Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [32]
Someone pulled him away. Halley reappeared with a bottle and a glass. "Here, some of y'all tilt his head back."
And before I could move, a short, pock-marked man appeared and took Mr. Norton's head between his hands, tilting it at arm's length and then, pinching the chin gently like a barber about to apply a razor, gave a sharp, swift movement.
"Pow!"
Mr. Norton's head jerked like a jabbed punching bag. Five pale red lines bloomed on the white cheek, glowing like fire beneath translucent stone. I could not believe my eyes. I wanted to run. A woman tittered. I saw several men rush for the door.
"Cut it out, you damn fool!"
"A case of hysteria," the pock-marked man said quietly.
"Git the hell out of the way," Halley said. "Somebody git that stool-pigeon attendant from upstairs. Git him down here, quick!"
"A mere mild case of hysteria," the pock-marked man said as they pushed him away.
"Hurry with the drink, Halley!"
"Heah, school-boy, you hold the glass. This here's brandy I been saving for myself."
Someone whispered tonelessly into my ear, "You see, I told you that it would occur at 5:30. Already the Creator has come." It was the stolid-faced man.
I saw Halley tilt the bottle and the oily amber of brandy sloshing into the glass. Then tilting Mr. Norton's head back, I put the glass to his lips and poured. A fine brown stream ran from the corner of his mouth, down his delicate chin. The room was suddenly quiet. I felt a slight movement against my hand, like a child's breast when it whimpers at the end of a spell of crying. The fine-veined eyelids flickered. He coughed. I saw a slow red flush creep, then spurt, up his neck, spreading over his face.
"Hold it under his nose, school-boy. Let 'im smell it."
I waved the glass beneath Mr. Norton's nose. He opened his pale blue eyes. They seemed watery now in the red flush that bathed his face. He tried to sit up, his right hand fluttering to his chin. His eyes widened, moved quickly from face to face. Then coming to mine, the moist eyes focused with recognition.
"You were unconscious, sir," I said.
"Where am I, young man?" he asked wearily.
"This is the Golden Day, sir."
"What?"
"The Golden Day. It's a kind of sporting-and-gambling house," I added reluctantly.
"Now give him another drinka brandy," Halley said.
I poured a drink and handed it to him. He sniffed it, closed his eyes as in puzzlement, then drank; his cheeks filled out like small bellows; he was rinsing his mouth.
"Thank you," he said, a little stronger now. "What is this place?"
"The Golden Day," said several patients in unison.
He looked slowly around him, up to the balcony, with its scrolled and carved wood. A large flag hung lank above the floor. He frowned.
"What was this building used for in the past?" he said.
"It was a church, then a bank, then it was a restaurant and a fancy gambling house, and now we got it," Halley explained. "I think somebody said it used to be a jail-house too."
"They let us come here once a week to raise a little hell," someone said.
"I couldn't buy a drink to take out, sir, so I had to bring you inside," I explained in dread.
He looked about him. I followed his eyes and was amazed to see the varied expressions on the patients' faces as they silently returned his gaze. Some were hostile, some cringing, some horrified; some, who when among themselves were most violent, now appeared as submissive as children. And some seemed strangely amused.
"Are all of you patients?" Mr. Norton asked.
"Me, I just runs the joint," Halley said. "These here other fellows . . ."
"We're patients sent here as therapy," a short, fat, very intelligent-looking man said. "But," he smiled, "they send along an attendant, a kind of censor, to see that the therapy fails."
"You're nuts. I'm a dynamo of energy. I come to charge my batteries," one of the vets insisted.
"I'm a student of history, sir," another interrupted with dramatic gestures. "The world moves in a circle like a roulette wheel. In the beginning, black is on top, in the middle epochs, white holds the odds,