Native Son - Richard Wright [105]
“I’m scared, Bigger.”
“You can’t be scared now.”
“You oughtn’t’ve killed her, honey.”
“I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t help it. I swear!”
“What happened? You never told me.”
“Aw, hell. I was in her room….”
“Her room?”
“Yeah. She was drunk. She passed out. I…. I took her there.”
“What she do?”
“She…. Nothing. She didn’t do anything. Her ma came in. She’s blind….”
“The girl?”
“Naw; her ma. I didn’t want her to find me there. Well, the girl was trying to say something and I was scared. I just put the edge of the pillow in her mouth and…. I didn’t mean to kill her. I just pulled the pillow over her face and she died. Her ma came into the room and the girl was trying to say something and her ma had her hands stretched out, like this, see? I was scared she was going to touch me. I just sort of pushed the pillow hard over the girl’s face to keep her from yelling. Her ma didn’t touch me; I got out of the way. But when she left I went to the bed and the girl…. She…. She was dead…. That was all. She was dead…. I didn’t mean….”
“You didn’t plan to kill her?”
“Naw; I swear I didn’t. But what’s the use? Nobody’ll believe me.”
“Honey, don’t you see?”
“What?”
“They’ll say….”
Bessie cried again. He caught her face in his hands. He was concerned; he wanted to see this thing through her eyes at that moment.
“What?”
“They’ll…. They’ll say you raped her.”
Bigger stared. He had entirely forgotten the moment when he had carried Mary up the stairs. So deeply had he pushed it all back down into him that it was not until now that its real meaning came back. They would say he had raped her and there would be no way to prove that he had not. That fact had not assumed importance in his eyes until now. He stood up, his jaws hardening. Had he raped her? Yes, he had raped her. Every time he felt as he had felt that night, he raped. But rape was not what one did to women. Rape was what one felt when one’s back was against a wall and one had to strike out, whether one wanted to or not, to keep the pack from killing one. He committed rape every time he looked into a white face. He was a long, taut piece of rubber which a thousand white hands had stretched to the snapping point, and when he snapped it was rape. But it was rape when he cried out in hate deep in his heart as he felt the strain of living day by day. That, too, was rape.
“They found her?” Bessie asked.
“Hunh?”
“They found her?”
“Yeah. Her bones….”
“Bones?”
“Aw, Bessie. I didn’t know what to do. I put her in the furnace.”
Bessie flung her face to his wet coat and wailed violently.
“Bigger!”
“Hunh?”
“What we going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’ll be looking for us.”
“They got my picture.”
“Where can we hide?”
“We can stay in some of them old houses for awhile.”
“But they might find us there.”
“There’s plenty of ’em. It’ll be like hiding in a jungle.”
The milk on the stove boiled over. Bessie rose, her lips still twisted with sobs, and turned off the electric switch. She poured out a glass of milk and brought it to him. He sipped it, slowly, then set the glass aside and leaned over again. They were silent. Bessie gave him the glass once more and he drank it down, then another glass. He stood up, his legs and entire body feeling heavy and sleepy.
“Get your clothes on. And get them blankets and quilts. We got to get out of here.”
She went to the bed and rolled the covers back, rolling the pillows with them; as she worked Bigger went to her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Where’s the bottle?”
She got it from her purse and gave it to him; he drank a long swallow and she put it back.
“Hurry up,” he said.
She sobbed softly as she worked, pausing now and then to wipe tears from her eyes. Bigger stood in the middle of the floor, thinking, Maybe they searching at home now; maybe they talking to Ma and Vera and Buddy. He crossed the floor