Native Son (30 page)

Yes; she was thinking only of herself now. He was alone.

“Bigger, tell me what happened?”

“They know all about it. They’ll be after me soon.”

Her eyes were too filled with fear to cry. He walked about aimlessly and his shoes left rings of dirty water on the wooden floor.

“Tell me, Bigger! Please!”

She was wanting the word that would free her of this nightmare; but he would not give it to her. No; let her be with him; let somebody be with him now. She caught hold of his coat and he felt her body trembling.

“Will they come for me, too, Bigger? I didn’t want to do it!”

Yes; he would let her know, let her know everything; but let her know it in a way that would bind her to him, at least a little longer. He did not want to be alone now.

“They found the girl,” he said.

“What we going to do, Bigger? Look what you done to me….”

She began to cry.

“Aw, come on, kid.”

“You
really
killed her?”

“She’s dead,” he said. “They found her.”

She ran to the bed, fell upon it and sobbed. With her mouth all twisted and her eyes wet, she asked in gasps:

“Y-y-you d-didn’t send the l-letter?”

“Yeah.”

“Bigger,” she whimpered.

“There ain’t no help for it now.”

“Oh, Lord! They’ll come for me. They’ll know you did it and they’ll go to your home and talk to your ma and brother and everybody. They’ll come for me now sure.”

That was true. There was no way for her but to come with him. If she stayed here they would come to her and she would simply lie on the bed and sob out everything. She would not be able to help it. And what she would tell them about him, his habits, his life, would help them to track him down.

“You got the money?”

“It’s in my dress pocket.”

“How much is it?”

“Ninety dollars.”

“Well, what you planning to do?” he asked.

“I wish I could kill myself.”

“Ain’t no use talking that way.”

“There ain’t no way else to talk.”

It was a shot in the dark, but he decided to try it.

“If you don’t act better’n this, I’ll just leave.”

“Naw; naw…. Bigger!” she cried, rising and running to him.

“Well, snap out of it,” he said, backing to a chair. He sat down and felt how tired he was. Some strength he did not know he possessed had enabled him to run away, to stand here and talk with her; but now he felt that he would not have strength enough to run even if the police should suddenly burst into the room.

“You h-hurt?” she asked, catching hold of his shoulder.

He leaned forward in the chair and rested his face in the palms of his hands.

“Bigger, what’s the matter?”

“I’m tired and awful sleepy,” he sighed.

“Let me fix you something to eat.”

“I need a drink.”

“Naw; no whiskey. You need some hot milk.”

He waited, hearing her move about. It seemed that his body had turned to a piece of lead that was cold and heavy and wet and aching. Bessie switched on her electric stove, emptied a bottle of milk into a pan and set it upon the glowing red circle. She came back to him and placed her hands upon his shoulders, her eyes wet with fresh tears.

“I’m scared, Bigger.”

“You can’t be scared now.”

“You oughtn’t’ve killed her, honey.”

“I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t help it. I swear!”

“What happened? You never told me.”

“Aw, hell. I was in her room….”

“
Her
room?”

“Yeah. She was drunk. She passed out. I…. I took her there.”

“What she do?”

“She…. Nothing. She didn’t do anything. Her ma came in. She’s blind….”

“The girl?”

“Naw; her ma. I didn’t want her to find me there. Well, the girl was trying to say something and I was scared. I just put the edge of the pillow in her mouth and…. I didn’t mean to kill her. I just pulled the pillow over her face and she died. Her ma came into the room and the girl was trying to say something and her ma had her hands stretched out, like this, see? I was scared she was going to touch me. I just sort of pushed the pillow hard over the girl’s face to keep her from yelling. Her ma didn’t touch me; I got out of the way. But when she left I went to the bed and the girl…. She…. She was dead…. That was all. She was dead…. I didn’t mean….”

“You didn’t plan to kill her?”

“Naw; I swear I didn’t. But what’s the use? Nobody’ll believe me.”

“Honey, don’t you see?”

“What?”

“They’ll say….”

Bessie cried again. He caught her face in his hands. He was concerned; he wanted to see this thing through her eyes at that moment.

“What?”

“They’ll…. They’ll say you raped her.”

Bigger stared. He had entirely forgotten the moment when he had carried Mary up the stairs. So deeply had he pushed it all back down into him that it was not until now that its real meaning came back. They would say he had raped her and there would be no way to prove that he had not. That fact had not assumed importance in his eyes until now. He stood up, his jaws hardening. Had he raped her? Yes, he had raped her. Every time he felt as he had felt that night, he raped. But rape was not what one did to women. Rape was what one felt when one’s back was against a wall and one had to strike out, whether one wanted to or not, to keep the pack from
killing one. He committed rape every time he looked into a white face. He was a long, taut piece of rubber which a thousand white hands had stretched to the snapping point, and when he snapped it was rape. But it was rape when he cried out in hate deep in his heart as he felt the strain of living day by day. That, too, was rape.

“They found her?” Bessie asked.

“Hunh?”

“They found her?”

“Yeah. Her bones….”

“
Bones?
”

“Aw, Bessie. I didn’t know what to do. I put her in the furnace.”

Bessie flung her face to his wet coat and wailed violently.

“Bigger!”

“Hunh?”

“What we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’ll be looking for us.”

“They got my picture.”

“Where can we hide?”

“We can stay in some of them old houses for awhile.”

“But they might find us there.”

“There’s plenty of ’em. It’ll be like hiding in a jungle.”

The milk on the stove boiled over. Bessie rose, her lips still twisted with sobs, and turned off the electric switch. She poured out a glass of milk and brought it to him. He sipped it, slowly, then set the glass aside and leaned over again. They were silent. Bessie gave him the glass once more and he drank it down, then another glass. He stood up, his legs and entire body feeling heavy and sleepy.

“Get your clothes on. And get them blankets and quilts. We got to get out of here.”

She went to the bed and rolled the covers back, rolling the pillows with them; as she worked Bigger went to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Where’s the bottle?”

She got it from her purse and gave it to him; he drank a long swallow and she put it back.

“Hurry up,” he said.

She sobbed softly as she worked, pausing now and then to wipe tears from her eyes. Bigger stood in the middle of the floor, thinking, Maybe they searching at home now; maybe they talking to Ma and Vera and Buddy. He crossed the floor and twitched back the curtains and looked out. The streets were white and empty. He turned and saw Bessie bent motionless over the pile of bedclothing.

“Come on; we got to get out of here.”

“I don’t care what happens.”

“Come on. You can’t act like that.”

What could he do with her? She would be a dangerous burden. It would be impossible to take her if she were going to act like this, and yet he could not leave her here. Coldly, he knew that he had to take her with him, and then at some future time settle things with her, settle them in a way that would not leave him in any danger. He thought of it calmly, as if the decision were being handed down to him by some logic not his own, over which he had no control, but which he had to obey.

“You want me to leave you here?”

“Naw; naw….
Bigger!
”

“Well, come on. Get your hat and coat.”

She was facing him, then she sank to her knees.

“Oh, Lord,” she moaned. “What’s the use of running? They’ll catch us anywhere. I should’ve known this would happen.” She clenched her hands in front of her and rocked to and fro with her eyes closed upon gushing tears. “All my life’s been full of hard trouble. If I wasn’t hungry, I was sick. And if I wasn’t sick, I was in trouble. I ain’t never bothered nobody. I just worked hard every day as long as I can remember, till I was tired enough to drop; then I had to get drunk to forget it. I had to get drunk to sleep. That’s all I ever did. And now I’m in this. They looking for me and when they catch me they’ll kill me.” She bent her head to the floor. “God only knows why I ever let you treat me this way. I wish to God I never seen you. I wish one of us had died before we was born. God
knows I do! All you ever caused me was trouble, just plain black trouble. All you ever did since we been knowing each other was to get me drunk so’s you could have me. That was all! I see it now. I ain’t drunk now. I see everything you ever did to me. I didn’t want to see it before. I was too busy thinking about how good I felt when I was with you. I thought I was happy, but deep down in me I knew I wasn’t. But you got me into this murder and I see it all now. I been a fool, just a blind dumb black drunk fool. Now I got to run away and I know deep down in your heart you really don’t care.”

She stopped, choked. He had not listened to what she had said. Her words had made leap to consciousness in him a thousand details of her life which he had long known and they made him see that she was in no condition to be taken along and at the same time in no condition to be left behind. It was not with anger or regret that he thought this, but as a man seeing what he must do to save himself and feeling resolved to do it.

“Come on, Bessie. We can’t stay here like this.”

He stooped and with one hand caught hold of her arm and with the other he lifted the bundle of bedclothes. He dragged her across the threshold, and pulled the door after him. He went down the steps; she came stumbling behind, whimpering. When he reached the vestibule, he got his gun from inside his shirt and put it in the pocket of his coat. He might have to use it any minute now. The moment he stepped out of that door he would have his life in his hands. Whatever happened now depended upon him; and when he felt it that way some of his fear left; it was simple again. He opened the door and an icy blast of wind struck his face. He drew back and turned to Bessie.

“Where’s the bottle?”

She held out her purse; he got the bottle and took a deep drink.

“Here,” he said. “You better take one.”

She drank and put the bottle back into the purse. They went into the snow, over the frozen streets, through the sweeping wind. Once she stopped and began to cry. He grabbed her arm.

“Shut up, now! Come on!”

They stopped in front of a tall, snow-covered building whose many windows gaped blackly, like the eye-sockets of empty skulls. He took the purse from her and got the flashlight. He clutched her arm and pulled her up the steps to the front door. It was half-ajar. He put his shoulder to it and gave a stout shove; it yielded grudgingly. It was black inside and the feeble glow of the flashlight did not help much. A sharp scent of rot floated to him and he heard the scurrying of quick, dry feet over the wooden floor. Bessie sucked in her breath deeply, about to scream; but Bigger gripped her arm so hard that she bent halfway over and moaned. As he went up the steps there came frequently to his ears a slight creak, as of a tree bending in wind. With one hand he held her wrist, the bundle of bedclothes under his arm; with the other he beat off the clinging filmy spider webs that came thick onto his lips and eyes. He walked to the third floor and into a room that had a window opening to a narrow air-shaft. It stank of old timber. He circled the spot of the flashlight; the floor was carpeted with black dirt and he saw two bricks lying in corners. He looked at Bessie; her hands covered her face and he could see the damp of tears on her black fingers. He dropped the bundle of bedclothes.

“Unroll ’em and spread ’em out.”

She obeyed. He placed the two pillows near the window, so that when he lay down the window would be just above his head. He was so cold that his teeth chattered. Bessie stood by a wall, leaning against it, crying.

“Take it easy,” he said.

He hoisted the window and looked up the air-shaft; snow flew above the roof of the house. He looked downward and saw nothing but black darkness into which now and then a few flakes of white floated from the sky, falling slowly in the dim glow of the flashlight. He lowered the window and turned back to Bessie; she had not moved. He crossed the floor and took the purse from her and got the half-filled flask and drained it. It was good. It burned in his stomach and took his mind off the cold and the sound of the wind outside. He sat on the edge of the pallet and lit a cigarette. It was the first one he had smoked in a long time; he sucked the hot
smoke deep into his lungs and blew it out slowly. The whiskey heated him all over, making his head whirl. Bessie cried, softly, piteously.

“Come on and lay down,” he said.

He took the gun from his coat pocket and put it where he could reach it.

“Come on, Bessie. You’ll freeze standing there like that.”

He stood up and pulled off his overcoat and spread it upon the top of the blanket for additional cover; then switched off the flashlight. The whiskey lulled him, numbed his senses. Bessie’s soft whimpers came to him through the cold. He took a long last draw from the cigarette and crushed it. Bessie’s shoes creaked over the floor. He lay quietly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading through him. He was tense inside; it was as though he had been compelled to hold himself in a certain awkward posture for a long time and then when he had the chance to relax he could not. He was tense with desire, but as long as he knew that Bessie was standing there in the room, he kept it from his mind. Bessie was worried and not to her should his mind turn now in that way. But that part of him which always made him at least outwardly adjusted to what was expected of him made him now keep what his body wanted out of full consciousness. He heard Bessie’s clothes rustling in the darkness and he knew that she was pulling off her coat. Soon she would be lying here beside him. He waited for her. After a few moments he felt her fingers pass lightly over his face; she was seeking for the pallet. He reached out, groping, and found her arm.