Native Son - Richard Wright [155]
“O.K., boys; take ’im out.”
They led him to the curb. Already a solidly packed crowd stood all over the sidewalks, the streets, on lawns, and behind the lines of the policemen. He heard a white boy yell,
“There’s the nigger that killed Miss Mary!”
They led him through the gate, down the walk, up the steps; he stood a second facing the front door of the Dalton home, the same door before which he had stood so humbly with his cap in his hand a little less than a week ago. The door opened and he was led down the hall to the rear stairs and up to the second floor, to the door of Mary’s room. It seemed that he could not breathe. What did they bring him here for? His body was once more wet with sweat. How long could he stand this without collapsing again? They led him into the room. It was crowded with armed policemen and newspapermen ready with their bulbs. He looked round; the room was just as he had seen it that night. There was the bed upon which he had smothered Mary. The clock with the glowing dial stood on the small dresser. The same curtains were at the windows and the shades were still far up, as far up as they had been that night when he had stood near them and had seen Mrs. Dalton in flowing white grope her way slowly into the dark blue room with her hands lifted before her. He felt the eyes of the men upon him and his body stiffened, flushing hot with shame and anger. The man with the golden star on his chest came to him and spoke in a soft low tone.
“Now, Bigger, be a good boy. Just relax and take it easy. We want you to take your time and show us just what happened that night, see? And don’t mind the boys’ taking pictures. Just go through the motions you went through that night….”
Bigger glared; his whole body tightened and he felt that he was going to rise another foot in height.
“Come on,” the man said. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”
Outrage burned in Bigger.
“Come on. Show us what you did.”
He stood without moving. The man caught his arm and tried to lead him to the bed. He jerked back violently, his muscles flexed taut. A hot band of fire encircled his throat. His teeth clamped so hard that he could not have spoken had he tried. He backed against a wall, his eyes lowered in a baleful glare.
“What’s the matter, boy?”
Bigger’s lips pulled back, showing his white teeth. Then he blinked his eyes; the flashlights went off and he knew in the instant of their flashing that they had taken his picture showing him with his back against a wall, his teeth bared in a snarl.
“Scared, boy? You weren’t scared that night you were in here with that girl, were you?”
Bigger wanted to take enough air into his lungs to scream, “Yes! I was scared!” But who would believe him? He would go to his death without ever trying to tell men like these what he had felt that night. When the man spoke again, his tone had changed.
“Come on, now, boy. We’ve treated you pretty nice, but we can get tough if we have to, see? It’s up to you! Get over there by that bed and show us how you raped and murdered that girl!”
“I didn’t rape her,” Bigger said through stiff lips.
“Aw, come on. What you got to lose now? Show us what you did.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You have to!”
“I don’t have to.”
“Well, we’ll make you!”
“You can’t make me do nothing but die!”
And as he said it, he wished that they would shoot him so that he could be free of them, forever. Another white man with a golden star upon his chest walked over.
“Drop it. We got our case.”
“You think we ought to?”
“Sure. What’s the use?”
“O.K., boys. Take ’im back to the car.”
They clamped the steel handcuffs on his wrists and led him down the hall. Even before the front door was opened, he heard the faint roar of voices. As far as he could see through the glass panels, up and down the street, were white