Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [113]
"We ought to done this long ago," a man said.
"We damn sho should."
"I feel so good," a woman said, "I feel so good!"
"Black men, I'm proud of you," the West Indian woman shrilled. "Proud!"
We rushed into the dark little apartment that smelled of stale cabbage and put the pieces down and returned for more. Men, women and children seized articles and dashed inside shouting, laughing. I looked for the two trusties, but they seemed to have disappeared. Then, coming down into the street, I thought I saw one. He was carrying a chair back inside.
"So you're law-abiding too," I called only to become aware that it was someone else. A white man but someone else altogether.
The man laughed at me and continued inside. And when I reached the street there were several of them, men and women, standing about, cheering whenever another piece of furniture was returned. It was like a holiday. I didn't want it to stop.
"Who are those people?" I called from the steps.
"What people?" someone called back.
"Those," I said, pointing.
"You mean those ofays?"
"Yes, what do they want?"
"We're friends of the people," one of the white men called.
"Friends of what people?" I called, prepared to jump down upon him if he answered, "You people."
"We're friends of all the common people," he shouted. "We came up to help."
"We believe in brotherhood," another called.
"Well, pick up that sofa and come on," I called. I was uneasy about their presence and disappointed when they all joined the crowd and started lugging the evicted articles back inside. Where had I heard of them?
"Why don't we stage a march?" one of the white men called, going past.
"Why don't we march!" I yelled out to the sidewalk before I had time to think.
They took it up immediately.
"Let's march . . ."
"It's a good idea."
"Let's have a demonstration . . ."
"Let's parade!"
I heard the siren and saw the scout cars swing into the block in the same instant. It was the police! I looked into the crowd, trying to focus upon their faces, hearing someone yell, "Here come the cops," and others answering, "Let 'em come!"
Where is all this leading? I thought, seeing a white man run inside the building as the policemen dashed from their cars and came running up.
"What's going on here?" a gold-shield officer called up the steps.
It had become silent. No one answered.
"I said, what's going on here," he repeated. "You," he called, pointing straight at me.
"We've . . . we've been clearing the sidewalk of a lot of junk," I called, tense inside.
"What's that?" he said.
"It's a clean-up campaign," I called, wanting to laugh. "These old folks had all their stuff cluttering up the sidewalk and we cleared the street . . ."
"You mean you're interfering with an eviction," he called, starting through the crowd.
"He ain't doing nothing," a woman called from behind me.
I looked around, the steps behind were filled with those who had been inside.
"We're all together," someone called, as the crowd closed in.
"Clear the streets," the officer ordered.
"That's what we were doing," someone called from back in the crowd.
"Mahoney!" he bellowed to another policeman, "send in a riot call!"
"What riot?" one of the white men called to him. "There's no riot."
"If I say there's a riot, there's a riot," the officer said. "And what are you white people doing up here in Harlem?"
"We're citizens. We go anywhere we like."
"Listen! Here come some more cops!" someone called.
"Let them come!"
"Let the Commissioner come!"
It became too much for me. The whole thing had gotten out of hand. What had I said to bring on all this? I edged to the back of the crowd on the steps and backed into the hallway. Where would I go? I hurried up to the old couple's apartment. But I can't hide here, I thought, heading back for the stairs.
"No. You can't go that way," a voice said.
I whirled. It was a white girl standing in the door.
"What are you doing in here?" I shouted, my fear turning to feverish