Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [43]
A small student wearing a freshman's cap stuck his head in the door, shouting, "Dr. Bledsoe said he wants to see you down at Rabb Hall." And then he was gone before I could question him, his footsteps thundering down the hall as he raced to dinner before the last bell sounded.
AT MR. NORTON'S door I stopped with my hand on the knob, mumbling a prayer.
"Come in, young man," he said to my knock. He was dressed in fresh linen, the light falling upon his white hair as upon silk floss. A small piece of gauze was plastered to his forehead. He was alone.
"I'm sorry, sir," I apologized, "but I was told that Dr. Bledsoe wanted to see me here . . ."
"That's correct," he said, "but Dr. Bledsoe had to leave. You'll find him in his office after chapel."
"Thank you, sir," I said and turned to go. He cleared his throat behind me. "Young man . . ."
I turned hopefully.
"Young man, I have explained to Dr. Bledsoe that you were not at fault. I believe he understands."
I was so relieved that at first I could only look at him, a small silken-haired, white-suited St. Nicholas, seen through misty eyes.
"I certainly do thank you, sir," I managed finally.
He studied me silently, his eyes slightly narrowed.
"Will you need me this evening, sir?" I asked.
"No, I won't be needing the machine. Business is taking me away sooner than I expected. I leave late tonight."
"I could drive you to the station, sir," I said hopefully.
"Thank you, but Dr. Bledsoe has already arranged it."
"Oh," I said with disappointment. I had hoped that by serving him the rest of the week I could win back his esteem. Now I would not have the opportunity.
"Well, I hope you have a pleasant trip, sir," I said.
"Thank you," he said, suddenly smiling.
"And maybe next time you come I'll be able to answer some of the questions you asked me this afternoon."
"Questions?" His eyes narrowed.
"Yes, sir, about . . . about your fate," I said.
"Ah, yes, yes," he said.
"And I intend to read Emerson, too . . ."
"Very good. Self-reliance is a most worthy virtue. I shall look forward with the greatest of interest to learning your contribution to my fate." He motioned me toward the door. "And don't forget to see Dr. Bledsoe."
I left somewhat reassured, but not completely. I still had to face Dr. Bledsoe. And I had to attend chapel.
Chapter 5
At the sound of vespers I moved across the campus with groups of students, walking slowly, their voices soft in the mellow dusk. I remember the yellowed globes of frosted glass making lacy silhouettes on the gravel and the walk of the leaves and branches above us as we moved slow through the dusk so restless with scents of lilac, honeysuckle and verbena, and the feel of spring greenness; and I recall the sudden arpeggios of laughter lilting across the tender, springtime grass -- gay-welling, far-floating, fluent, spontaneous, a bell-like feminine fluting, then suppressed; as though snuffed swiftly and irrevocably beneath the quiet solemnity of the vespered air now vibrant with somber chapel bells. Dong! Dong! Dong! Above the decorous walking around me, sounds of footsteps leaving the verandas of far-flung buildings and moving toward the walks and over the walks to the asphalt drives lined with whitewashed stones, those cryptic messages for men and women, boys and girls heading quietly toward where the visitors waited, and we moving not in the mood of worship but of judgment; as though even here in the filtering dusk, here beneath the deep indigo sky, here, alive with looping swifts and darting moths, here in the hereness of the night not yet lighted by the moon that looms blood-red behind the chapel like a fallen sun, its radiance shedding not upon the here-dusk of twittering bats, nor on the there-night of cricket and whippoorwill, but focused short-rayed upon our place of convergence; and we drifting forward with rigid motions, limbs stiff and voices now silent, as though on exhibit even in the dark, and the moon a white man's bloodshot eye.
And I move more rigid than all the others with a sense of judgment;