lime juice from her dress, "be silent this minute. How dare you scream at me like that, I will not stand for it. . .

دو

"I'll scream at you as much as I wish to," shouted back the boy, his face red with anger, "I'm over twenty-one so you have no right to stop me. I'll say just what I want to. Now get off Dad's boat and don't come here again."

The woman's face paled. She screwed up her face and spat: "If you were in America they would call you a Nigger Lover."

"So what? I could stand it . . . so I love a Negro, is that so much of a crime? Yes, I really love him. That makes you feel sick, doesn't it? Well, feel sick! Think of your son in his arms, think of his black lips kissing mine. Go on, think about it."

"Be quiet, you dirty little queer," his mother screamed, lashing out at Donald's face with her hand. Her palm caught the boy across the ear and he reeled. "Get out! Get off my boat," Donald shouted, tears starting in his eyes, "Dad left me this boat and you have no right on it . . . get off and leave me in peace."

The woman stared hard at him and then said quietly, “I wish you had never

been born."

Donald swallowed. His ear burned painfully. He felt ashamed that his mother could see his tears.

"I'll expect you for supper at eight," she added as she left.

As darkness came the air became heavy. The promise of a storm hung over the river. Donald sat in the gloom not bothering to light the lanterns. Since his mother had left he had sat thinking. After pulling on his trousers and a sweater he lit a cigarette and watched the smoke rising towards the cabin ceiling. Drifting . . . free . . .

The idea of leaving home to live on the houseboat came and went in his thoughts, yet somehow in spite of the scene with his mother, deep down he knew he couldn't leave her. She had been wonderful in the past. She had tried so hard to be both mother and father to him since Dad's death. If only she'd lose this dreadful, frightening hatred of Negroes. Why couldn't she realize that they were human too? They felt the same pain, knew the same emotions. They were born, loved, married and died. God had made them in his image the same as the whites. Why couldn't his mother understand this?

If I was a woman and wanted to marry a Negro, then I'd understand her objections. Then I'd understand a mother's feelings. A marriage between a white woman and a black man, or vice versa, is always a big step. It needed a great deal of tact and understanding on the part of all concerned. There were the children to be considered, the fruit of such a marriage. There were many other just as important things to be thought of. Yet, if love was there, then it should conquer all. Love can build a fortress against the most cruel gossip. Love can protect and give strength. But could love protect the children too?

Donald got up and walked out into the night. Under the willows he paused again. His mother had accepted his 'abnormality' with great kindness. She had put her arms around him and told him that whatever happened 'he was still her own little boy.' She'd said that he could live as his heart directed and promised to be kind to all the friends he brought home. She'd even made tea for Jimmy she'd liked Jimmy.

Above Donald's head came the rumble of thunder and through the trees came a cool breeze. He glanced at the wristwatch with its gleaming luminous numbers. Eight thirty . . . he should have been at the gym by now.