Native Son (26 page)

The window overlooked an alley, to the right of which was Forty-fifth Street. He tried the window to see if it would open; he lifted it a few inches, then all the way with a loud and screechy sound. Had anyone heard him? He waited; nothing happened. Good! If the worst came to the worst, he could jump out of this window, right here, and run away. It was two stories to the ground and there was a deep drift of soft snow just below him. He lowered the window and lay again on the bed, waiting. The sound of firm feet came on the stairs. Yes; someone was coming up! His body grew rigid. A knock came at the door.

“Yessuh!”

“Open up!”

He pulled on the light, opened the door and met a white face.

“They want you downstairs.”

“Yessuh!”

The man stepped to one side and Bigger went past him on down the hall and down the steps into the basement, feeling the eyes of the white man on his back, and hearing as he neared the furnace the muffled breathing of the fire and seeing directly before his eyes Mary’s bloody head with its jet-black curly hair, shining and wet with blood on the crumpled newspapers. He saw Britten standing near the furnace with three white men.

“Hello, Bigger.”

“Yessuh,” Bigger said.

“You heard what happened?”

“Yessuh.”

“Listen, boy. You’re talking just to me and my men here. Now, tell me, do you think Jan’s mixed up in this?”

Bigger’s eyes fell. He did not want to answer in a hurry and he did not want to blame Jan definitely, for that would make them question him too closely. He would hint and point in Jan’s direction.

“I don’t know, suh,” he said.

“Just tell me what you
think
.”

“I don’t know, suh,” Bigger said again.

“You
really
saw him here last night, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yessuh.”

“You’d swear he told you to take that trunk down and leave the car out in the snow.”

“I—I’d swear to what’s true, suh,” said Bigger.

“Did he act like he had anything up his sleeve?”

“I don’t know, suh.”

“What time did you say you left?”

“A little before two, suh.”

Britten turned to the other men, one of whom stood near the furnace with his back to the fire, warming his hands behind him. The man’s legs were sprawled wide apart and a cigar glowed in a corner of his mouth.

“It must’ve been that Red,” Britten said to him.

“Yeah,” said the man at the furnace. “What would he have the boy take the trunk down for and leave the car out? It was to throw us off the scent.”

“Listen, Bigger,” said Britten. “Did you see this guy act in any way out of the ordinary? I mean, sort of nervous, say? Just what
did
he talk about?”

“He talked about Communists….”

“Did he ask you to join?”

“He gave me that stuff to read.”

“Come on. Tell us some of the things he said.”

Bigger knew the things that white folks hated to hear Negroes ask for; and he knew that these were the things the Reds were always asking for. And he knew that white folks did not like to hear these things asked for even by whites who fought for Negroes.

“Well,” Bigger said, feigning reluctance, “he told me that some day there wouldn’t be no rich folks and no poor folks….”

“Yeah?”

“And he said a black man would have a chance….”

“Go on.”

“And he said there would be no more lynching….”

“And what was the girl saying?”

“She agreed with ’im.”

“How did you feel toward them?”

“I don’t know, suh.”

“I mean, did you like ’em?”

He knew that the average white man would not approve of his liking such talk.

“It was my job. I just did what they told me,” he mumbled.

“Did the girl act in any way scared?”

He sensed what kind of a case they were trying to build against Jan and he remembered that Mary had cried last night when he had refused to go into the café with her to eat.

“Well, I don’t know, suh. She was crying once….”

“
Crying
?”

The men crowded about him.

“Yessuh.”

“Did he hit her?”

“I didn’t see that.”

“What did he do then?”

“Well, he put his arms around her and she stopped.”

Bigger had his back to a wall. The crimson luster of the fire gleamed on the white men’s faces. The sound of air being sucked upward through the furnace mingled in Bigger’s ears with the faint whine of the wind outside in the night. He was tired; he closed his eyes a long second and then opened them, knowing that he had to keep alert and answer questions to save himself.

“Did this fellow Jan say anything to you about white women?”

Bigger tightened with alarm.

“Suh?”

“Did he say he would let you meet some white women if you joined the Reds?”

He knew that sex relations between blacks and whites were repulsive to most white men.

“Nawsuh,” he said, simulating abashment.

“Did Jan lay the girl?”

“I don’t know, suh.”

“Did you take them to a room or a hotel?”

“Nawsuh. Just to the park.”

“They were in the back seat?”

“Yessuh.”

“How long were you in the park?”

“Well, about two hours, I reckon, suh.”

“Come on, now, boy. Did he lay the girl?”

“I don’t know, suh. They was back there kissing and going on.”

“Was she lying down?”

“Well, yessuh. She was,” said Bigger, lowering his eyes because he felt that it would be better to do so. He knew that whites thought that all Negroes yearned for white women, therefore he wanted to show a certain fearful deference even when one’s name was mentioned in his presence.

“They were drunk, weren’t they?”

“Yessuh. They’d been drinking a lot.”

He heard the sound of autos coming into the driveway. Was this the police?

“Who’s that?” Britten asked.

“I don’t know,” said one of the men.

“I’d better see,” Britten said.

Bigger saw, after Britten had opened the door, four cars standing in the snow with headlights glowing.

“Who’s that?” Britten called.

“The press!”

“There’s nothing here for you!” Britten called in an uneasy voice.

“Don’t stall us!” a voice answered. “Some of it’s already in the papers. You may as well tell the rest.”

“What’s in the papers?” Britten asked as the men entered the basement.

A tall red-faced man shoved his hand into his pocket and brought forth a newspaper and handed it to Britten.

“The Reds say you’re charging ’em with spiriting away the old man’s daughter.”

Bigger darted a glance at the paper from where he was; he saw: RED NABBED AS GIRL VANISHES.

“Goddamn!” said Britten.

“Phew!” said the tall red-faced man. “What a night! Red arrested! Snowstorm. And this place down here looks like somebody’s been murdered.”

“Come on, you,” said Britten. “You’re in Mr. Dalton’s house now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Where’s the old man?”

“Upstairs. He doesn’t want to be bothered.”

“Is that girl really missing, or is this just a stunt?”

“I can’t tell you anything,” Britten said.

“Who’s this boy, here?”

“Keep quiet, Bigger,” Britten said.

“Is he the one Erlone said accused him?”

Bigger stood against the wall and looked round vaguely.

“You going to pull the dumb act on us?” asked one of the men.

“Listen, you guys,” said Britten. “Take it easy. I’ll go and see if the old man will see you.”

“That’s the time. We’re waiting. All the wires are carrying this story.”

Britten went up the steps and left Bigger standing with the crowd of men.

“Your name’s Bigger Thomas?” the red-faced man asked.

“Keep quiet, Bigger,” said one of Britten’s men.

Bigger said nothing.

“Say, what’s all this? This boy can talk if he wants to.”

“This smells like something big to me,” said one of the men.

Bigger had never seen such men before; he did not know how
to act toward them or what to expect of them. They were not rich and distant like Mr. Dalton, and they were harder than Britten, but in a more impersonal way, a way that maybe was more dangerous than Britten’s. Back and forth they walked across the basement floor in the glare of the furnace with their hats on and with cigars and cigarettes in their mouths. Bigger felt in them a coldness that disregarded everybody. They seemed like men out for keen sport. They would be around a long time now that Jan had been arrested and questioned. Just what did they think of what he had told about Jan? Was there any good in Britten’s telling him not to talk to them? Bigger’s eyes watched the balled newspaper in a white man’s gloved hand. If only he could read that paper! The men were silent, waiting for Britten to return. Then one of them came and leaned against the wall, near him. Bigger looked out of the corners of his eyes and said nothing. He saw the man light a cigarette.

“Smoke, kid?”

“Nawsuh,” he mumbled.

He felt something touch the center of his palm. He made a move to look, but a whisper checked him.

“Keep still. It’s for you. I want you to give me the dope.”

Bigger’s fingers closed over a slender wad of paper; he knew at once that it was money and that he would give it back. He held the money and watched his chance. Things were happening so fast that he felt he was not doing full justice to them. He was tired. Oh, if only he could go to sleep! If only this whole thing could be postponed for a few hours, until he had rested some! He felt that he would have been able to handle it then. Events were like the details of a tortured dream, happening without cause. At times it seemed that he could not quite remember what had gone before and what it was he was expecting to come. At the head of the stairs the door opened and he saw Britten. While the others were looking off, Bigger shoved the money back into the man’s hand. The man looked at him, shook his head and flicked his cigarette away and walked to the center of the floor.

“I’m sorry, boys,” Britten said. “But the old man won’t be able to see you till Tuesday.”

Bigger thought quickly; that meant that Mr. Dalton was going to pay the money and was not going to call in the police.

“Tuesday?”

“Aw, come on!”

“Where
is
the girl?”

“I’m sorry,” said Britten.

“You’re putting us in the position of having to print anything we can get about this case,” said one of the men.

“You all know Mr. Dalton,” Britten explained. “You wouldn’t do that. For God’s sake, give the man a chance. I can’t tell you why now, but it’s important. He’d do as much for you some time.”

“Is the girl
missing
?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she
here
in the house?”

Britten hesitated.

“No; I don’t think she is.”

“When did she leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“When will she be back?”

“I can’t say.”

“Is this Erlone fellow telling the truth?” asked one of the men. “He said that Mr. Dalton’s trying to slander the Communist Party by having him arrested. And he says it’s an attempt to break up his relationship with Miss Dalton.”

“I don’t know,” Britten said.

“Erlone was picked up and taken to police headquarters and questioned,” the man continued. “He claimed that this boy here lied about his being in the home last night. Is
that
true?”

“Really, I can’t say anything about that,” Britten said.

“Did Mr. Dalton forbid Erlone to see Miss Dalton?”

“I don’t know,” Britten said, whipping out a handkerchief and wiping his forehead. “Honest to God, boys, I can’t tell you anything. You’ll have to see the old man.”

All eyes lifted at once. Mr. Dalton stood at the head of the stairs in the doorway, white-faced, holding a piece of paper in his fingers. Bigger knew at once that it was the kidnap note. What was
going to happen now? All of the men talked at once, shouting questions, asking to take pictures.

“Where’s Miss Dalton?”

“Did you swear out a warrant for the arrest of Erlone?”

“Were they engaged?”

“Did you forbid her to see him?”

“Did you object to his politics?”

“Don’t you want to make a statement, Mr. Dalton?”

Bigger saw Mr. Dalton lift his hand for silence, then walk slowly down the steps and stand near the men, just a few feet above them. They gathered closer, raising their silver bulbs.

“Do you wish to comment on what Erlone said about your chauffeur?”

“What did he say?” Mr. Dalton asked.

“He said the chauffeur had been paid to lie about him.”

“That’s not true,” Mr. Dalton said firmly.

Bigger blinked as lightning shot past his eyes. He saw the men lowering the silver bulbs.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Dalton. “Please! Give me just a moment. I do want to make a statement.” Mr. Dalton paused, his lips quivering. Bigger could see that he was very nervous. “Gentlemen,” Mr. Dalton said again, “I want to make a statement and I want you to take it carefully. The way you men handle this will mean life or death to someone, someone close to this family, to me. Someone….” Mr. Dalton’s voice trailed off. The basement filled with murmurs of eagerness. Bigger heard the kidnap note crackling faintly in Mr. Dalton’s fingers. Mr. Dalton’s face was dead-white and his blood-shot eyes were deep set in his head above patches of dark-colored skin. The fire in the furnace was low and the draft was but a whisper. Bigger saw Mr. Dalton’s white hair glisten like molten silver from the pale sheen of the fire.

Then, suddenly, so suddenly that the men gasped, the door behind Mr. Dalton filled with a flowing white presence. It was Mrs. Dalton, her white eyes held wide and stony, her hands lifted sensitively upward toward her lips, the fingers long and white and wide apart. The basement was lit up with the white flash of a dozen silver bulbs.

Ghostlike, Mrs. Dalton moved noiselessly down the steps until she came to Mr. Dalton’s side, the big white cat following her. She stood with one hand lightly touching a banister and the other held in mid-air. Mr. Dalton did not move or look round; he placed one of his hands over hers on the banister, covering it, and faced the men. Meanwhile, the big white cat bounded down the steps and leaped with one movement upon Bigger’s shoulder and sat perched there. Bigger was still, feeling that the cat had given him away, had pointed him out as the murderer of Mary. He tried to lift the cat down; but its claws clutched his coat. The silver lightning flashed in his eyes and he knew that the men had taken pictures of him with the cat poised upon his shoulder. He tugged at the cat once more and managed to get it down. It landed on its feet with a long whine, then began to rub itself against Bigger’s legs. Goddamn! Why can’t that cat leave me alone? He heard Mr. Dalton speaking.