FIFTEEN men sat around a table in an office on Lee Street. There was
above them a single electric-light bulb, fly-specked, without a
shade over it. At eleven o'clock they had silently crept up the
stairs after looking cautiously up and down the deserted expanse of
Lee Street to see if they were observed. Like some silent, creeping,
wolf-like denizen of the forest, each had stolen as noiselessly as
possible up the stairs. The window carefully covered, no ray of
light could be seen from the outside. Though unsigned, the
mysterious note each of the fifteen had received that morning had
brought them all together promptly.
A fat man, with tiny eyes set close together, looking from amazing
convolutions of flesh which gave him the appearance of a
Poland-China hog just before slaughtering-time, was giving
instructions to the men as they eagerly and closely followed his
words. He occasionally emphasized his points by pounding softly on
the pine table before him with large, over-sized fists covered
profusely with red hair. He was clad in a nondescript pair of
trousers, a reddish faded colour from much wear and the red dust of
his native hills, a shirt open at the neck and of the same colour as
the trousers, the speaker's neck innocent of collar and tie. He was
ending his instructions:
"… Now you-all mus' r'member all I said. You mus'n' fail! When the
accident happens"—here he laughed softly as he emphasized the word
"accident," and was rewarded by an appreciative titter from his
audience "when the accident happens, you ain't t'breathe a word to
anybody ‘bout it! Even th' others here to-night!"
He paused impressively and allowed his eyes slowly to traverse the
group, resting upon each man in turn a penetrating, malevolent
stare. Measuring his words carefully, he spat them out like bullets
from a Browning gun.
"Th' mos'—important—thing—you got to r'member is this! You're not—to
repo't—back to me or any off'cer—of the Invis'ble Empire!" He paused
again. "After—the "accident"—happens!" he added.
"I reck'n that's all you need to know," he said in dismissal. "He
came back t'night from Atlanty! We've got the newspaper fixed! Ef
any of you is arrested, I don't reck'n She'ff Parker'll hol' you
long!" he concluded with a confident laugh in which his companion
joined. …
Though there was none to hear or see, they dispersed with silent and
cautious movements and voices. They crept down the unlighted stairs,
hands extended, fingers touching the walls on either side to aid
them in making as little noise as possible. As the foremost reached
the landing at the botton, he drew back sharply as he was about to
step into the street.
"Sh-h-h-h!" he cautioned the others behind him. "Somebody's comin'
lickety-split down the road in a Ford!"
They all waited with bated breath. The leader peered forth
cautiously to see who it was stirring about at that time of night.
The others waited, poised on the stairs above him.
Lee Street was bathed alternately in moonlight and shadow as a
vagrant moon wove its way in front of and behind small patches of
clouds. The clattering car approached—came abreast the doorway—and
passed rapidly by
"It's that damn nigger himself!" he exclaimed to the men behind him.
"What'n th'hell's he doin' out this time of night ‘round here? An'
headed towards Georgy Avenue, too! It's damn funny!"
There was an outburst of excited whispering. Various speculative
surmises were offered. None was able to offer a sensible reason for
Kenneth's nocturnal pilgrimage. One proposed that Kenneth be
followed to see where he went and why he went there. Afar off could
be heard the puttering of the engine. And then it stopped.
"Ain't gone far," one of them declared. They set out to trail the
automobile. Before they had gone two blocks, they saw Kenneth down
the street as he tinkered with the engine of the car, the hood
raised. One of the wires connecting with a sparkplug had become
loosened. He quickly screwed it tight again, started the engine, and
drove off, as he was closely watched from the shadows of trees and
fences by his trailers. They pushed forward to keep as close as they
could, hoping to be guided by the sound of the engine.
He drove but a few yards more and then drew up and stopped in front
of Roy Ewing's house. Getting out, he took his bag from the floor of
the car and entered the house quickly as the door opened to admit
him.
There was another short session of excited whispering among the
watchers.
"What'n the hell's he goin' to Roy Ewing's house for?" one of them
demanded. "Roy Ewing went t'Atlanty this mornin' on important
business! Heard him tell George Baird down t' the bank to-day he was
goin'!"
"Th' damn sneaky bastard!" another one declared venomously. "I
thought he was mighty slick, but didn't know he was foolin' ‘round
with a woman like Roy Ewing's wife! I allus said these niggers who
went to France an' ran with those damn French-women'd try some of
that same stuff when they came back! Ol' Vardaman was right! Ought
never t' have let niggers in th'army anyhow!"
And so it went. They had caught the "slick nigger" with the goods on
him! They talked eagerly among themselves in subdued tones as to
what would be the best course to pursue. Some were all for rushing
into the house and catching them together. None of them entertained
the opinion that Kenneth could have gone to Roy Ewing's house with
Roy Ewing out of town for any other purpose than for sexual
adventure. Their convictions were strengthened when the light in the
lower hall which had been shining when the door was opened to admit
Kenneth was extinguished, and another appeared in a few minutes in
the bedroom on the second floor which faced on the streets, and the
shades lowered. …
The fat man who had been speaking in the office on Lee Street a few
minutes before abruptly ended the conjecturing.
"‘Tain't no use t' stand here all night talkin?!" he asserted.
"We'll jus' stay here and see what's goin' t' happen! Looks damn
funny t' me! Tom! You ‘n' Sam ‘n' Jake go ‘roun to th' back do' an'
watch there! Bill! You ‘n' Joe ‘n' Henry watch that side do'! Me ‘n'
the res'll stay here and watch th' front do'! Then, when he sneaks
out, we'll get him any way he comes!" …
Within the house, Kenneth, all unaware of what was going on outside,
was listening to Mrs. Ewing as she excitedly told him of Mary's
change for the worse, and as she explained her husband's absence.
She was so worried over her daughter's condition that Kenneth
realized she would never be able to solve the mystery of her words
over the telephone until he had done what he could for Mary. He
therefore asked no questions but followed her up the stairs to
Mary's room, although his brain was whirling, it seemed to him, like
the blades of an electric fan.
Mary Ewing was in a worse condition than even her mother knew. This
Kenneth realized as soon as he looked into her flushed face and
measured her pulse and temperature. He questioned Mrs. Ewing as to
her daughter's diet. The cause of her relapse became clear to him
when she told him with a naïve innocence that since Mary had begged
so hard that day for something to eat, she had, with Dr. Bennett's
consent, given her a glass of milk and a small piece of fried
chicken. Kenneth set to work. He knew it was useless to berate the
mother for disregarding his express orders that Mary should be given
no solid food for at least ten days. He knew that Dr. Bennett's word
counted more than his. This in spite of the fact that Dr. Bennett
had done nothing but the ordinary measuring-out of pills and
panaceas which he had been taught almost half a century ago in a
third or fourth-rate Southern medical school. Dr. Bennett knew
medicine no later than that of the early eighties. But Dr. Bennett
was a white man—he a Negro!
As he laboured, he suffered again the agony of those hours he had
spent on the floor in his reception room earlier that night. It
brought to life again his bitterness. His skin was black! Therefore,
though he had studied in the best medical school in America, though
he had been an interne for one whole year in the city hospital at
New York, though he had had army experience, though he had spent
some time in study in the best university in France, and, save in
pre-war Germany, the best medical school in Europe, his word and his
medical knowledge and skill were inferior to that of an ignorant,
lazy country doctor in Georgia! When, oh, when, he thought, will
Americans get sense enough to know that the colour of a man's skin
has nothing whatever to do with that man's ability or brain?
A fleeting, devilish temptation assailed him. He tried to put it
from him. He succeeded for a time. And then back it came, leering
loathsomely, grinning in impudent, demoniac fashion at him! Here,
lying helpless before him, was a representative of that race which
had done irreparable, irremedial harm to him and his. Why not let
her serve as a vicarious sacrifice for that race? It wouldn't be
murder! He did not need to do anything other than hold back the
simple things needed to save her life. No one would ever know. He'd
tell the Ewings that they had killed their own daughter by giving
food she should not have had. Old Bennett didn't know enough to
detect that he, Kenneth Harper, a Negro, a "damned nigger," had
failed to do the things he could have done.
The thought charmed him. He toyed with it in his mind. He examined
it from every possible angle. Yes, by God! He'd do it! It'd serve
the Ewings right! The punishment would be just what they deserved!
It would be a double one. They'd lose their daughter. And they'd be
eaten up with remorse the rest of their days because by disobeying
his orders in giving food to Mary Ewing they themselves, her
parents, had killed her! Murderers!
That's what they'd be! Like all the rest of their stinking brood!
He pictured the scene in which he'd play the leading rôle on the
following day. The pleasurable tingle this thought brought him
caused a hard smile to come to his lips. Mary'd be lying downstairs
in the parlour in her coffin. Roy Ewing and his damned, snivelling
wife would be howling and crying and mourning upstairs. He, Kenneth
Harper, a Negro, a "damned nigger," would be standing triumphantly
over them, castigating and flaying their very souls with his biting
words of denunciation! Tongue in cheek, he'd rage! He'd tell them
they were fools, villains, murderers, child-killers!
The words he'd use sprang to his mind. "You murdered Mary
yourselves!" he'd say. "Didn't I tell you not to give her any food
for ten days?" he'd demand. And then they'd shiveringly admit that
he had told them those very words. "But, no," he'd go on, "you
wouldn't listen to a ‘damned nigger's' word! Old Bennett, who
doesn't know as much about medicine as a horse-doctor—probably
less—he's got a white skin! And mine's black! Therefore—" his
sarcasm would be great right there as he bowed in mock
humility—"_therefore_ you listened to him instead of me! And, doing
so"—here another low bow—"you killed your own daughter!" Here his
voice would rise in violent denunciation: "You're murderers! Yes,
that's what you are! You're murderers! _You've murdered your own
daughter! And I'm glad of it! I wish every one of you and your dirty
breed lay in the coffin with her! You, who think you're God's own
pet little race! You, who think that all the wisdom in the world is_
_wrapped in your dirty little carcasses! And all the virtue! And all
the brains! Everything! Everything! EVERYTHING!"_
Oh, yes, he'd finish with infinite scorn: _"And you've got nothing!
Nothing! NOTHING! Nothing but lies and deceit and conceit and
filthy, empty pride!"_
Lord, but he'd be magnificent! Booth and Tree and Barrymore and all
the rest of the actors they called great, rolled into one, couldn't
equal his scorn, his raising and lowering of voice, his tremendous
climax! And then he'd walk magnificently from the room, leaving them
huddled there like whipped curs!
His maniacal exultation swept him on and on. He had stopped
ministering to the sick girl on the bed before him. He leaned back
with a terrible leer on his face as he watched the half-unconscious
form before him struggling in her pain. The strain of the horrible
day which had started out so radiantly and optimistically had been
too much for him. He gloried in the kindly fate that had delivered
so opportunely into his hands one who should serve as a vicarious
victim for those who had struck him mortal blows without cause. He
felt that Bob, whatever he was, was smiling even now in approval of
his actions. …
The minutes sped by. Half past twelve! One o'clock! Half past one!
Mrs. Ewing sat anxiously by the bed, not daring to speak. She had
misinterpreted Kenneth's smile. It had frightened her a little. It's
because he'd been through so much to-day, she thought. I'll turn
down the light so it won't be too great a glare. She did. It never
occurred to her that Kenneth's smile could mean anything other than
that he was gaining ground in his fight for her little girl's life.
…
Outside, the fifteen waited. … Minutes, hours passed. It grew cold.
The strain was getting irksome. They watched the room where shone
only a faint light now. They pictured what was going on in that
room. It made their blood boil and grow cold alternately. Two
o'clock! They began to grumble. "Le's go in an' get the damn nigger
and roast him alive!" some demanded. "We can't do that!" the fat man
declared. "The damned bitch'll yell and wake up the neighbours! She,
a _white_ woman, with her nigger lover! Can't let it get out she
consented! We'll get him outside an' say he was unsuccessful in
th'attempt!"… With that they had to be satisfied. They grumbled, but
they knew he was right. Can't let the niggers know a white woman
willingly went to bed with a nigger! … That'd never do! Must
preserve the reputation of white women! …
Kenneth still sat by Mary's bed. His eyelids felt heavy. It was hard
to keep them open. Revenge began to lose its savour. Wasn't so sweet
as it had seemed. What's the use, he thought, of telling what he had
planned to the Ewings? They wouldn't understand. They'd never seen
great actors on the stage. All they'd seen was mushy movie actors
and silly women. Like casting pearls before swine! They'd never
appreciate the wonder of his acting! No, not acting. Irony. Sarcasm.
Vials of wrath. Beakers of gall.
Why does the air seem so heavy? Can't keep eyes open. Feel like
bathing in chloroform.
Kenneth awakened suddenly from his stupor. Mary was coughing
horribly—gasping—strangling. Her mother cried out sharply. Kenneth
rapidly regained his senses. God! That had been an awful dream.
Feverishly he worked. He called to his aid every artifice known to
him. Valiantly, eagerly, desperately he toiled. Mary had been almost
gone. After what seemed hours, she began to recover the ground she
had lost while Kenneth gloated over his fancied revenge. My God!
Just think I was about to let her die! May the Lord forgive me! …
At last she passed the danger point. She sank into a deep slumber.
She was safe!
Kenneth, wearied beyond measure, rose and stupidly, weariedly, made
preparations to go home.
Mrs. Ewing stopped him.
"You haven't asked me to tell you why Mr. Ewing went to Atlanta,"
she said.
Dully he asked why he had gone away with his daughter in such a
critical condition, what she had meant by her cryptic remarks over
the telephone. She spoke gladly.
"I couldn't tell you over the telephone," she explained. "If anyone
had been listening, it would have been bad for all of us. He went to
Atlanta this morning—it's yestiddy morning, now—to do two things.
First, to warn you not to come back to Central City until things has
blown over, because he'd heard threats against you. And most of all
to see the Gov'nor!"
"See the Governor for what?" Kenneth asked.
"Why, to get him to do somethin' to protect you!" she cried as
though amazed at his ignorance in not seeing.
"Protect me?" Kenneth echoed with a rising, questioning inflection.
"Yes, to protect you. Y' see, he knew She'ff Parker couldn't be
depended on 'cause he's in with this gang 'round here. He knew the
only chance was through the Guy'nor."
"But why should _I_ need protection now?" Kenneth asked wonderingly.
"Good God, haven't these devils done enough to my family and me
already?"
She explained patiently as though talking to a child. Neither of
them realized the unusualness of their situation. Both had forgotten
race lines, time, circumstances, and everything else in the
tenseness of the moment.
_"B'cause the Ku Kluxers are after you!"_ she whispered.
"Why should they be after me? I've done nothing! My Lord, I've tried
in every way I could since I've been back in this rotten place to
keep away from trouble⸺" he declared querulously.
"Wait a minute an' I'll tell you!" she interrupted him. She took his
arm and led him into the next room where they would not disturb
Mary. "Roy heard them talking about you and cursin' you out about
some kind of a society you've been formin' among the nig—the
coloured people. He told 'em they oughter let coloured men like you
alone 'cause you were a credit to the community. _The nex' mornin'
he foun' a warnin' on the front po'ch from the Kluxers, sayin' he'd
better stop defendin' niggers or somethin'd happ'n to him!"_
"Oh, that's all tommyrot, Mrs. Ewing!" Kenneth declared in a
disgusted and disdainful tone. "These silly night-riders wouldn't
dare do anything to your husband! I don't believe they'd even try
and do anything to me!"
"You mustn't talk that way!" she sharply broke in. "They'd do
_anythin'!_ Roy says She'ff Parker's one of ‘em, and a whole lot mo'
of the folks you wouldn' believe was in it!"
Kenneth's voice became hard and bitter.
"Mrs. Ewing, I've tried—God knows I have—to keep away from trouble
with these white people in Central City. If they bother me, I'm
going to fight—you hear me I'm going to fight—and fight like hell!
They'll get me in the end—I know that—but before I go I'm going to
take a few along with me!"
He left her standing there and went back into Mary's room. He
secured his bag and started down the stairs. Mrs. Ewing ran after
him and caught him just as he opened the front door. She had to
seize his arm to hold him, as he was impatient to be gone. He felt
as though he never wanted to see a white face again as long as he
lived. He did not know, nor did Mrs. Ewing, that several white faces
were looking at them as he stood there with Mrs. Ewing clinging to
his arm.
"You will be ca'ful until Roy comes back, won't you, Doctor?" she
pleaded.
Promising her impatiently, without even comprehending what he
promised, he ran down the steps, eager to get home.