Invisible Man (13 page)

The vet started up the steps still smiling, climbing backwards a step at a time. I had begun to worry about him, whether he was drunk like the rest, when I saw three of the girls who had been leaning over the balustrade watching the brawl come down to help us carry Mr. Norton up.

“Looks like pops couldn’t take it,” one of them shouted.

“He’s high as a Georgia pine.”

“Yeah, I tell you this stuff Halley got out here is too strong for white folks to drink.”

“Not drunk, ill!” the fat man said. “Go find a bed that’s not being used so he can stretch out awhile.”

“Sho, daddy. Is there any other little favors I can do for you?”

“That’ll be enough,” he said.

One of the girls ran up ahead. “Mine’s just been changed. Bring him down here,” she said.

In a few minutes Mr. Norton was lying upon a three-quarter bed, faintly breathing. I watched the fat man bend over him very professionally and feel for his pulse.

“You a doctor?” a girl asked.

“Not now, I’m a patient. But I have a certain knowledge.”

Another one, I thought, pushing him quickly aside. “He’ll be all right. Let him come to so I can get him out of here.”

“You needn’t worry, I’m not like those down there, young fellow,” he said. “I really was a doctor. I won’t hurt him. He’s had a mild shock of some kind.”

We watched him bend over Mr. Norton again, feeling his pulse, pulling back his eyelid.

“It’s a mild shock,” he repeated.

“This here Golden Day is enough to shock anybody,” a girl said, smoothing her apron over the smooth sensuous roll of her stomach.

Another brushed Mr. Norton’s white hair away from his forehead and stroked it, smiling vacantly. “He’s kinda cute,” she said. “Just like a little white baby.”

“What kinda ole baby?” the small skinny girl asked.

“That’s the kind, an
ole
baby.”

“You just like white men, Edna. That’s all,” the skinny one said.

Edna shook her head and smiled as though amused at herself. “I sho do. I just love ’em. Now this one, old as he is, he could put his shoes under my bed any night.”

“Shucks, me I’d kill an old man like that.”

“Kill him nothing,” Edna said. “Girl, don’t you know that all these rich ole white men got monkey glands and billy goat balls? These old bastards don’t never git enough. They want to have the whole world.”

The doctor looked at me and smiled. “See, now you’re learning all about endocrinology,” he said. “I was wrong when I told you that he was only a man; it seems now that he’s either part goat or part ape. Maybe he’s both.”

“It’s the truth,” Edna said. “I used to have me one in Chicago—”

“Now you ain’t never been to no Chicago, gal,” the other one interrupted.

“How you know I ain’t? Two years ago … Shucks, you don’t know nothing. That ole white man right there might have him a coupla jackass balls!”

The fat man raised up with a quick grin. “As a scientist and a physician I’m forced to discount that,” he said. “That is one operation that has yet to be performed.” Then he managed to get the girls out of the room.

“If he should come around and hear that conversation,” the vet said, “it would be enough to send him off again. Besides, their scientific curiosity might lead them to investigate whether he really does have a monkey gland. And that, I’m afraid, would be a bit obscene.”

“I’ve got to get him back to the school,” I said.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll do what I can to help you. Go see if you can find some ice. And don’t worry.”

I went out on the balcony, seeing the tops of their heads. They were still milling around, the juke box baying, the piano thumping, and over at the end of the room, drenched with beer, Supercargo lay like a spent horse upon the bar.

Starting down, I noticed a large piece of ice glinting in the remains of an abandoned drink and seized its coldness in my hot hand and hurried back to the room.

The vet sat staring at Mr. Norton, who now breathed with a slightly irregular sound.

“You were quick,” the man said, as he stood and reached for the ice. “Swift with the speed of anxiety,” he added, as if to himself. “Hand me that clean towel—there, from beside the basin.”

I handed him one, seeing him fold the ice inside it and apply it to Mr. Norton’s face.

“Is he all right?” I said.

“He will be in a few minutes. What happened to him?”

“I took him for a drive,” I said.

“Did you have an accident or something?”

“No,” I said. “He just talked to a farmer and the heat knocked him out … Then we got caught in the mob downstairs.”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know, but he’s one of the trustees …”

“One of the very first, no doubt,” he said, dabbing at the blue-veined eyes. “A trustee of consciousness.”

“What was that?” I asked.

“Nothing … There now, he’s coming out of it.”

I had an impulse to run out of the room. I feared what Mr. Norton would say to me, the expression that might come into his eyes. And yet, I was afraid to leave. My eyes could not leave the face with its flickering lids. The head moved from side to side in the pale glow of the light bulb, as though denying some insistent voice which I could not hear. Then the lids opened, revealing pale pools of blue vagueness that finally solidified into points that froze upon the vet, who looked down unsmilingly.

Men like us did not look at a man like Mr. Norton in that manner, and I stepped hurriedly forward.

“He’s a real doctor, sir,” I said.

“I’ll explain,” the vet said. “Get a glass of water.”

I hesitated. He looked at me firmly. “Get the water,” he said, turning to help Mr. Norton to sit up.

Outside I asked Edna for a glass of water and she led me down the hall to a small kitchen, drawing it for me from a green old-fashioned cooler.

“I got some good liquor, baby, if you want to give him a drink,” she said.

“This will do,” I said. My hands trembled so that the water spilled. When I returned, Mr. Norton was sitting up unaided, carrying on a conversation with the vet.

“Here’s some water, sir,” I said, extending the glass.

He took it. “Thank you,” he said.

“Not too much,” the vet cautioned.

“Your diagnosis is exactly that of my specialist,” Mr. Norton said, “and I went to several fine physicians before one could diagnose it. How did you know?”

“I too was a specialist,” the vet said.

“But how? Only a few men in the whole country possess the knowledge—”

“Then one of them is an inmate of a semi-madhouse,” the vet said. “But there’s nothing mysterious about it. I escaped for awhile—I went to France with the Army Medical Corps and remained there after the Armistice to study and practice.”

“Oh yes, and how long were you in France?” Mr. Norton asked.

“Long enough,” he said. “Long enough to forget some fundamentals which I should never have forgotten.”

“What fundamentals?” Mr. Norton said. “What do you mean?”

The vet smiled and cocked his head. “Things about life. Such things as most peasants and folk peoples almost always know through experience, though seldom through conscious thought …”

“Pardon me, sir,” I said to Mr. Norton, “but now that you feel better, shouldn’t we go?”

“Not just yet,” he said. Then to the doctor, “I’m very interested. What happened to you?” A drop of water caught in one of his eyebrows glittered like a chip of active diamond. I went over and sat on a chair. Damn this vet to hell!

“Are you sure you would like to hear?” the vet asked.

“Why, of course.”

“Then perhaps the young fellow should go downstairs and wait …”

The sound of shouting and destruction welled up from below as I opened the door.

“No, perhaps you should stay,” the fat man said. “Perhaps had I overheard some of what I’m about to tell you when I was a student up there on the hill, I wouldn’t be the casualty that I am.”

“Sit down, young man,” Mr. Norton ordered. “So you were a student at the college,” he said to the vet.

I sat down again, worrying about Dr. Bledsoe as the fat man told Mr. Norton of his attending college, then becoming a physician and going to France during the World War.

“Were you a successful physician?” Mr. Norton said.

“Fairly so. I performed a few brain surgeries that won me some small attention.”

“Then why did you return?”

“Nostalgia,” the vet said.

“Then what on earth are you doing here in this … ?” Mr. Norton said, “With your ability …”

“Ulcers,” the fat man said.

“That’s terribly unfortunate, but why should ulcers stop your career?”

“Not really, but I learned along with the ulcers that my work could bring me no dignity,” the vet said.

“Now you sound bitter,” Mr. Norton said, just as the door flew open.

A brown-skinned woman with red hair looked in. “How’s white-folks making out?” she said, staggering inside. “White-folks, baby, you done come to. You want a drink?”

“Not now, Hester,” the vet said. “He’s still a little weak.”

“He sho looks it. That’s how come he needs a drink. Put some iron in his blood.”

“Now, now, Hester.”

“Okay, okay … But what y’all doing looking like you at a funeral? Don’t you know this is the Golden Day?” She staggered toward me, belching elegantly and reeling. “Just look at y’all. Here school-boy looks like he’s scared to death. And white-folks here is acting like y’all two strange poodles. Be happy y’all! I’m going down and get Halley to send you up some drinks.” She patted Mr. Norton’s cheek as she went past and I saw him turn a glowing red. “Be happy, white-folks.”

“Ah, hah!” the vet laughed, “you’re blushing, which means that you’re better. Don’t be embarrassed. Hester is a great humanitarian, a therapist of generous nature and great skill, and the possessor of a healing touch. Her catharsis is absolutely tremendous—ha, ha!”

“You do look better, sir,” I said, anxious to get out of the place. I could understand the vet’s words but not what they conveyed, and Mr. Norton looked as uncomfortable as I felt. The one thing which I did know was that the vet was acting toward the white man with a freedom which could only bring on trouble. I wanted to tell Mr. Norton that the man was crazy and yet I received a fearful satisfaction from hearing him talk as he had to a white man. With the girl it was different. A woman usually got away with things a man never could.

I was wet with anxiety, but the vet talked on, ignoring the interruption.

“Rest, rest,” he said, fixing Mr. Norton with his eyes. “The clocks are all set back and the forces of destruction are rampant down below. They might suddenly realize that you are what you are, and then your life wouldn’t be worth a piece of bankrupt stock. You would be canceled, perforated, voided, become the recognized magnet attracting loose screws. Then what would you do? Such men are beyond money, and with Supercargo down, out like a felled ox, they know nothing of value. To some, you are the great white father, to others the lyncher of souls, but for all, you are confusion come even into the Golden Day.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, thinking:
Lyncher?
He was getting wilder than the men downstairs. I didn’t dare look at Mr. Norton, who made a sound of protest.

The vet frowned. “It is an issue which I can confront only by evading it. An utterly stupid proposition, and these hands so lovingly trained to master a scalpel yearn to caress a trigger. I returned to save life and I was refused,” he said. “Ten men in masks drove me out from the city at midnight and beat me with whips for saving a human life. And I was forced to the utmost degradation because I possessed skilled hands and the belief that my knowledge could bring me dignity—not wealth, only dignity—and other men health!”

Then suddenly he fixed me with his eyes. “And now, do you understand?”

“What?” I said.

“What you’ve heard!”

“I don’t know.”

“Why?”

I said, “I really think it’s time we left.”

“You see,” he said turning to Mr. Norton, “he has eyes and ears and a good distended African nose, but he fails to understand the simple facts of life.
Understand.
Understand? It’s worse than that. He registers with his senses but short-circuits his brain. Nothing has meaning. He takes it in but he doesn’t digest it. Already he is—well, bless my soul! Behold! a walking zombie! Already he’s learned to repress not only his emotions but his humanity. He’s invisible, a walking personification of the Negative, the most perfect achievement of your dreams, sir! The mechanical man!”

Mr. Norton looked amazed.

“Tell me,” the vet said, suddenly calm. “Why have you been interested in the school, Mr. Norton?”

“Out of a sense of my destined role,” Mr. Norton said shakily. “I felt, and I still feel, that your people are in some important manner tied to my destiny.”

“What do you mean, destiny?” the vet said.

“Why, the success of my work, of course.”

“I see. And would you recognize it if you saw it?”

“Why, of course I would,” Mr. Norton said indignantly. “I’ve watched it grow each year I’ve returned to the campus.”

“Campus? Why the campus?”

“It is there that my destiny is being made.”

The vet exploded with laughter. “The campus, what a destiny!” He stood and walked around the narrow room, laughing. Then he stopped as suddenly as he had begun.

“You will hardly recognize it, but it is very fitting that you came to the Golden Day with the young fellow,” he said.

“I came out of illness—or rather, he brought me,” Mr. Norton said.

“Of course, but you came, and it was fitting.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Norton said with irritation.

“A little child shall lead them,” the vet said with a smile. “But seriously, because you both fail to understand what is happening to you. You cannot see or hear or smell the truth of what you see—and you, looking for destiny! It’s classic! And the boy, this automaton, he was made of the very mud of the region and he sees far less than you. Poor stumblers, neither of you can see the other. To you he is a mark on the score-card of your achievement, a thing and not a man; a child, or even less—a black amorphous thing. And you, for all your power, are not a man to him, but a God, a force—”