I put his hands ont
th food. He frightens me, an I dunno what t do. An oh, I came near
fergettin, brother, but Mr. Marmon—he was eatin lunch when I saw
him—told me t tell y that th lumber wagon busted down an he wanted y t
fix it fer him. Said he reckoned he could get it t y after he ate.
Halsey chucks a half-eaten sandwich in the fire. Gets up. Arranges his
blocks. Goes to the door and looks anxiously up the street. The wind
whirls a small spiral in the gray dust road.
Halsey: Why didnt y tell me sooner, little sister?
Carrie K.: I fergot t, an just remembered it now, brother.