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By Root 3718 0

piece of chocolate cake. His mouth watered. Was this for him? He wondered if Peggy was around. Ought he try to find her? But he disliked the thought of looking for her; that would bring attention to himself, something which he hated. He stood in the kitchen, wondering if he ought to eat, but afraid to do so. He rested his black fingers on the edge of the white table and a silent laugh burst from his parted lips as he saw himself for a split second in a lurid objective light: he had killed a rich white girl and had burned her body after cutting her head off and had lied to throw the blame on someone else and had written a kidnap note demanding ten thousand dollars and yet he stood here afraid to touch food on the table, food which undoubtedly was his own.

“Bigger?”

“Hunh?” he answered before he knew who had called.

“Where’ve you been? Your dinner’s been waiting for you since five o’clock. There’s a chair. Eat….”

as much as you want…. He stopped listening. In Peggy’s hand was the kidnap note. I’ll heat your coffee go ahead and eat Had she opened it? Did she know what was in it? No; the envelope was still sealed. She came to the table and removed the napkins. His knees were shaking with excitement and sweat broke out on his forehead. His skin felt as though it were puckering up from a blast of heat. don’t you want the steak warmed the question reached him from far away and he shook his head without really knowing what she meant, don’t you feel well

“This is all right,” he murmured.

“You oughtn’t starve yourself that way.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You’re hungrier than you think,” she said.

She set a cup and saucer at his plate, then laid the letter on the edge of the table. It held his attention as though it were a steel magnet and his eyes were iron. She got the coffee pot and poured his cup full. No doubt she had just gotten the letter from under the door and had not yet had time to give it to Mr. Dalton. She placed a small jar of cream at his plate and took up the letter again.

“I’ve got to give this to Mr. Dalton,” she said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Yessum,” he whispered.

She left. He stopped chewing and stared before him, his mouth dry. But he had to eat. Not to eat now would create suspicion. He shoved the food in and chewed each mouthful awhile, then washed it down with swallows of hot coffee. When the coffee gave out, he used cold water. He strained his ears to catch sounds. But none came. Then the door swung in silently and Peggy came back. He could see nothing in her round red face. Out of the corners of his eyes he watched her go to the stove and putter with pots and pans.

“Want more coffee?”

“No’m.”

“You ain’t scared of all this trouble we’re having round here, are you, Bigger?”

“Oh, no’m,” he said, wondering if something in his manner had made her ask that.

“That poor Mary!” Peggy sighed. “She acts like such a ninny. Imagine a girl keeping her parents worried sick all the time. But there are children for you these days.”

He hurried with his eating, saying nothing; he wanted to get out of the kitchen. The thing was in the open now; not all of it, but some of it. Nobody knew about Mary yet. He saw in his mind a picture of the Dalton family distraught and horrified when they found that Mary was kidnapped. That would put them a certain distance from him. They would think that white men did it; they would never think that a black, timid Negro did that. They would go after Jan. The “Red” he had signed to the letter and the hammer and curving knife would make them look for Communists.

“You got enough?”

“Yessum.”

“You better clean the ashes out of the furnace in the morning, Bigger.”

“Yessum.”

“And be ready for Mr. Dalton at eight.”

“Yessum.”

“Your room all right?”

“Yessum.”

The door swung in violently. Bigger started in fright. Mr. Dalton came into the kitchen, his face ashy. He stared at Peggy and Peggy, holding a dish towel in her hand, stared at him. In Mr. Dalton’s hand was the letter, opened.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Dalton?”

“Who…. Where did…. Who gave you this?”

“What?”

“This letter.