Native Son - Richard Wright [28]
“All right, now,” said Mr. Dalton. “Let’s see what you’ve got here. You live at 3721 Indiana Avenue?”
“Yessuh.”
Mr. Dalton paused, frowned, and looked up at the ceiling.
“What kind of a building is that over there?”
“You mean where I live, suh?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, it’s just an old building.”
“Where do you pay rent?”
“Down on Thirty-first Street.”
“To the South Side Real Estate Company?”
“Yessuh.”
Bigger wondered what all these questions could mean; he had heard that Mr. Dalton owned the South Side Real Estate Company, but he was not sure.
“How much rent do you pay?”
“Eight dollars a week.”
“For how many rooms?”
“We just got one, suh.”
“I see…. Now, Bigger, tell me, how old are you?”
“I’m twenty, suh.”
“Married?”
“Nawsuh.”
“Sit down. You needn’t stand. And I won’t be long.”
“Yessuh.”
He sat. The white cat still contemplated him with large, moist eyes.
“Now, you have a mother, a brother, and a sister?”
“Yessuh.”
“There are four of you?”
“Yessuh, there’s four of us,” he stammered, trying to show that he was not as stupid as he might appear. He felt a need to speak more, for he felt that maybe Mr. Dalton expected it. And he suddenly remembered the many times his mother had told him not to look at the floor when talking with white folks or asking for a job. He lifted his eyes and saw Mr. Dalton watching him closely. He dropped his eyes again.
“They call you Bigger?”
“Yessuh.”
“Now, Bigger, I’d like to talk with you a little….”
Yes, Goddammit! He knew what was coming. He would be asked about that time he had been accused of stealing auto tires and had been sent to the reform school. He felt guilty, condemned. He should not have come here.
“The relief people said some funny things about you. I’d like to talk to you about them. Now, you needn’t feel ashamed with me,” said Mr. Dalton, smiling. “I was a boy myself once and I think I know how things are. So just be yourself….” Mr. Dalton pulled out a package of cigarettes. “Here; have one.”
“Nawsuh; thank you, suh.”
“You don’t smoke?”
“Yessuh. But I just don’t want one now.”
“Now, Bigger, the relief people said you were a very good worker when you were interested in what you were doing. Is that true?”
“Well, I do my work, suh.”
“But they said you were always in trouble. How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know, suh.”
“Why did they send you to the reform school?”
His eyes glared at the floor.
“They said I was stealing!” he blurted defensively. “But I wasn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yessuh.”
“Well, how did you get mixed up in it?”
“I was with some boys and the police picked us up.”
Mr. Dalton said nothing. Bigger heard a clock ticking somewhere behind him and he had a foolish impulse to look at it. But he restrained himself.
“Well, Bigger, how do you feel about it now?”
“Suh? ’Bout what?”
“If you had a job, would you steal now?”
“Oh, nawsuh. I don’t steal.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dalton, “they say you can drive a car and I’m going to give you a job.”
He said nothing.
“You think you can handle it?”
“Oh, yessuh.”
“The pay calls for $20 a week, but I’m going to give you $25. The extra $5 is for yourself, for you to spend as you like. You will get the clothes you need and your meals. You’re to sleep in the back room, above the kitchen. You can give the $20 to your mother to keep your brother and sister in school. How does that sound?”
“It sounds all right. Yessuh.”
“I think we’ll get along.”
“Yessuh.”
“I don’t think we’ll have any trouble.”
“Nawsuh.”
“Now, Bigger,” said Mr. Dalton, “since that’s settled, let’s see what you’ll have to do every day. I leave every morning for my office at nine. It’s a twenty-minute drive. You are to be back at ten and take Miss Dalton to school. At twelve, you call for Miss Dalton at the University. From then until night you are more or less free. If either Miss Dalton or I go out at night, of course, you do the driving. You work every day, but we don’t get up till noon on Sundays. So you will have Sunday mornings to yourself, unless something unexpected