James Baldwin - Another Country

“There didn’t,” said Eric, “seem to be any other reason. They’d never seen the boys before.”

“I imagine,” said Ida, “that it was in some kind of retaliation — for something some other boys had done to them.”

“I guess that must be it,” said Eric.

They reached the crowded park at the bottom of Fifth Avenue. Eric had not seen the park for many years and the melancholy and distaste which weighed him down increased as they began to walk through it. Lord, here were the trees and the benches and the people and the dark shapes on the grass; the children’s playground, deserted now, with the swings and the slides and the sandpile; and the darkness surrounding this place, in which the childless wretched gathered to act out their joyless rituals. His life, his entire life, rose to his throat like bile tonight. The sea of memory washed over him, again and again, and each time it receded another humiliated Eric was left writhing on the sands. How hard it was to be despised! how impossible not to despise oneself! Here were the peaceful men in the lamplight, playing chess. A sound of singing and guitar-playing came from the center of the park; idly, they walked toward it; they each seemed to be waiting and fearing the resolution of their evening. There was a great crowd gathered in the small fountain; this crowd broke down, upon examination, into several small crowds, each surrounding one, two, or three singers. The singers, male and female, wore blue jeans and long hair and had more zest than talent. Yet, there was something very winning, very moving, about their unscrubbed, unlined faces, and their blankly shining, infantile eyes, and their untried, unhypocritical voices. They sang as though, by singing, they could bring about the codification and the immortality of innocence. Their listeners were of another circle, aimless, empty, and corrupt, and stood packed together in the stone fountain merely in order to be comforted or inflamed by the touch and the odor of human flesh. And the policemen, in the lamplight, circled around them all.

Ida and Vivaldo walked together, Eric and Ellis walked together: but all of them were far from one another. Eric felt, dimly, that he ought to make some attempt to talk to the man beside him, but he had no desire to talk to him; he wanted to leave, and he was afraid to leave. Ida and Vivaldo had also been silent. Now, as they walked from group to singing group, intermittently, through romanticized Western ballads and toothless Negro spirituals, he heard their voices. And he knew that Ellis was listening, too. This knowledge forced him, finally, to speak to Ellis.

He heard Ida. “—sweetie, don’t be like that.”

“Will you stop calling me sweetie? That’s what you call every miserable cock sucker who comes sniffing around your ass.”

“ Must you talk that way?”

“Look, don’t you pull any of that lady bullshit on me.”

“—you talk. I’ll never understand white people, never, never, never! How can you talk that way? How can you expect anyone else to respect you if you don’t respect yourselves?”

“ Oh . Why the fuck did I ever get tied up with a house nigger? And I am not white people! ”

“—I warn you, I warn you!”

“— you’re the one who starts it! You always start it!”

“—I knew you would be jealous. That’s why!”

“You picked a fine way to keep me from being — jealous, baby.”

“Can’t we talk about it later? Why do you always have to spoil everything?”

“Oh, sure, sure, I’m the one who spoils everything, all right!”

Eric said, to Ellis, “Do you think any of these singers have a future on TV?”

“On daytime TV maybe,” Ellis said, and laughed.

“You’re a hard man,” said Eric.

“I’m just realistic,” Ellis said. “I figure everybody’s out for himself, to make a buck, whether he says so or not. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I just wish more people would admit it, that’s all. Most of the people who think they disapprove of me don’t disapprove of me at all. They just wish that they were me.”

“I guess that’s true,” said Eric — mortally bored.

They began walking away from the music. “Did you live abroad a long time?” Ellis asked, politely.

“About three years.”

“Where?”

“Paris, mostly.”

“What made you go? There’s nothing for an actor to do over there, is there? I mean, an American actor.”

“Oh, I did a couple of things for American TV.” Coming toward them, on the path, were two glittering, loud-talking fairies. He pulled in his belly, looking straight ahead. “And I saw a lot of theater — I don’t know — it was very good for me.” The birds of paradise passed; their raucous cries faded.

Ida said, “I always feel so sorry for people like that.”

Ellis grinned. “Why should you feel sorry for them? They’ve got each other.”

The four of them now came abreast, Ida putting her arm through Eric’s.

“A couple of the waiters on my job are like that. The way some people treat them—! They tell me about it, they tell me everything. I like them, I really do. They’re very sweet. And, of course, they make wonderful escorts. You haven’t got to worry about them.”

“They don’t cost much, either,” said Vivaldo. “I’ll pick one up for you next week and we can keep him around the house as a pet.”

“I simply am not able, today, am I, to say anything that will please you?”

“Stop trying so hard. Ellis, where are you taking us for this business-mixed-with-pleasure drink?”

“Curb your enthusiasm. We’re practically there.” They turned away from the park, toward Eighth Street, and walked into a downstairs bar. Ellis was known here, naturally; they found a booth and ordered.

“Now, the extent of the business, ” Ellis said, looking from Ida to Vivaldo, “is very simple. I’ve helped other people and I think I can help Miss Scott.” He looked at Ida. “You aren’t ready yet. You’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do and a hell of a lot to learn. And I’d like you to drop by my office one afternoon this week so we can go into all this in detail. You’ve got to study and work and you’ve got to keep alive while you’re doing all that and maybe I can help you work that out.” Then he looked at Vivaldo. “And you can come, too, if you think I’m trying to exploit Miss Scott unfairly. Is it your intention to act as her agent?”

“No.”

“You don’t have any reason to distrust me; you just don’t like me, is that it?”

“Yes,” said Vivaldo after a moment, “I guess that’s right.”

“Oh, Vivaldo,” Ida moaned.

“That’s all right. It’s always good to know where you stand. But you certainly aren’t going to allow this— prejudice —to stand in Miss Scott’s way?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, Ida does what she wants.”

Ellis considered him. He looked briefly at Ida. “Well. That’s reassuring.” He signaled for the waiter and turned to Ida. “What day shall we make it? Tuesday, Wednesday?”

“Wednesday might be better,” she said, hesitantly.

“Around three o’clock?”

“Yes. That’s fine.”

“It’s settled, then.” He made a note in his engagement book, then took out his billfold, picked up the check and gave a ten-dollar bill to the waiter. “Give these people anything they want,” he said, “it’s on me.”

“Oh, are you going now?” asked Ida.

“Yes. My wife will kill me if I don’t get home in time to see the kids before I go to the studio. See you Wednesday.” He held out his hand to Eric. “Glad to have met you, Red; all the best. Maybe you’ll do a show for me, one day.” He looked down at Vivaldo. “So long, genius. I’m sorry you don’t like me. Maybe one of these days you ought to ask yourself why. It’s no good blaming me, you know, if you don’t know how to get or how to hold on to what you want.” Then he turned and left. Vivaldo watched the short legs going up the stairs into the street.