At any rate, it wasn’t long before he asked me to marry him. I married him and we were very happy. We lived in New Marsails and went to the parties on the Northside, and I went with David on his assignments. And when we came home to our place, we made love and laughed and really enjoyed being with each other. But still, there were those nights he didn’t want me around, when he’d ship me off to the movies. Those evenings didn’t worry me as much as they had before we were married, and even if I had worried, I wouldn’t have said anything because I trusted him and didn’t want to nag him. And sometimes he would say to me, “Camille, thank you for not asking me about what I’m doing. The less you know about it, the better.”

Then I got pregnant with Dewey, and David got fired and everything came out into the open.

Besides writing for the A-T, David had been sending pieces to some communistic magazines in New York. He’d used a pen name, but the A-T had found out and they’d fired him, mainly because he had been taking a very radical stand on race issues. I didn’t understand much more than that, but if he thought he was doing the right thing, it didn’t matter to me what he was doing. I tried to tell him it was all right and if he wanted to go to New York and work full time on those magazines, we would go to New York. But when I told him about the baby coming—and I couldn’t very well keep it from him—he said No, we couldn’t go to New York because newspaper work was too unsteady and we might get stranded there. He tried and tried to get a job, and couldn’t, and he started to get panicky and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Each day he’d change more and more.