“I can say what I got to say right now. I cant be no doctor, C.J. I aint going to Huntington.”

His face fell, his shoulders slumped and he looked as crushed as I had known he would.

“Why ever not?”

“He’ll take on airs ifn he goes down there,” Isom said.

I told him to shut up.

“Why’d you haul me over here if you dont want my help?” he said plaintively. But he sank down on the maroon sofa and ate a piece of fudge.

“Look here,” I said. “If I go off, I’ll be gone for years. When I come back things wont be the same. I wont be the same. Folks will treat me different.”

“They’ll treat you with respect.”

“They’ll treat me different. Look at Doc Booker. You cant tell me folks treat him like any other nigger. They treat him like a dressed-up nigger.”

“You dont use that kind of talk in this house.”

“I am making a point, goddamn it!” I waved my arms. “You are so damn pure, C.J. You got so many standards and ideals. Well, maybe I picked up some of them. Maybe I picked em up because I love and admire you. And maybe I decided I want to help bring the union in here. Aint no doctor going to bring in no union.”

“Look at Doc Booker and the paper.”

“What about it? Aint no ten million Doc Bookers going to bring in the union. Hit’s coal miners will bring in the union. If I aint one of em, how can I help?”

“I aint no miner. You saying I cant help?”

“I’m saying they aint a miner on this holler that you got an in with. And I’m saying they is all kinds of missionaries up in Boston can come down here and be a doctor for all us poor folks on Blackberry Creek. I’m saying we got to bring the union in for ourselves.”

“Rondal, you’re still yet a youngun. Ten year from now you’ll look back and regret it if you dont take this chance to better yourself. I lay awake at night sometimes and think about the chances I missed.”

“I got to do what’s best for me. I cant live on what happened to you.”

“He goes off, I’ll lose my best buddy,” Isom said from the couch. “Hell, even if he comes back here, he wont be no fun no more.”

C.J. glared at him. “Hit’s one reason I want him to go. Git him away from these whorehouses and such.”

“Git him among quality folks,” Isom mocked. “Like them coal operators.”

I was frightened at the anger on C.J.’s face. I had always assumed he loved Isom as I did, but at that moment I thought he hated him.

Then he leaned against a chair, looked down at his hands, thoroughly beaten.