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“If old Blum was a black man, you-all would be itching to go. ’Cause he’s white, everybody’s scared.”

“I ain’t scared,” Jack said. “I’m with you.”

“You say you got it all figured out?” G.H. asked.

Bigger took a deep breath and looked from face to face. It seemed to him that he should not have to explain.

“Look, it’ll be easy. There ain’t nothing to be scared of. Between three and four ain’t nobody in the store but the old man. The cop is way down at the other end of the block. One of us’ll stay outside and watch. Three of us’ll go in, see? One of us’ll throw a gun on old Blum; one of us’ll make for the cash box under the counter; one of us’ll make for the back door and have it open so we can make a quick get-away down the back alley…. That’s all. It won’t take three minutes.”

“I thought we said we wasn’t never going to use a gun,” G.H. said. “And we ain’t bothered no white folks before.”

“Can’t you see? This is something big,” Bigger said.

He waited for more objections. When none were forthcoming he talked again.

“We can do it, if you niggers ain’t scared.”

Save for the sound of Doc’s whistling up front, there was silence. Bigger watched Jack closely; he knew that the situation was one in which Jack’s word would be decisive. Bigger was afraid of Gus, because he knew that Gus would not hold out if Jack said yes. Gus stood at the table, toying with a cue stick, his eyes straying lazily over the billiard balls scattered about the table in the array of an unfinished game. Bigger rose and sent the balls whirling with a sweep of his hand, then looked straight at Gus as the gleaming balls kissed and rebounded from the rubber cushions, zig-zagging across the table’s green cloth. Even though Bigger had asked Gus to be with him in the robbery, the fear that Gus would really go made the muscles of Bigger’s stomach tighten; he was hot all over. He felt as if he wanted to sneeze and could not; only it was more nervous than wanting to sneeze. He grew hotter, tighter; his nerves were taut and his teeth were on edge. He felt that something would soon snap within him.

“Goddammit! Say something, somebody!”

“I’m in,” Jack said again.

“I’ll go if the rest goes,” G.H. said.

Gus stood without speaking and Bigger felt a curious sensation—half-sensual, half-thoughtful. He was divided and pulled against himself. He had handled things just right so far; all but Gus had consented. The way things stood now there were three against Gus, and that was just as he had wanted it to be. Bigger was afraid of robbing a white man and he knew that Gus was afraid, too. Blum’s store was small and Blum was alone, but Bigger could not think of robbing him without being flanked by his three pals. But even with his pals he was afraid. He had argued all of his pals but one into consenting to the robbery, and toward the lone man who held out he felt a hot hate and fear; he had transferred his fear of the whites to Gus. He hated Gus because he knew that Gus was afraid, as even he was; and he feared Gus because he felt that Gus would consent and then he would be compelled to go through with the robbery. Like a man about to shoot himself and dreading to shoot and yet knowing that he has to shoot and feeling it all at once and powerfully, he watched Gus and waited for him to say yes. But Gus did not speak. Bigger’s teeth clamped so tight that his jaws ached. He edged toward Gus, not looking at Gus, but feeling the presence of Gus over all his body, through him, in and out of him, and hating himself and Gus because he felt it. Then he could not stand it any longer. The hysterical tensity of his nerves urged him to speak, to free himself. He faced Gus, his eyes red with anger and fear, his fists clenched and held stiffly to his sides.

“You black sonofabitch,” he said in a voice that did not vary in tone. “You scared ’cause he’s a white man.”

“Don’t cuss me, Bigger,” Gus said quietly.

“I am cussing you!”

“You don’t have to cuss me,” Gus said.

“Then why don’t you use that