Great Short Stories by American Women (26 page)

He wanted to go up to Pavageau and give him his hand; to tell him that he was proud of him and that he had really won the case, but public opinion was against him; but he dared not. Another one of his colleagues might; but he was afraid. Pavageau and the world might misunderstand, or would it be understanding?

Thereafter they met often. Either by some freak of nature, or because there was a shrewd sense of the possibilities in his position, Pavageau was of the same political side of the fence as Grabert. Secretly, Grabert admired the man; he respected him; he liked him; and because of this Grabert was always ready with sneer and invective for him. He fought him bitterly when there was no occasion for fighting, and Pavageau became his enemy, and his name a very synonym of horror to Elise, who learned to trace her husband’s fits of moodiness and depression to the one source.

Meanwhile, Vannier Grabert was growing up, a handsome lad, with his father’s and mother’s physical beauty, and a strength and force of character that belonged to neither. In him, Grabert saw the reparation of all his childhood’s wrongs and sufferings. The boy realized all his own longings. He had family traditions, and a social position which was his from birth and an inalienable right to hold up his head without an unknown fear gripping at his heart. Grabert felt that he could forgive all — the village boys of long ago, and the imaginary village boys of today — when he looked at his son. He had bought and paid for Vannier’s freedom and happiness. The coins may have been each a drop of his heart’s blood, but he had reckoned the cost before he had given it.

It was a source of great pride for Grabert, now that he was a judge, to take the boy to court with him, and one Saturday morning when he was starting out, Vannier asked if he might go.

“There is nothing that would interest you today,
mon fils,
”
⁹
he said tenderly, “but you may go.”

In fact, there was nothing interesting that day; merely a trouble-some old woman, who instead of taking her fair-skinned grandchild out of the school where it had been found it did not belong, had preferred to bring the matter to court. She was represented by Pavageau. Of course, there was not the ghost of a show for her. Pavageau had told her that. The law was very explicit about the matter. The only question lay in proving the child’s affinity to the Negro race, which was not such a difficult matter to do, so the case was quickly settled, since the child’s grandmother accompanied him. The judge, however, was irritated. It was a hot day and he was provoked that such a trivial matter should have taken up his time. He lost his temper as he looked at his watch.

“I don’t see why these people want to force their children into the white schools,” he declared. “There should be a rigid inspection to prevent it, and all the suspected children put out and made to go where they belong.”

Pavageau, too, was irritated that day. He looked up from some papers which he was folding, and his gaze met Grabert’s with a keen, cold, penetrating flash.

“Perhaps Your Honor would like to set the example by taking your son from the schools.”

There was an instant silence in the courtroom, a hush intense and eager. Every eye turned upon the judge, who sat still, a figure carven in stone with livid face and fear-stricken eyes. After the first flash of his eyes, Pavageau had gone on cooly sorting the papers.

The courtroom waited, waited, for the judge to rise and thunder forth a fine against the daring Negro lawyer for contempt. A minute passed, which seemed like an hour. Why did not Grabert speak? Pavageau’s implied accusation was too absurd for denial; but he should be punished. Was His Honor ill, or did he merely hold the man in too much contempt to notice him or his remark?

Finally Grabert spoke; he moistened his lips, for they were dry and parched, and his voice was weak and sounded far away in his own ears. “My son — does — not — attend the public schools.”

Someone in the rear of the room laughed, and the atmosphere lightened at once. Plainly Pavageau was an idiot, and His Honor too far above him; too much of a gentleman to notice him. Grabert continued calmly: “The gentleman” — there was an unmistakable sneer in this word, habit if nothing else, and not even fear could restrain him — “the gentleman doubtless intended a little pleasantry, but I shall have to fine him for contempt of court.”

“As you will,” replied Pavageau, and he flashed another look at Grabert. It was a look of insolent triumph and derision. His Honor’s eyes dropped beneath it.

“What did that man mean, Father, by saying you should take me out of school?” asked Vannier on his way home.

“He was provoked, my son, because he had lost his case, and when a man is provoked he is likely to say silly things. By the way, Vannier, I hope you won’t say anything to your mother about the incident. It would only annoy her.”

For the public, the incident was forgotten as soon as it had closed, but for Grabert, it was indelibly stamped on his memory; a scene that shrieked in his mind and stood out before him at every footstep he took. Again and again as he tossed on a sleepless bed did he see the cold flash of Pavageau’s eyes, and hear his quiet accusation. How did he know? Where had he gotten his information? For he spoke, not as one who makes a random shot in anger, but as one who knows, who has known a long while, and who is betrayed by irritation into playing his trump card too early in the game.

He passed a wretched week, wherein it seemed that his every footstep was dogged, his every gesture watched and recorded. He fancied that Elise, even, was suspecting him. When he took his judicial seat each morning, it seemed that every eye in the courtroom was fastened upon him in derision; everyone who spoke, it seemed, was but biding his time to shout the old village street refrain which had haunted him all his life, 0”Nigger! — Nigger! — White nigger!”

Finally, he could stand it no longer; and with leaden feet and furtive glances to the right and left for fear he might be seen, he went up a flight of dusty stairs in an Exchange Alley building, which led to Pavageau’s office.

The latter was frankly surprised to see him. He made a polite attempt to conceal it, however. It was the first time in his legal life that Grabert had ever sought out a Negro; the first time that he had ever voluntarily opened conversation with one.

He mopped his forehead nervously as he took the chair Pavageau offered him; he stared about the room for an instant; then with a sudden, almost brutal directness, he turned on the lawyer.

“See here, what did you mean by that remark you made in court the other day?”

“I meant just what I said” was the cool reply.

Grabert paused. “Why did you say it?” he asked slowly.

“Because I was a fool. I should have kept my mouth shut until another time, should I not?”

“Pavageau,” said Grabert softly, “let’s not fence. Where did you get your information?”

Pavageau paused for an instant. He put his fingertips together and closed his eyes as one who meditates. Then he said with provoking calmness, “You seem anxious — well, I don’t mind letting you know. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Yes, yes,” broke in Grabert impatiently.

“Did you ever hear of a Mme. Guichard of Hospital Street?”

The sweat broke out on the judge’s brow as he replied weakly, “Yes.”

“Well, I am her nephew.”

“And she?”

“Is dead. She told me about you once — with pride, let me say. No one else knows.”

Grabert sat dazed. He had forgotten about Mme. Guichard. She had never entered into his calculations at all. Pavageau turned to his desk with a sigh, as if he wished the interview were ended. Grabert rose.

“If — if — this were known — to — to — my — my wife,” he said thickly, “it would hurt her very much.”

His head was swimming. He had had to appeal to this man, and to appeal to his wife’s name. His wife, whose name he scarcely spoke to men whom he considered his social equals.

Pavageau looked up quickly. “It happens that I often have cases in your court,” he spoke deliberately. “I am willing, if I lose fairly, to give up; but I do not like to have a decision made against me because my opponent is of a different complexion from mine, or because the decision against me would please a certain class of people. I only ask what I have never had from you — fair play.”

“I understand,” said Grabert.

He admired Pavageau more than ever as he went out of his office, yet this admiration was tempered by the knowledge that this man was the only person in the whole world who possessed positive knowledge of his secret. He groveled in a self-abasement at his position; and yet he could not but feel a certain relief that the vague, formless fear which had hitherto dogged his life and haunted it had taken on a definite shape. He knew where it was now; he could lay his hands on it, and fight it.

But with what weapons? There were none offered him save a substantial backing down from his position on certain questions; the position that had been his for so long that he was almost known by it. For in the quiet deliberate sentence of Pavageau’s, he read that he must cease all the oppression, all the little injustices which he had offered Pavageau’s clientele. He must act now as his convictions and secret sympathies and affiliations had bidden him act, not as prudence and fear and cowardice had made him act.

Then what would be the result? he asked himself. Would not the suspicions of the people be aroused by this sudden change in his manner? Would not they begin to question and to wonder? Would not someone remember Pavageau’s remark that morning and, putting two and two together, start some rumor flying? His heart sickened again at the thought.

There was a banquet that night. It was in his honor, and he was to speak, and the thought was distasteful to him beyond measure. He knew how it all would be. He would be hailed with shouts and acclamations, as the finest flower of civilization. He would be listened to deferentially, and younger men would go away holding him in their hearts as a truly worthy model. When all the white —

He threw back his head and laughed. Oh, what a glorious revenge he had on those little white village boys! How he had made a race atone for Wilson’s insult in the courtroom; for the man in the restaurant at whom Ward had laughed so uproariously; for all the affronts seen and unseen given these people of his own whom he had denied. He had taken a diploma from their most exclusive college; he had broken down the barriers of their social world; he had taken the highest possible position among them and, aping their own ways, had shown them that he, too, could despise this inferior race they despised. Nay, he had taken for his wife the best woman among them all, and she had borne him a son. Ha, ha! What a joke on them all!

And he had not forgotten the black and yellow boys either. They had stoned him too, and he had lived to spurn them; to look down upon them, and to crush them at every possible turn from his seat on the bench. Truly, his life had not been wasted.

He had lived forty-nine years now, and the zenith of his power was not yet reached. There was much more to do, much more, and he was going to do it. He owed it to Elise and the boy. For their sake he must go on and on and keep his tongue still, and truckle to Pavageau and suffer alone. Someday, perhaps, he would have a grandson, who would point with pride to “My grandfather, the famous Judge Grabert!” Ah, that in itself, was a reward. To have founded a dynasty; to bequeath to others that which he had never possessed himself, and the lack of which had made his life a misery.

It was a banquet with a political significance; one that meant a virtual triumph for Judge Grabert in the next contest for the District Judge. He smiled around at the eager faces which were turned up to his as he arose to speak. The tumult of applause which had greeted his rising had died away, and an expectant hush fell on the room.

“What a sensation I could make now,” he thought. He had but to open his mouth and cry out, “Fools! Fools! I whom you are honoring, I am one of the despised ones. Yes, I’m a nigger — do you hear, a nigger!” What a temptation it was to end the whole miserable farce. If he were alone in the world, if it were not for Elise and the boy, he would, just to see their horror and wonder. How they would shrink from him! But what could they do? They could take away his office; but his wealth, and his former successes, and his learning, they could not touch. Well, he must speak, and he must remember Elise and the boy.

Every eye was fastened on him in eager expectancy. Judge Grabert’s speech was expected to outline the policy of their faction in the coming campaign. He turned to the chairman at the head of the table.

“Mr. Chairman,” he began, and paused again. How peculiar it was that in the place of the chairman there sat Grandmère Grabert, as she had been wont to sit on the steps of the tumbledown cottage in the village. She was looking at him sternly and bidding him give an account of his life since she had kissed him good-bye ere he had sailed down the river to New Orleans. He was surprised, and not a little annoyed. He had expected to address the chairman, not Grandmère Grabert. He cleared his throat and frowned.

“Mr. Chairman,” he said again. Well, what was the use of addressing her that way? She would not understand him. He would call her Grandmère, of course. Were they not alone again on the cottage steps at twilight with the cries of the little brutish boys ringing derisively from the distant village square?

“Grandmère,” he said softly, “you don’t understand — ” And then he was sitting down in his seat pointing one finger angrily at her because the other words would not come. They stuck in his throat, and he choked and beat the air with his hands. When the men crowded around him with water and hastily improvised fans, he fought them away wildly and desperately with furious curses that came from his blackened lips. For were they not all boys with stones to pelt him because he wanted to play with them? He would run away to Grandmère who would soothe him and comfort him. So he arose and, stumbling, shrieking and beating them back from him, ran the length of the hall, and fell across the threshold of the door.