‘There is only one way out--’ said Doctor Copeland.
‘Two ways. And only two ways. Once there was a time when this country was expanding. Every man thought he had a chance. Huh! But that period has gone--and gone for good.
Less than a hundred corporations have swallowed all but a few leavings. These industries have already sucked the blood and softened the bones of the people. The old days of expansion are gone. The whole system of capitalistic democracy is rotten and corrupt. There remains only two roads ahead. One: Fascism. Two: reform of the most revolutionary and permanent kind.’
‘And the Negro. Do not forget the Negro. So far as I and my people are concerned the South is Fascist now and always has been.’
‘Yeah.’
‘The Nazis rob the Jews of their legal, economic, and cultural life. Here the Negro has always been deprived of these. And if wholesale and dramatic robbery of money and goods has not taken place here as in Germany, it is simply because the Negro has never been allowed to accrue wealth in the first place.’
‘That’s the system,’ Jake said.
‘The Jew and the Negro,’ said Doctor Copeland bitterly. The history of my people will be commensurate with the interminable history of the Jew--only bloodier and more violent. Like a certain species of sea gull. If you capture one of the birds and tie a red string of twine around his leg the rest of the flock will peck him to death.’
Doctor Copeland took off his spectacles and rebound a wire around a broken hinge. Then he polished the lenses on his nightshirt. His hand shook with agitation. ‘Mr. Singer is a Jew.’
‘No, you’re wrong there.’
‘But I am positive that he is. The name, Singer. I recognized his race the first time I saw him. From his eyes. Besides, he told me so.’
‘Why, he couldn’t have,’ Jake insisted. ‘He’s pure Anglo-Saxon if I ever saw it. Irish and Anglo-Saxon.’
‘But--’
‘I’m certain. Absolutely.’
‘Very well,’ said Doctor Copeland. ‘We will not quarrel.’ Outside the dark air had cooled so that there was a chill in the room. It was almost dawn. The early morning sky was deep, silky blue and the moon had turned from silver to white. All was still. The only sound was the clear, lonely song of a spring bird in the darkness outside. Though a faint breeze blew in from the window the air in the room was sour and close. There was a feeling both of tenseness and exhaustion.
Doctor Copeland leaned forward from the pillow. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands clutched the counterpane. The neck of his nightshirt had slipped down over his bony shoulder. Jake’s heels were balanced on the rungs of his chair and his giant hands folded between his knees in a waiting and childlike attitude. Deep black circles were beneath his eyes, his hair was unkempt. They looked at each other and waited.
As the silence grew longer the tenseness between them became more strained.
At last Doctor Copeland cleared his throat and said: ‘I am certain you did not come here for nothing. I am sure we have not discussed these subjects all through the night to no purpose. We have talked of everything now except the most vital subject of all--the way out. What must be done.’
They still watched each other and waited. In the face of each there was expectation. Doctor Copeland sat bolt upright against the pillows. Jake rested his chin in his hand and leaned forward. The pause continued. And then hesitantly they began to speak at the same time. ‘Excuse me,’ Jake said. ‘Go ahead.’
‘No, you. You started first.’
‘Go on.’
‘Pshaw!’ said Doctor Copeland. ‘Continue.’ Jake stared at him with clouded, mystical eyes. It’s this way. This is how I see it. The only solution is for the people to know. Once they know the truth they can be oppressed no longer. Once just half of them know the whole fight is won.’
‘Yes, once they understand the workings of this society. But how do you propose to tell them? ‘ ‘Listen,’ Jake said. ‘Think about chain letters. If one person sends a letter to ten people and then each of the ten people sends letters to ten more--you get it?’ He faltered. ‘Not that I write letters, but the idea is the same. I just go around telling. And if in one town I can show the truth to just ten of the don’t knows, then I feel like some good has been done. See? ‘ Doctor Copeland looked at Jake in surprise. Then he snorted. ‘Do not be childish! You cannot just go about talking. Chain letters indeed! Knows and don’t-knows! ‘ Jake’s lips trembled and his brow lowered with quick anger. ‘O.K. What have you got to offer? ‘ ‘I will say first that I used to feel somewhat as you do on this question. But I have learned what a mistake that attitude is. For half a century I thought it wise to be patient.’
‘I didn’t say be patient.’
‘In the face of brutality I was prudent. Before injustice I held my peace. I sacrificed the things in hand for the good of the hypothetical whole. I believed in the tongue instead of the fist. As an armor against oppression I taught patience and faith in the human soul. I know now how wrong I was. I have been a traitor to myself and to my people. All that is rot. Now is the time to act and to act quickly. Fight cunning with cunning and might with might’
‘But how?’ Jake asked. ‘How? ’
‘Why, by getting out and doing things. By calling crowds of people together and getting them to demonstrate.’
‘Huh! That last phrase gives you away--"getting them to demonstrate." What good will it do if you get them to demonstrate against a thing if they don’t know. You’re trying to stuff the hog by way of his ass.’
‘Such vulgar expressions annoy me,’ Doctor Copeland said prudishly. ‘For Christ’ sake! I don’t care if they annoy you or not’ Doctor Copeland held up his hand. ‘Let us not get so overheated,’ he said. ‘Let us attempt to see eye to eye with each other.’
‘Suits me. I don’t want to fight with you.’ They were silent. Doctor Copeland moved his eyes from one corner of the ceiling to the other. Several times he wet his lips to speak and each time the word remained half-formed and silent in his mouth. Then at last he said: ‘My advice to you is this. Do not attempt to stand alone.’
‘But--’
‘But, nothing,’ said Doctor Copeland didactically. ‘The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone.’
‘I see what you’re getting at.’ Doctor Copeland pulled the neck of his nightshirt up over his bony shoulder and held it gathered tight to his throat. ‘You believe in the struggle of my people for their human rights?’
The Doctor’s agitation and his mild and husky question made Jake’s eyes brim suddenly with tears. A quick, swollen rush of love caused him to grasp the black, bony hand on the counterpane and hold it fast. ‘Sure,’ he said.
‘The extremity of our need?’
‘Yes.’
‘The lack of justice? The bitter inequality?’
Doctor Copeland coughed and spat into one of the squares of paper which he kept beneath his pillow. ‘I have a program. It is a very simple, concentrated plan. I mean to focus on only one objective. In August of this year I plan to lead more than one thousand Negroes in this county on a march. A march to Washington. All of us together in one solid body. If you will look in the cabinet yonder you will see a stack of letters which I have written this week and will deliver personally.’ Doctor Copeland slid his nervous hands up and down the sides of the narrow bed.