Read Online Going to Meet the Man by James Baldwin - Free Book Online Page A

furious prancing and barking. Jamie bent down and, with one hand, with all his might, slapped his dog, which rolled over, howling, and ran away to hide itself under the shadows of the far grey wall.
    Then Jamie stared again at Eric’s father, trembling, and pushed his hair back from his eyes.
    “You better pull yourself together,” Eric’s father said. And, to Eric’s mother. “Get him some coffee. He’ll be all right.”
    Jamie set his glass on the table and picked up the overturned chair. Eric’s mother rose and went into the kitchen. Eric remained sitting on the ground, staring at the two men, his father and his father’s best friend, who had become so unfamiliar. His father, with something in his face which Eric had never before seen there, a tenderness, a sorrow—or perhaps it was, after all, the look he sometimes wore when approaching a calf he was about to slaughter—looked down at Jamie where he sat, head bent, at the table. “You take things too hard,” he said. “You always have. I was only teasing you for your own good.”
    Jamie did not answer. His father looked over to Eric, and smiled.
    “Come on,” he said. “You and me are going for a walk.”
    Eric, passing on the side of the table farthest from Jamie, went to his father and took his hand.
    “Pull yourself together,” his father said to Jamie. “We’re going to cut your birthday cake as soon as me and the little one come back.”
    Eric and his father passed beyond the grey wall where the dog still whimpered, out into the fields. Eric’s father was walking too fast and Eric stumbled on the uneven ground. When they had gone a little distance his father abruptly checked his pace and looked down at Eric, grinning.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I said we were going for a walk, not running to put out a fire.”
    “What’s the matter with Jamie?” Eric asked.
    “Oh,” said his father, looking westward where the sun was moving, pale orange now, making the sky ring with brass and copper and gold—which, like a magician, she was presenting only to demonstrate how variously they could be transformed—“Oh,” he repeated, “there’s nothing wrong with Jamie. He’s been drinking a lot,” and he grinned down at Eric, “and he’s been sitting in the sun—you know, his hair’s not as thick as yours,” and he ruffled Eric’s hair, “and I guess birthdays make him nervous. Hell,” he said, “they make me nervous, too.”
    “Jamie’s
very
old,” said Eric, “isn’t he?”
    His father laughed. “Well, butch, he’s not exactly ready to fall into the grave yet—he’s going to be around awhile, is Jamie. Hey,” he said, and looked down at Eric again, “you must think I’m an old man, too.”
    “Oh,” said Eric, quickly, “I know you’re not as old as Jamie.”
    His father laughed again. “Well, thank you, son. That shows real confidence. I’ll try to live up to it.”
    They walked in silence for awhile and then his father said, not looking at Eric, speaking to himself, it seemed, or to theair: “No, Jamie’s not so old. He’s not as old as he should be.”
    “How old
should
he be?” asked Eric.
    “Why,” said his father, “he ought to be his age,” and, looking down at Eric’s face, he burst into laughter again.
    “Ah,” he said, finally, and put his hand on Eric’s head again, very gently, very sadly, “don’t you worry now about what you don’t understand. The time is coming when you’ll have to worry—but that time hasn’t come yet.”
    Then they walked till they came to the steep slope which led to the railroad tracks, down, down, far below them, where a small train seemed to be passing forever through the countryside, smoke, like the very definition of idleness, blowing out of the chimney stack of the toy locomotive. Eric thought, resentfully, that he scarcely ever saw a train pass when he came here alone. Beyond the railroad tracks was the river where they sometimes went swimming in the