> This is Mr. Yerby's first story in a national magazine. He was born twenty-seven years ago in Augusta, Georgia. A former college instructor, he now works for the Ford Motor Company.

# HEALTH CARD

## *A Story*

### FRANK YERBY

JOHNNY stood under one of the street lights on the corner and tried to read the letter. The street lights down in the "Bottom" were so dim that he couldn't make out half the words, but he didn't need to: he knew them all by heart anyway.

"Sugar," he read, "it took a long time but I done it. I got the money to come to see you. I waited and waited for them to give you a furlough, but it look like they don't mean to. Sugar, I can't wait no longer. I got to see you. I got to. Find a nice place for me to stay—where we can be happy together. You know what I mean. With all my love, Lily."

Johnny folded the letter up and put it back in his pocket. Then he walked swiftly down the street past all the juke joints with the music blaring out and the GI brogans pounding. He turned down a side street, scuffing up a cloud of dust as he did so. None of the streets down in Black Bottom was paved, and there were four inches of fine white powder over everything. When it rained, the mud would come up over the tops of his Army shoes, but it hadn't rained in nearly three months. There were no juke joints on this street, and the Negro shanties were neatly whitewashed. Johnny kept on walking until he came to the end of the street. On the corner stood the little

whitewashed Baptist Church, and next to it was the neat, well-kept home of the pastor.

Johnny went up on the porch and hesitated. He thrust his hand in his pocket and the paper crinkled. He took his hand out and knocked on the door.

"Who's that?" a voice called.

"It's me," Johnny answered; "it's a sodjer."

The door opened a crack, and the woman peered out. She was middle-aged and fat. Looking down, Johnny could see that her feet were bare.

"Whatcha want, sodjer?"

Johnny took off his cap.

"Please, Mam, lemme come in. I kin explain it t yuh better settin down."

She studied his face for a minute in the darkness.

"Aw right," she said; "you kin come in, son."

Johnny entered the room stiffly and sat down on a corn-shuck-bottomed chair.

"It's this way, Mam," he said. "I got a wife up Nawth. I been tryin an tryin t git a furlough so I could go t see huh. But they always put me off. So now she done worked an saved enuff money t come an see me. I wants t ax you t rent me a room, Mam. I doan know no-wherest ax."

"This ain't no hotel, son."

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"I know it ain't. I cain't take Lily t no
hotel, not lak hotels in this heah town."

"Lily yo wife?"

"Yes'm. She my shonuff, honest
t'Gawd wife. Married in th Baptist
Church in Deetroit."

The fat woman sat back, and her thick
lips widened into a smile.

"She a good girl, ain't she? An you
doan wanta take her t one o these heah
hohouses they calls hotels."

"That's it, Mam."

"Sho you kin bring huh heah, son. Be
glad t have huh. Reveren be glad t have
huh too. What yo name, son?"

"Johnny. Johnny Green. Mam—"

"Yas, son?"

"You understands that I wants t come
heah too?"

The fat woman rocked back in her chair
and gurgled with laughter.

"Bless yo heart, chile, I ain't always
been a ole woman! And I ain't always
been th preacher's wife neither!"

"Thank you, Mam. I gotta go, now.
Time fur me t be gittin back t camp."

"When you bring Lily?"

"Be Monday night, Mam. Pays you
now if you wants it."

"Monday be awright. Talk it over
wit th Reveren, so he make it light fur
yuh. Know sodjer boys ain't got much
money."

"No Mam, sho Lawd ain't. G night,
Mam."

WHEN he turned back into the main
street of the Negro section, the doors
of the joints were all open and the soldiers
were coming out. The girls were clinging
onto their arms all the way to the bus stop.
Johnny looked at the dresses that stopped
halfway between the pelvis and the knee
and hugged the backside so that every
muscle showed when they walked. He
saw the purple lipstick smeared across the
wide full lips, and the short hair stiffened
with smelly grease so that it covered their
heads like a black lacquered cap. They
went on down to the bus stop arm in arm,
their knotty bare calves bunching with
each step as they walked. Johnny thought
about Lily. He walked past them very
fast without turning his head.

But just as he reached the bus stop he

heard the whistles. When he turned
around he saw the four MP's and the ci-
vilian policemen stopping the crowd. He
turned around again and walked back
until he was standing just behind the
white men.

"Aw right," the MP's were saying, "you
gals git your health cards out."

Some of the girls started digging in their
handbags. Johnny could see them drag-
ging out small yellow cardboard squares.
But the others just stood there with blank
expressions on their faces. The soldiers
started muttering, a dark, deep-throated
sound. The MP's started pushing their
way through the crowd, looking at each
girl's card as they passed. When they
came to a girl who didn't have a card,
they called out to the civilian policemen:

"Aw right, Mister, take A'nt Jemima
for a little ride."

Then the city policemen would lead the
girl away and put her in the Black Maria.

They kept this up until they had exam-
ined every girl except one. She hung
back beside her soldier, and the first time
the MP's didn't see her. When they
came back through, one of them caught
her by the arm.

"Lemme see your card, Mandy," he said.

The girl looked at him, her little eyes
narrowing into slits in her black face.

"Tek yo han offn me, white man," she
said.

The MP's face crimsoned, so that
Johnny could see it, even in the darkness.

"Listen, black gal," he said, "I told
you to lemme see your card."

"An I tole you t tek yo han offen me,
white man!"

"Gawddammit, you little black bitch,
you better do like I tell you!"

Johnny didn't see very clearly what
happened after that. There was a sudden
explosion of motion, and then the MP was
trying to jerk his hand back, but he
couldn't, for the little old black girl had it
between her teeth and was biting it to the
bone. He drew his other hand back, and
slapped her across the face so hard that
it sounded like a pistol shot. She went
over backwards and her tight skirt split, so
that when she got up Johnny could see
that she didn't have anything on under it.
She came forward like a cat, her nails

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bared, straight for the MP's eyes. He slapped her down again, but the soldiers surged forward all at once. The MP's fell back and drew their guns and one of them blew a whistle.

Johnny, who was behind them, decided it was time for him to get out of there and he did; but not before he saw the squads of white MP's hurling around the corner and going to work on the Negroes with their clubs. He reached the bus stop, and swung on board. The minute after he had pushed his way to the back behind all the white soldiers, he heard the shots. The bus driver put the bus in gear and they roared off toward the camp.

It was after one o'clock when all the soldiers straggled in. Those of them who could still walk. Eight of them came in on the meat wagon, three with gunshot wounds. The Colonel declared the town out of bounds for all Negro soldiers for a month.

"DAMMIT," Johnny said, "I gotta go meet Lily, I gotta. I cain't stay heah. I cain't!"

"Whatcha gonna do," Little Willie asked, "go AWOL?"

Johnny looked at him, his brow furrowed into a frown.

"Naw," he said, "I'm gonna go see th' Colonel!"

"Whut! Man, you crazy! Colonel kick yo black ass out fo you gits yo mouf open."

"I take a chanct on that."

He walked over to the little half-mirror on the wall of the barracks. Carefully he readjusted his cap. He pulled his tie out of his shirt front, and drew the knot tighter around his throat. Then he tucked the ends back in at just the right fraction of an inch between the correct pair of buttons. He bent down and dusted his shoes again, although they were already spotless.

"Man," Little Willie said, "you sho is a fool!"

"Reckon I am," Johnny said; then he went out of the door and down the short wooden steps.

When he got to the road that divided the colored and white sections of the camp, his steps faltered. He stood still a

minute, drew in a deep breath, and marched very stiffly and erect across the road. The white soldiers gazed at him curiously, but none of them said anything. If a black soldier came over into their section it was because somebody sent him, so they let him alone.

In front of the Colonel's headquarters he stopped. He knew what he had to say, but his breath was very short in his throat and he was going to have a hard time saying it.

"Whatcha want, soldier?" the sentry demanded.

"I wants t see th' Colonel."

"Who sent you?"

Johnny drew his breath in sharply.

"I ain't at liberty t say," he declared, his breath coming out very fast behind the words.

"You ain't at liberty t say," the sentry mimicked. "Well I'll be damned! If you ain't at liberty t say, then I ain't at liberty t let you see th' Colonel! Git tha hell outa here, nigger, before I pump some lead in you!"

Johnny didn't move.

The sentry started toward him, lifting his rifle butt, but another soldier, a sergeant, came around the corner of the building.

"Hold on there," he called. "What tha hell is th trouble here?"

"This here nigger says he wants t see tha Colonel an when I ast him who sent him, he says he ain't at liberty t say!"

The Sergeant turned to Johnny.

Johnny came to attention and saluted him. You aren't supposed to salute NCO's, but sometimes it helps.

"What you got t say fur yourself, boy?" the Sergeant said, not unkindly. Johnny's breath evened.

"I got uh message fur th' Colonel, suh," he said; "I ain't sposed t give it t nobody else but him. I ain't even sposed t tell who sont it, suh."

The Sergeant peered at him sharply.

"You tellin tha truth, boy?"

"Yassuh!"

"Awright. Wait here a minute."

He went into HQ. After a couple of minutes he came back out.

"Awright, soldier, you kin go on in."

Johnny mounted the steps and went

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into the Colonel's office. The Colonel was a lean, white-haired soldier with a face tanned to the color of saddle leather. He was reading a letter through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses which had only one ear-hook left, so that he had to hold them up to his eyes with his hand. He put them down and looked up. Johnny saw that his eyes were pale blue, so pale that he felt like he was looking into the eyes of an eagle or some other fierce bird of prey.

"Well?" he said, and Johnny stiffened into a salute. The Colonel half smiled.

"At ease, soldier," he said. Then: "The Sergeant tells me that you have a very important message for me."

Johnny gulped in the air.

"Beggin th Sergeant's pardon, suh," he said, "but that ain't so."

"What!"

"Yassuh," Johnny rushed on, "nobody sent me. I come on m own hook. I had t talk t yuh, Colonel, suh! You kin sen me t th guard house afterwards, but please suh lissen t me fur jes a minute!"

The Colonel relaxed slowly. Something very like a smile was playing around the corners of his mouth. He looked at his watch.

"All right, soldier," he said, "you've got five minutes."

"Thank yuh, thank yuh, suh!"

"Speak your piece, soldier; you're wasting time!"

"It's about Lily, suh. She my wife. She done worked an slaved fur nigh onto six months t git the money t come an see me. An now you give th order that none o th cullud boys kin go t town. Beggin yo pahdon, suh, I wasn't in none o that trouble. I ain't never been in no trouble. You kin ax my capn, if you wants to. All I wants is permission to go into town fur one week, an I'll stay outa town fur two months if yuh wants me to."

The Colonel picked up the phone.

"Ring Captain Walters for me," he said; then, "What's your name, soldier?"

"It's Green, suh. Private Johnny Green."

"Captain Walters? This is Colonel Milton. Do you have anything in your files concerning Private Johnny Green? Oh yes, go ahead. Take all the time you need."

The Colonel lit a long, black cigar. Johnny waited. The clock on the wall spun its electric arms.

"What's that? Yes. Yes, yes, I see. Thank you, Captain."

He put down the phone and picked up a fountain pen. He wrote swiftly. Finally he straightened up and gave Johnny the slip of paper.

Johnny read it. It said: "Private Johnny Green is given express permission to go into town every evening of the week beginning August seventh and ending August fourteenth. He is further permitted to remain in town overnight every night during said week, so long as he returns to camp for reveille the following morning. By order of the Commanding Officer, Colonel H. H. Milton."

There was a hard knot at the base of Johnny's throat. He couldn't breathe. But he snapped to attention, and saluted smartly.

"Thank you, suh," he said at last, then: "Gawd bless you, suh!"

"Forget it, soldier. I was a young married man once myself. My compliments to Captain Walters."

Johnny saluted again and about-faced, then he marched out of the office and down the stairs. On the way back he saluted everybody—privates, NCO's, and civilian visitors, his white teeth gleaming in a huge smile.

"That's sure one happy darky," one of the white soldiers said.

J

JOHNNY stood in the station and watched the train running in. The yellow lights from the windows flickered on and off across his face as the alternating squares of light and darkness flashed past. Then it was slowing and Johnny was running beside it, trying to keep abreast of the Jim Crow coach. He could see her standing up, holding her bags. She came down the steps the first one and they stood there holding each other, Johnny's arms crushing all the breath out of her, holding her so hard against him that his brass buttons hurt through her thin dress. She opened her mouth to speak but he kissed her, bending her head backward on her neck until her little hat fell off. It lay there on the ground, unnoticed.

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"Sugah," she said, "sugah. It was awful."

"I know," he said, "I know."

Then he took her bags and they started walking out of the station toward the Ne-gro section of town.

"I missed yuh so much," Johnny said, "I thought I lose m mind."

"Me too," she said. Then: "I brought th marriage license with me like yuh tole me. I doan want th preacher's wife t think we bad."

"Enybody kin look at yuh an see yuh uh angel!"

They went very quietly through all the dark streets and the white soldiers turned to look at Johnny and his girl.

Lak a queen, Johnny thought, lak a queen. He looked at the girl beside him, seeing the velvety nightshade skin, the glossy black lacquered curls, the sweet wide hips and the long, clean legs, striding beside him in the darkness. Behold I am black but comely, oh ye daughters of Zion!

They turned into the Bottom where the street lights were dim blobs on the pine poles and the dust rose up in little swirls around their feet. Johnny had his head half turned so that he didn't see the two MP's until he had almost bumped into them. He dropped one bag and caught Lily by the arm. Then he drew her aside quickly and the two men went by them without speaking.

They kept on walking, but every two steps Johnny would jerk his head around and look nervously back over his shoulder. The last time he looked the two MP's had stopped and were looking back at them. Johnny turned out the elbow of the arm next to Lily so that it hooked into hers a little and began to walk faster, pushing her along with him.

"Whas yo hurry, sugah?" she said. "I be heah a whole week!"

But Johnny was looking over his shoul-der at the two MP's. They were coming toward them now, walking with long, slow strides, their reddish-white faces set. Johnny started to push Lily along faster, but she shook off his arm and stopped still.

"I do declare, Johnny Green! You th beatiness man! Whut you walk me so fas fur?"

Johnny opened his mouth to answer her,

but the military police were just behind them now, and the Sergeant reached out and laid his hand on her arm.

"Cmon gal," he said, "lemme see it."

"Let you see whut? Whut he mean, Johnny?"

"Your card," the Sergeant growled, "lemme see your card."

"My card?" Lily said blankly. "Whut kinda card, Mister?"

Johnny put the bags down. He was fighting for breath.

"Look heah, Sarge," he said; "this girl my wife!"

"Oh yeah? I said lemme see your card, sister!"

"I ain't got no card, Mister. I dunno whut you talkin bout."

"Look, Sarge," the other MP said, "th soldier's got bags. Maybe she's just come t town."

"These your bags, gal?"

"Yessir."

"Awright. You got twenty-four hours to git yourself a health card. If you don't have it by then, we hafta run you in. Git goin, now."

"Listen," Johnny shouted; "this girl my wife! She ain't no ho! I tell you she ain't —"

"What you say, nigger," the MP Ser-geant growled, "whatcha say?" He started toward Johnny.

Lily swung on Johnny's arm.

"Cmon, Johnny," she said; "they got guns. Cmon Johnny, please! Please, Johnny!"

Slowly she drew him away.

"Aw, leave em be, Sarge," the MP Cor-poral said, "maybe she is his wife."

The Sergeant spat. The brown to-bacco juice splashed in the dirt not an inch from Lily's foot. Then the two of them turned and started away.

Johnny stopped.

"Lemme go, Lily," he said, "lemme go!" He tore her arm loose from his and started back up the street. Lily leaped, her two arms fastening themselves around his neck. He fought silently but she clung to him, doubling her knees so that all her weight was hanging from his neck.

"No, Johnny! Oh Jesus no! You be kilt! Oh, Johnny, listen t me, sugah! You's all I got!"

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553

He put both hands up to break her grip
but she swung her weight sidewise and the
two of them went down in the dirt. The
MP's turned the corner out of sight.

Johnny sat there in the dust staring at
her. The dirt had ruined her dress. He
sat there a long time looking at her
until the hot tears rose up back of his eye-
lids faster than he could blink them away,

so he put his face down in her lap and cried.

“I ain’t no man!” he said, “I ain’t no
man!”

“Hush, sugah,” she said. “You’s a man
awright. You’s my man!”

Gently she drew him to his feet. He
picked up the bags and the two of them
went down the dark street toward the
preacher’s house.

Cultural Utopia

THE most literate country in the world is a very small one, with only 130,000 people—about as many as there are in Chattanooga, Tennessee, or in Albany, New York.

Not only does this small country publish over 100 newspapers and magazines, but it publishes far more books, in relation to its population, than any other country—40 times as many as does the United States, for example. In addition to these books in the native language, there is also a wide sale for foreign works; three-quarters of the people are bilingual and about one-fifth are trilingual. And the country has over 70 book dealers. (Chicago, to be as well supplied with book dealers per capita, would need to have 1,829 of them!)

It has its own university, its own symphony orchestra, a number of
fine choral societies, and various amateur theatrical groups which pro-
duce locally written dramas and musical comedies as well as plays in
translation.

Its artists command a ready market, for the fashion is to buy con-
temporary paintings and put them on one's walls; most houses contain
at least one picture by a local artist. Nor do the artists need to depend
wholly on such sales for a living, for the government pays salaries to the
outstanding painters (as well as writers and composers), makes special
grants yearly to others, and has purchased some 300 works of contem-
porary art. And the fines levied for infringements of the liquor laws go
to a Cultural Fund used to buy pictures, to promote research, or to pub-
lish good books at low cost.

If you don't already know the name of this actual country, you will
find it in the Personal and Otherwise department. ► From data supplied by Harvey H. Arnason