Chapter 13: Free Verse—a La Susan

And persistently, systematically Susan did, indeed, keep “peggin’ away.” No sooner had she roused Keith to the point of accomplishing one task than she set for him another. No sooner could he pilot himself about one room than she inveigled him into another. And when he could go everywhere about the house she coaxed him out into the yard. It was harder here, for Keith had a morbid fear of being stared at. And only semi-occasionally would he consent at all to going out.

It was then that with stern determination Susan sought Daniel Burton.

“Look a-here, Daniel Burton,” she accosted him abruptly, “I’ve done all I can now, an’ it’s up to you.”

The man looked up, plainly startled.

“Why, Susan, you don’t mean—you aren’t—GOING, are you?”

“Goin’ nothin’—shucks!” tossed Susan to one side disdainfully. “I mean that Keith ain’t goin’ to get that good red blood he’s needin’ sittin’ ‘round the house here. He’s got to go off in the woods an’ walk an’ tramp an’ run an’ scuff leaves. An’ you’ve got to go with him. I can’t, can I?”

The man shifted his position irritably.

“Do you think that boy will let me lead him through the streets,
Susan? Well, I know he won’t.”
“I didn’t say ‘lead him.’ I said go WITH him. There’s an awful lot of difference between leadin’ an’ accommodatin’. We don’t none of us like to be led, but we don’t mind goin’ WITH folks ‘most anywheres. Put your arm into his an’ walk together. He’ll walk that way. I’ve tried it. An’ to see him you wouldn’t know he was blind at all. Oh, yes, I know you’re hangin’ back an’ don’t want to. I know you hate to see him or be with him, ‘cause it makes you KNOW what a terrible thing it is that’s come to you an’ him. But you’ve got to, Daniel Burton. You an’ me is all he’s got to stand between him an’ utter misery. I can feed his stomach an’ make him do the metaphysical things, but it’s you that’s got to feed his soul an’ make him do the menial things.”

“Oh, Susan, Susan!” half groaned the man. There was a smile on his lips, but there were tears in his eyes.

“Well, it’s so,” argued Susan earnestly. “Oh, I read to him, of course. I read him everything I can get hold of, especially about men an’ women that have become great an’ famous an’ extinguished, even if they was blind or deaf an’ dumb, or lame—especially blind. But I can’t learn him books, Mr. Burton. You’ve got to do that. You’ve got to be eyes for him, an’ he’s got to go to school to you. Mr. Burton,”—Susan’s voice grew husky and unsteady, —”you’ve got a chance now to paint bigger an’ grander pictures than you ever did before, only you won’t be paintin’ ‘em on canvas backs. You’ll be paintin’ ‘em on that boy’s soul, an’ you’ll be usin’ words instead of them little brushes.”