Native Son - Richard Wright [123]
The sound of the siren had stopped at some time which he did not remember; then it started again, and the interval in which he had not heard it seemed to hold for him some preciously hidden danger, as though for a dreadful moment he had gone to sleep at his post with an enemy near. He looked through the whirling spokes of light and saw a trapdoor open upon the roof to his left. He stood rigid, holding the gun, watching, waiting. If only the man did not see him when he came up! A head came into view; a white man climbed out of the trapdoor and stood in the snow.
He flinched; someone was crawling in the loft below him. Would he be trapped? A voice, a little afraid, called from the open hole through which the man whom he had struck had climbed.
“Jerry!”
The voice sounded clearly in spite of the siren and the clang of the fire wagons.
“Jerry!”
The voice was a little louder now. It was the man’s partner. Bigger looked back to the roof to his left; the man was still standing there, flashing a light round. If he would only leave! He had to get away from this trapdoor here. If that man came up to see about his partner and found him sprawled in the snow he would yell before he got a chance to hit him. He squeezed against the chimney, looking at the man on the roof to his left, holding his breath. The man turned, walked toward the trapdoor and climbed through. He waited to hear the door shut; it did. Now, that roof was clear! He breathed a silent prayer.
“Jerry!”
With gun in hand, Bigger crept across the roof. He came to a small mound of brick, where the upjutting ridge of the building’s flat top joined that of the other. He paused and looked back. The hole was still empty. If he tried to climb over, would the man come out of the hole just in time to see him? He had to take the chance. He grabbed the ledge, hoisted himself upon it, and lay flat for a moment on the ice, then slid to the other side, rolling over. He felt snow in his face and eyes; his chest heaved. He crawled to another chimney and waited; it was so cold that he had a wild wish to merge into the icy bricks of the chimney and have it all over. He heard the voice again, this time loud, insistent:
“Jerry!”
He looked out from behind the chimney. The hole was still empty. But the next time the voice came he knew that the man was coming out, for he could feel the tremor of the voice, as though it were next to him.
“Jerry!”
Then he saw the man’s face come through; it was stuck like a piece of white pasteboard above the top of the hole and when the man’s voice sounded again Bigger knew that he had seen his partner in the snow.
“Jerry! Say!”
Bigger lifted his gun and waited.
“Jerry…”
The man came out of the hole and stood over his partner, then scrambled in again, screaming:
“Say! Say!”
Yes; the man would spread the word. Ought he to run? Suppose he went down into the trapdoor of another roof? Naw! There would be people standing in the hallways and they would be afraid; they would scream at the sight of him and he would be caught. They would be glad to give him up and put an end to this terror. It would be better to run farther over the roofs. He rose; then, just as he was about to run, he saw a head bob up in the hole. Another man came through and stood over Jerry. He was tall and he stooped over Jerry’s form and seemed to be putting his hand upon his face. Then another came through. One of the men centered his flashlight on Jerry’s body and Bigger saw one bend and roll the body over. The spotlight lit Jerry’s face. One of the men ran to the sheer edge of the roof, overlooking the street;