“Th’ damn sneaky bastard!” another one declared venomously. “I thought he was mighty slick, but didn’t know he was foolin’ ‘round with a woman like Roy Ewing’s wife! I allus said these niggers who went to France an’ ran with those damn French-women’d try some of that same stuff when they came back! Ol’ Vardaman was right! Ought never t’ have let niggers in th’army anyhow!”
And so it went. They had caught the “slick nigger” with the goods on him! They talked eagerly among themselves in subdued tones as to what would be the best course to pursue. Some were all for rushing into the house and catching them together. None of them entertained the opinion that Kenneth could have gone to Roy Ewing’s house with Roy Ewing out of town for any other purpose than for sexual adventure. Their convictions were strengthened when the light in the lower hall which had been shining when the door was opened to admit Kenneth was extinguished, and another appeared in a few minutes in the bedroom on the second floor which faced on the streets, and the shades lowered. …
The fat man who had been speaking in the office on Lee Street a few minutes before abruptly ended the conjecturing.
“‘Tain’t no use t’ stand here all night talkin?!” he asserted. “We’ll jus’ stay here and see what’s goin’ t’ happen! Looks damn funny t’ me! Tom! You ‘n’ Sam ‘n’ Jake go ‘roun to th’ back do’ an’ watch there! Bill! You ‘n’ Joe ‘n’ Henry watch that side do’! Me ‘n’ the res’ll stay here and watch th’ front do’! Then, when he sneaks out, we’ll get him any way he comes!” …
Within the house, Kenneth, all unaware of what was going on outside, was listening to Mrs. Ewing as she excitedly told him of Mary’s change for the worse, and as she explained her husband’s absence. She was so worried over her daughter’s condition that Kenneth realized she would never be able to solve the mystery of her words over the telephone until he had done what he could for Mary. He therefore asked no questions but followed her up the stairs to Mary’s room, although his brain was whirling, it seemed to him, like the blades of an electric fan.
Mary Ewing was in a worse condition than even her mother knew. This Kenneth realized as soon as he looked into her flushed face and measured her pulse and temperature. He questioned Mrs. Ewing as to her daughter’s diet. The cause of her relapse became clear to him when she told him with a naïve innocence that since Mary had begged so hard that day for something to eat, she had, with Dr. Bennett’s consent, given her a glass of milk and a small piece of fried chicken. Kenneth set to work. He knew it was useless to berate the mother for disregarding his express orders that Mary should be given no solid food for at least ten days. He knew that Dr. Bennett’s word counted more than his. This in spite of the fact that Dr. Bennett had done nothing but the ordinary measuring-out of pills and panaceas which he had been taught almost half a century ago in a third or fourth-rate Southern medical school. Dr. Bennett knew medicine no later than that of the early eighties. But Dr. Bennett was a white man—he a Negro!
As he laboured, he suffered again the agony of those hours he had spent on the floor in his reception room earlier that night. It brought to life again his bitterness. His skin was black! Therefore, though he had studied in the best medical school in America, though he had been an interne for one whole year in the city hospital at New York, though he had had army experience, though he had spent some time in study in the best university in France, and, save in pre-war Germany, the best medical school in Europe, his word and his medical knowledge and skill were inferior to that of an ignorant, lazy country doctor in Georgia! When, oh, when, he thought, will Americans get sense enough to know that the colour of a man’s skin has nothing whatever to do with that man’s ability or brain?
A fleeting, devilish temptation assailed him. He tried to put it from him. He succeeded for a time. And then back it came, leering loathsomely, grinning in impudent, demoniac fashion at him! Here, lying helpless before him, was a representative of that race which had done irreparable, irremedial harm to him and his. Why not let her serve as a vicarious sacrifice for that race? It wouldn’t be murder! He did not need to do anything other than hold back the simple things needed to save her life. No one would ever know. He’d tell the Ewings that they had killed their own daughter by giving food she should not have had. Old Bennett didn’t know enough to detect that he, Kenneth Harper, a Negro, a “damned nigger,” had failed to do the things he could have done.
The thought charmed him. He toyed with it in his mind. He examined it from every possible angle. Yes, by God! He’d do it! It’d serve the Ewings right! The punishment would be just what they deserved! It would be a double one. They’d lose their daughter. And they’d be eaten up with remorse the rest of their days because by disobeying his orders in giving food to Mary Ewing they themselves, her parents, had killed her! Murderers!
That’s what they’d be! Like all the rest of their stinking brood!