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Hamilton and Karl Marx and William and you。 Only four
Negroes with these real true qualities and backbone'
'Willie and Highboy and me have backbone；' said Portia
angrily。 'This here is a hard world and it seem to me us three
struggles along pretty well。'
For a minute they were silent。 Doctor Copeland laid his
spectacles on the table and pressed bis shrunken fingers to his
eyeballs。
'You all the time using that word—Negro；' said Portia。 'And
that word haves a way of hurting people's feelings。 Even old
plain nigger is better than that word。 But polite peoples—no
matter what shade they is—always says colored。'
Doctor Copeland did not answer。 'Take Willie and me。 Us
aren't all the way colored。 Our Mama was real light and both
of us haves a good deal of white folks' blood in us。 And
Highboy—he Indian。 He got a good part Indian in him。 None
of us is pure colored and the word you all the time using haves
a way of hurting people's feelings。'
'I am not interested in subterfuges；' said Doctor Copeland。 'I
am interested only in real truths。'
'Well； this here is a truth。 Everybody is scared of you。 It sure
would take a whole lot of gin to get Hamilton or Buddy or
Willie or my Highboy to come in this house and
67
sit with you like I does。 Willie say he remember you when he
were only a little boy and he were afraid of his own father
then。'
Doctor Copeland coughed harshly and cleared his throat。
'Everbody haves feelings—no matter who they is—and
nobody is going to walk in no house where they certain their
feelings will be hurt。 You the same way。 I seen your feelings
injured too many times by white peoples not to know that。'
*No；' said Doctor Copeland。 'You have not seen my feelings
injured。'
'Course I realize that Willie or my Highboy or me— that none
of us is scholars。 But Highboy and Willie is both good as gold。
There just is a difference between them and you。'
'Yes；' said Doctor Copeland。
'Hamilton or Buddy or Willie or me—none of us ever cares to
talk like you。 Us talk like our own Mama and her peoples and
their peoples before them。 You think out everthing in your
brain。 While us rather talk from something in our hearts that
has been there for a long time。 That's one of them differences。'
'Yes；' said Doctor Copeland。
'A person can't pick up they children and just squeeze them to
which…a…way they wants them to be。 Whether it hurt them or
not。 Whether it right or wrong。 You done tried that hard as any
man could try。 And now I the only one of us that would come
in this here house and sit with you like this。
'
The light was very bright in Doctor Copeland's eyes and her
voice was loud and hard。 He coughed and his whole face
trembled。 He tried to pick up the cup of cold coffee； but his
hand would not hold it steadily。 The tears came up to his eyes
and he reached for his glasses to try to hide them。
Portia saw and went up to him quickly。 She put her arms
around his head and pressed her cheek to his forehead。 'I done
hurt my Father's feelings；' she said softly。
His voice was hard。 'No。 It is foolish and primitive to keep
repeating this about hurt feelings。'68
The tears went slowly down his cheek and the fire made them
take on the colors of blue and green and red。 'I be really and
truly sorry；' said Portia。
Doctor Copeland wiped his face with his cotton handkerchief。
'It is all right。
'
'Less us not ever quarrel no more。 I can't stand this here
fighting between us。 It seem to me that something real bad
come up in us ever time we be together。 Less us never quarrel
like this no more。
'
'No；' said Doctor Copeland。 'Let us not quarrel。
'
Portia sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand。
For a few minutes she stood with her arms around her father's
head。 Then after a while she wiped her face for a final time
and went over to the pot of greens on the stove。
'It mighty nigh time for these to be tender；' she said cheerfully。
'Now I think I'll start making some of them good little
hoecakes to go along with them。
'
Portia moved slowly around the kitchen in her stockinged feet
and her father followed her with his eyes。 For a while again
they were silent。
With his eyes wet； so that the edges of things were blurred；
Portia was truly like her mother。 Years ago Daisy had walked
like that around the kitchen； silent and occupied。 Daisy was
not black as he was—her skin had been like the beautiful
color of dark honey。 She was always very quiet and gentle。
But beneath that soft gentleness there was something stubborn
in her； and no matter how conscientiously he studied it all out；
he could not understand the gentle stubbornness in his wife。
He would exhort her and he would tell her all that was in his
heart and still she was gentle。 And still she would not listen to
him but would go on her own way。
Then later there were Hamilton and Karl Marx and William
and Portia。 And this feeling of real true purpose for them was
so strong that he knew exactly how each thing should be with
them。 Hamilton would be a great scientist and Karl Marx a
teacher of the Negro race and William a lawyer to fight
against injustice and Portia a doctor for women and children。
And when they were even babies he would tell them of the
yoke they must thrust from their shoulders—the
69
yoke of submission and slothfulness。 And when they were a
little older he would impress upon them that there was no
God； but that their lives were holy and for each one of them
there was this real true purpose。 He would tell it to them over
and over； and they would sit together far away from him and
look with their big Negro…children eyes at their mother。 And
Daisy would sit without listening； gentle and stubborn。
Because of the true purpose for Hamilton； Karl Marx；
William； and Portia； he knew how every detail should be。 In
the autumn of each year he took them all into town and bought
for them good black shoes and black stockings。 For Portia he
bought black woolen material for dresses and white linen for
collars and cuffs。 For the boys there was black wool for
trousers and fine white linen for shirts。 He did not want them
to wear bright…colored； flimsy clothes。 But when they went to
school those were the ones they wished to wear； and Daisy
said that they were embarrassed and that he was a hard father。
He knew how the house should be。 There could be no f and…
ness—no gaudy calendars or lace pillows or knickknacks —
but everything in the house must be plain and dark and
indicative of work and the real true purpose。
Then one night he found that Daisy had pierced holes in little
Portia's ears for earrings。 And another time a kew…pie doll
with feather skirts was on the mantelpiece when he came
home； and Daisy was gentle and hard and would not put it
away。 He knew； too； that Daisy was teaching the children the
cult of meekness。 She told them about hell and heaven。 Also
she convinced them of ghosts and of haunted places。 Daisy
went to church every Sunday and she talked sorrowfully to the
preacher of her own husband。 And with her stubbornness she
always too