Native Son - Richard Wright [137]
“Boy, I’d like to give you a piece of good advice. I’m going to be honest with you and tell you that you don’t have to talk to me unless you want to, and I’ll tell you that whatever you say to me might be used against you in court, see? But, boy, you’re caught! That’s the first thing you want to understand. We know what you’ve done. We got the evidence. So you might as well talk.”
“He’ll decide that with me,” Max said.
Buckley and Max faced each other.
“Listen, Max. You’re wasting your time. You’ll never get this boy off in a million years. Nobody can commit a crime against a family like the Daltons and sneak out of it. Those poor old parents are going to be in that court room to see that this boy burns! This boy killed the only thing they had. If you want to save your face, you and your buddy can leave now and the papers won’t know you were in here….”
“I reserve the right to determine whether I should defend him or not,” Max said.
“Listen, Max. You think I’m trying to hoodwink you, don’t you?” Buckley asked, turning and going to the door. “Let me show you something.”
A policeman opened the door and Buckley said,
“Tell ’em to come in.”
“O.K.”
The room was silent. Bigger sat on the cot, looking at the floor. He hated this; if anything could be done in his behalf, he himself wanted to do it; not others. The more he saw others exerting themselves, the emptier he felt. He saw the policeman fling the door wide open. Mr. and Mrs. Dalton walked in slowly and stood; Mr. Dalton was looking at him, his face white. Bigger half-rose in dread, then sat again, his eyes lifted, but unseeing. He sank back to the cot.
Swiftly, Buckley crossed the room and shook hands with Mr. Dalton, and, turning to Mrs. Dalton, said:
“I’m dreadfully sorry, madam.”
Bigger saw Mr. Dalton look at him, then at Buckley.
“Did he say who was in this thing with him?” Mr. Dalton asked.
“He’s just come out of it,” Buckley said. “And he’s got a lawyer now.”
“I have charge of his defense,” Max said.
Bigger saw Mr. Dalton look briefly at Jan.
“Bigger, you’re a foolish boy if you don’t tell who was in this thing with you,” Mr. Dalton said.
Bigger tightened and did not answer. Max walked over to Bigger and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I will talk to him, Mr. Dalton,” Max said.
“I’m not here to bully this boy,” Mr. Dalton said. “But it’ll go easier with him if he tells all he knows.”
There was silence. The preacher came forward slowly, hat in hand, and stood in front of Mr. Dalton.
“Ah’ma preacher of the gospel, suh,” he said. “’N’ Ah’m mighty sorry erbout whut’s done happened t’ yo’ daughter. Ah knows of yo’ good work, suh. ’N’ the likes of this should’na come t’ yuh.”
Mr. Dalton sighed and said wearily,
“Thank you.”
“The best thing you can do is help us,” Buckley said, turning to Max. “A grave wrong has been done to two people who’ve helped Negroes more than anybody I know.”
“I sympathize with you, Mr. Dalton,” Max said. “But killing this boy isn’t going to help you or any of us.”
“I tried to help him,” Mr. Dalton said.
“We wanted to send him to school,” said Mrs. Dalton faintly.
“I know,” Max said. “But those things don’t touch the fundamental problem involved here. This boy comes from an oppressed people. Even if he’s done wrong, we must take that into consideration.”
“I want you to know that my heart is not bitter,” Mr. Dalton said. “What this boy has done will not influence my relations with the Negro people. Why, only today I sent a dozen ping-pong tables to the South Side Boys’ Club….”
“Mr. Dalton!” Max exclaimed, coming forward suddenly. “My God, man! Will ping-pong keep men from murdering? Can’t you see? Even after losing your daughter, you’re going to keep going in the same direction? Don’t you grant as much life-feeling to other men as you have? Could ping-pong have kept you