“Yes. Not this, but something like it. ‘This’ has not happened to me before, but something like it has, and something like it surely will again.”

After a pause Sarah said, “Will you ever marry?”

“I want no wife, and I have no home to offer one.”

“You want no children either?”

“My children are my pictures. Painters say that. For me it is true. I want to keep on making pictures for as long as I can. And when I cannot, I hope to die—in some quick, easy, painless way, of course.”

“I have no children,” Sarah said.

For the first time since he had known her, Casey laughed at Sarah. “You’re married to Beulah Land. You have two hundred children—two hundred thousand. Not only the people, but every cricket, tadpole, bee; every butterfly, every boll of cotton and ear of corn, every stalk of sugar cane and okra pod is Sarah’s child.”

“If you were not my lover, I’d ask you to stay and be my friend.”

“If you were not my lover,” he said, “I’d ask you to go with me and be mine.”

“Casey! You are a sweet, good man!”

Quickly, as friends, they kissed. Sarah got out of bed and put on her night robe. “Sugar or Plumboy will drive you into town to the depot in plenty of time for the train.”

He got out of bed and, naked, accompanied her to the door.

“You look funny,” she said. “It doesn’t go with a sad face.“

“Go back to bed.”

“Not for long. It’s almost day.”

“Good night,” she said.

“Goodbye.”

Her smile loved him and thanked him for letting it be this way. “God be with you always.”

She closed the door with no furtiveness. She was the mistress of Beulah Land and might go anywhere at any time. Casey had said she was married to Beulah Land. Thinking of it she smiled as she went down the long hallway to her own room.

17

Driscoll Proctor said, “We leave Monday.”

“Monday is a good day to start a journey,” Roman said.

“I had a letter again this week from Miss Eliza Truman urging me to urge you once more—”

“I am gratified,” Roman said glacially, “but I need none of Miss Eliza’s patronage.”

“Stop being arrogant and superior with me! I’m asking you not as one of those sentimental abolitionists you say you hate, but as your friend!” Proctor paused to collect himself. He had not meant to get angry.

“And I thank you. Will I see you before you go finally?”

“Come with me, I beg. I beg.”

Roman was silent, but when Proctor looked at him as though he judged Roman to be reconsidering his earlier decision, Roman said, “No, Proctor. I’m not thinking about it. I have my school. My school has me.”

“It needs somebody, but not necessarily you,” Proctor said.