It was raining as I got off the train in Nashville Tennesee, a slowgrey rain. I was tired, so I went straight to my hotel. A big heavyman was walking up and down in the hotel lobby. Something about theway he moved made me think of a hungry dog looking for a bone. He hada big fat red face and a sleepy expression in his eyes. He introducedhimself as Wentworth Caswell - Major Wentworth Caswell from a finesouthern family. Caswell pulled me into the hotel's bar room andyelled for a waiter. We ordered drinks.
While we drank, he talked continually about himself, his family, hiswife and her family. He said his wife was rich. He showed me a handfulof silver coins that he pulled from his coat pocket. By this time Ihad decided that I wanted no more of him. I said goodnight. I went upto my room and looked out of the window. It was 10 o'clock but thetown was silent. "A nice quiet place," I said to myself as I got readyfor bed, "just an ordinary sleepy southern town."I was born in the south myself, but I live in New York now. I writefor a large magazine. My boss had asked me to go to Nashville. Themagazine had received some stories and poems from a writer inNashville named Azalea Adair. The editor liked her work very much. Thepublisher asked me to get her to sign an agreement to write only forhis magazine. I left the hotel at 9 o'clock the next morning to findMiss Adair. It was still raining. As soon as I stepped outside, I metUncle Caesar. He was a big old black man with fuzzy grey hair. UncleCaesar was wearing the strangest coat I had ever seen. It must havebeen a military officer's coat. It was very long and when it was newit had been grey. But now rain, sun and age had made it a rainbow ofcolors, only one of the buttons was left. It was yellow and as big asa 50-cent coin. Uncle Caesar stood near a horse-sent carriage.
He opened the carriage door and said softly, "Step right in, sir, I'lltake you anywhere in the city.""I want to go to 861 Jasmine Street", I said.
And I started to climb into the carriage, but the old man stopped me.
"Why do you want to go there, sir?""What business is it of yours?" I said angrily.
Uncle Caesar relaxed and smiled. "Nothing, sir, but it's a lonely partof town. Just step in and I'll take you there right away.”
861 Jasmine Street had been a fine house once, but now it was old anddying. I got out of the carriage.
"That will be $2, sir." Uncle Caesar said.
I gave him 2 one-dollar bills. As I handed them to him, I noticed thatone had been torn in half and fixed with a piece of blue paper. Alsothe upper right hand corner was missing.
Azalea Adair herself opened the door when I knocked. She was about 50years old. Her white hair was pulled back from her small tired face.
She wore a pale yellow dress. It was old but very clean. Azalea Adairled me into her living room: a damaged table, three chairs, and an oldred sofa were in the center of the floor. Azalea Adair and I sat downat the table and began to talk. I told her about the magazine's offer.
She told me about herself. She was from an old southern family. Herfather had been a judge. Azalea Adair told me she had never traveledor even attended school. Her parents taught her at home with privateteachers.
We finished our meeting. I promised to return with the agreement thenext day and rose to leave. At that moment, someone knocked at theback door. Azalea Adair whispered a soft apology and went to answerthe caller. She came back a minute later with bright eyes and pinkcheeks. She looked ten years younger.
"You must have a cup of tea before you go," she said.
She shook a little bell on the table and a small black girl about 12years old ran into the room. Azalea Adair opened a tiny old purse andtook out a dollar bill. It had been fixed with a piece of blue paperand the upper right hand corner was missing. It was the dollar I hadgiven to Uncle Caesar.
"Go to Mr. Baker's store, Indy," she said, "and get me 25 cents worthof tea and 10 cents worth of sugar cakes, and please hurry." The childran out of the room. We heard the back door close.
Then the girl screamed. Her cry mixed with a man's angry voice. AzaleaAdair stood up. Her face showed no emotion as she left the room. Iheard the man's rough voice and her gentle one. Then a door slammed,and she came back into the room. " I am sorry, but I won't be able tooffer you any tea after all." she said, "It seems that Mr. Baker hasno more tea, perhaps he will find some for our visitor tomorrow." Wesaid goodbye. I went back to my hotel.
Just before dinner, Major Wentworth Caswell found me. It wasimpossible to avoid him. He insisted on buying me a drink and pulled 2one-dollar bills from his pocket. Again, I saw a torn dollar fixedwith blue paper with a corner missing. It was the one I gave UncleCaesar." How strange!" I thought. I wondered how Caswell got it.
Uncle Caesar was waiting outside the hotel the next afternoon. He tookme to Miss Adair's house and agreed to wait there until we hadfinished our business. Azalea Adair did not look well. I explained theagreement to her. She signed it. Then as she started to rise from thetable, Azalea Adair fainted and fell to the floor. I picked her up andcarried her to the old red sofa. I ran to the door and yelled to UncleCaesar for help. He ran down the street. Five minutes later, he wasback with a doctor. The doctor examined Miss Adair and turned to theold black driver.
"Uncle Caesar," he said, “Run to my house, and ask my wife for somemilk and some eggs. Hurry!"Then the doctor turned to me. “She does not get enough to eat", hesaid, "she has many friends who want to help her, but she is proud.
Mrs. Caswell will accept help only from that old black man. He wasonce her family's slave.""Mrs. Caswell?" I said in surprise, "I thought she was Azalea Adair.""She was," The doctor answered, "until she married Wentworth Caswell20 years ago. But he is a hopeless drunk. He takes even the smallamount of money that Uncle Caesar gives her."After the doctor left, I heard Caesar's voice in the other room. "Didhe take all the money I gave you yesterday, Mrs. Azalea?" " Yes,Caesar." I heard her answer softly, "He took both dollars." I wentinto the room and gave Azalea Adair fifty dollars. I told her it wasfrom the magazine. Then uncle Caesar drove me back to the hotel.
A few hours later, I went out for a walk before dinner. A crowd ofpeople was talking excitedly in front of a store. I pushed my way intothe store. Major Caswell was lying on the floor. He was dead. Someonehad found his body on the street. He had been killed in a fight. Infact his hands were still closed into tight fists. But as I stood nearhis body, Caswell's right hand opened. Something fell from it androlled near my feet. I put my foot on it then picked it up and put itin my pocket. People said they believed a thief had killed him. Theysaid Caswell had been showing everyone that he had 50 dollars. Butwhen he was found, he had no money on him.
I left Nashville the next morning. As the train crossed a river, Itook out of my pocket the object that had dropped from Caswell's deadhand. I threw it into the river below. It was a button, a yellowbutton, the one from Uncle Caesar's coat.
You have just heard the story "A Municipal Report". It was written byO. Henry and adapted for Special English by Dona de Sanctis. Yourstoryteller was Shep O'Neal. This is Susan Clark. Join us again nextweek at this time for another American story on the Voice of America. |