Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [31]
"But he's sick."
"He can die!"
"He's important, Halley, a trustee. He's rich and sick and if anything happens to him, they'll have me packed and on my way home."
"Can't help it, school-boy. Bring him inside and he can buy enough to swim in. He can drink outta my own private bottle."
He sliced the white heads off a couple of beers with an ivory paddle and passed them up the bar. I felt sick inside. Mr. Norton wouldn't want to come in here. He was too sick. And besides I didn't want him to see the patients and the girls. Things were getting wilder as I made my way out. Supercargo, the white-uniformed attendant who usually kept the men quiet was nowhere to be seen. I didn't like it, for when he was upstairs they had absolutely no inhibitions. I made my way out to the car. What could I tell Mr. Norton? He was lying very still when I opened the door.
"Mr. Norton, sir. They refuse to sell me whiskey to bring out."
He lay very still.
"Mr. Norton."
He lay like a figure of chalk. I shook him gently, feeling dread within me. He barely breathed. I shook him violently, seeing his head wobble grotesquely. His lips parted, bluish, revealing a row of long, slender, amazingly animal-like teeth.
"SIR!"
In a panic I ran back into the Golden Day, bursting through the noise as through an invisible wall.
"Halley! Help me, he's dying!"
I tried to get through but no one seemed to have heard me. I was blocked on both sides. They were jammed together.
"Halley!"
Two patients turned and looked me in the face, their eyes two inches from my nose.
"What is wrong with this gentleman, Sylvester?" the tall one said.
"A man's dying outside!" I said.
"Someone is always dying," the other one said.
"Yes, and it's good to die beneath God's great tent of sky."
"He's got to have some whiskey!"
"Oh, that's different," one of them said and they began pushing a path to the bar. "A last bright drink to keep the anguish down. Step aside, please!"
"School-boy, you back already?" Halley said.
"Give me some whiskey. He's dying!"
"I done told you, school-boy, you better bring him in here. He can die, but I still got to pay my bills."
"Please, they'll put me in jail."
"You going to college, figure it out," he said.
"You'd better bring the gentleman inside," the one called Sylvester said. "Come, let us assist you."
We fought our way out of the crowd. He was just as I left him.
"Look, Sylvester, it's Thomas Jefferson!"
"I was just about to say, I've long wanted to discourse with him."
I looked at them speechlessly; they were both crazy. Or were they joking?
"Give me a hand," I said.
"Gladly."
I shook him. "Mr. Norton!"
"We'd better hurry if he's to enjoy his drink," one of them said thoughtfully.
We picked him up. He swung between us like a sack of old clothes.
"Hurry!"
As we carried him toward the Golden Day one of the men stopped suddenly and Mr. Norton's head hung down, his white hair dragging in the dust.
"Gentlemen, this man is my grandfather!"
"But he's white, his name's Norton."
"I should know my own grandfather! He's Thomas Jefferson and I'm his grandson -- on the 'field-nigger' side," the tall man said.
"Sylvester, I do believe that you're right. I certainly do," he said, staring at Mr. Norton. "Look at those features. Exactly like yours -- from the identical mold. Are you sure he didn't spit you upon the earth, fully clothed?"
"No, no, that was my father," the man said earnestly.
And he began to curse his father violently as we moved for the door. Halley was there waiting. Somehow he'd gotten the crowd to quiet down and a space was cleared in the center of the room. The men came close to look at Mr. Norton.
"Somebody bring a chair."
"Yeah, let Mister Eddy sit down."
"That ain't no Mister Eddy, man, that's John D. Rockefeller," someone said.
"Here's a chair for the Messiah."
"Stand back y'all," Halley ordered. "Give him some room."
Burnside, who had been a doctor, rushed forward and felt for Mr. Norton's pulse.
"It's solid! This man has a solid pulse! Instead of beating, it vibrates. That's