"I WANT ORDER!" the giant shouted as he sent a man flying down the flight of stairs.
"THEY THROWING BOTTLES OF LIQUOR!" a woman screamed. "REAL LIQUOR!"
"That's a order he don't want," someone said.
A shower of bottles and glasses splashing whiskey crashed against the balcony. I saw Supercargo snap suddenly erect and grab his forehead, his face bathed in whiskey, "Eeeee!" he cried, "Eeeee!" Then I saw him waver, rigid from his ankles upward. For a moment the men on the stairs were motionless, watching him. Then they sprang forward.
Supercargo grabbed wildly at the balustrade as they snatched his feet from beneath him and started down. His head bounced against the steps making a sound like a series of gunshots as they ran dragging him by his ankles, like volunteer firemen running with a hose. The crowd surged forward. Halley yelled near my ear. I saw the man being dragged toward the center of the room.
"Give the bastard some order!"
"Here I'm forty-five and he's been acting like he's my old man!"
"So you like to kick, huh?" a tall man said, aiming a shoe at the attendant's head. The flesh above his right eye jumped out as though it had been inflated.
Then I heard Mr. Norton beside me shouting, "No, no! Not when he's down!"
"Lissen at the white folks," someone said. "He's the white folks' man!"
Men were jumping upon Supercargo with both feet now and I felt such an excitement that I wanted to join them. Even the girls were yelling, "Give it to him good!" "He never pays me!" "Kill him!"
"Please, y'all, not here! Not in my place!"
"You can't speak your mind when he's on duty!"
"Hell, no!"
Somehow I got pushed away from Mr. Norton and found myself beside the man called Sylvester.
"Watch this, school-boy," he said. "See there, where his ribs are bleeding?" I nodded my head. "Now don't move your eyes."
I watched the spot as though compelled, just beneath the lower rib and above the hip-bone, as Sylvester measured carefully with his toe and kicked as though he were punting a football. Supercargo let out a groan like an injured horse.
"Try it, school-boy, it feels so good. It gives you relief," Sylvester said. "Sometimes I get so afraid of him I feel that he's inside my head. There!" he said, giving Supercargo another kick.
As I watched, a man sprang on Supercargo's chest with both feet and he lost consciousness. They began throwing cold beer on him, reviving him, only to kick him unconscious again. Soon he was drenched in blood and beer.
"The bastard's out cold."
"Throw him out."
"Naw, wait a minute. Give me a hand somebody."
They threw him upon the bar, stretching him out with his arms folded across his chest like a corpse.
"Now, let's have a drink!"
Halley was slow in getting behind the bar and they cursed him.
"Get back there and serve us, you big sack of fat!"
"Gimme a rye!"
"Up here, funk-buster!"
"Shake them sloppy hips!"
"Okay, okay, take it easy," Halley said, rushing to pour them drinks. "Just put y'all's money where your mouth is."
With Supercargo lying helpless upon the bar, the men whirled about like maniacs. The excitement seemed to have tilted some of the more delicately balanced ones too far. Some made hostile speeches at the top of their voices against the hospital, the state and the universe. The one who called himself a composer was banging away the one wild piece he seemed to know on the out-of-tune piano, striking the keyboard with fists and elbows and filling in other effects in a bass voice that moaned like a bear in agony. One of the most educated ones touched my arm. He was a former chemist who was never seen without his shining Phi Beta Kappa key.
"The men have lost control," he said through the uproar. "I think you'd better leave."
"I'm trying to," I said, "as soon as I can get over to Mr. Norton."
Mr. Norton was gone from where I had left him. I rushed here and there through the noisy men, calling his name.
When I found him he was under the stairs. Somehow he had been pushed there by the scuffling, reeling men and he lay sprawled in the chair like an aged doll. In the dim light his features were sharp and white and his closed eyes well-defined lines in a well-tooled face. I shouted his name above the roar of the men, and got no answer. He was out again. I shook him, gently, then roughly, but still no flicker of his wrinkled lids. Then some of the milling men pushed me up against him and suddenly a mass of whiteness was looming two inches from my eyes; it was only his face but I felt a shudder of nameless horror. I had never been so close to a white person before. In a panic I struggled to get away. With his eyes closed he seemed more threatening than with them open. He was like a formless white death, suddenly appeared before me, a death which had been there all the time and which had now revealed itself in the madness of the Golden Day.
"Stop screaming!" a voice commanded, and I felt myself pulled away. It was the short fat man.
I clamped my mouth shut, aware for the first time that the shrill sound was coming from my own throat. I saw the man's face relax as he gave me a wry smile.
"That's better," he shouted into my ear. "He's only a man. Remember that. He's only a man!"
I wanted to tell him that Mr. Norton was much more than that, that he was a rich white man and in my charge; but the very idea that I was responsible for him was too much for me to put into words.
"Let us take him to the balcony," the man said, pushing me toward Mr. Norton's feet. I moved automatically, grasping the thin ankles as he raised the white man by the armpits and backed from beneath the stairs. Mr. Norton's head lolled upon his chest as though he were drunk or dead.
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."