Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [132]
I had covered two blocks when someone called behind me, "Say, buddy! Hey, there! You, Mister . . . Wait a second!" and I could hear the hurried crunching of footsteps upon the snow. Then he was beside me, a squat man in worn clothes, the strands of his breath showing white in the cold as he smiled at me, panting.
"You was moving so fast I thought I wasn't going to be able to stop you," he said. "Didn't you lose something back there a piece?"
Oh, hell, a friend in need, I thought, deciding to deny it. "Lose something?" I said. "Why, no."
"You sure?" he said, frowning.
"Yes," I said, seeing his forehead wrinkle with uncertainty, a hot charge of fear leaping to his eyes as he searched my face.
"But I seen you -- Say, buddy," he said, looking swiftly back up the street, "what you trying to do?"
"Do? What do you mean?"
"I mean talking 'bout you didn't lose nothing. You working a con game or something?" He backed away, looking hurriedly at the pedestrians back up the street from where he'd come.
"What on earth are you talking about now?" I said. "I tell you I didn't lose anything."
"Man, don't tell me! I seen you. What the hell you mean?" he said, furtively removing the package from his pocket. "This here feels like money or a gun or something and I know damn well I seen you drop it."
"Oh, that," I said. "That isn't anything -- I thought you --"
"That's right, 'Oh.' So you remember now, don't you? I think I'm doing you a favor and you play me for a fool. You some kind of confidence man or dope peddler or something? You trying to work one of those pigeon drops on me?"
"Pigeon drop?" I said. "You're making a mistake --"
"Mistake, hell! Take this damn stuff," he said, thrusting the package in my hands as though it were a bomb with a lighted fuse. "I got a family, man. I try to do you a favor and here you trying to get me into trouble -- You running from a detective or somebody?"
"Wait a minute," I said. "You're letting your imagination run away; this is nothing but garbage --"
"Don't try to hand me that simple-minded crap," he wheezed. "I know what kind of garbage it is. You young New York Negroes is a blip! I swear you is! I hope they catch you and put your ass under the jail!"
He shot away as though I had smallpox. I looked at the package. He thinks it's a gun or stolen goods, I thought, watching him go. A few steps farther along I was about to toss it boldly into the street when upon looking back I saw him, joined by another man now, gesturing toward me indignantly. I hurried away. Give him time and the fool'll call a policeman. I dropped the package back into the brief case. I'd wait until I got downtown.
On the subway people around me were reading their morning papers, pressing forward their unpleasant faces. I rode with my eyes shut, trying to make my mind blank to thoughts of Mary. Then turning, I saw the item Violent Protest Over Harlem Eviction, just as the man lowered his paper and moved out of the breaking doors. I could hardly wait until I reached 42nd Street, where I found the story carried on the front page of a tabloid, and I read it eagerly. I was referred to only as an unknown "rabble rouser" who had disappeared in the excitement, but that it referred to me was unmistakable. It had lasted for two hours, the crowd refusing to vacate the premises. I entered the clothing store with a new sense of self-importance.
I selected a more expensive suit than I'd intended, and while it was being altered I picked up a hat, shorts, shoes, underwear and socks, then hurried to call Brother Jack, who snapped his orders like a general. I was to go to a number on the upper East Side where I'd find a room, and I was to read over some of the Brotherhood's literature which had been left there for me, with the idea of my making a speech at a Harlem rally to be held that evening.
The address was that of an undistinguished building