Kenneth hurried on, instinctively stepping over or around the numerous children whose complexions ranged in colour from a deep black to a yellow that was almost white, and mangy-looking dogs that seemed to infest the street. Approaching the house he sought, he found a group of excitedly talking Negroes gathered around the gate. The group separated to let him pass, and from it came one or two greetings to Kenneth in the form of “Hello, Doc.” He paid little attention to them, but proceeded up the path to the house.
Entering, he was surprised to find it furnished more ornately and comfortably than usual in that section. He knew the place of old, remembering that his father had always warned him against going into this section. Here it was reported that strange things went on, that a raid by the police was not uncommon. He had upon one occasion seen the patrol wagon, better known as the “Black Maria,” drive away loaded with bottles of whisky and with a nondescript lot of coloured men and women. Most of the property in this section was owned by white people, which they held on to jealously. They charged and received rentals two or three times as high as in other sections of “Darktown.”
Kenneth found in the front room another excited and chattering lot of men and women. The men seemed rather furtive and were dressed in “peg-top” trousers with wide cuffs, and gaudily coloured shirts. The women were clad in red and pink kimonos and boudoir caps. With an inclusive “Hello, folks,” Kenneth followed a woman who seemed to be in charge of the house into the next room. In the centre of the darkened room there stood the bed, dishevelled, the sheets stained with blood. On them lay a man fully clothed, his eyes closed as though in great pain, and breathing heavily, with sharp gasps every few seconds. By the bed, bathing the man’s brow, stood a woman in a rumpled nightdress and kimono. Kenneth recognized the man as Bud Ware, sometimes a Pullman porter, who used his occupation, it was rumoured, to bring liquor from Atlanta, which his wife sold. It was his wife Nancy who bathed his brow and who moved away from the bed when Kenneth approached. She informed him that he had come home unexpectedly from his run, and had been shot. Kenneth said nothing but went immediately to work. He found Bud with two bullet holes in his abdomen and one through his right leg. It was evident that he had but a few hours, at most, to live. Kenneth did what he could to relieve Bud’s suffering. Turning to Nancy, he told her what he had discovered. She stared at Kenneth wide-eyed for a minute and then burst forth in an agony of weeping.
“Oh, Lawdy, why didn’t I do what Bud tol’ me to do? Bud tol’ me to let dat man alone! Why didn’t I do it? Why didn’t I do it?”
Her screams mounted higher and higher until they reached ear-piercing shrieks. A head or two were stuck interrogatively through the opened door at the sound of Nancy’s woe, and as quickly withdrawn. Kenneth administered an opiate to Bud to relieve his pain and sat by the bed to do what he could in the short while that life remained. The sordidness of the whole affair sickened him and he longed to get away where he could breathe freely.
Strengthened by the opiate, Bud’s eyes flickered and then opened for a fraction of a minute. He smiled faintly when he recognized Kenneth. He made several ineffectual attempts to speak, but each effort resulted only in a gasp of pain. Kenneth ordered him to lie still. Bud, however, kept trying to speak. Roused by Nancy’s shrieks, he finally managed to gasp out a few words, interrupted by spasms of pain that shook his whole body.
“I knows I ain’t got long, Doc. Dat’s a’ right, Nancy, I ain’t blamin’ you none. I knows you couldn’t he’p it.”
He fell back on the pillow, coughing and writhing in pain.
“Lif’ me a li’l—hiar—on the pillar, Doc. Dat’s mo’ like—it! Doc—I ain’t been much ’count. I tol’ dat man Parker—to stop foolin’ with my ’oman—but—he keep on—comin’ here—when I’m gone. He knew I wuz sellin’ liquor—an’ he tol Nancy he wuz gwine—hav’ his brudder—She’f Parker put me on—chain gang—if she tell me he come here—w’en I wuz gone.”
He had another paroxysm of coughing and lay for a minute as though already dead. Kenneth administered restoratives, meanwhile telling Nancy to keep quiet, which only made her weep the louder. After a few minutes Bud began speaking again.
“I come home today—an’ kotched him here. W’en I got mad an’ tol him—to get out—and stahted towards him—he grabbed his gun an’—shot me.” After a pause: “Doc, whyn’t dese white fo’ks—leave our women alone?—I ain’t nevah bothered none of their women.—An’ now—I’s done got—killed jus’ ’cause—I—I—”
He half raised himself on the pillow, looking at Nancy.
“Doan cry, Nancy gal—doan cry—”
He fell back dead. Kenneth, of no further assistance, left Nancy to her grief after promising to send the undertaker in to prepare Bud’s body for burial, and made his way out through the crowd, now greatly increased in numbers, gathered around the door. He wondered if anything would be done about the murder, at the same time knowing that nothing would. The South says
