Native Son - Richard Wright [78]
He opened his eyes and looked about him in the darkened room, hearing a bell ring. He sat up. The bell sounded again. How long had it been ringing? He got to his feet, swaying from stiffness, trying to shake off sleep and that awful dream.
“Yessum,” he mumbled.
The bell rang again, insistently. He fumbled in the dark for the light chain and pulled it. Excitement quickened within him. Had something happened? Was this the police?
“Bigger!” a muffled voice called.
“Yessuh.”
He braced himself for whatever was coming and stepped to the door. As he opened it he felt it being pushed in by someone who seemed determined to get in in a hurry. Bigger backed away, blinking his eyes.
“We want to talk to you,” said Britten.
“Yessuh.”
He did not hear what Britten said after that, for he saw directly behind Britten a face that made him hold his breath. It was not fear he felt, but a tension, a supreme gathering of all the forces of his body for a showdown.
“Go on in, Mr. Erlone,” Mr. Dalton said.
Bigger saw Jan’s eyes looking at him steadily. Jan stepped into the room and Mr. Dalton followed. Bigger stood with his lips slightly parted, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, his eyes watchful, but veiled.
“Sit down, Erlone,” Britten said.
“This is all right,” Jan said. “I’ll stand.”
Bigger saw Britten pull from his coat pocket the packet of pamphlets and hold them under Jan’s eyes. Jan’s lips twisted into a faint smile.
“Well,” Jan said.
“You’re one of those tough Reds, hunh?” Britten asked.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Jan said. “What do you want?”
“Take it easy,” Britten said. “You got plenty of time. I know your kind. You like to rush and have things your way.”
Bigger saw Mr. Dalton standing to one side, looking anxiously from one to the other. Several times Mr. Dalton made as if to say something, then checked himself, as though uncertain.
“Bigger,” Britten asked, “is this the man Miss Dalton brought here last night?”
Jan’s lips parted. He stared at Britten, then at Bigger.
“Yessuh,” Bigger whispered, struggling to control his feelings, hating Jan violently because he knew he was hurting him; wanting to strike Jan with something because Jan’s wide, incredulous stare made him feel hot guilt to the very core of him.
“You didn’t bring me here, Bigger!” Jan said. “Why do you tell them that?”
Bigger did not answer; he decided to talk only to Britten and Mr. Dalton. There was silence. Jan was staring at Bigger; Britten and Mr. Dalton were watching Jan. Jan made a move toward Bigger, but Britten’s arm checked him.
“Say, what is this!” Jan demanded. “What’re you making this boy lie for?”
“I suppose you’re going to tell us you weren’t drunk last night, hunh?” asked Britten.
“What business is that of yours?” Jan shot at him.
“Where’s Miss Dalton?” Britten asked.
Jan looked round the room, puzzled.
“She’s in Detroit,” he said.
“You know your story by heart, don’t you?” Britten said.
“Say, Bigger, what’re they doing to you? Don’t be afraid. Speak up!” said Jan.
Bigger did not answer; he looked stonily at the floor.
“Where did Miss Dalton tell you she was going?” Britten asked.
“She told me she was going to Detroit.”
“Did you see her last night?”
Jan hesitated.
“No.”
“You didn’t give these pamphlets to this boy last night?”
Jan shrugged his shoulders, smiled and said:
“All right. I saw her. So what? You know why I didn’t say so in the first place….”
“No. We don’t know,” Britten said.
“Well, Mr. Dalton here