Native Son (39 page)

“No; no; no…. Not that,” Max said. “If you felt that millions of others experienced life as deeply as you, but differently, you’d see that what you’re doing doesn’t help. Something of a more fundamental nature….”

“Communism!” Buckley boomed, pulling down the corners of his lips. “Gentlemen, let’s don’t be childish! This boy’s going on trial for his life. My job is to enforce the laws of this state….”

Buckley’s voice stopped as the door opened and the policeman looked inside.

“What is it?” Buckley asked.

“The boy’s folks are here.”

Bigger cringed. Not this! Not here; not
now
! He did not want his mother to come in here now, with these people standing round. He looked about with a wild, pleading expression. Buckley watched him, then turned back to the policeman.

“They have a right to see ’im,” Buckley said. “Let ’em come in.”

Though he sat, Bigger felt his legs trembling. He was so tense in body and mind that when the door swung in he bounded up and stood in the middle of the room. He saw his mother’s face; he wanted to run to her and push her back through the door. She was standing still, one hand upon the doorknob; the other hand clutched a frayed pocketbook, which she dropped and ran to him, throwing her arms about him, crying,

“My baby….”

Bigger’s body was stiff with dread and indecision. He felt his mother’s arms tight about him and he looked over her shoulder and saw Vera and Buddy come slowly inside and stand, looking about timidly. Beyond them he saw Gus and G.H. and Jack, their mouths open in awe and fear. Vera’s lips were trembling and Buddy’s hands were clenched. Buckley, the preacher, Jan, Max, Mr. and Mrs. Dalton stood along the wall, behind him, looking on silently. Bigger wanted to whirl and blot them from sight. The kind words of Jan and Max were forgotten now. He felt that all of the white people in the room were measuring every inch of his weakness. He identified himself with his family and felt their naked shame under the eyes of white folks. While looking at his brother and sister and feeling his mother’s arms about him; while knowing that Jack and G.H. and Gus were standing awkwardly in the doorway staring at him in curious disbelief—while being conscious of all this, Bigger felt a wild and outlandish conviction surge in him:
They ought to be glad
! It was a strange but strong feeling, springing from the very depths of his life. Had he not taken fully upon himself the crime of being black? Had he not done the thing which they dreaded above all others? Then they ought not stand here and pity him, cry over him; but look at him and go home, contented, feeling that their shame was washed away.

“Oh, Bigger, son!” his mother wailed. “We been so worried…. We ain’t slept a single night! The police is there all the time…. They stand outside our door…. They watch and follow us everywhere! Son, son….”

Bigger heard her sobs; but what could he do? She ought not to have come here. Buddy came over to him, fumbling with his cap.

“Listen, Bigger, if you didn’t do it, just tell me and I’ll fix ’em. I’ll get a gun and kill four or five of ’em….”

The room gasped. Bigger turned his head quickly and saw that the white faces along the wall were shocked and startled.

“Don’t talk that way, Buddy,” the mother sobbed. “You want me to die right now? I can’t stand no more of this. You mustn’t talk that way…. We in enough trouble now….”

“Don’t let ’em treat you bad, Bigger,” Buddy said stoutly.

Bigger wanted to comfort them in the presence of the white folks, but did not know how. Desperately, he cast about for something to say. Hate and shame boiled in him against the people behind his back; he tried to think of words that would defy them, words that would let them know that he had a world and life of his own in spite of them. And at the same time he wanted those words to stop the tears of his mother and sister, to quiet and soothe the anger of his brother; he longed to stop those tears and that anger because he knew that they were futile, that the people who stood along the wall back of him had the destiny of him and his family in their hands.

“Aw, Ma, don’t you-all worry none,” he said, amazed at his own words; he was possessed by a queer, imperious nervous energy. “I’ll be out of this in no time.”

His mother gave him an incredulous stare. Bigger turned his head again and looked feverishly and defiantly at the white faces along the wall. They were staring at him in surprise. Buckley’s lips were twisted in a faint smile. Jan and Max looked dismayed. Mrs. Dalton, white as the wall behind her, listened, open-mouthed. The preacher and Mr. Dalton were shaking their heads sadly. Bigger knew that no one in the room, except Buddy, believed him. His mother turned her face away and cried. Vera knelt upon the floor and covered her face with her hands.

“Bigger,” his mother’s voice came low and quiet; she caught his face between the palms of her trembling hands. “Bigger,” she said, “tell me. Is there anything,
any
thing we can do?”

He knew that his mother’s question had been prompted by his telling her that he would get out of all this. He knew that they had nothing; they were so poor that they were depending upon public charity to eat. He was ashamed of what he had done; he should have been honest with them. It had been a wild and foolish impulse that had made him try to appear strong and innocent before them. Maybe they would remember him only by those foolish words after they had killed him. His mother’s eyes were sad, skeptical; but kind, patient, waiting for his answer. Yes; he had to wipe out that lie, not
only so that they might know the truth, but to redeem himself in the eyes of those white faces behind his back along the white wall. He was lost; but he would not cringe; he would not lie, not in the presence of that white mountain looming behind him.

“There ain’t nothing, Ma. But I’m all right,” he mumbled.

There was silence. Buddy lowered his eyes. Vera sobbed louder. She seemed so little and helpless. She should not have come here. Her sorrow accused him. If he could only make her go home. It was precisely to keep from feeling this hate and shame and despair that he had always acted hard and tough toward them; and now he was without defense. His eyes roved the room, seeing Gus and G.H. and Jack. They saw him looking at them and came forward.

“I’m sorry, Bigger,” Jack said, his eyes on the floor.

“They picked us up, too,” G.H. said, as though trying to comfort Bigger with the fact. “But Mr. Erlone and Mr. Max got us out. They tried to make us tell about a lot of things we didn’t do, but we wouldn’t tell.”

“Anything we can do, Bigger?” Gus asked.

“I’m all right,” Bigger said. “Say, when you go, take Ma home, will you?”

“Sure; sure,” they said.

Again there was silence and Bigger’s taut nerves ached to fill it up.

“How you 1-1-like them sewing classes at the Y, Vera?” he asked.

Vera tightened her hands over her face.

“Bigger,” his mother sobbed, trying to talk through her tears. “Bigger, honey, she won’t go to school no more. She says the other girls look at and make her ’shamed….”

He had lived and acted on the assumption that he was alone, and now he saw that he had not been. What he had done made others suffer. No matter how much he would long for them to forget him, they would not be able to. His family was a part of him, not only in blood, but in spirit. He sat on the cot and his mother knelt at his feet. Her face was lifted to his; her eyes were empty, eyes that looked upward when the last hope of earth had failed.

“I’m praying for you, son. That’s all I can do now,” she said. “The Lord knows I did all I could for you and your sister and brother. I scrubbed and washed and ironed from morning till night, day in and day out, as long as I had strength in my old body. I did all I know how, son, and if I left anything undone, it’s just ’cause I didn’t know. It’s just ’cause your poor old ma couldn’t see, son. When I heard the news of what happened, I got on my knees and turned my eyes to God and asked Him if I had raised you wrong. I asked Him to let me bear your burden if I did wrong by you. Honey, your poor old ma can’t do nothing now. I’m old and this is too much for me. I’m at the end of my rope. Listen, son, your poor old ma wants you to promise her one thing…. Honey, when ain’t nobody round you, when you alone, get on your knees and tell God everything. Ask Him to guide you. That’s all you can do now. Son,
promise
me you’ll go to Him.”

“Ahmen!” the preacher intoned fervently.

“Forget me, Ma,” Bigger said.

“Son, I can’t forget you. You’re my boy. I brought you into this world.”

“Forget me, Ma.”

“Son, I’m worried about you. I can’t help it. You got your soul to save. I won’t be able to rest easy as long as I’m on this earth if I thought you had gone away from us without asking God for help. Bigger, we had a hard time in this world, but through it all, we been together, ain’t we?”

“Yessum,” he whispered.

“Son, there’s a place where we can be together again in the great bye and bye. God’s done fixed it so we can. He’s fixed a meeting place for us, a place where we can live without fear. No matter what happens to us here, we can be together in God’s heaven. Bigger, your old ma’s a-begging you to promise her you’ll pray.”

“She’s tellin’ yuh right, son,” the preacher said.

“Forget me, Ma,” Bigger said.

“Don’t you want to see your old ma again, son?”

Slowly, he stood up and lifted his hands and tried to touch his
mother’s face and tell her yes; and as he did so something screamed deep down in him that it was a lie, that seeing her after they killed him would never be. But his mother believed; it was her last hope; it was what had kept her going through the long years. And she was now believing it all the harder because of the trouble he had brought upon her. His hands finally touched her face and he said with a sigh (knowing that it would never be, knowing that his heart did not believe, knowing that when he died, it would be over, forever):

“I’ll pray, Ma.”

Vera ran to him and embraced him. Buddy looked grateful. His mother was so happy that all she could do was cry. Jack and G.H. and Gus smiled. Then his mother stood up and encircled him with her arms.

“Come here, Vera,” she whimpered.

Vera came.

“Come here, Buddy.”

Buddy came.

“Now, put your arms around your brother,” she said.

They stood in the middle of the floor, crying, with their arms locked about Bigger. Bigger held his face stiff, hating them and himself, feeling the white people along the wall watching. His mother mumbled a prayer, to which the preacher chanted.

“Lord, here we is, maybe for the last time. You gave me these children, Lord, and told me to raise ’em. If I failed, Lord, I did the best I could. (
Ahmen
!) These poor children’s been with me a long time and they’s all I got. Lord, please let me see ’em again after the sorrow and suffering of this world! (
Hear her, Lawd
!) Lord, please let me see ’em where I can love ’em in peace. Let me see ’em again beyond the grave! (
Have mercy, Jesus
!) You said You’d heed prayer, Lord, and I’m asking this in the name of Your son.”

“Ahmen ’n’ Gawd bless yuh, Sistah Thomas,” the preacher said.

They took their arms from round Bigger, silently, slowly; then turned their faces away, as though their weakness made them ashamed in the presence of powers greater than themselves.

“We leaving you now with God, Bigger,” his mother said. “Be sure and pray, son.”

They kissed him.

Buckley came forward.

“You’ll have to go now, Mrs. Thomas,” he said. He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Dalton. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dalton. I didn’t mean to keep you standing there so long. But you see how things are….”

Bigger saw his mother straighten suddenly and stare at the blind white woman.

“Is you Mrs. Dalton?” she asked.

Mrs. Dalton moved nervously, lifted her thin, white hands and tilted her head. Her mouth came open and Mr. Dalton placed an arm about her.

“Yes,” Mrs. Dalton whispered.

“Oh, Mrs. Dalton, come right this way,” Buckley said hurriedly.

“No; please,” Mrs. Dalton said. “What is it, Mrs. Thomas?”

Bigger’s mother ran and knelt on the floor at Mrs. Dalton’s feet.

“Please, mam!” she wailed. “Please, don’t let ’em kill my boy! You know how a mother feels! Please, mam…. We live in your house…. They done asked us to move…. We ain’t got nothing….”

Bigger was paralyzed with shame; he felt violated.

“
Ma!
” he shouted, more in shame than anger.

Max and Jan ran to the black woman and tried to lift her up.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Thomas,” Max said. “Come with me.”

“Wait,” Mrs. Dalton said.

“Please, mam! Don’t let ’em kill my boy! He ain’t never had a chance! He’s just a poor boy! Don’t let ’em kill ’im! I’ll work for you for the rest of my life! I’ll do anything you say, mam!” the mother sobbed.

Mrs. Dalton stooped slowly, her hands trembling in the air. She touched the mother’s head.

“There’s nothing I can do now,” Mrs. Dalton said calmly. “It’s out of my hands. I did all I could, when I wanted to give your boy
a chance at life. You’re not to blame for this. You must be brave. Maybe it’s better….”

“If you speak to ’em, they’ll listen to you, mam,” the mother sobbed. “Tell ’em to have mercy on my boy….”

“Mrs. Thomas, it’s too late for me to do anything now,” Mrs. Dalton said. “You must not feel like this. You have your other children to think of….”

“I know you hate us, mam! You lost your daughter….”

“No; no…. I don’t hate you,” Mrs. Dalton said.

The mother crawled from Mrs. Dalton to Mr. Dalton.

“You’s rich and powerful,” she sobbed. “Spare me my boy….”

Max struggled with the black woman and got her to her feet Bigger’s shame for his mother amounted to hate. He stood with clenched fists, his eyes burning. He felt that in another moment he would have leaped at her.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Thomas,” Max said.

Mr. Dalton came forward.

“Mrs. Thomas, there’s nothing we can do,” he said. “This thing is out of our hands. Up to a certain point we can help you, but beyond that…. People must protect themselves. But you won’t have to move. I’ll tell them not to make you move.”