Native Son - Richard Wright [95]
The men were silent. Bigger saw the astonishment on their faces. Several did not wait to hear more; they rushed out of the basement to telephone their stories in.
“Do you think the Communists did it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not positively blaming anybody. I’m only releasing this information to let the public and the kidnappers know that I’ve received this note. If they’ll return my daughter, I’ll ask no questions of anyone.”
“Was your daughter mixed up with those people, Mr. Dalton?”
“I know nothing about that.”
“Didn’t you forbid your daughter to associate with this Erlone?”
“I hope this has nothing to do with that.”
“You think Erlone’s mixed in this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you have him released?”
“I ordered his arrest before I received this note.”
“Do you feel that maybe he’ll return the girl if he’s out?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s got our daughter. I only know that Mrs. Dalton and I want our daughter back.”
“Then why did you have Erlone released?”
“Because I have no charges to prefer against him,” said Mr. Dalton stubbornly.
“Mr. Dalton, hold the letter up, and hold your hand out, like you’re making an appeal. Good! Now, put your hand out, too, Mrs. Dalton. Like that. O.K., hold it!”
Bigger watched the silver bulbs flash again. Mr. and Mrs. Dalton were standing upon the steps: Mrs. Dalton in white and Mr. Dalton with the letter in his hand and his eyes looking straight back to the rear wall of the basement. Bigger heard the soft whisper of the fire in the furnace and saw the men adjusting their cameras. Others were standing round, still scribbling nervously upon their pads of paper. The bulbs flashed again and Bigger was startled to see that they were pointed in his direction. He wanted to duck his head, or throw his hands in front of his face, but it was too late. They had enough pictures of him now to know him by sight in a crowd. A few more of the men left and Mr. and Mrs. Dalton turned and walked slowly up the stairs and disappeared through the kitchen door, the big white cat following close behind them. Bigger still stood with his back to the wall, watching and trying to value every move in relation to himself and his chances of getting the money.
“You suppose we can use Mr. Dalton’s phone?” one of the men asked Britten.
“Sure.”
Britten led a group of them up the stairs into the kitchen. The three men who had come with Britten sat on the steps and stared gloomily at the floor. Soon the men who had gone to phone their stories in came back. Bigger knew that they wanted to talk to him. Britten also came back and sat upon the steps.
“Say, can’t you give us any more dope on this?” one of the reporters asked Britten.
“Mr. Dalton’s told you everything,” Britten said.
“This is a big story,” said one of the men. “Say, how did Mrs Dalton take this?”
“She collapsed,” said Britten.
For awhile nobody said anything. Then Bigger saw the men, one by one, turn and stare at him. He lowered his eyes; he knew that they were longing to ask him questions and he did not want that. His eyes roved the room and saw the crumpled copy of the newspaper lying forgotten in a corner. He wanted ever so badly to read it; he would get at it the first opportunity and find out just what Jan had said. Presently, the men began to wander aimlessly about the basement, looking into corners, examining the shovel, the garbage pail, and the trunk. Bigger watched one man stand in front of the furnace. The man’s hand reached out and opened the door; a feeble red glare lit the man’s face as he stooped and looked inside at the bed of smoldering coals. Suppose he poked deeply into them? Suppose Mary’s bones came into view? Bigger held his breath. But the man would not poke into that fire; nobody suspected him. He was just a black clown. He breathed again as the man closed the door. The muscles of Bigger’s face jerked violently, making him feel that he wanted to laugh. He turned his head aside and fought to control himself. He was full of hysteria.
“Say, how about a look at the girl’s room?