282
PARTISAN REJIIEW
they
sttaak
hands, rather ceremoniously, as though Simon were going
forth to prtach to the gentiles; and it was not until he was half-way
down the stairs that it occurred to him that this, his rash and doubtful
mission, was what Wiley Bey had wanted all along.
In the end the idea pleased him, bearing as it did the promise of
some indefinable intimacy with this strange man. Simon paced his floor
and imagined grave and electric conversations, in which problems would
rise up and dissolve like paper in flame.... Yet the ticking of the clock
and the onset of evening recalled him to the seriousness of the Negro's
situation; and when the time <:arne to leave he was overcome with terror.
He sat on his bed and thought, But this is absurd, what in the world
shall I tell them? And what the devil have I to do with the whole
business anyway?
Nevertheless, he arose, donned his black cloak and walked aero!!!!
the yark. These shaded lawns and bushes were notorious trysting-placee,
already alive in the twilight. There were couples on the benches, whis·
pering, stifled cries. Simon, his head cast down, his cloak almost dragging
the ground behind him, passed through quickly, like a shadow, and
noticed nothing. And so he walked the crowded streets, where kids ran
screaming and cheap radios blared from furniture stores and groups of
men and women
b~oke
to let him pass. He was so absorbed that he
missed the sign on the store-window and had to tum back.
Two steps down, the interior of the store was divided by a low
barrier, on the far side of which, around a conference table, sat the
members of the board. They were absorbed in papers, spoke to each
other in whispers. To the right, a few steps from the door, was a desk,
behind which sat a young lady.
"Your name?"
"Charles R. Simon."
A banging of file cabinets.
"Are you sure this is your board? We have no record of you."
"0 no, I've been dreaming,
I
beg your pardon! I've come on behalf
of my-ah, client."
"I'm sorry," she said crisply. "It's against the law for selectees to
be represented by counsel.
If
he wants to appeal, he'll have to come
himself;"
A Negro came in and respectfully removed his hat. The young
lady made signs of addressing herself to the newcomer.
"Look," said Simon quickly. "To begin with, it's not a question of
appealing but of-how shall I say?-explicating. Secondly, Mr. Wiley
Bey is not my client in a legal sense, that was only a manner of speaking.
I am his advocate but not his lawyer. In fact, I am not a lawyer at all."
In the face of her astonishment, Simon was beginning to find a rare
self·possession. "Suppose Mr. Wiley Bey were struck by an automobile
and were physically incapable of appearing before the board?"
"Just a moment,'' she said, and walked back to the long table, letting
the little door swing smartly behind her. The board·members looked up
as she began to whisper furiously and quite audibly her account of what
Simon had said. An efficient female, thought Simon, and the idea was
large and slow like all his ideas at the moment, amused him dispro–
portionately; buckteeth and sallow skin!
