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“But of course it’s not just the color. It’s everything that it represents. Whites may be ashamed of what was done to my race, but instead of turning that into constructive action, it’s like they have decided that they will use that shame to make our lives as hard as possible. Whether it’s because they don’t feel responsible since they never owned slaves, or they just feel we are so different that we don’t belong here—even though the sweat and labor of my race helped build this country—they seem determined to ensure that the lives of Blacks will never be anything but nasty, brutish, and short, to borrow from Thomas Hobbes.” She looked at Jack and added, “Maybe in a millennium, if the human race is still around, they might look back at this time and wonder how people could be so... cruel and wrong.” She shook her head. “But I doubt it.”
“I hope you’re mistaken about that, Desiree,” he said somberly.
“I pray every night that I am.”
CHAPTER 42
JACK DROPPED DUBOSE AT THE George Wythe Hotel and watched her walk all the way in before driving off.
DuBose headed across the lobby to the elevators, nodding and saying hello to the man at the front desk, who stared rigidly back at her without speaking. She ran into another fellow mopping the floors by the elevator. He was around sixty and Black, with a twisted spine that made him wince every time he thrust the mop out. He also had a large lump on one side of his face.
“Hello,” said DuBose.
He looked up at her and smiled. “Evenin’, ma’am.”
“You look to be in some pain,” she noted.
He shrugged. “Just got me the rheumatism and such, creak in the bones I call it.”
“And the lump on your face?”
“Somethin’ bit me, I reckon.”
“Have you seen a doctor?” she asked.
“Naw, I be fine.”
“I think you should see someone. It looks infected.”
“Colored hospital a right long ways from here.”
“The law now says they can’t deny you care just because you’re Black.”
He looked surprised by this but said, “Well, doctors cost money.”
She opened her purse and took out a twenty-dollar bill. “Here.”
“I can’t take that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know you and I ain’t done nothin’ for it.”
“Take it, go get the lump checked, and maybe they can look at your back, too.”
“No, ma’am. I’m not gonna do that.” He looked her over and said, “You dress mighty fine. You rich?”
“No, but I make a good salary.”
“What is you?”
“A lawyer,” replied DuBose.
He cracked a grin. “Go on now, missy. You say you a lawyer?”
“I am.”
“What you doin’ here?” he asked.
