The Avesta, Volume 21, Number 2, Summer, 1942 Page: 6
36 p. : ill. ; 30 cm.View a full description of this periodical.
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somehow vaguely unhappy. In one hand he carried a
Outside the rebellious March wind raged, brisk and
raw, but nonetheless anticipative of an early, passion-
ate spring. The agony-scream of the wind being knifed
by the clumsy sharpness of the eaves brought to the in-
side a rising and falling whirr-ooo-whumm, and the
fire, passively red and orange and blue above the smol-
dering coals, tossed about fitfully, by turns toppling
over toward the brick sides of the chimney and then
regaining with difficulty a precarious balance in rhythm
to the rise and fall of the wind-sounds.
From an easy chair, massively blue-brown in the
red-shadowed gloom of the parlor lighted only by the
open fire and a small study lamp, a man rose, glanced
in the direction of the dining room. "I am dressing
this evening. I'll want my dinner coat."
The metallic click of a canister, polished and re-
placed on a table, answered him.
Quietly the colored man left the study and crossed
the dining room to the bedroom. He was short and
thick, a mobile black Belgian marble statue, conven-
tionally and patently a valet, a gentleman's man, a ten-
tative and often-washed, a responsive, hygienic auto-
maton. But there was a human side, too, which was
manifest not alone on Thursdays and Sundays when he
relaxed the tediousness of civilization by discarding his
sleek white jacket for checks and stripes and reciprocal-
ly disagreeing colors. Louie was a likable negro, partly
because his work was smooth and competent and mostly
because he had early learned to keep his mouth shut.
When he grumbled, it was deep inside himself, or it
was expressed only when his solitude was beyond
Aryan ear-shot. Feeling repressed because there was no
appeal from the boss's direction that the record-player
should be silent, he grumbled now inside his simple ego.
Since late afternoon his soul had pulsated rhythmi-
cally in a silent, throbbing, plaintive rhythm which be-
came more insistent as spreading darkness stealthily re-
placed the day's last light from the fading sunset. There
was relief when the orchestrated tempo of the blues had
merged with his soul-beat to relieve the pressure of half-
formed thoughts bottled up abortively within him,
awaiting completion in exterior expression-thoughts
whose pain was assuaged by a peculiar egotistical resig-
nation when he knew his grief wasn't his alone, but
was a common heritage of men who love. The drag of
the simple melody was gone now, and thoughts went
back inside. They were the thoughts of a sly-voiced
little wench, so small and soft, who had waited on
tables in Birmingham and had been sweet and decent
before a prosperous negro had shown her glamour.
While the man dressed himself, the valet tidied here
and there in the parlor. After a time the white man
walked into the room, impeccably correct in a dinner
jacket with an inherently precise opening for a flash of
white shirt, cut smartly by a black bow tie. On his not
quite handsome face there was the trifle of a smile,packet of letters tied together with a ribbon. He sat
down in the easy chair facing the fire. His voice was
quiet. "Louie, a hot toddy-not too weak."
Toying abstractly with the topmost letter while he
waited for his drink, his face became a frown indicative
of struggle within. The negro brought in a small mug
on a tray. After a determined draught, the man started
to read. His face was immobile until he came to tne end
of the letter. Then a pleasant smile curved his lips for a
full instant before it was straightened unconsciously
into a grim line.
When he had read three or four more letters, he set
them aside and looked earnestly for many minutes
straight into the center of the quivering coals. Then
momentarily he shifted his eyes to the framed picture
of a sweet face, valiantly lined around clear, placid grey
eyes which gave the face its gentle refinement and its
harmony with the mild, brave grey hair. It was his
mother's picture, very like her, and somehow it was
almost as alive as the bond which still lived between
mother and son even after the years he'd been without
her. There was yet felt the gentle influence she'd had
over him, always the same, kindly, undemanding in-
fluence-always the same whether he thoughtfully
yielded to it or impetuously resisted it. Transfixedly he
searched the close resemblance to his own face, a re-
semblance which was unmistakable even allowing for
his dark hair, his intense blue eyes, and the different
mouths, his mocking, skeptical, petulantly hiding a
tendency to weakness.
When he had returned his eyes to the fire for another
long while, he turned again to the letters. His was the
look of unattenuated unhappiness, even despair.
A cigarette was lighted, gulped voraciously for a half
dozen puffs, then tossed violently into the fire. Care-
lessly the letters were thrown across the smoking table
as he arose to walk determinedly to his room.
He emerged wearing overcoat, scarf, and gloves, and
carrying his hat in his hand. "I'll drive myself. And
you won't have to wait up for me. That's an order.
I'm not going to drink more than I can handle tonight.
Go on to bed when you finish your work."
Louie nodded seriously.
The man strode toward the front door, catching
sight of the picture as he passed the piano. Eyes met.
Arresting his stride, he paused, turned around, and
shook his head like a man impatient with a delay. He
found a cigarette with his free hand and for a full min-
ute stood there aimlessly packing its ends against the
top of the other hand. Turning to his man who was
holding the door for him, he said peevishly, "I'm not
going out." Louie closed the door, helped him out of
his coat.
Returning to the fire, he sat down heavily and buried
his head in his hands like a man who tries to escape
(Continued to page 31)6
"Yassuh."
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North Texas State Teachers College. The Avesta, Volume 21, Number 2, Summer, 1942, periodical, Summer 1942; Denton, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metadc2105649/m1/8/: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting UNT Libraries Special Collections.