Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [88]
"Go on and git it and come back here and eat. Down here we have to always be on the job. A man don't need no more'n fifteen minutes to eat no-how; then I say let him git on back on the job."
UpON opening the door I thought I had made a mistake. Men dressed in splattered painters' caps and overalls sat about on benches, listening to a thin tubercular-looking man who was addressing them in a nasal voice. Everyone looked at me and I was starting out when the thin man called, "There's plenty of seats for late comers. Come in, brother . . ."
Brother? Even after my weeks in the North this was surprising. "I was looking for the locker room," I spluttered.
"You're in it, brother. Weren't you told about the meeting?"
"Meeting? Why, no, sir, I wasn't."
The chairman frowned. "You see, the bosses are not co-operating," he said to the others. "Brother, who's your foreman?"
"Mr. Brockway, sir," I said.
Suddenly the men began scraping their feet and cursing. I looked about me. What was wrong? Were they objecting to my referring to Brockway as Mister?
"Quiet, brothers," the chairman said, leaning across his table, his hand cupped to his ear. "Now what was that, brother; who is your foreman?"
"Lucius Brockway, sir," I said, dropping the Mister.
But this seemed only to make them more hostile. "Get him the hell out of here," they shouted. I turned. A group on the far side of the room kicked over a bench, yelling, "Throw him out! Throw him out!"
I inched backwards, hearing the little man bang on the table for order. "Men, brothers! Give the brother a chance . . ."
"He looks like a dirty fink to me. A first-class enameled fink!"
The hoarsely voiced word grated my ears like "nigger" in an angry southern mouth . . .
"Brothers, please!" The chairman was waving his hands as I reached out behind me for the door and touched an arm, feeling it snatch violently away. I dropped my hand.
"Who sent this fink into the meeting, brother chairman? Ask him that!" a man demanded.
"No, wait," the chairman said. "Don't ride that word too hard . . ."
"Ask him, brother chairman!" another man said.
"Okay, but don't label a man a fink until you know for sure." The chairman turned to me. "How'd you happen in here, brother?"
The men quieted, listening.
"I left my lunch in my locker," I said, my mouth dry.
"You weren't sent into the meeting?"
"No, sir, I didn't know about any meeting."
"The hell he says. None of these finks ever knows!"
"Throw the lousy bastard out!"
"Now, wait," I said.
They became louder, threatening.
"Respect the chair!" the chairman shouted. "We're a democratic union here, following democratic --"
"Never mind, git rid of the fink!"
". . . procedures. It's our task to make friends with all the workers. And I mean all. That's how we build the union strong. Now let's hear what the brother's got to say. No more of that beefing and interrupting!"
I broke into a cold sweat, my eyes seeming to have become extremely sharp, causing each face to stand out vivid in its hostility.
I heard, "When were you hired, friend?"
"This morning," I said.
"See, brothers, he's a new man. We don't want to make the mistake of judging the worker by his foreman. Some of you also work for sonsabitches, remember?"
Suddenly the men began to laugh and curse. "Here's one right here," one of them yelled.
"Mine wants to marry the boss's daughter -- a frigging eight-day wonder!"
This sudden change made me puzzled and angry, as though they were making me the butt of a joke.
"Order, brothers! Perhaps the brother would like to join the union. How about it, brother?"
"Sir . . . ?" I didn't know what to say. I knew very little about unions -- but most of these men seemed hostile . . . And before I could answer a fat man with shaggy gray hair leaped to his feet, shouting angrily,
"I'm against it! Brothers, this fellow could be a fink, even if he was hired right this minute! Not that I aim to be unfair to anybody, either. Maybe he ain't a fink," he cried passionately, "but brothers, I want to remind you that nobody knows it; and it seems to me