290
JAMES BALDWIN
walk was always deliberate and slow, his tone mocking and
gentle: but now he remembered how Rufus played the drums.
He moved one short step closer, watching Rufus, watch–
ing the knife.
"Don't kill me, Rufus," he suddenly heard himself say.
"I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm only trying to help."
The bathroom door was still open and the light still burned.
The bald kitchen light burned mercilessly down on the two
orange crates and the board which formed the kitchen table,
and on the uncovered wash and bathtub. Dirty clothes lay flung
in a corner. Beyond them, in the dim bedroom, two suitcases,
Rufus's and Leona's, lay open in the middle of the floor. On
the bed was a twisted grey sheet and a thin blanket.
Rufus stared at him. He seemed not to believe Vivaldo;
he seemed to long to believe him. His face twisted, he dropped
the knife, and fell against Vivaldo, throwing his arms around
him, trembling.
Vivaldo led him into the bedroom and they sat down on
the bed.
"Somebody's got to help me," said Rufus at last, "some–
body's got to help me. This shit has got to stop."
"Can't you tell me about it? You're screwing up your life.
And 1 don't know why."
Rufus sighed and fell back, his arms beneath his head,
staring at the ceiling. "I don't know, either. 1 don't know up
from down. 1 don't know what I'm doing no more."
The entire building was silent. The room in which they
sat seemed very far away from the life breathing all around
them, all over the island.
Vivaldo said, gently, "You know, what you're doing to
Leona- that's not right. Even if she were doing what you say
she's doing-it's not right.
If
all you can do
is
beat her, well,
then, you ought to leave her."
Rufus seemed to smile. "I guess there
is
something the
matter with my head."
