Native Son - Richard Wright [165]
“Don’t you know any of ’em?”
“Naw.”
“Bigger, are there many Negro boys like you?”
“I reckon so. All of ’em I know ain’t got nothing and ain’t going nowhere.”
“Why didn’t you go to some of the leaders of your race and tell them how you and other boys felt?”
“Aw, hell, Mr. Max. They wouldn’t listen to me. They rich, even though the white folks treat them almost like they do me. They almost like the white people, when it comes to guys like me. They say guys like me make it hard for them to get along with white folks.”
“Did you ever hear any of your leaders make speeches?”
“Yeah, sure. At election time.”
“What did you think of them?”
“Aw, I don’t know. They all the same. They wanted to get elected to office. They wanted money, like everybody else. Mr. Max, it’s a game and they play it.”
“Why didn’t you play it?”
“Hell, what do I know? I ain’t got nothing. Nobody’ll pay any attention to me. I’m just a black guy with nothing. I just went to grammar school. And politics is full of big shots, guys from colleges.”
“Didn’t you trust them?”
“I don’t reckon they wanted anybody to trust ’em. They wanted to get elected to office. They paid you to vote.”
“Did you ever vote?”
“Yeah; I voted twice. I wasn’t old enough, so I put my age up so I could vote and get the five dollars.”
“You didn’t mind selling your vote?”
“Naw; why should I?”
“You didn’t think politics could get you anything?”
“It got me five dollars on election day.”
“Bigger, did any white people ever talk to you about labor unions?”
“Naw; nobody but Jan and Mary. But she oughtn’t done it…. But I couldn’t help what I did. And Jan. I reckon I did him wrong by signing ‘Red’ to that ransom note.”
“Do you believe he’s your friend now?”
“Well, he ain’t against me. He didn’t turn against me today when they was questioning him. I don’t think he hates me like the others. I suppose he’s kind of hurt about Miss Dalton, though.”
“Bigger, did you think you’d ever come to this?”
“Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Max, it seems sort of natural-like, me being here facing that death chair. Now I come to think of it, it seems like something like this just had to be.”
They were silent. Max stood up and sighed. Bigger watched to see what Max was thinking, but Max’s face was white and blank.
“Well, Bigger,” Max said. “We’ll enter a plea of not guilty at the arraignment tomorrow. But when the trial comes up we’ll change it to a plea of guilty and ask for mercy. They’re rushing the trial; it may be held in two or three days. I’ll tell the judge all I can of how you feel and why. I’ll try to get him to make it life in prison. That’s all I can see under the circumstances. I don’t have to tell you how they feel toward you, Bigger. You’re a Negro; you know. Don’t hope for too much. There’s an ocean of hot hate out there against you and I’m going to try to sweep some of it back. They want your life; they want revenge. They felt they had you fenced off so that you could not do what you did. Now they’re mad because deep down in them they believe that they made you do it. When people feel that way, you can’t reason with ’em. Then, too, a lot depends upon what judge we have. Any twelve white men in this state will have already condemned you; we can’t trust a jury. Well, Bigger, I’ll do the best I can.”
They were silent. Max gave him another cigarette and took one for himself. Bigger watched Max’s head of white hair, his long face, the deep-grey, soft, sad eyes. He felt that Max was kind, and he felt sorry for him.
“Mr. Max, if I was you I wouldn’t worry none. If all folks was like you, then maybe I wouldn’t be here. But you can’t help that now. They going to hate you for trying to help me. I’m gone. They got me.”
“Oh, they’ll hate me, yes,” said Max. “But I can take it. That’s the difference. I’m a Jew and they hate me, but I know why and I can fight. But sometimes you can’t win no matter how you fight; that is, you can’t win if you haven’t got time. And they’re pressing us now. But you need not worry about their hating me for defending you. The fear of hate keeps