carson mccullers - the heart is a lonely hunter-第15部分

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Hamilton　and　Karl　Marx　and　William　and　you。　Only　four　
Negroes　with　these　real　true　qualities　and　backbone'　
'Willie　and　Highboy　and　me　have　backbone；'　said　Portia　
angrily。　'This　here　is　a　hard　world　and　it　seem　to　me　us　three　
struggles　along　pretty　well。'　
For　a　minute　they　were　silent。　Doctor　Copeland　laid　his　
spectacles　on　the　table　and　pressed　bis　shrunken　fingers　to　his　
eyeballs。　
'You　all　the　time　using　that　word—Negro；'　said　Portia。　'And　


that　word　haves　a　way　of　hurting　people's　feelings。　Even　old　
plain　nigger　is　better　than　that　word。　But　polite　peoples—no　
matter　what　shade　they　is—always　says　colored。'　
Doctor　Copeland　did　not　answer。　'Take　Willie　and　me。　Us　
aren't　all　the　way　colored。　Our　Mama　was　real　light　and　both　
of　us　haves　a　good　deal　of　white　folks'　blood　in　us。　And　
Highboy—he　Indian。　He　got　a　good　part　Indian　in　him。　None　
of　us　is　pure　colored　and　the　word　you　all　the　time　using　haves　
a　way　of　hurting　people's　feelings。'　
'I　am　not　interested　in　subterfuges；'　said　Doctor　Copeland。　'I　
am　interested　only　in　real　truths。'　
'Well；　this　here　is　a　truth。　Everybody　is　scared　of　you。　It　sure　
would　take　a　whole　lot　of　gin　to　get　Hamilton　or　Buddy　or　
Willie　or　my　Highboy　to　come　in　this　house　and　

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sit　with　you　like　I　does。　Willie　say　he　remember　you　when　he　
were　only　a　little　boy　and　he　were　afraid　of　his　own　father　
then。'　
Doctor　Copeland　coughed　harshly　and　cleared　his　throat。　
'Everbody　haves　feelings—no　matter　who　they　is—and　
nobody　is　going　to　walk　in　no　house　where　they　certain　their　
feelings　will　be　hurt。　You　the　same　way。　I　seen　your　feelings　
injured　too　many　times　by　white　peoples　not　to　know　that。'　
*No；'　said　Doctor　Copeland。　'You　have　not　seen　my　feelings　
injured。'　
'Course　I　realize　that　Willie　or　my　Highboy　or　me—　that　none　
of　us　is　scholars。　But　Highboy　and　Willie　is　both　good　as　gold。　
There　just　is　a　difference　between　them　and　you。'　
'Yes；'　said　Doctor　Copeland。　
'Hamilton　or　Buddy　or　Willie　or　me—none　of　us　ever　cares　to　
talk　like　you。　Us　talk　like　our　own　Mama　and　her　peoples　and　
their　peoples　before　them。　You　think　out　everthing　in　your　
brain。　While　us　rather　talk　from　something　in　our　hearts　that　
has　been　there　for　a　long　time。　That's　one　of　them　differences。'　
'Yes；'　said　Doctor　Copeland。　
'A　person　can't　pick　up　they　children　and　just　squeeze　them　to　
which…a…way　they　wants　them　to　be。　Whether　it　hurt　them　or　
not。　Whether　it　right　or　wrong。　You　done　tried　that　hard　as　any　
man　could　try。　And　now　I　the　only　one　of　us　that　would　come　


in　this　here　house　and　sit　with　you　like　this。
'
The　light　was　very　bright　in　Doctor　Copeland's　eyes　and　her
voice　was　loud　and　hard。　He　coughed　and　his　whole　face
trembled。　He　tried　to　pick　up　the　cup　of　cold　coffee；　but　his
hand　would　not　hold　it　steadily。　The　tears　came　up　to　his　eyes
and　he　reached　for　his　glasses　to　try　to　hide　them。
Portia　saw　and　went　up　to　him　quickly。　She　put　her　arms
around　his　head　and　pressed　her　cheek　to　his　forehead。　'I　done
hurt　my　Father's　feelings；'　she　said　softly。
His　voice　was　hard。　'No。　It　is　foolish　and　primitive　to　keep
repeating　this　about　hurt　feelings。'68


The　tears　went　slowly　down　his　cheek　and　the　fire　made　them
take　on　the　colors　of　blue　and　green　and　red。　'I　be　really　and
truly　sorry；'　said　Portia。
Doctor　Copeland　wiped　his　face　with　his　cotton　handkerchief。
'It　is　all　right。
'
'Less　us　not　ever　quarrel　no　more。　I　can't　stand　this　here
fighting　between　us。　It　seem　to　me　that　something　real　bad
come　up　in　us　ever　time　we　be　together。　Less　us　never　quarrel
like　this　no　more。
'
'No；'　said　Doctor　Copeland。　'Let　us　not　quarrel。
'
Portia　sniffled　and　wiped　her　nose　with　the　back　of　her　hand。
For　a　few　minutes　she　stood　with　her　arms　around　her　father's
head。　Then　after　a　while　she　wiped　her　face　for　a　final　time
and　went　over　to　the　pot　of　greens　on　the　stove。
'It　mighty　nigh　time　for　these　to　be　tender；'　she　said　cheerfully。
'Now　I　think　I'll　start　making　some　of　them　good　little
hoecakes　to　go　along　with　them。
'
Portia　moved　slowly　around　the　kitchen　in　her　stockinged　feet
and　her　father　followed　her　with　his　eyes。　For　a　while　again
they　were　silent。
With　his　eyes　wet；　so　that　the　edges　of　things　were　blurred；
Portia　was　truly　like　her　mother。　Years　ago　Daisy　had　walked
like　that　around　the　kitchen；　silent　and　occupied。　Daisy　was
not　black　as　he　was—her　skin　had　been　like　the　beautiful
color　of　dark　honey。　She　was　always　very　quiet　and　gentle。
But　beneath　that　soft　gentleness　there　was　something　stubborn
in　her；　and　no　matter　how　conscientiously　he　studied　it　all　out；
he　could　not　understand　the　gentle　stubbornness　in　his　wife。



He　would　exhort　her　and　he　would　tell　her　all　that　was　in　his　
heart　and　still　she　was　gentle。　And　still　she　would　not　listen　to　
him　but　would　go　on　her　own　way。　
Then　later　there　were　Hamilton　and　Karl　Marx　and　William　
and　Portia。　And　this　feeling　of　real　true　purpose　for　them　was　
so　strong　that　he　knew　exactly　how　each　thing　should　be　with　
them。　Hamilton　would　be　a　great　scientist　and　Karl　Marx　a　
teacher　of　the　Negro　race　and　William　a　lawyer　to　fight　
against　injustice　and　Portia　a　doctor　for　women　and　children。　
And　when　they　were　even　babies　he　would　tell　them　of　the　
yoke　they　must　thrust　from　their　shoulders—the

69　
yoke　of　submission　and　slothfulness。　And　when　they　were　a　
little　older　he　would　impress　upon　them　that　there　was　no　
God；　but　that　their　lives　were　holy　and　for　each　one　of　them　
there　was　this　real　true　purpose。　He　would　tell　it　to　them　over　
and　over；　and　they　would　sit　together　far　away　from　him　and　
look　with　their　big　Negro…children　eyes　at　their　mother。　And　
Daisy　would　sit　without　listening；　gentle　and　stubborn。　
Because　of　the　true　purpose　for　Hamilton；　Karl　Marx；　
William；　and　Portia；　he　knew　how　every　detail　should　be。　In　
the　autumn　of　each　year　he　took　them　all　into　town　and　bought　
for　them　good　black　shoes　and　black　stockings。　For　Portia　he　
bought　black　woolen　material　for　dresses　and　white　linen　for　
collars　and　cuffs。　For　the　boys　there　was　black　wool　for　
trousers　and　fine　white　linen　for　shirts。　He　did　not　want　them　
to　wear　bright…colored；　flimsy　clothes。　But　when　they　went　to　
school　those　were　the　ones　they　wished　to　wear；　and　Daisy　
said　that　they　were　embarrassed　and　that　he　was　a　hard　father。　
He　knew　how　the　house　should　be。　There　could　be　no　f　and…
ness—no　gaudy　calendars　or　lace　pillows　or　knickknacks　—　
but　everything　in　the　house　must　be　plain　and　dark　and　
indicative　of　work　and　the　real　true　purpose。　
Then　one　night　he　found　that　Daisy　had　pierced　holes　in　little　
Portia's　ears　for　earrings。　And　another　time　a　kew…pie　doll　
with　feather　skirts　was　on　the　mantelpiece　when　he　came　
home；　and　Daisy　was　gentle　and　hard　and　would　not　put　it　
away。　He　knew；　too；　that　Daisy　was　teaching　the　children　the　
cult　of　meekness。　She　told　them　about　hell　and　heaven。　Also　
she　convinced　them　of　ghosts　and　of　haunted　places。　Daisy　


went　to　church　every　Sunday　and　she　talked　sorrowfully　to　the　
preacher　of　her　own　husband。　And　with　her　stubbornness　she　
always　took　the　children　to　the　church；　too；　and　they　listened。　
The　whole　Negro　race　was　sick；　and　he　was　busy　all　the　day　
and　sometimes　half　the　night。　After　the　long　day　a　great　
weariness　would　come　in　him；　but　when　he　opened　Sie　front　
gate　of　his　home　the　weariness　would　go　away。　Yet　when　he　
went　into　the　house　William　would　be　playing　music　on　a　
comb　wrapped　in　toilet　paper；　Hamilton　and　Karl　Marx　would　
be　shooting　craps　for　their　lunch　money；　Portia　would　be　
laughing　with　her　mother。70　

He　would　start　all　over　with　them；　but　in　a　different　way。　He　
would　bring　out　their　lessons　and　talk　with　them。　They　would　
sit　close　together　and　look　at　their　mother。　He　would　talk　and　
talk；　but　none　of　them　wanted　to　understand。　
The　feeling　that　would　come　on　him　was　a　black；　terrible；　
Negro　feeling。　He　would　try　to　sit　in　his　office　and　read　and　
meditate　until　he　could　be　calm　and　start　again。　He　would　pull　
down　the　shades　of　the　room　so　that　there　would　be　only　the　
bright　light　and　the　books　and　the　feeling　of　meditation。　But　
sometimes　this　calmness　would　not　come。　He　was　young；　and　
the　terrible　feeling　would　not　go　away　with　study。　
Hamilton；　Karl　Marx；　William；　and　Portia　would　be　afraid　of　
him　and　look　at　their　mother—and　sometimes　when　he　
realized　this　the　black　feeling　would　conquer　him　and　he　knew　
not　what　he　did。　
He　could　not　stop　those　terrible　things；　and　afterward　he　could　
never　understand。　
'This　here　supper　sure　smells　good　to　me；'　said　Portia。　1　expect　
us　better　eat　now　because　Highboy　and　Willie　liable　to　come　
trooping　in　any　minute。'　
Doctor　Copeland　settled　his　spectacles　and　pulled　his　chair　up　
to　the　table。　'Where　have　your　husband　and　William　been　
spending　the　evening？'　
They　been　throwing　horseshoes。　This　here　Raymond　Jones　
haves　a　horseshoe　place　in　his　back　yard。　This　Raymond　and　
his　sister；　Love　Jones；　plays　ever　night。　Love　is　such　a　ugly　
girl　I　don't　mind　about　Highboy　or　Willie　going　around　to　
their　house　any　time　they　wishes。　But　they　said　they　would　


come　back　for　me　at　quarter　to　ten　and　I　expecting　them　now　
any　minute。'　
'Before　I　forget；'　said　Doctor　Copeland。　'I　suppose　you　hear　
frequently　from　Hamilton　and　Karl　Marx。'　
'I　does　from　Hamilton。　He　practically　taken　over　all　the　work　
on　our　Grandpapa's　place。　But　Buddy；　he　in　Mobile　—and　you　
know　he　were　never　a　big　hand　at　writing　letters。　However；　
Buddy　always　haves　such　a　sweet　way　with　peoples　that　I　
don't　ever　worry　concerning　him。　He　the　kind　to　always　get　
along　right　well。'　
They　sat　silently　at　the　table　before　the　supper。　Portia　kept　
looking　up　at　the　clock　on　the　cupboard　because　it　

71　
was　time　for　Highboy　and　Willie　to　come。　Doctor　Copeland　
bent　his　head　over　the　plate。　He　held　the　fork　in　his　hand　as　
though　it　were　heavy；　and　his　fingers　trembled。　He　only　tasted　
the　food　and　with　each　mouthful　he　swallowed　hard。　There　
was　a　feeling　of　strain；　and　it　seemed　as　though　both　of　them　
wanted　to　keep　up　some　conversation。　
Doctor　Copeland　di