“Bud,” said Claude, “you can gas all day about the oddities of a nigger, without making a buck on the transaction. If they wasn’t funny peculiar, then they wouldn’t be niggers, if you get me. What would be the point? Personally, I like them and hope they keep it up. You’ll never find a nigger who’s a pacifist, bud, and that’s good enough for me any old day.
“But speaking of your pal,” he howled, “who you think’s president of the new firm? So nobody can say there’s prejudice in relocating our dark-skinned friends? Who I’m going to put, incidentally, up in Vetsville and run out them college types—no offense, bud, but I don’t see they pull their weight. And I rely on you, as an ex-serviceman, to keep the Legion off my neck. Tell them they can have my present residence for a clubhouse. Me and the Mrs. are moving in one room over a groshery store. I ain’t got no need for space, bud. Give me a phone and a Cad, and I’m happy: communication and transportation. You know my motto, fella: Never knock democracy! See ya tomorrow at the office.”
Reinhart hung up, and was still in the same contemplative mood when he reached Genevieve.
She said firmly: “Carl, I have thought it over and decided to stay put, right here in my own house.”
“Well then, that’s that,” said Reinhart, who was big enough of soul to let her think she had won the point, and small enough to add: “By the way, I spent some time with your father this evening.”
“You see? I knew everything would turn out right when you came to understand him. That’s generally true with everybody, Carl. Why, when I first saw you myself I thought you were an awful jerk.”
“It is true,” Reinhart confessed philosophically, worming himself under her, “that I am generally underestimated.” He yawned. “I think it has something to do with my facial expression. Perhaps I should squint a little—you know, narrow my eyes to look crafty. Or grow a mustache, like Claude’s. What do you think?”
Gen applied herself to the problem, studying his features at a range of three inches, he holding his breath because of the beer.
“If you care to know my opinion,” she said finally, “I would grin so as not to show my front teeth.”
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Copyright © 1962 by Thomas Berger
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Thomas Berger, This Old Heart of Mine
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