“The niggers am swindling themselves,” Billy always retorted. “I runs a gambling place foh the gang and they pays becas they love to gamble. I plays even with them mahself. I ain’t no miser hog like Nije Gridley.”
Billy liked Jake because Jake played for the fun of the game and then quit. Gambling did not have a strangle hold upon him any more than dope or desire did. Jake took what he wanted of whatever he fancied and … kept going.
The feed was spread at Aunt Hattie’s cookshop. Jake maintained that Aunt Hattie’s was the best place for good eats in Harlem. A bottle of Scotch whisky was on the table and a bottle of gin.
While the boys sampled the fine cream tomato soup, Aunt Hattie bustled in and out of the kitchen, with a senile-fond look for Jake and an affectionate phrase, accompanied by a salacious lick of her tongue.
“Why, it’s good and long sence you ain’t been in reg’lar to see me, chile. Whar’s you been keeping you’self?”
“Ain’t been no reg’lar chile of Harlem sence I done jump on the white man’s chu-chu,” said Jake.
“And is you still on that theah business?” Aunt Hattie asked.
“I don’t know ef I is and I don’t know ef I ain’t. Ise been laid off sick.”
“Sick! Poah chile, and I nevah knowed so I could come off’ring you a li’l chicken broth. You jest come heah and eats any time you wanta, whether youse got money or not.”
Aunt Hattie shuffled back to the kitchen to pick the nicest piece of fried chicken for Jake.
“Always in luck, Jakey,” said Billy. “It’s no wonder you nevah see niggers in the bread line. And you’ll nevah so long as theah’s good black womens like Aunt Hattie in Harlem.”
Jake poured Scotch for three.
“Gimme gin,” said Billy.
Jake called to Aunt Hattie to bring her glass. “What you gwine to have, Auntie?”
“Same thing youse having, chile,” replied Aunt Hattie.
“This heah stuff is from across the pond.”
“Lemme taste it, then. Ef youse always so eye-filling drinking it, it might ginger up mah bones some.”
“Well, here’s to us, fellahs,” cried Billy. “Let’s hope that hard luck nevah turn our glasses down or shet the door of a saloon in our face.”
Glasses clinked and Aunt Hattie touched Jake’s twice and closed her eyes as with trembling hand she guzzled.
“You had better said, ‘Le’s hope that this heah Gawd’s own don’t shut the pub in our face,’ ” replied Jake. “Prohibition is right under our tail.”
Everybody laughed. … Ray bit into the tender leg of his fried chicken. The candied sweet potatoes were sweeter than honey to his palate.
“Drink up, fellahs,” said Billy.
“Got to leave you, Harlem,” Ray sang lightly. “Got to turn our backs on you.”
“And our black moon on the Pennsy,” added Jake.
“Tomorrow the big blue beautiful ocean,” said Ray.
“You’ll puke in it,” Jake grinned devilishly. “Why not can the idea, chappie? The sea is hell and when you hits shore it’s the same life all ovah.”
“I guess you are right,” replied Ray. “Goethe said the same thing in Werther.”
“Who is that?” Jake asked.
“A German—”
“A boche?”
“Yes, a great one who made books instead of war. He was mighty and contented like a huge tame elephant. Genteel lovers of literature call that Olympian.”
Jake gripped Ray’s shoulder: “Chappie, I wish I was edjucated mahself.”
“Christ! What for?” demanded Ray.
“Becaz I likes you.” Like a black Pan out of the woods Jake looked into Ray’s eyes with frank savage affection and Billy Biasse exclaimed:
“Lawdy in heaben! A li’l foreign booze gwine turn you all soft?”
“Can’t you like me just as well as you are?” asked Ray. “I can’t feel any difference at all. If I was famous as Jack Johnson and rich as Madame Walker I’d prefer to have you as my friend than—President Wilson.”
“Like bumbole you would!” retorted Jake. “Ef I was edjucated, I could understand things better and be proper-speaking like you is. … And I mighta helped mah li’l sister to get edjucated, too (she must be a li’l woman, now), and she would be nice-speaking like you’ sweet brown, good enough foh you to hitch up with. Then we could all settle down and make money like edjucated people do, instead a you gwine off to throw you’self away on some lousy dinghy and me chasing around all the time lak a hungry dawg.”
“Oh, you heartbreaking, slobbering nigger!” cried Billy Biasse. “That’s the stuff youse got tuck away there under your tough black hide.”
“Muzzle you’ mouf,” retorted Jake. “Sure Ise human. I ain’t no lonesome wolf lak you is.”
“A wolf is all right ef he knows the jungle.”
“The fact is, Jake,” Ray said, “I don’t know what I’ll do with my little education. I wonder sometimes if I could get rid of it and go and lose myself in some savage culture in the jungles of Africa. I am a misfit—as the doctors who dole out newspaper advice to the well-fit might say—a misfit with my little education and constant dreaming, when I should be getting the nightmare habit to hog in a whole lot of dough like everybody else in this country. Would you like to be educated to be like me?”
“If I had your edjucation I wouldn’t be slinging no hash on the white man’s chu-chu,” Jake responded.
“Nobody knows, Jake. Anyway, you’re happier than I as you are. The more I learn the less I understand and love life. All the learning in this world can’t answer this little question, Why are we living?”
“Why, becaz Gawd wants us to, chappie,” said Billy Biasse.
“Come on le’s all go to Uncle Doc’s,” said Jake, “and finish the night with a li’l sweet jazzing. This is you last night, chappie. Make the most of it, foh there ain’t no jazzing like Harlem jazzing over the other side.”
They went to Uncle Doc’s, where they drank many ceremonious rounds. Later they went to Leroy’s Cabaret. …
The next afternoon the freighter left with Ray signed on as
