Native Son - Richard Wright [24]
Gus shut his mouth. Doc laughed. Jack and G.H. laughed. Then Bigger stepped back and looked at Gus with a smile.
“You clown,” he said. “Put your hands down and set on that chair.” He watched Gus sit. “That ought to teach you not to be late next time, see?”
“We ain’t late, Bigger. We still got time….”
“Shut up! It is late!” Bigger insisted commandingly.
Bigger turned aside; then, hearing a sharp scrape on the floor, stiffened. Gus sprang from the chair and grabbed a billiard ball from the table and threw it with a half-sob and half-curse. Bigger flung his hands upward to shield his face and the impact of the ball struck his wrist. He had shut his eyes when he had glimpsed the ball sailing through the air toward him and when he opened his eyes Gus was flying through the rear door and at the same time he heard the ball hit the floor and roll away. A hard pain throbbed in his hand. He sprang forward, cursing.
“You sonofabitch!”
He slipped on a cue stick lying in the middle of the floor and tumbled forward.
“That’s enough now, Bigger,” Doc said, laughing.
Jack and G.H. also laughed. Bigger rose and faced them, holding his hurt hand. His eyes were red and he stared with speechless hate.
“Just keep laughing,” he said.
“Behave yourself, boy,” Doc said.
“Just keep laughing,” Bigger said again, taking out his knife.
“Watch what you’re doing now,” Doc cautioned.
“Aw, Bigger,” Jack said, backing away toward the rear door.
“You done spoiled things now,” G.H. said. “I reckon that was what you wanted….”
“You go to hell!” Bigger shouted, drowning out G.H.’s voice.
Doc bent down behind the counter and when he stood up he had something in his hand which he did not show. He stood there laughing. White spittle showed at the corners of Bigger’s lips. He walked to the billiard table, his eyes on Doc. Then he began to cut the green cloth on the table with long sweeping strokes of his arm. He never took his eyes from Doc’s face.
“Why, you sonofabitch!” Doc said. “I ought to shoot you, so help me God! Get out, before I call a cop!”
Bigger walked slowly past Doc, looking at him, not hurrying, and holding the open knife in his hand. He paused in the doorway and looked back. Jack and G.H. were gone.
“Get out of here!” Doc said, showing a gun.
“Don’t you like it?” Bigger asked.
“Get out before I shoot you!” Doc said. “And don’t you ever set your black feet inside here again!”
Doc was angry and Bigger was afraid. He shut the knife and slipped it in his pocket and swung through the door to the street. He blinked his eyes from the bright sunshine; his nerves were so taut that he had difficulty in breathing. Halfway down the block he passed Blum’s store; he looked out of the corners of his eyes through the plate glass window and saw that Blum was alone and the store was empty of customers. Yes; they would have had time to rob the store; in fact, they still had time. He had lied to Gus and G.H. and Jack. He walked on; there was not a policeman in sight. Yes; they could have robbed the store and could have gotten away. He hoped the fight he had had with Gus covered up what he was trying to hide. At least the fight made him feel the equal of them. And he felt the equal of Doc, too; had he not slashed his table and dared him to use his gun?
He had an overwhelming desire to be alone; he walked to the middle of the next block and turned into an alley. He began to laugh, softly, tensely; he stopped still in his tracks and felt something warm roll down his cheek and he brushed it away. “Jesus,” he breathed. “I laughed so hard I cried.” Carefully, he dried his face on his coat sleeve, then stood for two whole minutes staring at the shadow of a telephone pole on the alley pavement. Suddenly he straightened and walked on with a single expulsion of breath. “What the hell!” He stumbled violently over a tiny crack in the pavement. “Goddamn!” he said. When he reached the end of the alley, he turned into a street, walking slowly in the sunshine, his hands jammed deep into his pockets, his head down, depressed.
He went home and