The Kill-Off

I shall never forget how they looked at me.

Or what the chief of staff said to me.

I was forced to remove her and the child the following day. I did not put it to an issue-how could I?-but if I had refused to remove them, I believe they would have been thrown out.

That was the end of my staff job, of course. The end of my practice, of everything in that state. Probably I can consider myself lucky that I wasn't lynched.

It was several days before I could nerve myself even to leave the house.

There was only one thing to do: relocate. Move to some place so remote and far away that no word of my secret would ever reach to it. Some place, yes-now that the die was cast-where Hattie could be accepted as my wife.

Down here where we were, they were always on the lookout for colored blood, expert at detecting it. But in a new location-the kind I had in mind-and with a little intensive coaching for Hattie, as to her speech and mannerisms… well, my plan seemed entirely feasible.

I believe it would have been, too, if circumstances had not turned out as they did.

I saw a practice advertised here at Manduwoc. I left Hattie and the boy behind, and came here to look at it.

It seemed to fit my needs to a t; in remoteness, in distance from that other state. It was not too big a thing financially, the town being as small as it was. But there was a large farm-trade area to draw from, and I was confident that a live-wire could double or even triple the present practice.

I decided to buy it. I went to Henry Clay Williams to have the papers drawn up.

Hank, I should say, was not then the county attorney. He was, in fact, only a few years out of law school. But he was a very shrewd man, very knowing; and he took an immediate liking to me. He looked upon me as a friend, as I did him. He was determined that I should get off on the right foot, and he knew how to go about it.

I owe a lot to Hank. More than any man I know of.

He was very adroit with his advice; he came out with it in a rather backhanded way. He'd lead with a feeler as to my notion on things; then, on the next time around, he'd move in with something a little stronger.

I mustn't think he was nosy, he said. Far be it from him to give a whoop what a man's politics or his religion or his race was. But there were still a hell of a lot of hidebound mossbacks around. People with foolish prejudices- shameful prejudices, in his opinion-although, of course, they had the same right to their ideas that he had to his. And the center of population for those people, by God- Hank gets pretty salty at times-seemed to be right here in Manduwoc!

I laughed. I said it was certainly unfortunate that people had to be that way.

'But what's a man going to do, Jim?' he said. 'A man's got a living to make and wants to get somewhere, what can he do about 'em?'

'I guess there's nothing much he can do,' I said. 'It's a problem of education, evolution. Something that only time can take care of.'

'I don't see how he can go around with a chip on his shoulder, do you, Jim?' he said. 'Why, look, now. Some of my very best friends are-well, let's say, people that aren't exactly popular around here. My very best friends, Jim. But a man can't live off his friends, can he? That wouldn't be fair to them, would it? He has to live with the community as a whole, doesn't he?'

'That's the way it is,' I said. 'It's too bad, but-'

'It's outrageous,' he said. 'Absolutely outrageous, Jim. Why, my blood actually boils sometimes at some of the carryings-on in this town. I don't mean that they're not good people, understand? The salt of the earth in many respects. They're just narrow-minded, and they don't want to broaden. And if you try to buck 'em, give 'em the slightest reason to get their claws into you-hell, they don't actually need a real reason, if you know what I mean- why, they'll rip you apart. I've seen it happen, Jim. There's a man here in town, now, a Bohunk contractor name of Pete Pavlov. He…'

'I see,' I said. 'I understand what you mean, Hank.'

'And you think I've got the right slant, Jim? You agree with me?'

'Oh, absolutely,' I said. 'There's no question about it. Now, there is one thing-in view of what you've told me. As I've mentioned, my wife died recently, and-'

'A great loss, I'm sure. My deepest sympathies to you, Jim.'

'-and I have our infant son to take care of,' I said. 'Or, I should say, I have a Ne-nigger woman taking care of him. A wet nurse. I suppose I could get another one for him, but-'

'Oh, well,' Hank shrugged. 'She's a southern nigger, isn't she? Knows her place? Well, that'll be all right. After all, no one could expect you to take a baby away from its nurse.'

'Well, I certainly wouldn't want to,' I said.

'And you don't have to. As long as she stays in her place-and I guess you'll see to that, won't you? ha-ha- she'll get along fine.'

I don't see how I could have done anything else. I certainly had no easy row to hoe myself. It is only in recent years that I have been able to take things a little easy. Before that it was work, work, work, until all hours of the day and night. Fighting to hold onto the old practice, to build it into something really worthwhile. Fighting to be someone, to build something… for nothing. I had no time for them, the boy and her. No time, at least, on many days. Perhaps-to be entirely truthful-I did not want time for them. And if I did not, I hardly see how I can be faulted for it.

It was awkward being with her, even in intimacy. She made me feel uncomfortable, guilty, hypocritical. I had become something here, and I was rapidly becoming more. I was a big frog in a little puddle. A deacon in the church. A director of the bank. A pillar in the community. Yet here I was, sleeping with a Negro wench!

I would have stopped it even if it had not become dangerous. My conscience would not have allowed me to continue.

As for the boy, I did-and do, I am afraid-love him… as I did her, so long ago. He was my own flesh and blood, my only son. And I loved him, as I loved her. But like her, although in a different way, he made me uncomfortable. It distressed me to be around him.

I cannot say why, exactly, but I am confident of one thing. It was not a matter of resentment.

I did not blame him, an innocent child, for my own tragic and irremediable error. If I could lay the whole truth before him, I might be able to make him understand. But naturally I cannot do that. It is impossible for him to be absolutely sure of the truth. He may guess and suspect and think, but he cannot know. He can only know if I admit it, so of course I never will.

Probably, he wouldn't understand, anyway. He wouldn't allow himself to. He is too selfish, too filled with self-pity- yes, despite his arrogant manner. If he understood, he could not play the martyr. He would have no justification for his vileness and viciousness-assuming, that is, that it could be justified. For certainly, whatever I may or may not have done, such conduct could never be justified.

I don't know how such a-a creature could be my son.

I don't know what to do about him.

I have no control over him whatsoever. I can't-and he knows I can't-appeal to the authorities for help. And, no, it isn't because of the scandalous, fiendish lies he would tell. I can be hurt by scandal, of course; in fact, I have been hurt. But not greatly. I am too thoroughly entrenched here. Everyone knows too well where Dr. James Ashton stands, and what he stands for.

I have not taken the stringent measures (which I doubtless should have) because I love him. I can't cause him hurt, regardless of how much he deserves it. Also, as you may have surmised, I am afraid of him.