Native Son - Richard Wright [89]
He bounded off the bed, listening, thinking that he had heard voices. He had been so deeply taken up with his own thoughts that he did not know if he had actually heard anything or had imagined it. Yes; he heard faint footsteps below. He hurried to the closet. The footsteps ceased. There came to him the soft sound of sobbing. It was Peggy. Her sobbing quieted, then rose to a high pitch. He stood for a long time, listening to Peggy’s sobs and the long moan of the wind sweeping through the night outside. Peggy’s sobs ceased and her footsteps sounded once more. Was she going to answer the doorbell? Footsteps came again; Peggy had gone to the front of the house for something and had come back. He heard a heavy voice, a man’s. At first he could not identify it; then he realized that it was Britten’s.
“…and you found the note?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“About an hour.”
“You’re sure you didn’t see anyone leave it?”
“It was sticking under the door.”
“Think, now. Did you see anybody about the house or drive way?”
“No. The boy and me, that’s all that’s been around here.”
“And where’s the boy now?”
“Upstairs in his room, I think.”
“Did you ever see this handwriting before?”
“No, Mr. Britten.”
“Can you guess, can you think, imagine who would send such a note?”
“No. Not a soul in this whole wide world, Mr. Britten,” Peggy wailed.
Britten’s voice ceased. There was the sound of other heavy feet. Chairs scraped over the floor. More people were in the kitchen. Who were they? Their movements sounded like those of men. Then Bigger heard Britten speaking again.
“Listen, Peggy. Tell me, how does this boy act?”
“What do you mean, Mr. Britten?”
“Does he seem intelligent? Does he seem to be acting?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Britten. He’s just like all the other colored boys.”
“Does he say ‘yes mam’ and ‘no mam’?”
“Yes, Mr. Britten. He’s polite.”
“But does he seem to be trying to appear like he’s more ignorant than he really is?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Britten.”
“Have you missed anything around the house since he’s been here?”
“No; nothing.”
“Has he ever insulted you, or anything?”
“Oh, no! No!”
“What kind of a boy is he?”
“He’s just a quiet colored boy. That’s all I can say….”
“Did you ever see him reading anything?”
“No, Mr. Britten.”
“Does he speak more intelligently at some times than at others?”
“No, Mr. Britten. He talked always the same, to me.”
“Has he ever done anything that would make you think he knows something about this note?”
“No, Mr. Britten.”
“When you speak to him, does he hesitate before he answers, as though he’s thinking up what to say?”
“No, Mr. Britten. He talks and acts natural-like.”
“When he talks, does he wave his hands around a lot, like he’s been around a lot of Jews?”
“I never noticed, Mr. Britten.”
“Did you ever hear ’im call anybody comrade?”
“No, Mr. Britten.”
“Does he pull off his cap when he comes in the house?”
“I never noticed. I think so, Mr. Britten.”
“Has he ever sat down in your presence without being asked, like he was used to being around white people?”
“No, Mr. Britten. Only when I told him to.”
“Does he speak first, or does he wait until he’s spoken to?”
“Well, Mr. Britten. He seemed always to wait until we spoke to him before he said anything.”
“Now, listen, Peggy. Think and try to remember if his voice goes up when he talks, like Jews when they talk. Know what I mean? You see, Peggy, I’m trying to find out if he’s been around Communists….”
“No, Mr. Dalton. He talks just like all other colored folks to me.”
“Where did you say he is now?”
“Upstairs in his room.”
When Britten’s voice ceased Bigger was smiling. Yes; Britten was trying to trap him, trying to make out a case against him; but he could not find anything to go upon. Was Britten coming to talk to him now? There came the sound of other voices.
“It’s a ten-to-one chance that she’s dead.”
“Yeah. They usually bump ’em off. They’re scared of ’em after they get ’em. They think they might identify them afterwards.”
“Did the old man say he was going to pay?”
“Sure. He wants his daughter back.