James Baldwin - Another Country

“Man,” he whispered, “you got to go to the hospital.”

“That’s what I said. All right. Let’s go.”

And he tried to rise.

“No, man. Listen. If I go with you, it’s going to be a whole lot of who shot John because I’m black and you’re white. You dig? I’m telling it to you like it is.”

Vivaldo said, “I really don’t want to hear all that shit, Rufus.”

“Well, it’s true, whether you want to hear it or not. Jane’s got to take you to the hospital, I can’t come with you.” Vivaldo’s eyes were closed and his face was white. “Vivaldo?”

He opened his eyes. “Are you mad at me, Rufus?”

“Shit, no, baby, why should I be mad with you?” But he knew what was bothering Vivaldo. He leaned down and whispered, “Don’t you worry, baby, everything’s cool. I know you’re my friend.”

“I love you, you shithead, I really do.”

“I love you, too. Now, get on to that hospital, I don’t want you to drop dead in this phony white chick’s bathroom. I’ll wait here for you. I’ll be all right.” Then he walked quickly out of the bathroom. He said to Jane, “Take him to the hospital, he’s hurt worse than I am. I’ll wait here.”

She had the sense, then, to say nothing. Vivaldo remained in the hospital for ten days and had three stitches taken in his scalp. In the morning Rufus went uptown to see a doctor and stayed in bed for a week. He and Vivaldo never spoke of this night, and though he knew that Vivaldo had finally begun seeing her again, they never spoke of Jane. But from that time on, Rufus had depended on and trusted Vivaldo — depended on him even now, as he bitterly watched him horsing around with the large girl on the path. He did not know why this was so; he scarcely knew that it was so. Vivaldo was unlike everyone else that he knew in that they, all the others, could only astonish him by kindness or fidelity; it was only Vivaldo who had the power to astonish him by treachery. Even his affair with Jane was evidence in his favor, for if he were really likely to betray his friend for a woman, as most white men seemed to do, especially if the friend were black, then he would have found himself a smoother chick, with the manners of a lady and the soul of a whore. But Jane seemed to be exactly what she was, a monstrous slut, and she thus, without knowing it, kept Rufus and Vivaldo equal to one another.

At last Vivaldo was free and hurried toward them on the path still grinning, and now waving to someone behind them.

“Look,” he cried, “there’s Cass!”

Rufus turned and there she was, sitting alone on the rim of the circle, frail and fair. For him, she was thoroughly mysterious. He could never quite place her in the white world to which she seemed to belong. She came from New England, of plain old American stock — so she put it; she was very fond of remembering that one of her ancestors had been burned as a witch. She had married Richard, who was Polish, and they had two children. Richard had been Vivaldo’s English instructor in high school, years ago. They had known him as a brat, they said — not that he had changed much; they were his oldest friends.

With Leona between them, Rufus and Vivaldo crossed the road.

Cass looked up at them with that smile which was at once chilling and warm. It was warm because it was affectionate; it chilled Rufus because it was amused. “Well, I’m not sure I’m speaking to either of you. You’ve been neglecting us shamefully. Richard has crossed you off his list.” She looked at Leona and smiled. “I’m Cass Silenski.”

“This is Leona,” Rufus said, putting one hand on Leona’s shoulder.

Cass looked more amused than ever, and at the same time more affectionate. “I’m very happy to meet you.”

“I’m glad to meet you, ” said Leona.

They sat down on the stone rim of the fountain, in the center of which a little water played, enough for small children to wade in.

“Give an account of yourselves,” Cass said. “ Why haven’t you come to see us?”

“Oh,” said Vivaldo, “I’ve been busy. I’ve been working on my novel.”

“He’s been working on a novel,” said Cass to Leona, “ever since we’ve known him. Then he was seventeen and now he’s nearly thirty.”

“That’s unkind,” said Vivaldo, looking amused at the same time that he looked ashamed and annoyed.

“Well, Richard was working on one, too. Then he was twenty-five and now he’s close to forty. So—” She considered Vivaldo a moment. “Only, he’s had a brand-new inspiration and he’s been working on it like a madman. I think that’s one of the reasons he’s been rather hoping you’d come by — he may have wanted to discuss it with you.”

“What is this new inspiration?” Vivaldo asked. “Offhand, it sounds unfair.”

“Ah!”—she shrugged merrily, and took a deep drag on her cigarette—“I wasn’t consulted, and I’m kept in the dark. You know Richard. He gets up at some predawn hour and goes straight to his study and stays there until it’s time to go to work; comes home, goes straight to his study and stays there until it’s time to go to bed. I hardly ever see him. The children no longer have a father, I no longer have a husband.” She laughed. “He did manage to grunt something the other morning about it’s going very well.”

“It certainly sounds as though its going well.” Vivaldo looked at Cass enviously. “And you say its new? — it’s not the same novel he was working on before?”

“I gather not. But I really know nothing about it.” She dragged on her cigarette again, crushed it under her heel, immediately began searching in her bag for another.

“Well, I’ll certainly have to come by and check on all this for myself,” said Vivaldo. “At this rate, he’ll be famous before I am.”

“Oh, I’ve always known that,” said Cass, and lit another cigarette.

Rufus watched the pigeons strutting along the walks and the gangs of adolescents roaming up and down. He wanted to get away from this place and this danger. Leona put her hand on his. He grabbed one of her fingers and held it.

Cass turned to Rufus. “Now, you haven’t been working on a novel, why haven’t you come by?”

“I’ve been working uptown. You promised to come and hear me . Remember?”

“We’ve been terribly broke, Rufus—”

“When I’m working in a joint, you haven’t got to worry about being broke, I told you that before.”

“He’s a great musician,” Leona said. “I heard him for the first time last night.”

Rufus looked annoyed. “That gig ended last night. I ain’t got nothing to do for awhile except take care of my old lady.” And he laughed.

Cass and Leona looked briefly at each other and smiled.

“How long have you been up here, Leona?” Cass asked.

“Oh, just a little over a month.”

“Do you like it?”

“Oh, I love it. It’s just as different as night from day, I can’t tell you.”

Cass looked briefly at Rufus. “That’s wonderful,” she said, gravely. “I’m very glad for you.”

“Yes, I can feel that,” said Leona. “You seem to be a very nice woman.”

“Thank you,” said Cass, and blushed.

“ How’ re you going to take care of your old lady,” Vivaldo asked, “if you’re not working?”

“Oh, I’ve got a couple of record dates coming up; don’t you worry about old Rufus.”

Vivaldo sighed. “I’m worried about me . I’m in the wrong profession — or, rather, I’m not. In it, I mean. Nobody wants to hear my story.”

Rufus looked at him. “Don’t let me start talking to you about my profession.”