The thing that crushed the spirit of the man was not the shock of death with its thousand and one unanswerable questions torturing the soul, but the possibility that his acts had been the cause of the tragedy. Dr. Williams had said to him over and over again:
"Make her will to live and she'll recover!"
He had fought this grim battle and won. She had willed to live and was happy. The world had never seemed so beautiful as the day she died. If the cause of her death lay further back in the curious accident which happened at the birth of the child, his soul was clear of guilt1.
He held none of the morbid2 fancies of the super-sensitive mind that would make a father responsible for a fatal outcome in the birth of a babe. God made women to bear children. The only woman to be pitied was the one who could not know the pain, the joy and the danger of this divine hour.
But the one persistent3 question to which his mind forever returned was whether the shock of his sin had weakened her vitality4 and caused the return of this old trouble.
The moment he left the grave on the day of her burial, he turned to the old doctor with this grim question. He told him the whole story. He told him every[Pg 164] word she had spoken since they left home. He recounted every hour of reaction and depression, the good and the bad, just as the recording5 angel might have written it. He ended his recital6 with the burning question:
"Tell me now, doctor, honestly before God, did I kill her?"
"Certainly not!" was the quick response.
"Don't try to shield me. I can stand the truth. I don't belong to a race of cowards. After this no pain can ever come but that my soul shall laugh!"
"I'm honest with you, my boy. I've too much self-respect not to treat you as a man in such an hour. No, if she died as you say, you had nothing to do with it. The seed of death was hiding there behind that slender, graceful7 throat. I was always afraid of it. And I've always known that if the pain returned she'd die——"
"You knew that before we left home?"
"Yes. I only hinted the truth. I thought the change might prolong her life, that's all."
"You're not saying this to cheer me? This is not one of your lies you give for medicine sometimes?"
"No"—the old doctor smiled gravely. "No, shake off this nightmare and go back to your work. Your people are calling you."
He made a desperate effort to readjust himself to life, but somehow at the moment the task was hopeless. He had preached, with all the eloquence8 of the enthusiasm of youth, that life in itself is always beautiful and always good. He found it was easier to preach a thing than to live it.[Pg 165]
The old house seemed to be empty, and, strange to say, the baby's voice didn't fill it. He had said to himself that the patter of his little feet and the sound of his laughter would fill its halls, make it possible to live, and get used to the change. But it wasn't so. Somehow the child's laughter made him faint. The sound of his voice made the memory of his mother an intolerable pain. His voice in the morning was the first thing he heard and it drove him from the house. At night when he knelt to lisp his prayers her name was a stab, and when he waved his little hands and said: "Good night, Papa!" he could remember nothing save the last picture that had burned itself into his soul.
He tried to feed and care for a canary she had kept in her room, but when he cocked his little yellow head and gave the loving plaintive9 cry with which he used to greet her, the room became a blur10 and he staggered out unable to return for a day.
The silent sympathy of his dog, as he thrust his nose between his hands and wagged his shaggy tail, was the only thing that seemed to count for anything.
"I understand, Don, old boy," he cried, lifting his paw into his lap and slipping his arm around the woolly neck, "you're telling me that you love me always, good or bad, right or wrong. I understand, and it's very sweet to know it. But I've somehow lost the way on life's field, old boy. The night is coming on and I can't find the road home. You remember that feeling when we were lost sometimes in strange countries hunting together, you and I?"
Don licked his hand and wagged his tail again.
He rose and walked through the lawn, radiant now with the glory of spring. But the flowers had become[Pg 166] the emblems11 of Death not Life and their odor was oppressive.
A little black boy, in a ragged12 shirt and torn trousers, barefooted and bareheaded, stopped at the gate, climbed up and looked over with idle curiosity at his aimless wandering. He giggled13 and asked:
"Ye don't need no boy fer nothin, do ye?"
The man's sombre eyes suddenly lighted with a look of hate that faded in a moment and he made no reply. What had this poor little ragamuffin, his face smeared14 with dirt and his eyes rolling with childish mirth, to do with tragic15 problems which his black skin symbolized16! He was there because a greedy race of empire builders had need of his labor17. He had remained to torment18 and puzzle and set at naught19 the wisdom of statesmen for the same reason. For the first time in his life he asked himself a startling question:
"Do I really need him?"
Before the shock that threw his life into ruins he would have answered as every Southerner always answered at that time:
"Certainly I need him. His labor is indispensable to the South."
But to-day, back of the fire that flashed in his eyes, there had been born a new thought. He was destined20 to forget it in the stress of the life of the future, but it was there growing from day to day. The thought shaped itself into questions:
"Isn't the price we pay too great? Is his labor worth more than the purity of our racial stock? Shall we improve the breed of men or degrade it? Is any progress that degrades the breed of men progress at all? Is it not retrogression? Can we afford it?"[Pg 167]
He threw off his train of thought with a gesture of weariness and a great desire suddenly possessed21 his heart to get rid of such a burden by a complete break with every tie of life save one.
"Why not take the boy and go?" he exclaimed.
The more he turned the idea over in his mind the more clearly it seemed to be the sensible thing to do.
But the fighting instinct within him was too strong for immediate22 surrender. He went to his office determined23 to work and lose himself in a return to its old habits.
He sat down at his desk, but his mind was a blank. There wasn't a question on earth that seemed worth writing an editorial about. Nothing mattered.
For two hours he sat hopelessly staring at his exchanges. The same world, which he had left a few weeks before when he had gone down into the valley of the shadows to fight for his life, still rolled on with its endless story of joy and sorrow, ambitions and struggle. It seemed now the record of the buzzing of a lot of insects. It was a waste of time to record such a struggle or to worry one way or another about it. And this effort of a daily newspaper to write the day's history of these insects! It might be worth the while of a philosopher to pause a moment to record the blow that would wipe them out of existence, but to get excited again over their little squabbles—it seemed funny now that he had ever been such a fool!
He rose at last in disgust and seized his hat to go home when the Chairman of the Executive Committee of his party suddenly walked into his office unannounced. His face was wreathed in smiles and his deep bass24 voice had a hearty25, genuine ring:[Pg 168]
"I've big news for you, major!"
The editor placed a chair beside his desk, motioned his visitor to be seated and quietly resumed his seat.
"It's been settled for some time," he went on enthusiastically, "but we thought best not to make the announcement so soon after your wife's death. I reckon you can guess my secret?"
"I give it up," was the listless answer.
"The Committee has voted unanimously to make you the next Governor. Your nomination26 with such backing is a mere27 formality. Your election is a certainty——"
The Chairman sprang to his feet and extended his big hand:
"I salute28 the Governor of the Commonwealth—the youngest man in the history of the state to hold such high office——"
"You mean it?" Norton asked in a stupor29.
"Mean it? Of course I mean it! Why don't you give me your hand? What's the matter?"
"You see, I've sort of lost my bearings in politics lately."
The Chairman's voice was lowered:
"Of course, major, I understand. Well, this is the medicine you need now to brace30 you up. For the first time in my memory a name will go before our convention without a rival. There'll be just one ballot31 and that will be a single shout that'll raise the roof——"
Norton rose and walked to his window overlooking the Square, as he was in the habit of doing often, turning his back for a moment on the enthusiastic politician.[Pg 169]
He was trying to think. The first big dream of his life had come true and it didn't interest him.
He turned abruptly32 and faced his visitor:
"Tell your Committee for me," he said with slow emphatic33 voice, "that I appreciate the high honor they would do me, but cannot accept——"
"What!"
"I cannot accept the responsibility."
"You don't mean it?"
"I was never more in earnest."
The Chairman slipped his arm around the editor with a movement of genuine sympathy:
"Come, my boy, this is nonsense. I'm a veteran politician. No man ever did such a thing as this in the history of the state! You can't decline such an honor. You're only twenty-five years old."
"Time is not measured by the tick of a clock," Norton interrupted, "but by what we've lived."
"Yes, yes, we know you've had a great shock in the death of your wife, but you must remember that the people—a million people—are calling you to lead them. It's a solemn duty. Don't say no now. Take a little time and you'll see that it's the work sent to you at the moment you need it most. I won't take no for an answer——"
He put on his hat and started to the door:
"I'll just report to the Committee that I notified you and that you have the matter under consideration."
Before Norton could enter a protest the politician had gone.
His decision was instantly made. This startling event revealed the hopelessness of life under its present[Pg 170] conditions. He would leave the South. He would put a thousand miles between him and the scene of the events of the past year. He would leave his home with its torturing memories.
Above all, he would leave the negroid conditions that made his shame possible and rear his boy in clean air.
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1
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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emblems
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| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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symbolized
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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29
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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30
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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