separate-but-together.

There was no twitching or flopping. Kiowa, who saw it happen, said it was like watching a rock fall, or a big sandbag or something—just boom, then down—not like the movies where the dead guy rolls around and does fancy spins and goes a

t night, sometimes, Lieutenant Cross wondered who had taken the picture, because he knew she had boyfriends, because he loved her so much, and because he could see the shadow of the picture-taker spreading out against the brick

then at full dark he would return to his hole and watch the night and wonder if Martha was a virgin.The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the necessities or ne

he was a virgin, he was almost sure. She was an English

and the melon was put away again

"It's too bad, too, cause she wuz a right pritty lil trick when he got huh. Ah'd uh mah'ied huh mahseff if he hadnter beat me to it.

jes ez reg'lar ez de weeks roll roun' Del

22He snorted scornfully. "Yeah, you just come from de church house on a Sunday night, but heah you is gone to work on them clothes. You ain't nothing but a hypocrite. One of them amen-corner Christians--sing, whoop, and shout, then come home and wash white folks clothes on the Sabbath." He stepped roughly upon the whitest pile of things, kicking them helter-skelter as he crossed the room. His wife gave a little scream of dismay, and quickly gathered them together again.

27SAM: Well, I don't know what you mean by that, all I'm telling you is that it is going to be the event of the year in New Brighton. It's been sold out for two weeks already. There's only standing room left. We've got competitors coming from Kingwilliamstown, East London, Port Alfred. Hally starts pacing thoughtfully. HALLY: Tell be a bit more. SAM: I thought you weren't interested . . . intellectually. HALLY: [Mysteriously.] I've got my reasons. SAM: What do you want to know? HALLY: It takes place every year? SAM: Yes. But only ever third year in New Brighton. It's East London's turn to have the championships next year. HALLY: Which, I suppose, makes it an even more significant event. SAM: Ah ha! We're getting somewhere. Our "occasion" is now a "significant event." HALLY: I wonder. SAM: What? HALLY: I wonder if I would get away with it. SAM: But what? HALLY: [To the table and his exercise book.] "Write five hundred words describing an annual event of cultural or historical significance." Would I be stretching poetic license a little too far if I called your ballroom championships a cultural event? SAM: You mean . . .? HALLY: You thing we could get five hundred words out of it, Sam? SAM: Victor Sylvester has written a whole book on ballroom dancing. WILLIE: You going to write about it, Master Hally? HALLY: Yes, gentlemen, that is precisely what I am considering doing. Old Doc Bromely - he's my English teacher - is going to argue with me, of course. He doesn't like natives. But I'll point out to him that in strict anthropological terms the culture of a primitive black society includes its dancing and singing. To put my thesis in a nutshell: The war-dance has been replaced by the waltz. But it still amounts to the same thing: the releases of primitive emotions through movement. Shall we gi

ve black society includes its dancing and singing. To put my thesis in a nutshell: The war-dance has been replaced by the waltz. But it still amounts to the same thing: the releases of primitive emotions through movement. Shall we give it a go

That's true. It's just that life felt the right size in there . . . not too big and not too small. Wasn't so hard to work up a bit of courage. It's got so bloody complicated since then. [The telephone rings. Sam answers it.]

t was sort of sad brining it down, Sam. And it looked sad again when it was lying there on theground. Like something that had lost its soul.

ould have been just as strange, I suppose, if it had been me and my Dad . . . cripple man and a little boy! Nope! There's no chance of me flying a kite without it being strange. [Simple statement of fact - no self-pity.] There's a nice little short story there. "The Kite-Flyers." But we'd have to find a twi

he sheer audacity of it took my breath away. I mean, seriously, what the hell does a black man know about flying a kite? I'll be honest with you, Sam, I had no hopes for

SAM: Like you and Winston Churchill. HALLY: [Mirthlessly.] Ha, ha, h

And those burning, visionary eyes. My [goodness], the face of a social prophet if ever I saw one! And remember my words when I showed it to you? Here's a man, Sam

doesn't have to be that way. There is something called progress, you know. We don't exactly burn people at the stake anymore.

here is nothing wrong with my legs. Sam is just making joke

he cream in my coffee. You the salt in my stew. You will always be my necessity. I'd be lo

I am relax

AM: [Encouragingly.] Show me agai