Native Son - Richard Wright [117]
“Jack, yuh mean t’ stan’ there ’n’ say yuh’d give tha’ nigger up t’ the white folks?”
“Damn right Ah would!”
“But, Jack, s’pose he ain’ guilty?”
“Whut in hell he run off fer then?”
“Mabbe he thought they wuz gonna blame the murder on him!”
“Lissen, Jim. Ef he wuzn’t guilty, then he oughta stayed ’n’ faced it. Ef Ah knowed where tha’ nigger wuz Ah’d turn ’im up ’n’ git these white folks off me.”
“But, Jack, ever’ nigger looks guilty t’ white folks when somebody’s done a crime.”
“Yeah; tha’s ’cause so many of us ack like Bigger Thomas; tha’s all. When yuh ack like Bigger Thomas yuh stir up trouble.”
“But, Jack, who’s stirring up trouble now? The papers say they beatin’ us up all over the city. They don’t care whut black man they git. We’s all dogs in they sight! Yuh gotta stan’ up ’n’ fight these folks.”
“’N’ git killed? Hell, naw! Ah gotta family. Ah gotta wife ’n’ baby. Ah ain’t startin’ no fool fight. Yuh can’t git no justice pertectin’ men who kill….”
“We’s all murderers t’ them, Ah tell yuh!”
“Lissen, Jim. Ah’m a hard-workin’ man. Ah fixes the streets wid a pick ’n’ shovel ever’ day, when Ah git a chance. But the boss tol’ me he didn’t wan’ me in them streets wid this mob feelin’ among the white folks…. He says Ah’ll git killed. So he lays me off. Yuh see, tha’ Goddamn nigger Bigger Thomas made me lose mah job…. He made the white folks think we’s all jus’ like him!”
“But, Jack, Ah tell yuh they think it awready. Yuh’s a good man, but tha’ ain’ gonna keep ’em from comin’ t’ yo’ home, is it? Hell, naw! We’s all black ’n’ we jus’ as waal ack black, don’ yuh see?”
“Aw, Jim, it’s awright t’ git mad, but yuh gotta look at things straight. Tha’ guy made me lose mah job. Tha’ ain’ fair! How is Ah gonna eat? Ef Ah knowed where the black sonofabitch wuz Ah’d call the cops ’n’ let ’em come ’n’ git ’im!”
“Waal, Ah wouldn’t. Ah’d die firs’!”
“Man, yuh crazy! Don’ yuh wan’ a home ’n’ wife ’n’ chillun? Whut’s fightin’ gonna git yuh? There’s mo’ of them than us. They could kill us all. Yuh gotta learn t’ live ’n’ git erlong wid people.”
“When folks hate me, Ah don’ wanna git erlong.”
“But we gotta eat! We gotta live!”
“Ah don’ care! Ah’d die firs’!”
“Aw, hell! Yuh crazy!”
“Ah don’ care whut yuh say. Ah’d die ’fo’ Ah’d let ’em scare me inter tellin’ on tha’ man. Ah tell yuh, Ah’d die firs’!”
He tiptoed back into the kitchen and took out his gun. He would stay here and if his own people bothered him he would use it. He turned on the water faucet and put his mouth under the stream and the water exploded in his stomach. He sank to his knees and rolled in agony. Soon the pain ceased and he drank again. Then, slowly, so that the paper would not rustle, he unwrapped the loaf of bread and chewed a piece. It tasted good, like cake, with a sweetish and smooth flavor he had never thought bread could have. As he ate his hunger returned