Quicksand
“I still maintain that they nearly all come back here eventually to live.“
”That‘s because they can‘t help it,” Helga Crane said firmly. “Money, you know.”
“Perhaps, I‘m not so sure. I was in the war. Of course, that‘s not really living over there, but I saw the country and the difference in treatment. But, I can tell you, I was pretty darn glad to get back. All the fellows were.” He shook his head solemnly. "I don‘t think anything, money or lack of money, keeps us here. If it was only that, if we really wanted to leave, we‘d go all right. No, it‘s something else, something deeper than that.“
”And just what do you think it is?“
”I‘m afraid it‘s hard to explain, but I suppose it‘s just that we like to be together. I simply can‘t imagine living forever away from colored people.”
A suspicion of a frown drew Helga‘s brows. She threw out rather tartly: “I‘m a Negro too, you know.”
227
