Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [34]
"Here I'm forty-five and he's been acting like he's my old man!"
"So you like to kick, huh?" a tall man said, aiming a shoe at the attendant's head. The flesh above his right eye jumped out as though it had been inflated.
Then I heard Mr. Norton beside me shouting, "No, no! Not when he's down!"
"Lissen at the white folks," someone said. "He's the white folks' man!"
Men were jumping upon Supercargo with both feet now and I felt such an excitement that I wanted to join them. Even the girls were yelling, "Give it to him good!" "He never pays me!" "Kill him!"
"Please, y'all, not here! Not in my place!"
"You can't speak your mind when he's on duty!"
"Hell, no!"
Somehow I got pushed away from Mr. Norton and found myself beside the man called Sylvester.
"Watch this, school-boy," he said. "See there, where his ribs are bleeding?" I nodded my head. "Now don't move your eyes."
I watched the spot as though compelled, just beneath the lower rib and above the hip-bone, as Sylvester measured carefully with his toe and kicked as though he were punting a football. Supercargo let out a groan like an injured horse.
"Try it, school-boy, it feels so good. It gives you relief," Sylvester said. "Sometimes I get so afraid of him I feel that he's inside my head. There!" he said, giving Supercargo another kick.
As I watched, a man sprang on Supercargo's chest with both feet and he lost consciousness. They began throwing cold beer on him, reviving him, only to kick him unconscious again. Soon he was drenched in blood and beer.
"The bastard's out cold."
"Throw him out."
"Naw, wait a minute. Give me a hand somebody."
They threw him upon the bar, stretching him out with his arms folded across his chest like a corpse.
"Now, let's have a drink!"
Halley was slow in getting behind the bar and they cursed him.
"Get back there and serve us, you big sack of fat!"
"Gimme a rye!"
"Up here, funk-buster!"
"Shake them sloppy hips!"
"Okay, okay, take it easy," Halley said, rushing to pour them drinks. "Just put y'all's money where your mouth is."
With Supercargo lying helpless upon the bar, the men whirled about like maniacs. The excitement seemed to have tilted some of the more delicately balanced ones too far. Some made hostile speeches at the top of their voices against the hospital, the state and the universe. The one who called himself a composer was banging away the one wild piece he seemed to know on the out-of-tune piano, striking the keyboard with fists and elbows and filling in other effects in a bass voice that moaned like a bear in agony. One of the most educated ones touched my arm. He was a former chemist who was never seen without his shining Phi Beta Kappa key.
"The men have lost control," he said through the uproar. "I think you'd better leave."
"I'm trying to," I said, "as soon as I can get over to Mr. Norton."
Mr. Norton was gone from where I had left him. I rushed here and there through the noisy men, calling his name.
When I found him he was under the stairs. Somehow he had been pushed there by the scuffling, reeling men and he lay sprawled in the chair like an aged doll. In the dim light his features were sharp and white and his closed eyes well-defined lines in a well-tooled face. I shouted his name above the roar of the men, and got no answer. He was out again. I shook him, gently, then roughly, but still no flicker of his wrinkled lids. Then some of the milling men pushed me up against him and suddenly a mass of whiteness was looming two inches from my eyes; it was only his face but I felt a shudder of nameless horror. I had never been so close to a white person before. In a panic I struggled to get away. With his eyes closed he seemed more threatening than with them open. He was like a formless white death, suddenly appeared before me, a death which had been there all the time and which had now revealed itself in the madness of the Golden Day.
"Stop screaming!" a voice commanded, and I felt myself pulled away. It was the short fat man.
I clamped my mouth shut, aware for the first time that the