Compton pulled Harry back to his chair.
“Keep your shirt on, d’you hear me,” he said. “If you start a scrap here you won’t have a chance—every bouncer ’n’ waiter in the place’ll be right on top of you. I’ve seen them in action before, and believe me, they work just like a machine.”
“Well, I can get in a coupla good cracks at him before they throw me out,” Harry persisted. “I want to show that dirty shine wherehegets off at, makin’ a play for a sister uh mine!”
“You won’t show him this way,” Compton retorted. “You’ll land in the hospital, and you’ll land there quick, too. This gang down here don’t like a white man’s looks anyway, and they’ll give you the leather, just for good luck. Come on, let’s all clear outa here. You can lay for him to-morrow night, if you want to, ’r else give your sister a good bawling out when you get her home, an’ make her stay away from him.”
“Well, they can’t do nothin’ ’f I go over an’ bawl her out now,” Harry said, with a drunken stubbornness.
“Aw, keep your head, Harry, we don’t want to get the girl-friends here into no trouble,” Compton replied. “Come on, let’s beat it, Harry.”
The women added their persuasions, and Harry finally gave a reluctant assent. He departed with his friends, after vowing to settle the matter during the next few days.
Blanche and Starling continued their entranced capersuntil the closing hour, and when they rode to her home, they were steeped in a tired and lazy fondness, with their arms around each other and their heads close together. The apparitions and doubts had disappeared from their situation, as far as they were concerned, and nothing remained but a deliciously overheated and rumpled nearness to each other. They arranged to meet on the following Saturday night, and exchanged several farewell kisses, in the cab, before they reluctantly parted.
Blanche slept until noon, since the day was a holiday—Memorial Day—and when she awoke, the other Palmers were eating a late breakfast around the kitchen table. As she entered the kitchen, in her kimono, the family turned and surveyed her, each bearing a frown on his face. Taken aback, and suddenly prodded by an instinctive fear, Blanche advanced slowly toward the table. How could they know anything about Starling—nonsense. They were probably “sore” at her for some other reasons.
After she had seated herself at the table, the bombardment commenced.
“Who was you with last night?” Harry asked, with a sneer, to see whether she would lie.
“It’s none ofyourbusiness,” Blanche replied, coolly, her fears soothed now.
“We-ell, that’s a hot one—going around with a nigger is none of our business, huh?” Mabel queried, in a shrill voice.
“What do you mean?” Blanche asked, mechanically—theblow had come, just when she had least expected it!
She became sick at heart, and dreaded the impending assault, and scarcely knew what she could answer. If she became defiant, it would only enrage them all the more, and it would be useless, besides ... what could she do, oh, what? To attempt to explain matters to her family would be ridiculous.
“You know what we mean all right,” her father cried. “You’ve been goin’ out with a shine—Harry saw you together last night down at Tony’s Club. For all we know you may be hooked up with him in the bargain. ’F I was sure of it, by God, I swear I’d take a swing at you, daughter ’r no daughter!”
Blanche remained silent—what they said to her didn’t matter, and she wasn’t afraid of them, but Eric, Eric ... they might kill him, or cripple him for life. They were really aroused now as they had never been before—she knew them well enough to tell when they were merely blustering and when not—and they felt that she was on the verge of disgracing and insulting everything that supported their lives—the cruelly proud, angry delusion of blood superiority, which they clung to as a last resort against all of the submissions and lacks in their existences. In their opinion, Eric was little better than a rat, who had tried to break into the sacred family kitchen.
Her mother began to speak, through fits of weeping.
“Oh, Blanie, Blanie, what’s come over you? You must be outa your head, you must. You’ve just got to give up that nigger you’re goin’ with, ’r you’ll be breakin’my heart.... Blanie, Blanie, promise your ma you’ll never give yourself to nobody but a white man ... promise me, Blanie.”
“See what you’re doing to ma,” Mabel said. “You’re just bringing her to her grave, that’s what!”
“Well, I’m gonna take a hand in this,” her father cried. “You’ll stay away from that fellow from now on, ’r I’ll land in jail f’r manslaughter. I’m not kiddin’ any this time. You’ve been havin’ your own way, an’ stickin’ up your nose at us, an’ we’ve let you get away with it, but you never put over anythin’ like this—hookin’ up with a lousy nigger! What have you got to say f’r yourself, huh?”
“Yeh, that’s what I wanta know,” Harry said, as he glowered at her.
The promptings of cunning began to stir in Blanche’s brain. To save Eric, she would have to lie, abasing, tricky lies. No other answers were possible. If she strove to argue with her family now, or if she showed a hairbreadth of independence, they would instantly seek Eric out, and even his life might be in danger. She was certain of that.
“I’ve only gone out with him twice,” she said. “I didn’t know he was a negro, I swear I didn’t. I only found it out last night, just before I left him. He told me he was then, and I was good and mad about it. I called him down for daring to make up to me, and I told him I’d never, never see him again. He looks just like a white man, and he’d fool almost anybody. I swear he would.”
“Bla-anie, I mighta known it was somethin’ likethis,” her mother cried, joyously. “’Course you won’t see him no more, now you’ve found out, ’course you won’t.”
“I should say not,” Blanche answered, vigorously. “I’m not picking out negroes this year, unless I don’t know what they are.”
Blanche hated herself for the groveling words which she forced from her mouth, and yet she felt that she had given the only shrewd answer that could possibly placate the stupid viciousness assailing her. She’d be willing to become a carpet, for Eric’s sake, any day in the year, no matter what nausea might be attached to the proceeding.
“Well, all right then, we’ll let it rest,” her father said, in a growling voice; “but just the same, Harry an’ me’ll keep a close watch on you. ’F you’re not tellin’ us a straight story, it’ll be bad for this Starling guy. We’ll put him in a nice, tight hotel, all right.”
“I’m with you there,” Harry broke in. “What I’d like to know is why she didn’t speak up when we started to ask her about it.”
“Gee, you were all on top of me like a ton of bricks,” Blanche answered. “I didn’t have a chance to say anything. Besides, I was ashamed of the whole thing.”
“Sure, I can understand that,” Philip said, eagerly, glad that his favorite sister had not been intending to disgrace them after all. “Didn’t Harry say this morning that it was hard to tell this Starlun guy from a white fellow? Blanche was just taken in, that’s all.”
“’Course she was,” Mrs. Palmer affirmed.
“Well, I’m not sayin’ she wasn’t,” her father replied. “We’ll just keep tabs on her, anyway, an’ make sure of it.”
Blanche continued her meek explanations and protests of innocence, and her family gradually calmed down and resumed a surface quietness. She knew that the suspicions of her father and Harry were still smoldering, and that these two would probably shadow her for some time, or use some other means to become cognizant of her nightly destinations and companions. She noticed also the speculative looks that Mabel gave her now and then. Mabel was too expert a liar not to doubt her sister’s tale, and she determined to do a little “snooping around” herself. You never can tell about Blanche.
The remainder of the day and night held a nightmare to Blanche. She had to affect a nonchalant mien—they would doubt her again if she showed any sadness or depression—and the strain was infinite, like holding up a boulder. Visions of Eric’s lifeless body dodged in and out of her mind and made her shiver helplessly. Harry and his gangsters could “get” poor Eric without half trying, and it would be useless to attempt to flee with him now, since she would be under the severest of scrutinies, where any false move might bring misfortune. Still, wasn’t there another way out of it? Why couldn’t they remain scrupulously apart from each other for half a year, or even longer, and then, when all of the suspicions and spyings had completely vanished, suddenly run away together? By that timeher family would certainly have forgotten the matter, and in the interim, she could go about with other men—somehow compelling herself—and outwardly maintain her normal ways. A wan approach to cheerfulness possessed her, and late that night, she sat up in bed and wrote to Eric:
My Dearest Boy:My brother Harry saw us at Tony’s last night, and this morning they gave me hell. It was no use to argue with them and make them even nastier—just no use. They said they would kill you, dearest, and I know they were not fourflushing when they said it. They’re cruel and stupid, and to their way of thinking, I’d disgrace and humiliate them if I ever married you. It’s what they cling to when everything else shows them how small they are—this snarling, keep-off pride in being white.... I lied to them and said I hadn’t known that you were colored, and swore I’d never see you again. Please, please forgive me, Eric. They’d have killed you if I hadn’t lied. And please, Eric, you must do as I say. This is the plan I have. We won’t see each other for exactly six months, and then we’ll suddenly run away together. Everything will be quiet then, and before they know what’s happened, we’ll be hundreds of miles away. If we tried it now we wouldn’t have a chance. Please, dearest boy, write and tell me you’ll do as I say. I love you more than anything else in life, and you’re like a prince walking through some rose-bushes, and you fill all of my heart, and I’ll never give you up—never be afraid of that. Answer meat once and address the letter to Madame Jaurette’s. I’m sending you a thousand kisses, dearest boy.Blanche.
My Dearest Boy:
My brother Harry saw us at Tony’s last night, and this morning they gave me hell. It was no use to argue with them and make them even nastier—just no use. They said they would kill you, dearest, and I know they were not fourflushing when they said it. They’re cruel and stupid, and to their way of thinking, I’d disgrace and humiliate them if I ever married you. It’s what they cling to when everything else shows them how small they are—this snarling, keep-off pride in being white.... I lied to them and said I hadn’t known that you were colored, and swore I’d never see you again. Please, please forgive me, Eric. They’d have killed you if I hadn’t lied. And please, Eric, you must do as I say. This is the plan I have. We won’t see each other for exactly six months, and then we’ll suddenly run away together. Everything will be quiet then, and before they know what’s happened, we’ll be hundreds of miles away. If we tried it now we wouldn’t have a chance. Please, dearest boy, write and tell me you’ll do as I say. I love you more than anything else in life, and you’re like a prince walking through some rose-bushes, and you fill all of my heart, and I’ll never give you up—never be afraid of that. Answer meat once and address the letter to Madame Jaurette’s. I’m sending you a thousand kisses, dearest boy.
Blanche.
After finishing the letter, she felt woebegonely relieved and slightly hopeful, and the mood stayed with her through the following day of work at the Beauty Shop. She had placed a special-delivery stamp on the letter, and he received it in a few hours. After he had read and reread it several times, with a touch of anger lurking in his numbness, he began to pace up and down in his room, as though striving to goad himself into life again. Was she really giving him up, and trying to hide the blow with promises of a future escape? Was she?... No, Blanche was too inhumanly honest for that—even if she had wanted to lie, she could never have induced herself to put the words on paper. If he were wrong in this belief, then he would lose all of his faith in his ability to peer into human beings, and would call himself a fool for the remainder of his life! Somehow, a tremor of simple sincerity seemed to run through her letter—he couldn’t be mistaken.
Well, what then? If he persisted in running off with Blanche now, it might lead to melodrama. White gangsters such as her brother would not hesitate about attempting to “croak him off.” He wasn’t afraid of actually fighting them, but any man was always defenseless against a sudden bullet or knife-thrust, and he certainly didn’t care to die that way. B-r-r, the thought brought a fine sweat to his temples. No, thesewhites were little better than rodents, when their angry pride was aroused, and you had to use some of their own tactics, or perish.
They regarded him as a dirty nigger, these lily-pure, intelligent, lofty, noble-hearted people. What a nauseating joke! But, joke or no joke, it had to be grappled with. Blanche was right after all—when you were in a trap you had to gnaw slyly at the things binding you. It was galling to your erect defiance to admit it, but often, in a dire crisis, an imbecilic bravery brought you no gain, and caused your extinction. Yes, Blanche was right—it would be best for them to separate for half a year and then take the other side by surprise, with a thumb-twiddling swiftness. They would have to be patient—splendidly, grimly, bitterly patient—and somehow control the aches and cries in their hearts.
Of course, during the coming months, he would go out with women now and then, or chat with them—as a feeble diversion—but he would shun any intimate relations with them, if it were humanly possible. A pretty, well-shaped girl could always affect a man, in a purely physical way—he wasn’t trying naively to delude himself onthatscore—but just the same he intended to try his damnedest to remain faithful to Blanche. She invaded and stirred him as no other woman had, and if he consorted with other girls now, it would be a taunting and unanswerable aspersion against the depth and uniqueness of his love for her. In such a case he would be forced to admit that all of love was only an easily incited lust—but it wasn’t true. Hewouldremain faithful to her.
He sat down and wrote a hopeful, agreeing letter, expressing his implicit belief in her, and swearing that he would remain true, and urging her to emulate his jaunty fortitude.
When she received the letter on the following afternoon, a surge of youthful determination almost drove the darkness out of her heart. If he had written morbidly, or in despair, her tottering and beleaguered feelings would have been crushed, but now she felt armored and half-way restored to her former happiness. After all, they were both very young, and six months now were little more than six hours intheirlives.
During the next month she went to cabarets and theaters with other men, and wearily repulsed their inevitable attempts to embrace her afterwards, and preserved a careful attitude toward her family—not too friendly and not too ill-tempered. They would have suspected her of playing a part if she had suddenly seemed to become too pliable and harmonious. She saw Margaret and Oppendorf once, but did not tell them anything concerning the developments in her relations with Eric. She feared that they would advise her never to see him again, and she didn’t care to pass through the futile torments of an argument. She had made up her mind, and no human being could change it.
When a month had passed, however, a restlessly jealous mood stole imperceptibly over her. Perhaps Eric was running about with other girls now; perhaps his head was pressed against the smooth tenderness of their bosoms, or perhaps he had found another girl,far more beautiful and intelligent than any Blanche Palmer. The mood reached a climax one Sunday afternoon, as she boarded an “L” train and rode down to the Battery. Yes, of course, he must have forgotten her by now. He met tens of women every night down at Tony’s, and among all of them it would be easy for him to find a quick-minded, tempting girl—perhaps one of his own race, who would not lead him into staggering troubles and difficulties.
She sat on a bench facing the greenish-gray swells of dirty water, and watched the bobbing boats, and the laboriously swaying barges, and the straining, smoky tugs. A mood of plaintive, barely wounded peace settled about her, in spite of the jealous ranklings underneath. For an hour she sat draped in this acceptant revery, with her mind scarcely stirring. Then, glancing up, she saw that Eric was standing beside her.
For almost half a minute they stared at each other, without shifting their positions.
“Eric ... darling ... what are you doing here?” she asked at last.
“I never dreamt I’d see you,” he answered. “I was walking along and trying to forget my blues when I caught sight of you. I tried hard to turn around then and avoid you, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t,” she said, as he sat down beside her. “Eric, my boysie, what’s been happening to you?”
“Oh, I’ve been plodding along, and writing poems to you, and extolling the barbaric charms of Tony’s,” he replied. “I’d get worried and hopeless every now andthen, thinking you were in some other man’s arms ... just like a boy who doesn’t know whether he’s going to be whipped or petted.”
“That’s exactly how I felt,” she cried. “Why, say, I had you falling in love with every snippy, doll-faced girl in New York!”
They laughed—softly, ruefully, and with a relaxing weariness.
“How about your exquisite people?” he asked, after a pause. “Do they still keep a close watch on you?”
“No, I think they’re completely deceived by now,” she said. “I’ve played a foxy game, you know—going out with other men, and bragging about them, and hiding my feelings all the time. I was so afraid that somebody you know would see me with some fellow and tell you about it. I just couldn’t help it, darling. One little break might have given me away, and I just had to fool my folks. There wasn’t any other way.”
“Sure, I understand,” he replied, as he stroked her hand and looked at her with the expression of a man relievedly twitting his past fears and pains.
They were silent for a while, reveling in the unexpected, warm nearness to each other and feeling a giddy swirl of revived faiths and hopes. Their first little rush of reassuring words had aroused all of the deferred plans and buried braveries within them, but the awakening was not yet articulate enough for spoken syllables. They longed to embrace each other with an open intensity, and the effort needed to control this desire also served to prevent them from talking. ThenBlanche remembered a fear which she had experienced during the previous week.
“Eric, did you ever see a play called ‘God’s People Got Wings?’” she asked.
“No, but I’ve heard about it.”
“Well, it certainly made me shiver,” she said. “One of Oppendorf’s friends took me down to see it, and I’ve never had such a dreadful time in my life. It was all about a colored man marrying a white girl. It ended up with the colored boy killing his wife and then committing suicide—think of it!—and I was just gripping the sides of my seat all the time.”
“Were you afraid it might have some connection with us?” he asked, gravely.
“No, no, of course not,” she answered, as she clutched his hand. “D’you think I’m silly enough to let some prejudiced man tell me whether I’m going to be happy or not? No, Eric, it wasn’t that, but I did feel angry and upset, and, we-ell ... it set me to wondering. Why do all these writers now always insist that colored and white people weren’t meant to get along with each other—oh, why do they?”
“Mister Shakespeare revived it with his Othello and it’s been going strong ever since,” he replied, with a contention of forlorn and contemptuous inflections in his voice. “It can’t be argued about. Most of them are perfectly sincere, and they really believe that people of different races always hate and fear each other at the bottom. You could get yourself blue in the face telling them exceptional men and women aren’t includedin this rule, but it wouldn’t make the slightest impression.”
“But why are they so stubborn about it?” she asked.
“That’s easy,” he answered, wearily. “They don’t want to admit that there’s the smallest possibility of the races ever coming together. It’s a deep, blind pride, and they simply can’t get rid of it. They’re hardly ever conscious of it, Blanche, but it’s there just the same. Why, even Vanderin isn’t free from it. Take that latest book of his—Black Paradise—and what do you find? What? He’s just a bystander trying to be indulgent and sympathetic. It’s the old story. Negroes are primitive and sa-avage at the bottom, and white people aren’t ... white people like your brother, I suppose.”
He had been unable to restrain the sarcasm of his last words because his wounds had cried out for a childish relief. She had listened to him with a fascination that was near to worship ... what a dear, wise, eloquent boy he was! When he talked, even the ghosts of her former specters fled from her heart. Let the world call him a nigger—what did it matter? They didn’t care whether he was beautiful or not—all they wanted was to “keep him in his place,” these in-tel-li-gent people, just because he happened to have a mixture of blood within him.
“Oh, let’s not talk any more about it,” she said. “We’re in love with each other, Eric, boysie, and ... ’f other people don’ like it they can stand on their heads, for all I care!”
He fondled her shoulder, gratefully, and an uproar was in his heart.
“Blanche, what’s the use of waiting and waiting?” he asked at last. “We’re only suffering and denying ourselves when there’s no reason for it. Let’s run off to-morrow and marry each other. If we wait too long we’ll feel too helpless about it—it’ll grow to be a habit with us. I can’t exist any longer without you, Blanche—it’s just impossible ... impossible. I’ll draw out the thousand I have in the bank and we’ll hop a train for Chicago to-morrow afternoon. Don’t you see it’s useless to keep postponing it, Blanche?”
His eagerness, and her longing for him, expelled the last vestige of her fears.
“Yes, dear, I’ll go with you to-morrow,” she said.
Their hands gripped each other with the power of iron bands, and they stared hopefully out across the greenish-gray swells of water.
THE END