Native Son - Richard Wright [41]
“I’ll get out here, Bigger!”
He stopped the car. Bigger heard them speak in whispers.
“Good-bye, Jan.”
“Good-bye, honey.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
Jan stood at the front door of the car and held out his palm. Bigger shook timidly.
“It’s been great meeting you, Bigger,” Jan said.
“O.K.,” Bigger mumbled.
“I’m damn glad I know you. Look. Have another drink.”
Bigger took a big swallow.
“You better give me one, too, Jan. It’ll make me sleep,” Mary said.
“You’re sure you haven’t had enough?”
“Aw, come on, honey.”
She got out of the car and stood on the curb. Jan gave her the bottle and she tilted it.
“Whoa!” Jan said.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want you to pass out.”
“I can hold it.”
Jan tilted the bottle and emptied it, then laid it in the gutter. He fumbled clumsily in his pockets for something. He swayed; he was drunk.
“You lose something, honey?” Mary lisped; she, too, was drunk.
“Naw; I got some stuff here I want Bigger to read. Listen. Bigger, I got some pamphlets here. I want you to read ’em, see?”
Bigger held out his hand and received a small batch of booklets.
“O.K.”
“I really want you to read ’em, now. We’ll have a talk ’bout ’em in a coupla days….” His speech was thick.
“I’ll read ’em,” Bigger said, stifling a yawn and stuffing the booklets into his pocket.
“I’ll see that he reads ’em,” Mary said.
Jan kissed her again. Bigger heard a Loop-bound car rumbling far down the avenue.
“Well, good-bye,” he said.
“Goo’-bye, honey,” Mary said. “I’m gonna ride up front with Bigger.”
She got into the front seat. The street car clanged to a stop. Jan swung onto it and it started north. Bigger drove toward Drexel Boulevard. Mary slumped down in the seat and sighed. Her legs sprawled wide apart. The car rolled along. Bigger’s head was spinning.
“You’re very nice, Bigger,” she said.
He looked at her. Her face was pasty white. Her eyes were glassy. She was very drunk.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“My! But you say the funniest things,” she giggled.
“Maybe,” he said.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“I don’t mind.”
“You know, for three hours you haven’t said yes or no.”
She doubled up with laughter. He tightened with hate. Again she was looking inside of him and he did not like it. She sat up and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. He kept his eyes straight in front of him and swung the car into the driveway and brought it to a stop. He got out and opened the door. She did not move. Her eyes were closed.
“We’re here,” he said.
She tried to get up and slipped back into the seat.
“Aw, shucks!”
She’s drunk, really drunk, Bigger thought. She stretched out her hand.
“Here; gimme a lift. I’m wobbly….”
She was resting on the small of her back and her dress was pulled up so far that he could see where her stockings ended on her thighs. He stood looking at her for a moment; she raised her eyes and looked at him. She laughed.
“Help me, Bigger. I’m stuck.”
He helped her and his hands felt the softness of her body as she stepped to the ground. Her dark eyes looked at him feverishly from deep sockets. Her hair was in his face, filling him with its scent. He gritted his teeth, feeling a little dizzy.
“Where’s my hat? I dropped it somewhere….”
She swayed as she spoke and he tightened his arms about her, holding her up. He looked round; her hat was lying on the running board.
“Here it is,” he said.
As he picked it up he wondered what a white man would think seeing him here with her like this. Suppose old man Dalton saw him now? Apprehensively, he looked up at the big house. It was dark and silent.
“Well,” Mary sighed. “I suppose I better go to bed….”
He turned her loose, but had to catch her again to keep her off the pavement. He led her to the steps.
“Can you make it?”
She looked at him as though she had been challenged.
“Sure. Turn me loose….”
He took his arm from her and she mounted the steps firmly and then stumbled loudly on the wooden porch. Bigger made a move toward her, but stopped, his hands outstretched,