Dark Stain Read Online Free

witnessed what had happened. No! Never. They had only seen a white man in a blue uniform kill a black man.
    The doctor said, “What are you making all those grimaces for, Officer?”
    “Am I?” Sam looked up. In the overhead glare, he noticed the hairs protruding out of the doctor’s nose.
    “You certainly are. You’re not worried about your hearing? When does it come off?”
    “In about an hour.” Sam thought of the hearing slated for the precinct station; would the truth come out and what was the truth? Would Mrs. Randolph speak the truth? Of course she would. She must. She would testify that he had been decent. He wasn’t a Ku Kluxer cop. The hearing would prove it. “I tried to save him,” he muttered wearily. “This is no case of police brutality.”
    The doctor stared as if he hadn’t seen him until now. “Police brutality? Mm. You must be one of the college cops. Of course. How long have you been on the force?”
    “Two years.”
    “How long have you been in Harlem?”
    “About a year.”
    The doctor nodded. “That’s not long. I’ve been here fifteen years. That’s a long time, you’ll agree. You can get into your coat, Officer. A long time. If not for the police force, we would have continuous bloodshed in Harlem. A white girl wouldn’t be safe on the streets. That’s my considered opinion.” He shook a yellow finger at Sam. “I’m not prejudiced either, young man. Dr. Willows of this hospital is a good friend of mine and Dr. Willows is a Negro. I have nothing against the Negroes but facts are very stubborn things to deny. There are too many bad niggers. There’s more crime in Harlem than anywheres else.”
    “There’s more poverty here than anywhere else.” He stood up and put on his blue coat. The doctor approached him and ran his forefinger across the knife ripped collar.
    “If you had been wearing your summer uniform,” he said, “you would have been killed. The thickness of that collar saved you. How long have you been in Harlem?”
    “I told you. About a year.”
    “Ever have to shoot anybody before?”
    “No.”
    “Mm. I hope I’m wrong but there’s going to be a race riot one of these fine days that will make the ‘35 riots seem like a bridge party. I hope I’m wrong. Good evening. Don’t lose any sleep, young man. My advice is a movie after you finish up with your hearing.”
    As Sam entered between the green lights of the precinct station, he felt as he had back in the hospital. This was another institution and nobody would care about his inner feelings. Institutions weren’t interested in a man’s inner heart; these hospitals and precinct stations had preceded him in time and would roll on after he was dead. Inside this station house, generations of cops had cursed Negroes ten thousand times and created a lurid myth. Forgotten old-timers had sworn to rookies, who in turn had become old-timers, that you couldn’t dent a nigger’s head even with the old-style lead-filled batons. They had recited tales of syphilitic muggers who purposely carried a scissors or a razor blade on their persons; when apprehended the mugger would slash his own skin and then slash the arresting officer; so-and-so had been given a dose in just this way. They had declared that the reason the niggers hated white men was because niggers weren’t white themselves; that was why every nigger used bleaching cream. The nigger wasn’t a man anyway. Animal, yes. Brute, yes. Liar, yes. Rapist, yes. Thief, yes. They had declared that there wasn’t a nigger kid alive who wouldn’t steal for a nickel; that every nigger girl would lay for any white man; that every nigger woman would run away from her family if a good dancer asked her to, that even the Jesus-shouting nigger wives were always looking for two meal tickets. What was the use talking; every nigger was hard as lard and twice as greasy; that anybody who wanted to treat a nigger like a human being was either a nut hopped up with religion or