Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [154]
Thus for one lone stretch of time I lived with the intensity displayed by those chronic numbers players who see clues to their fortune in the most minute and insignificant phenomena: in clouds, on passing trucks and subway cars, in dreams, comic strips, the shape of dog-luck fouled on the pavements. I was dominated by the all-embracing idea of Brotherhood. The organization had given the world a new shape, and me a vital role. We recognized no loose ends, everything could be controlled by our science. Life was all pattern and discipline; and the beauty of discipline is when it works. And it was working very well.
Chapter 18
Only my Bledsoe-trustee inspired compulsion to read all papers that touched my hands prevented me from throwing the envelope aside. It was unstamped and appeared to be the least important item in the morning's mail:
Brother,
This is advice from a friend who has been watching you closely. Do not go too fast. Keep working for the people but remember that you are one of us and do not forget if you get too big they will cut you down. You are from the South and you know that this is a white man's world. So take a friendly advice and go easy so that you can keep on helping the colored people. They do not want you to go too fast and will cut you down if you do. Be smart . . .
I shot to my feet, the paper rattling poisonously in my hands. What did it mean? Who'd send such a thing?
"Brother Tarp!" I called, reading again the wavery lines of a handwriting that was somehow familiar. "Brother Tarp!"
"What is it, son?"
And looking up, I received another shock. Framed there in the gray, early morning light of the door, my grandfather seemed to look from his eyes. I gave a quick gasp, then there was a silence in which I could hear his wheezing breath as he eyed me unperturbed.
"What's wrong?" he said, limping into the room.
I reached for the envelope. "Where did this come from?" I said.
"What is it?" he said, taking it calmly from my hands.
"It's unstamped."
"Oh, yes -- I saw it myself," he said. "I reckon somebody put it in the box late last night. I took it out with the regular mail. Is it something that wasn't for you?"
"No," I said, avoiding his eyes. "But -- it isn't dated. I was wondering when it arrived -- Why are you staring at me?"
"Because looks to me like you seen a ghost. You feel sick?"
"It's nothing," I said. "Just a slight upset."
There was an awkward silence. He stood there and I forced myself to look at his eyes again, finding my grandfather gone, leaving only the searching calm. I said, "Sit down a second, Brother Tarp. Since you're here I'd like to ask you a question."
"Sure," he said, dropping into a chair. "Go 'head."
"Brother Tarp, you get around and know the members -- how do they really feel about me?"
He cocked his head. "Why, sure -- they think you're going to make a real leader --"
"But?"
"Ain't no buts, that's what they think and I don't mind telling you."
"But what about the others?"
"What others?"
"The ones who don't think so much of me?"
"Them's the ones I haven't heard about, son."
"But I must have some enemies," I said.
"Sure, I guess everybody has 'em, but I never heard of anybody here in the Brotherhood not liking you. As far as folks up here is concerned they think you're it. You heard any different?"
"No, but I was wondering. I've been going along taking them so much for granted that I thought I'd better check so that I can keep their support."
"Well, you don't have to worry. So far, nearly everything you had anything to do with has turned out to be what the folks like, even things some of 'em resisted. Take that there," he said, pointing to the wall near my desk.
It was a symbolic poster of a group of heroic figures: An American Indian couple, representing the dispossessed past; a blond brother (in overalls) and a leading Irish sister, representing the dispossessed present; and Brother Tod Clifton and a young white couple (it had been felt unwise simply to show Clifton and the girl) surrounded by a group of children