Native Son - Richard Wright [133]
The preacher’s words ceased droning. Bigger looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. The preacher’s face was black and sad and earnest and made him feel a sense of guilt deeper than that which even his murder of Mary had made him feel. He had killed within himself the preacher’s haunting picture of life even before he had killed Mary; that had been his first murder. And now the preacher made it walk before his eyes like a ghost in the night, creating within him a sense of exclusion that was as cold as a block of ice. Why should this thing rise now to plague him after he had pressed a pillow of fear and hate over its face to smother it to death? To those who wanted to kill him he was not human, not included in that picture of Creation; and that was why he had killed it. To live, he had created a new world for himself, and for that he was to die.
Again the preacher’s words seeped into his feelings:
“Son, yuh know whut tha’ tree wuz? It wuz the tree of knowledge. It wuzn’t enuff fer man t’ be like Gawd, he wanted t’ know why. ’N’ all Gawd wanted ’im t’ do wuz bloom like the flowers in the fiel’s, live as chillun. Man wanted t’ know why ’n’ he fell from light t’ darkness, from love t’ damnation, from blessedness t’ shame. ’N’ Gawd cast ’em outa the garden ’n’ tol’ the man he had t’ git his bread by the sweat of his brow ’n’ tol’ the woman she had t’ bring fo’th her chillun in pain ’n’ sorrow. The worl’ turned ergin ’em ’n’ they had t’ fight the worl’ fer life….”
…the man and the woman walked fearfully among trees their hands covering their nakedness and back of them high in the twilight against the clouds an angel waved a flaming sword driving them out of the garden into the wild night of cold wind and tears and pain and death and the man and woman took their food and burnt it to send smoke to the sky begging forgiveness….
“Son, fer thousan’s of years we been prayin’ for Gawd t’ take tha’ cuss off us. Gawd heard our prayers ’n’ said He’d show us a way back t’ ’Im. His Son Jesus came down t’ earth ’n’ put on human flesh ’n’ lived ’n’ died t’ show us the way. Jesus let men crucify ’Im; but His death wuz a victory. He showed us tha’ t’ live in this worl’ wuz t’ be crucified by it. This worl’ ain’ our home. Life ever’ day is a crucifixion. There ain’ but one way out, son, ’n’ tha’s Jesus’ way, the way of love ’n’ fergiveness. Be like Jesus. Don’t resist. Thank Gawd tha’ He done chose this way fer yuh t’ come t’ ’Im. It’s love tha’s gotta save yuh, son. Yuh gotta b’lieve tha’ Gawd gives eternal life th’u the love of Jesus. Son, look at me….”
Bigger’s black face rested in his hands and he did not move.
“Son, promise me yuh’ll stop hatin’ long enuff fer Gawd’s love t’ come inter yo’ heart.”
Bigger said nothing.
“Won’t yuh promise, son?”
Bigger covered his eyes with his hands.
“Jus’ say yuh’ll try, son.”
Bigger felt that if the preacher kept asking he would leap up and strike him. How could he believe in that which he had killed? He was guilty. The preacher rose, sighed, and drew from his pocket a small wooden cross with a chain upon it.
“Look, son. Ah’m holdin’ in mah hands a wooden cross taken from a tree. A tree is the worl’, son. ’N’ nailed t’ this tree is a sufferin’ man. Tha’s whut life is, son. Sufferin’. How kin yuh keep from b’lievin’ the word of Gawd when Ah’m holdin’ befo’ yo’ eyes the only thing tha’ gives a meanin’ t’ yo’ life? Here, lemme put it roun’ yo’ neck. When yuh git alone, look at this cross, son, ’n’ b’lieve….”
They were silent. The wooden cross hung next to the skin of Bigger’s chest. He was feeling the words of the preacher, feeling that life was flesh nailed to the world, a longing spirit imprisoned in the days of the earth.
He glanced up, hearing the doorknob turn. The door opened and Jan stood framed in it, hesitating. Bigger sprang to his feet, galvanized by fear. The preacher also stood, took a step backward, bowed, and said,
“Good mawnin’, suh.”
Bigger wondered what Jan could want of him