Pelham passed a round of drinks. As he was doing this there was another knock on the window.
“Must be the girls,” Ray surmised.
Pelham set his tray down and hastened to the outside door.
“Handy guy, Pelham.”
“I’ll say he is.”
“Old housemaid right down to the bricks,” Eustace declared in a laugh-provoking falsetto voice.
Pelham ushered two girls into the room. One was quite fair. Under the soft light she could easily have passed for white. Her eyes and hair were a soft pastel brown and her skin was delicately tinted with ivory. Her companion was the color of a roasted chestnut. Her hair was coarse and plentiful and black like her eyes, which were set deep in oversized sockets. There was something stately in the way she carried herself. Raymond had called her a nut brown Juno. Her name was Janet. The other was called Aline.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.”
“Rest your coats and get a drink.”
They removed their wraps and went around the room, kissing everyone affectionately. Pelham recovered his tray and continued the serving of drinks, mixing two more for the newcomers.
All were now comfortably settled. The two girls shared the daybed with Stephen. Paul sat on a pillow at their feet. Samuel remained erect in a Windsor chair. Bull sank into the cushioned depths of a Cogswell. Raymond and Eustace occupied the piano bench. Pelham remained standing, the better to resume his bar-tending activities.
“Well, what’s the dirt?”
“No dirt at all, ’cept Steve’s permanently become a nigger.”
“Paul!”
Raymond remembered something Steve had said earlier in the evening. “To say nigger in the presence of a white person … “ Perhaps Stephen had been right in his analysis of Paul. He observed him now, sitting tailor fashion on the floor, his six foot body, graceful and magnetic, his dirty yellow face aglow with some inner incandescence, his short stubborn hair defiantly disarrayed, his open shirt collar forming a dirty and inadequate frame for his classically curved neck. He was telling about his latest vagabond adventure. His voice was soft toned and melodious. His slender hands and long fingers described graceful curves in the air. As usual when he spoke, everyone remained silent and listened intently as if hypnotized.
“I was sleepy. Had been walking miles, it seemed, not having any carfare. Somehow or other I didn’t want to come home either. Homes are boring places when you don’t feel homey. It’s nicer just to drop in any place. Well, I saw this apartment house. The lobby was dimly lit. It looked warm and inviting. I went exploring and sure enough there was the nicest little cubby hole beneath the stairs. I lay down and went to sleep. I was dreaming… a poignant, excruciatingly beautiful dream. I was in a flower garden, canopied by spreading oaks, and perfumed by fresh magnolia blossoms. The soil was pungent and black. An assortment of rarely beautiful flowers formed a many colored blanket. White lilies, red lilies, pale narcissi, slender orchids, polychromatic pansies, jaundiced daffodils, soporific lotus blossoms. I was in Eden. The trees were thickly foliaged and only an occasional sunbeam filtered through. Above my head a bevy of full throated thrush caroled sweetly, insinuatingly. I lay down. Then I became aware of a presence. An ivory body exuding some exotic perfume. Beauty dimmed my eyes. The physical nearness of that invisible presence called to me, lured me closer. And as I crept nearer, the perfume pervaded my nostrils, inflamed my senses, anesthetized my brain. My hand reached out and clutched a silken forelock. Involuntarily my eyes closed and I was conscious of being sucked into it until there was a complete merging. For one brief moment I experienced supreme ecstasy. Then the garden disappeared. A harsh voice rasped into my ears. I heard the shrill scream of a frightened woman. I was awake. I had been discovered. I could hear the woman clattering down the tiled hallway, shouting for a policeman. I jumped up, bumped my head against the ascending bottom of the staircase, rushed out into the open spaces of the hallway and saw the woman out on the sidewalk excitedly gesticulating. Up the stairs I ran, cursing her for having spoiled my dream. I reached the roof, crossed over to the next apartment house, came down the stairs, nonchalantly strolled into the street and finally reached home, still lamenting the interruption of my exquisite idyl.”
His eyes appraised his audience and were pleased by what they saw. But he had forgotten the prosaic presence of Samuel.
“Did you really have that dream?”
“ You would ask that.”
“That’s no answer. Did you really have that dream?”
“Of course.”
“Was the presence male or female?”
“I don’t know.”
For a moment Samuel was uncertain which fork of the road to follow. But he was determined to corner his quarry. With New England thoroughness he continued:
“Did you ever have an affair with a woman?”
“Certainly.”
“Did you ever… “ he lowered his voice, “indulge in homosexuality?”
“Certainly.”
Samuel turned red. The others in the room tried no longer to restrain their laughter. It seemed as if the pursued was about to elude the pursuer once and for all. But Samuel was primed for the chase.
“Which did you prefer?” He smiled to himself. Now he had him. Surrender was inevitable. His eyes prematurely evinced the light of victory. Prematurely, because Paul found the one available loop-hole. With a toss of his head, he quickly replied:
“I really don’t know After all there are no sexes, only sex majorities, and the primary function of the sex act is enjoyment. Therefore I enjoyed one experience as much as the other.”
When the laughter had subsided, Pelham passed another round of drinks. These were gulped down quickly and there were cries for more. Pelham grinningly obliged, happy, as always, to be of service. Finally, he had to announce that all of the gin bottles were empty. Eustace jumped to his feet.
“Never no that. Here … “ He snatched a hat from the top of the piano. “Give till it hurts.”
He passed the hat to everyone in the room. The two girls deposited twenty-five cents apiece. Samuel contributed a crushed dollar bill. Bull and Stephen each added another dollar to this. The rest merely passed their hands over the surface of the hat. They were broke.
Eustace counted the money and handed it to Pelham, who immediately left for the corner speakeasy.
“I don’t know what we’d do without Pelham.”
“I think it’s a damn shame the way you guys do him.”
“He enjoys it, Bull. That’s all he’s used to, waiting on someone else. His artistic impulses really lie in that direction.”
“I don’t agree with you, Ray.”
“Samuel, you never agree with anyone.”
“I was talking to Ray, Paul.”
“Why don’t you agree? You really can’t believe that he has any talent? You’ve seen his pictures and read his poems.” Raymond chuckled to himself as he said this.
“Nevertheless he’s a human being and should be treated as an equal. You people make a slave of him.”
“I grant you that. But it’s of his own making. He gets more pleasure out of waiting on us than he does in painting our portraits. We submit to both, and I warrant he’s happier than any of us. Don’t you see, Samuel, that your socialistic theories won’t work? Treat Pelham as an equal and he would be perfectly miserable. Allow him to do our cooking, washing and ironing and he is happy. He’s just a born domestic.”
“I still don’t agree. You take advantage of his weakness. How can you Negroes expect to better your lot when you are always subjugating a member of your own race?”
“You’re all cockeyed, Sam.” Stephen spoke for the first time.
“Ain’t it the truth.” Paul grinned at his perennial adversary.
“All humans are equal.”
“The more you reiterate that, the less I believe you believe it.”
“Oh, shut up, Ray, and you too, Sam. This is no time to ar
gue. I want to dance. Play something, Eustace.”
Eustace reluctantly complied with Aline’s request. He seldom played jazz but he had learned one or two numbers in order to accommodate his friends when no other pianist was present. Aline danced with Stephen with whom she had been holding hands and conversing privately all the evening. Raymond danced with Janet. Bull sat down beside Eustace on the piano bench. Samuel remained rooted to his upright Windsor chair.
Before the dance was finished, there was a knock on the window. Bull went to the door and admitted Euphoria Blake. She came bustling into the room, a butterscotch colored bundle of energy.
“Hello, everybody. Good God! Another party?”
“Not at all, landlady mia, just a recreation period.”
“Got anything to drink?”
“Not yet, but it will be here soon. Sit down.”
She sat down on the daybed.
“Well, Paul, you gotta job?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, why haven’t you?”
“I’m waiting for you to find me one.”
“Be at my office at nine in the morning. And I mean nine. You ought to be ashamed to sponge off your friends all the time.”
“I should be ashamed? You mean they should be honored.”
While Euphoria continued her scolding of Paul, Samuel beckoned for Stephen to follow him out of the room. Surprised at the gesture, Stephen disengaged himself from Aline’s encircling arm, and reluctantly sauntered out into the hallway. Samuel was leaning against the wall, nervously puffing on a cigarette.
“What’s up, Sam?” Stephen asked as he closed the door.
“I’m worried about you.”
“About me … ?” Stephen laughed. “As Paul would say: How come?”
“Well… your moving up here and all. Is it just the best step to take?”
“Why not? I’m among friends.”
“But they’re … well, you know … it seems strange for a white man, a respectable white man, to be here in Harlem.”
“I don’t see it, Sam. Furthermore, don’t you preach social equality?”
“Certainly … but… ”
“Well,” Stephen interrupted grimly, “I’m only practicing what you profess to believe. Don’t be alarmed. I’ve never been more contented in my life. This is heaven compared to that sterilized joint you put me in.”
“I guess it’s all right, Steve … but… you have to be careful.”
“About what?”
“About… well… women.”
“Oh, I see. That’s what’s bothering you, huh, me and Aline. Don’t worry, old man, it’s just a little flirtation. I have no intention as yet of adding to the current mulatto crop.”
“But it’s risky, Steve. You see you don’t know Negroes, you don’t know anything about their peculiar problems.”
“I know enough to realize that most of these peculiar problems exist in the minds of people like yourself.”
“You’re quoting Ray now.”
“And I couldn’t quote a more sane person. Get this straight, Sam, I’m no hypocrite. I like Ray. I like his friends. I like Aline … and none of my likes are based on color. I know nothing about your damn American prejudices, except what I’ve read in books and been told. A person is a person to me, and I’m well able to choose my own friends.”
“There’s no need to be angry.”
“I’m not angry, Sam, just a little annoyed. You see, I haven’t much patience with people who don’t have the courage of their convictions.”
“But…”
Pelham rushed into the hallway from the street, carrying three quarts of gin and several bottles of gingerale. Stephen opened the door to Eustace’s studio, and followed Pelham into the room, leaving Samuel standing in the hallway Raymond had noticed the unexplained absence and looked inquiringly at Stephen as he reseated himself beside Aline. Stephen caught Raymond’s eye and winked just as Samuel, too, decided to rejoin the party.
Pelham was vociferously welcomed, and within a very few moments, had served another round of drinks. Euphoria emptied her glass more quickly than the others, then announced her intention of leaving.
“What’s the rush? Don’t you like your tenants?” Raymond inquired.
“Better have another drink.”
“No thanks, Eustace, I gotta go. It’s late, and I have to make time in the morning. Not being an artist… yet… I must work.”
“Why work when you can hire help?” Paul inquired.
“I’m working to make money for myself… not for others.”
“Materialism personified,” Stephen murmured.
“We should ex-communicate you.”
“Can’t, Paul. We all owe her rent,” Raymond said.
“Why bring that up?” Eustace asked mournfully. “Give me another drink, Pelham. Help me drown my sorrows.”
“Don’t forget me,” Aline cried.
“Nor me.”
“Or me.”
“All of us, damn it.”
Pelham whirled around busily.
“Come, walk me home, will you, Ray? I’ve got a wad of bills and I don’t like these Harlem streets at night.”
“O. K., Euphoria. See you later, gang.”
Raymond and Euphoria left the room.
V
After Raymond had gone to his studio and put on his hat and coat, he and Euphoria began the short walk to her own private home.
“Think the house is going to go, Ray?”
“Sure. It’s the grandest project, ever.”
“It doesn’t pay … ”
“Did you expect it to?”
“I at least expected to collect the rent that’s due when it’s due.”
“Who’s behind?”
“Eustace and Pelham. I don’t mind about Pelham so much. As long as he’s there, I don’t have to hire someone to clean the halls or keep the rooms clean or run the furnace. He earns his rent, but Eustace calmly goes on and makes no effort to get hold of money.”
“He manages to pick up a few pennies now and then. And he has so much darn junk that he can pawn, that you needn’t worry.”
“I guess you’re right, but I wonder if the house is going to be productive artistically. None of you seem to be doing much work. All I run into are gin parties.”
“That’s part of our creativeness.”
“And I don’t think you ought to let Paul hang around there. He’s nothing but a parasite.”
“I know it, Euphoria. But he’s a most charming parasite, and I’m certain he has more talent than any of us.”
“Why doesn’t he do something with it then?”
“He’s got to be awakened, Euphoria. Give him time. He’s still very young. Some day he will surprise us all.”
“I hope so, but I don’t like unproductive people. Those girls, for instance. They’re no good.”
“They’re decorative,” Raymond said.
“Nigger girls ain’t got no business being decorative unless it’s going to bring them in some coin. They’re nothing but chippies. I’m sure they’d sleep with anybody. Look how Aline’s playing with Stephen. She’s just like her mother. I know the old lady well. She passes for white most of the time and lays up with all the cheap Jews she can find. There’s one she’s been living with for the past three years. Spending her nights with him while her darky husband works and her daughter chases the streets.”
“At least everybody is satisfied.”
“That’s the trouble with Negroes. They’re too easily satisfied.”
“Everyone can’t be as energetic as you, Euphoria.”
“Maybe not, Ray, but I want that house back there to be a monument to the New Negro. I wish some of the other artists and writers would move in. And I wish they would all work like Pelham does.”
“You should be thankful that there is only one Pelham in the house.…Now don’t start preaching to me about the virtue of his persistence. I know all that. But if this Negro renaissance is goin
g to actually live up to its name and reputation, it’s going to be Pauls we need, not Pelhams. We have too many of them now… too many like both him and Eustace, striving to make a place for themselves in a milieu to which they are completely alien.”
“But, Ray … “ Euphoria was amazed at his vehemence.
“That’s all right,” he interrupted. “You’re a grand landlady. No one else in Harlem would stand for any of us, that is, not collectively.” They had reached her house. “Here you are, with your wad of bills safe. Drop in and see us tomorrow. Maybe somebody will be working for a change. Good night.”
He turned and quickly retraced his steps, thinking of what Euphoria had said about the lack of work being done in Niggeratti Manor, and also remembering a conversation which he and Stephen had had earlier that evening. Stephen had asked:
“Just when are you going to begin work on your novel, Ray?”
“I don’t know, Steve,” Raymond had answered. “I can’t get started. Something holds me back.”
“Laziness?”
“Partially.”
“Lack of material?”
“You know it isn’t that. Haven’t I often outlined the thing for you? I know what I want to write … but… “ He had shrugged his shoulders. “Something holds me back.”
Stephen had shifted his gaze and lit a cigarette.
“Are you afraid,” he had asked, “of exposing your own peculiar complex?”
“Complex? I have none.”
“The hell you haven’t,” Stephen had said emphatically. “Remember our talk a month ago? You pronounced yourself a Nietz-schean. I pronounced you a liar. I still admit I’m at sea. I don’t know whether you are or not.”
“Neither do I,” Raymond had admitted after a moment’s pause.
“Which is just what I thought,” Stephen had continued. “You’d like to be. You try hard to be. But after all, something holds you back and that same something hinders your writing.”
“Why not elucidate?”
“I can’t, Ray. You baffle me. Were you like Paul or Eustace or Pelham, I could analyze you immediately. Paul has never recovered from the shock of realizing that no matter how bizarre a personality he may develop, he will still be a Negro, subject to snubs from certain ignorant people. The fact distresses him, although he should ignore both it and the people who might be guilty of such snubs. He sits around helpless, possessed of great talent, doing nothing, wishing he were white, courting the bizarre, anxious to be exploited in the public prints as a notorious character. Being a Negro, he feels that his chances for excessive notoriety à la Wilde are slim. Thus the exaggerated poses and extreme mannerisms. Since he can’t be white, he will be a most unusual Negro. To say ’nigger’ in the presence of a white person warms the cockles of his heart. It’s just a symptom of some deep set disease. You’re not like that; nor are you like some of the others I’ve met who are so conscientiously Negroid. Like Pelham for instance, who is a natural born menial with all a menial’s respect for his superiors. Or like Eustace who is ashamed of his color, and won’t sing spirituals because he does not care to remind the world that he is a Negro and that his ancestors were slaves of whom he is now ashamed.”
Infants of the Spring Page 3