Native Son - Richard Wright [99]
“Is it true?”
“Yessuh.”
“You didn’t want to eat with ’im, did you?”
“Nawsuh.”
“Did you ever eat with white people before?”
“Nawsuh.”
“Did this guy Erlone say anything to you about white women?”
“Oh, nawsuh.”
“How did you feel, eating with him and Miss Dalton?”
“I don’t know, suh. It was my job.”
“You didn’t feel just right, did you?”
“Well, suh. They told me to eat and I ate. It was my job.”
“In other words, you felt you had to eat or lose your job?”
“Yessuh,” said Bigger, feeling that this ought to place him in the light of a helpless, bewildered man.
“Good God!” said one of the men. “What a story!” Don’t you see it? These Negroes want to be left alone and these Reds are forcing ’em to live with ’em, see? Every wire in the country’ll carry it!”
“This is better than Loeb and Leopold,” said one.
“Say, I’m slanting this to the primitive Negro who doesn’t want to be disturbed by white civilization.”
“A swell idea!”
“Say, is this Erlone really a citizen?”
“That’s an angle.”
“Mention his foreign-sounding name.”
“Is he Jewish?”
“I don’t know.”
“This is good enough as it is. You can’t have everything you want.”
“It’s classic!”
“It’s a natural!”
Then, before Bigger knew it, the men had their bulbs in their hands again, aiming at him. He hung his head slowly, slowly so as not to let them know that he was trying to dodge them.
“Hold up a little, boy!”
“Stand straight!”
“Look over this way. Now, that’s it!”
Yes; the police would certainly have enough pictures of him. He thought it rather bitterly, smiling a smile that did not reach his lips or eyes.
Peggy came back with her arms full of cups, saucers, spoons, a jar of cream and a bowl of sugar.
“Here it is, sirs. Help yourselves.”
She turned to Bigger.
“There’s not enough heat upstairs. You’d better clean those ashes out and make a better fire.”
“Yessum.”
Clean the fire out! Good God! Not now, not with the men standing round. He did not move from his place beside the wall; he watched Peggy walk back up the stairs and close the door behind her. Well, he had to do something. Peggy had spoken to him in the presence of these men, and for him not to obey would seem odd. And even if they did not say anything about it, Peggy herself would soon come back and ask about the fire. Yes, he had to do something. He walked to the door of the furnace and opened it. The low bed of fire was red-hot, but he could tell from the weak blast of heat upon his face that it was not as hot as it ought to be, not as hot as it had been when he had shoved Mary in. He was trying to make his tired brain work fast. What could he do to avoid bothering with the ashes? He stooped and opened the lower door; the ashes, white and grey, were piled almost level with the lower grate. No air could get through. Maybe he could sift the ashes down more and make that do until the men left? He would try it. He caught hold of the handle and worked it to and fro, seeing white ashes and red embers falling into the bottom of the furnace. Behind him he could hear the men’s talk and the tinkle of their spoons against the cups. Well, there. He had gotten some of the ashes down out of the stove, but they choked the lower bin and still no air could get through. He would put some coal in. He shut the doors of the furnace and pulled the lever for coal; there was the same loud rattle of coal against the tin sides of the chute. The interior of the furnace grew black with coal. But the draft did not roar and the coal did not blaze. Goddamn! He stood up and looked helplessly into the furnace. Ought he to try to slip out of here and leave this whole foolish thing right now? Naw! There was no use of being scared; he had a chance to get that money. Put more coal in; it would burn after awhile. He pulled the lever for still more coal. Inside the furnace he saw the coal beginning to smoke; there were faint wisps of white smoke at first, then the smoke drew dark, bulging out. Bigger’s eyes smarted, watered; he coughed.
The smoke was rolling from the furnace now in heavy billowing grey clouds, filling