his right hand fluttering to his chin. His eyes widened, moved quickly from face to face. Then coming to mine, the moist eyes focused with recognition.
"You were unconscious, sir," I said.
"Where am I, young man?" he asked wearily.
"This is the Golden Day, sir."
"What?"
"The Golden Day. It's a kind of sporting-and-gambling house," I added reluctantly.
"Now give him another drinka brandy," Halley said.
I poured a drink and handed it to him. He sniffed it, closed his eyes as in puzzlement, then drank; his cheeks filled out like small bellows; he was rinsing his mouth.
"Thank you," he said, a little stronger now. "What is this place?"
"The Golden Day," said several patients in unison.
He looked slowly around him, up to the balcony, with its scrolled and carved wood. A large flag hung lank above the floor. He frowned.
"What was this building used for in the past?" he said.
"It was a church, then a bank, then it was a restaurant and a fancy gambling house, and now we got it," Halley explained. "I think somebody said it used to be a jail-house too."
"They let us come here once a week to raise a little hell," someone said.
"I couldn't buy a drink to take out, sir, so I had to bring you inside," I explained in dread. He looked about him. I followed his eyes and was amazed to see the varied expressions on the patients' faces as they silently returned his gaze. Some were hostile, some cringing, some horrified; some, who when among themselves were most violent, now appeared as submissive as children. And some seemed strangely amused.
"Are all of you patients?" Mr. Norton asked.
"Me, I just runs the joint," Halley said. "These here other fellows . . ."
"We're patients sent here as therapy," a short, fat, very intelligent-looking man said. "But," he smiled, "they send along an attendant, a kind of censor, to see that the therapy fails."
"You're nuts. I'm a dynamo of energy. I come to charge my batteries," one of the vets insisted.
"I'm a student of history, sir," another interrupted with dramatic gestures. "The world moves in a circle like a roulette wheel. In the beginning, black is on top, in the middle epochs, white holds the odds, but soon Ethiopia shall stretch forth her noble wings! Then place your money on the black!" His voice throbbed with emotion. "Until then, the sun holds no heat, there's ice in the heart of the earth. Two years from now and I'll be old enough to give my mulatto mother a bath, the half-white bitch!" he added, beginning to leap up and down in an explosion of glassy-eyed fury.
Mr. Norton blinked his eyes and straightened up.
"I'm a physician, may I take your pulse?" Burnside said, seizing Mr. Norton's wrist.
"Don't pay him no mind, mister. He ain't been no doctor in ten years. They caught him trying to change some blood into money."
"I did too!" the man screamed. "I discovered it and John D. Rockefeller stole the formula from me."
"Mr. Rockefeller did you say?" Mr. Norton said. "I'm sure you must be mistaken."
"WHAT'S GOING ON DOWN THERE?" a voice shouted from the balcony. Everyone turned. I saw a huge black giant of a man, dressed only in white shorts, swaying on the stairs. It was Supercargo, the attendant. I hardly recognized him without his hard-starched white uniform. Usually he walked around threatening the men with a strait jacket which he always carried over his arm, and usually they were quiet and submissive in his presence. But now they seemed not to recognize him and began shouting curses.
"How you gon keep order in the place if you gon git drunk?" Halley shouted. "Charlene!
Charlene!"
"Yeah?" a woman's voice, startling in its carrying power, answered sulkily from a room off the balcony.
"I want you to git that stool-pigeoning, joy-killing, nut-crushing bum back in there with you and sober him up. Then git him in his white suit and down here to keep order. We got white folks in the house."
A woman appeared on the balcony, drawing a woolly pink robe about her. "Now you
"You were unconscious, sir," I said.
"Where am I, young man?" he asked wearily.
"This is the Golden Day, sir."
"What?"
"The Golden Day. It's a kind of sporting-and-gambling house," I added reluctantly.
"Now give him another drinka brandy," Halley said.
I poured a drink and handed it to him. He sniffed it, closed his eyes as in puzzlement, then drank; his cheeks filled out like small bellows; he was rinsing his mouth.
"Thank you," he said, a little stronger now. "What is this place?"
"The Golden Day," said several patients in unison.
He looked slowly around him, up to the balcony, with its scrolled and carved wood. A large flag hung lank above the floor. He frowned.
"What was this building used for in the past?" he said.
"It was a church, then a bank, then it was a restaurant and a fancy gambling house, and now we got it," Halley explained. "I think somebody said it used to be a jail-house too."
"They let us come here once a week to raise a little hell," someone said.
"I couldn't buy a drink to take out, sir, so I had to bring you inside," I explained in dread. He looked about him. I followed his eyes and was amazed to see the varied expressions on the patients' faces as they silently returned his gaze. Some were hostile, some cringing, some horrified; some, who when among themselves were most violent, now appeared as submissive as children. And some seemed strangely amused.
"Are all of you patients?" Mr. Norton asked.
"Me, I just runs the joint," Halley said. "These here other fellows . . ."
"We're patients sent here as therapy," a short, fat, very intelligent-looking man said. "But," he smiled, "they send along an attendant, a kind of censor, to see that the therapy fails."
"You're nuts. I'm a dynamo of energy. I come to charge my batteries," one of the vets insisted.
"I'm a student of history, sir," another interrupted with dramatic gestures. "The world moves in a circle like a roulette wheel. In the beginning, black is on top, in the middle epochs, white holds the odds, but soon Ethiopia shall stretch forth her noble wings! Then place your money on the black!" His voice throbbed with emotion. "Until then, the sun holds no heat, there's ice in the heart of the earth. Two years from now and I'll be old enough to give my mulatto mother a bath, the half-white bitch!" he added, beginning to leap up and down in an explosion of glassy-eyed fury.
Mr. Norton blinked his eyes and straightened up.
"I'm a physician, may I take your pulse?" Burnside said, seizing Mr. Norton's wrist.
"Don't pay him no mind, mister. He ain't been no doctor in ten years. They caught him trying to change some blood into money."
"I did too!" the man screamed. "I discovered it and John D. Rockefeller stole the formula from me."
"Mr. Rockefeller did you say?" Mr. Norton said. "I'm sure you must be mistaken."
"WHAT'S GOING ON DOWN THERE?" a voice shouted from the balcony. Everyone turned. I saw a huge black giant of a man, dressed only in white shorts, swaying on the stairs. It was Supercargo, the attendant. I hardly recognized him without his hard-starched white uniform. Usually he walked around threatening the men with a strait jacket which he always carried over his arm, and usually they were quiet and submissive in his presence. But now they seemed not to recognize him and began shouting curses.
"How you gon keep order in the place if you gon git drunk?" Halley shouted. "Charlene!
Charlene!"
"Yeah?" a woman's voice, startling in its carrying power, answered sulkily from a room off the balcony.
"I want you to git that stool-pigeoning, joy-killing, nut-crushing bum back in there with you and sober him up. Then git him in his white suit and down here to keep order. We got white folks in the house."
A woman appeared on the balcony, drawing a woolly pink robe about her. "Now you
Similar Books
