Native Son - Richard Wright [50]
“Now, what you want to start a fuss for?”
“A fuss? Boy!”
“Before I get out of bed, you pick on me.”
“Bigger, I’m not picking on you, honey. I’m glad you got the job.”
“You don’t talk like it.”
He felt that his acting in this manner was a mistake. If he kept on talking about the time he had gotten in last night, he would so impress it upon her that she would remember it and perhaps say something later on that would hurt him. He turned away and continued packing. He had to do better than this; he had to control himself.
“You want to eat?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll fix you something.”
“O.K.”
“You going to stay on the place?”
“Yeah.”
He heard her getting out of bed; he did not dare look round now. He had to keep his head turned while she dressed.
“How you like the people, Bigger?”
“They all right.”
“You don’t act like you glad.”
“Oh, Ma! For Chrissakes! You want me to cry!”
“Bigger, sometimes I wonder what makes you act like you do.”
He had spoken in the wrong tone of voice; he had to be careful. He fought down the anger rising in him. He was in trouble enough without getting into a fuss with his mother.
“You got a good job, now,” his mother said. “You ought to work hard and keep it and try to make a man out of yourself. Some day you’ll want to get married and have a home of your own. You got your chance now. You always said you never had a chance. Now, you got one.”
He heard her move about and he knew that she was dressed enough for him to turn round. He strapped the suitcase and set it by the door; then he stood at the window, looking wistfully out at the feathery flakes of falling snow.
“Bigger, what’s wrong with you?”
He whirled.
“Nothing,” he said, wondering what change she saw in him. “Nothing. You just worry me, that’s all,” he concluded, feeling that even if he did say something wrong he had to fight her off him now. He wondered just how his words really did sound. Was the tone of his voice this morning different from other mornings? Was there something unusual in his voice since he had killed Mary? Could people tell he had done something wrong by the way he acted? He saw his mother shake her head and go behind the curtain to prepare breakfast. He heard a yawn; he looked and saw that Vera was leaning on her elbow, smiling at him.
“You get the job?”
“Yeah.”
“How much you making?”
“Aw, Vera. Ask Ma. I done told her everything.”
“Goody! Bigger got a job!” sang Vera.
“Aw, shut up,” he said.
“Leave him alone, Vera,” the mother said.
“What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter with ’im all the time?” asked the mother.
“Oh, Bigger,” said Vera, tenderly and plaintively.
“That boy just ain’t got no sense, that’s all,” the mother said. “He won’t even speak a decent word to you.”
“Turn your head so I can dress,” Vera said.
Bigger looked out of the window. He heard someone say, “Aw!” and he knew that Buddy was awake.
“Turn your head, Buddy,” Vera said.
“O.K.”
Bigger heard his sister rushing into her clothes.
“You can look now,” Vera said.
He saw Buddy sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. Vera was sitting on the edge of a chair, with her right foot hoisted upon another chair, buckling her shoes. Bigger stared vacantly in her direction. He wished that he could rise up through the ceiling and float away from this room, forever.
“I wish you wouldn’t look at me,” Vera said.
“Hunh?” said Bigger, looking in surprise at her pouting lips. Then he noticed what she meant and poked out his lips at her. Quickly, she jumped up and threw one of her shoes at him. It sailed past his head and landed against the window, rattling the panes.
“I told you not to look at me!” Vera screamed.
Bigger stood up, his eyes red with anger.
“I just wish you had hit me,” he said.
“You, Vera!” the mother called.
“Ma, make ’im stop looking at me,” Vera wailed.
“Wasn’t nobody looking at her,” Bigger said.
“You looked under my dress when I was buttoning my shoes!”
“I just wish you had hit me,” Bigger said again.
“I ain’t no dog!” Vera said.
“Come on in the kitchen and dress, Vera,” the