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favor my Father more than any person I ever knowed。'
'Me？ You say / favor him？'
'I don't mean in the face or in any kind of looks。 I was
speaking about the shape and color of your souls。'
Bubber sat looking from one to the other。 His napkin was tied
around his neck and in his hand he still held his empty spoon。
'What all does God eat？' he asked。
Mick got up from the table and stood in the doorway； ready to
leave。 Sometimes it was fun to devil Portia。 She started on the
same tune and said the same thing over and over—like that
was all she knew。
'Folks like you and my Father who don't attend the
church can't never have nair peace at all。 Now take me here—I
believe and I haves peace。 And Bubber； he haves his peace
too。 And my Highboy and my Willie likewise。 And it seem to
me just from looking at him this here Mr。 Singer haves peace
too。 I done felt that the first time I seen him。'
'Have it your own way；' Mick said。 'You're crazier than any
father of yours could ever be。'
'But you haven't never loved God nor even nair person。 You
hard and tough as cowhide。 But just the same I knows you。
This afternoon you going to roam all over the place without
never being satisfied。 You going to traipse all arpund like you
haves to find something lost。 You going to work yourself up
with excitement Your heart going to beat hard enough to kill
you because you don't love and don't have peace。 And then
some day you going to bust loose and be ruined。 Won't
nothing help you then。'
'What； Portia？' Bubber asked。 'What kind of things does He
eat？'
Mick laughed and stamped out of the room。
She did roam around the house during the afternoon because
she could not get settled。 Some days were just like that。 For
one thing the thought of the violin kept worrying her。 She
could never have made it like a real one—and after all those
weeks of planning the very thought of it made her sick。 But
how could she have been so sure the idea would work？ So
dumb？ Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the
longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them。
Mick did not want to go back into the rooms where the family
stayed。 And she did not want to have to talk to any of the
boarders。 No place was left but the street—and there the sun
was too burning hot。 She wandered aimlessly up and down the
hall and kept pushing back her rumpled hair with the palm of
her hand。 'Hell；' she said aloud to herself。 'Next to a real piano
I sure would rather have some place to myself than anything I
know。'
That Portia had a certain kind of niggery craziness； but she
was O。K。 She never would do anything mean to Bubber or
Ralph on the sly like some colored girls。 But Portia had said
that she never loved anybody。 Mick stopped walk…44
ing and stood very still； rubbing her fist on the top of her head。
What would Portia think if she really knew？ Just what would
she think？
She had always kept things to herself。 That was one sure truth。
Mick went slowly up the stairs。 She passed the first landing
and went on to the second。 Some of the doors were open to
make a draught and there were many sounds in the house。
Mick stopped on the last flight of stairs and sat down。 If Miss
Brown turned on her radio she could hear the music。 Maybe
some good program would come on。
She put her head on her knees and tied knots in the strings of
her tennis shoes。 What would Portia say if she knew that
always there had been one person after another？ And every
time it was like some part of her would bust in a hundred
pieces。
But she had always kept it to herself and no person had ever
known。
Mick sat on the steps a long time。 Miss Brown did not turn on
her radio and there was nothing but the noises that people
made。 She thought a long time and kept hitting her thighs with
her fists。 Her face felt like it was scattered in pieces and she
could not keep it straight。 The feeling was a whole lot worse
than being hungry for any dinner； yet it was like that。 I want—
I want—I want—was all that she could think about—but just
what this real want was she did not know。
After about an hour there was the sound of a doorknob being
turned on the landing above。 Mick looked up quickly and it
was Mister Singer。 He stood in the hall for a few minutes and
his face was sad and calm。 Then he went across to the
bathroom。 His company did not come out with him。 From
where she was sitting she could see part of the room； and the
company was asleep on the bed with a sheet pulled over him。
She waited for Mister Singer to come out of the bathroom。
Her cheeks were very hot and she felt them with her hands。
Maybe it was true that she came up on these top steps
sometimes so she could see Mister Singer while she was
listening to Miss Brown's radio on the floor below。 She
wondered what kind of music he heard in his mind that his
ears couldn't hear。 Nobody
45
knew。 And what kind of things he would say if he could talk。
Nobody knew that either。
Mick waited； and after a while he came out into the hall again。
She hoped he would look down and smile at her。 And then
when he got to his door he did glance down and nod his head。
Mick's grin was wide and trembling。 He went into his room
and shut the door。 It might have been he meant to invite her in
to see him。 Mick wanted suddenly to go into his room。
Sometime soon when he didn't have company she would really
go in and see Mister Singer。 She really would do that。
The hot afternoon passed slowly and Mick still sat on the
steps by herself。 The fellow Motsart's music was in her mind
again。 It was funny； but Mister Singer reminded her of this
music。 She wished there was some place where she could go
to hum it out loud。 Some kind of music was too private to sing
in a house cram full of people。 It was funny； too； how
lonesome a person could be in a crowded house。 Mick tried to
think of some good private place where she could go and be
by herself and study about this music。 But though she thought
about this a long time she knew in the beginning that there
was no good place。
l_j ATE in the afternoon Jake Blount awoke with the feeling
that he had slept enough。 The room hi which he lay was small
and neat； furnished with a bureau； a table； a bed； and a few
chairs。 On the bureau an electric fan turned its face slowly
from one wall to another； and as the breeze from it passed
Jake's face he thought of cool water。 By the window a man sat
before the table and stared down at a chess game laid out
before him。 In the daylight the room was not familiar to Jake；
but he recognized the man's face instantly and it was as though
he had known him a very long time。
Many memories were confused in Jake's mind。 He lay
motionless with his eyes open and his hands turned palm
upward。 His hands were huge and very brown against the
white sheet。 When he held them up to his face he saw that
they were scratched and bruised—and the veins were46
I
swollen as though he had been grasping hard at something for
a long time。 His face looked tired and unkempt。 His brown
hair fell down over his forehead and his mustache was awry。
Even his wing…shaped eyebrows were rough and tousled。 As
he lay there his lips moved once or twice and his mustache
jerked with a nervous quiver。 。
After a while he sat up and gave himself a thump on the f
side of his head with one of his big fists to straighten himself
out。 When he moved； the man playing chess looked up quickly
and smiled at him。
'God； I'm thirsty；' Jake said。 'I feel like the whole Russian army
marched through my mouth in its stocking feet。' The man
looked at him； still smiling； and then suddenly he reached
down on the other side of the table and brought up a frosted
pitcher of ice water and a glass。 Jake drank in great panting
gulps—standing half…naked in the middle of the room； his
head thrown back and one of his hands closed in a tense fist。
He finished four glasses before he took a deep breath and
relaxed a little。
Instantly certain recollections came to him。 He couldn't
remember coming home with this man； but things that had
happened later were clearer now。 He had waked up soaking in
a tub of cold water； and afterward they drank coffee and
talked。 He had got a lot of things off his chest and the man had
listened。 He had talked himself hoarse； but he could remember
the expressions on the man's face better than anything that was
said。 They had gone to bed in the morning with the shade
pulled down so no light could come in。 At first he would keep
waking up with nightmares and have to turn the light on to get
himself clear again。 The light would wake this fellow also； but
he hadn't complained at all。
'How come you didn't kick me out last night？' The man only
smiled again。 Jake wondered why he was so quiet。 He looked
around for his clothes and saw that his suitcase was on the
floor by the bed。 He couldn't remember how he had got it back
from the restaurant where he owed for the drinks。 His books； a
white suit； and some shirts were all there as he had pac