If He Hollers Let Him Go Part 18

He gave a deep belly grunt and some of the twinkle came back into his eyes. '_Directive!_ That's right! The President's directive. It's a good thing,' he said, and his gaze came up in a swift, sharp, searching look.

I knew I should have let it go right then and there, but the half-sneering way he said it got under my skin. 'I think it's a good thing too,' I said. 'I think it oughta be enforced.'

Now his face got sober again. 'We enforce it here at Atlas. To the letter! You know that!' When I didn't reply right away he pressed me, 'You know that, don't you?'

Now I was sorry I'd said anything at all because I had to say, 'Yes sir,' to keep out of an argument.

He nodded, then went reflective. 'But your case doesn't come under that. There's no discrimination involved in your demotion whatsoever. People who want to agitate might tell you that, but it isn't so. ...'

All of a sudden I caught the connection between Alice being a social worker and the Executive Order--Mac figured she'd been talking to me, probably trying to get me to use the nodiscrimination angle.

'I'd have done the same to any other leaderman who'd cursed a woman,' he went on. 'Been forced to. A matter of discipline.' He paused, waiting for me to say something.

There wasn't anything for me to say.

Then he beamed at me. 'I tell you what I'll do with you, Bob. You go back up there and work under Tebbel for a while. Prove that you're dependable, trustworthy, that you can keep out of trouble. Take your punishment like a man, then make a comeback. That's the American way, my boy. Prove yourself. Then come back here and see me. I'll see if I can get Kelly to put you back as a leaderman.'

I swallowed, took a breath. 'When must I come back?'

He looked impatient. 'You'll know that better than me. Whenever you feel can put dependence in you; when you think you can handle a little authority without losing your head again.'

I had to get some help from Alice before I could say it that time. 'Yes sir. I'll do my best.'

I noticed Marguerite looking at me curiously when I went out. I wondered what she was thinking.

On the way across the yard one part of my mind kept telling me that I'd made a mistake speaking to Mac--that he'd figure I was trying to jive him and never reinstate me. But the other part of my mind argued that it had done some good. I had let him know I wanted my job bad enough to get along with the white workers in order to keep it. And I'd humbled myself, if that was what he wanted. Then there was always a chance that he might really mean it. Perhaps if I worked hard and kept out of arguments he really would reinstate me. I'd have to take people at face value, I told myself; have to believe they meant what they said instead of always picking it to pieces.

Then too it was a cinch Tebbel wouldn't be able to keep it. He didn't know enough about the work for one thing. And another thing, his race baiting was going to get him into trouble with those guys in my gang sooner or later. He'd say the wrong thing once too often and one of them would hang him. I didn't want anybody to get into any more trouble; there'd already been too much excitement about the whole thing. If I'd just let it die down, maybe the whole thing would come out right--I'd come to work one Monday morning and Kelly would tell me to take over my gang again.

I was thinking so hard about it, I was up on the third deck before I realized it. Everybody in my gang was working like mad. Two fire pots were going and all three girls were soldering. Red was helping Homer hang his duct; they were crouching on the staging beneath the upper deck bolting the stays, puffing and blowing. Conway was riveting a joint; Arkansas was bucking for him. Pigmeat was drilling rivet holes. The place was smoky, smelly, sweltering; and the din was terrific. They were knocking themselves out.

'What're you folk doing?' I shouted. 'Working for E b.u.t.tons?' Several of them heard me; they slowed up, looking as guilty as if I'd caught them in something wrong. I wondered what the h.e.l.l it was all about. Then Conway stopped for a moment to explain. 'Tebbel got Kelly to give us a good job for a change. Soon as we's finished here we's going up and work on deck, in the superstructure.'

Ben was working near enough to hear over the din. 'Ole Marsa's gonna free us at last,' he cracked; but even he seemed happy over the prospect.

Smitty stopped his work and came over beside me. 'It show you how them dirty sonab.i.t.c.hes do,' he said. 'Just soon's they get you out and a white boy in your place they start giving us better jobs.' Maybe he thought he sounded sympathetic, but he looked gleeful.

Tebbel just stood to one side and looked like the cat who ate the canary. I knew what Kelly was doing. The superstructure was a plum job--cool, airy, with a good view of the harbour; and the guys could stroll out on deck and enjoy the sunshine. He was selling my gang on Tebbel, fixing it so they wouldn't want me back. They'd all think just like Smitty--what Mac had done to me might be a dirty trick, true enough, but a white leaderman could get them better jobs, after all.

Red and Homer got their duct tied and swung down from the staging. 'd.a.m.n, I'll sure be glad to get out of this hole,' Red said, flexing his muscles back into place. Then he turned to me. 'What you gonna do, Bob, you gonna stay on with us?'

'I don't know yet,' I said.

'h.e.l.l, if it was me I'd quit,' Homer said.

'Ef'n it were me I'd get some burnbs and set 'em all over everywhere and blow up the ship,' Pigmeat said.

'Boy, hush!' Conway said. 'The FBI'll have you for sabotage.'

I noticed that none of them said anything about wanting me to stay on as their leaderman. It looked like I was out to stay.

Then George came up. 'Say, Bob, why don't you go up and look over the job?' he said as if to sort of apologize for the way they felt. 'Tell us what we got to do.' He looked around at Tebbel, lowered his voice. 'You know more 'bout this work than Danny do anyway.'

'Okay,' I said, giving a half-smile. 'I will.' I wanted to get away from them for a moment; I felt pretty low.

I climbed to the superstructure, b.u.mping into other workers absent-mindedly, trying to make up my mind whether to quit at the end of the day or stay on. It was five after three then.... It'd be easier to quit, I thought. But the proof would be to stay on there and make a comeback. I kept on up to the bridge, glanced idly at the gun installations down on the deck, debating whether to talk it over with Alice. I decided not to do it; I'd make the choice myself, stop leaning on her for every little thing. I looked into the chartroom, wandered out again, went down to the weather deck, and wandered over toward the railing.

But I couldn't make up my mind. Then I remembered I'd promised George to look over the job, went back to the deckhouse, and strolled through the companionways, peeping into various rooms. I didn't know what they were all for; various lockers and the officers' quarters, I imagined. I'd have to get a print to tell anything about it. Of course the ventilation didn't look as though it ought to be very complicated, I thought. The place could ventilate itself.

Pipe fitters and electricians were at work in some of the rooms. Outside a woman painter was spraying the bulkheads with red lead. There wasn't a great deal of activity; the superstructure would be the last place to be outfitted--start at the bottom and work up.

I was going aft to take a gander down into the engine-room when I noticed a closed door, put my hand on the k.n.o.b, and pushed inside to see what it might hold. It was dark inside after the glaring sun on the deck, but I saw an extension cord running underneath the door, traced it to the lamp hooked over a clip tacked to the bulkhead, snapped on the light.

I just had time to notice that it was a cabin with facing bunks and two portholes to starboard tightly covered with old newspaper when someone grunted sleepily, 'Unh!' I jerked around. There was a saggy mattress on one of the bunks and a bigbodied woman with dyed blonde hair was lying on it, sleeping, with her face to the wall.

All of a sudden she came awake, said, 'd.a.m.n!' then wheeled over quickly and sat up, blinking at the light. Her big blue mascaraed eyes were full of sleep and there were deep lines in the heavy coat of powder on her face where the witches had been riding her.

'I was feelin' bad and just thought I'd lie down for a--' she started alibi-ing rapidly in her flat Texas voice; then broke off. 'Oh, it's you!' she said.

I'd gotten Madge completely out of my thoughts and running into her like that startled me. I stood for a moment, looking at her stupidly as if she was some strange sight. Then I caught myself and said, 'Oh, I didn't know you were here.'

'I bet you did,' she said, trying to look coy.

I snapped off the light, started to beat it. I didn't want to see her now; I'd gotten over it. All I wanted to do was get away from her.

'Wait a minute,' she said. 'What's your hurry? You come in here and wake me up and then wanna rush off.' I could hear her sighing like an animal, see the vague outline of her body as she flexed the sleep out of it.

Voices sounded in the companionway outside, footsteps came our way. I groped quickly for the light, snapped it on again. I didn't want to be caught in the dark with her. And just in case somebody walked in I tried to make it look legitimate. 'I'd like to apologize,' I began in a fairly loud voice. 'I was upset that morning and--'

'Shut the door, fool!' she said as the voices drew nearer; jumped up and shut it herself, slid the latch on. She stood with her back toward it, looking at me.

The footsteps stopped outside and somebody tried the latch. Then a voice, a sly feminine lilt, a laugh, and the footsteps went on.

My lungs hurt from holding my breath. I let it out, got another lungful. 'Let me get the h.e.l.l out of here,' I said, trying to push her aside. 'You're simple.'

By then I realized that some of the workers must have been using the cabin for loafing, sleeping, gambling, and a.s.signation, and I didn't want to be found there with her under any circ.u.mstances.

But she wouldn't let me by. She put the palms of her hands over my ears, pressed the tips of her fingers against the back of my head, and pulled my face toward hers. She had a sharp mixed odour of sweat and powder, pungent and perfumed.

I broke away, gave her a push. She went back three steps, caught herself. 'G.o.dd.a.m.nit, don't le's fight,' she said.

'Why don't you get some sense?' I said. I began inching back toward the door, scared any moment she might start to perform. It was funny the way I was trying to slip away from her without starting any ruckus; but it wasn't funny then. I was tense, nervous; really scared of that dame. 'Look,' I said, 'I'll call you up tonight.'

'You look, yo'self,' she said. Footsteps sounded in the companionway again. I had the door unlocked, but I locked it again, s.n.a.t.c.hed my hand away as if it were hot.

I knew I should have run, got the h.e.l.l away from that crazy b.i.t.c.h no matter who was out in the companionway. But I couldn't; all I could do was just stare at her. All she had was her colour, so help me, but it put me right back on that weakkneed edge.

But I came out of it. I said in a low, level voice, 'Look, baby, I don't want you. I don't want no part of you, that's final.' And I meant it.

'You're a liar,' she hissed.

Someone tried the handle of the door, rattled it. 'Why is this door locked?' a voice with authority asked. 'Is it supposed to be locked?'

'Nooo, not as I know of,' another voice replied. The lock was tried again.

'Is there anyone in there?' the first voice asked.

My eyes sought Madge's, warning. Hers were panicky, trapped. Neither of us breathed.

'I say, is anyone in there?' the voice asked again. 'Do you suppose there's anyone in there, Mr. Nelson?'

'Well.. .' The second voice hesitated, then said, 'There must be. It's locked from within.'

The first voice was crisp this time. 'Open up, this is the Navy inspector.' It waited. A fist banged on the door. Then it said, 'Get a burner, Mr. Nelson, we'll take off the lock.'

I let out my breath, gave Madge a last warning look, then said aloud, 'Okay, I'll open up, just a minute.'

Madge came into me from the angle, caught me off guard, flung me toward the bunk. The side of my right leg, just below the knee, clipped against the side of the bunk, broke me into a spinning fall. My head hit against the bulkhead and I sprawled face down on the mattress. I wheeled over, got one foot on the deck, and was coming up when she began to scream.

'_Help! Help! My G.o.d, help me! Some white man, help me! I'm being raped_.'

I saw the stretch and pop of her lips, the tautening of her throat muscles, the distortion and constriction of her face, the flare of her, nostrils and the bucking of her eyes with a weird stark clarity as if her face were ten feet high. I was in the middle of a breath and the air got rock-hard in my lungs, like frozen steam, and wouldn't budge. My whole body got rigid and my head swelled as if it would explode. My eyes felt as if they were five times their natural size; as if they were bursting in their sockets, popping out of my head. Then cold numbing terror swept over me in a paralysing wave.

'_Stop, n.i.g.g.e.r! Don't, n.i.g.g.e.r! n.i.g.g.e.r, don't! Oh, please don't kill me, n.i.g.g.e.r_. . . .'

I heard the sudden shouts from outside; the banging on the door, the startled curses, the savage commands. 'Open up this G.o.dd.a.m.n door, you black b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Open up, I say, or by G.o.d--' The confused orders, 'Get a torch! Get a sledge hammer! Call that chipper over here.' Heard the scuffling sounds of abrupt activity. Footsteps running, going and coming. New voices. More shouts.

But my mind could not rationalize it, could get no sense out of it. I could see and hear but could not move.

I watched Madge fumble at the latch, rattle it. She slammed against the door once but didn't open it. From without it sounded as if we were struggling, brought on a new chorus of pleading. Then she turned and sprang toward me, rolled me over on the bunk, beat at me with her fists, clawed at my face, scratched me with her nails, bit me on the arm.

Abruptly a raw wild panic exploded within me. The overwhelming fear of being caught with a white woman came out in me in a great white flame. I gave one great push, threw her off of me and half-way across the room, jumped to my feet, grabbed at the first thing I touched, and leaped at her to beat out her brains. She had landed off balance and when I hit at her she ducked, went sprawling on her back on the deck. I went to swing again, slipped, and my foot sailed in the air and I sat down on the end of my spine on the iron deck. Pain shot up my spine like a needle, shocked the fury out of me. I braced my hands on the deck, pushed to my feet. She lay there without moving and looked up at me. But there was no fear in her face.

I stood trembling in a strange bewilderment. The din of activity from without vaguely penetrating my consciousness-- the shouts, the threats, the pleas--had no meaning in my mind. My reason was shattered; my senses outraged.

There were only the two of us in pressing chaos. Looking at each other; our eyes locked together as in a death embrace; black and white in both our minds; not hating each other; just feeling extreme outrage. I felt buck-naked and powerless, stripped of my manhood and black against the whole white world.

Then I came out of it. Sanity returned. I started toward the door to open it. 'Wait, I'll let you in,' I shouted above the din. 'Wait, this woman is crazy!'

I touched the latch; s.n.a.t.c.hed my hand away. It was burning hot. 'Wait, G.o.dd.a.m.nit!' I shouted, looking around at Madge. She hadn't moved; she lay on the deck in a daze. Her mouth was half open and her eyes looked glazed. I thought for a moment she was dead.

Sparks showered into the room where the burner had cut through. I stepped over and shook her to see if she was alive, fighting against panic. Without moving she said in a low flat voice, 'I'm gonna get you lynched, you n.i.g.g.e.r b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the door swinging inward; people were surging into the room from the companionway. I saw a hundred million white faces, distorted with rage.

For one fleeting moment I tried to talk. 'G.o.dd.a.m.nit, listen,' I shouted.

A fist in my mouth cut it off. The sight of one hard hating face across my vision shook loose my reason again. Now I was moved by a rage, impelled by it, set into motion by it, lacerated by it. I started hitting, kicking, b.u.t.ting, biting, pushing. I carried the mob outside into the companionway, striking at faces, kicking at bodies. Somebody fell and I stepped on him. The soft roll of muscle over bone sent goose flesh through me. I looked up, saw a white guy wielding a sledge hammer, his face sculptured in unleashed fury. A flat cold wave of terror spread out underneath my skull, freezing the roots of my hair.

I wheeled into the tight mob of bodies, half squatted, put my arms about three pairs of legs, straightened up with the strength of insanity. I threw them back over my shoulder in the direction of the guy with the sledge, started a mad surging rush forward that got me through to the midship companionway; went into a flailing spin that freed me for an instant, started down the jack ladder toward the engine room.

A guy leaned over the hole and swung at my head with a ballpeen hammer. I was going down forward with my hands on the railings and saw the hammer coming. It didn't look like a hard blow; it looked as though it floated into me. I saw the guy's face, not particularly malevolent, just disfigured, a white man hitting at a n.i.g.g.e.r running by. But I couldn't do a thing; I couldn't let go the railing to get my hands up; couldn't even duck. I didn't feel the blow; just the explosion starting at a point underneath my skull and filling my head with a great flaming roar. And then what seemed like falling a million miles through s.p.a.ce and hitting something hard to splatter into pieces.

CHAPTER XXI.

I came to once as I lay crumpled on the deck at the bottom of the ladder. A lot of guys were kicking me. Then again when I was being lifted from the ambulance on a stretcher. I was in a sort of half and half state when the doctors began working on me. I remember swallowing some pills and getting a shot in the arm; and I felt it when they shaved my head and clamped the metal st.i.tches in my skull. They were doing something to my mouth when I just drifted on away.

When I came to again I was in the room back of minor surgery, lying on a cot. My mouth felt dry, cottony; and my head throbbed with a steady ache.

Then I saw the guard sitting in a chair by the door, puffing slowly on a pipe. He was huge, tremendous, the biggest man I'd ever seen, with a squarish, knotty, weather-reddened face, and small colourless eyes, cold and inscrutable. When he saw I was looking at him he got on a look of joviality that didn't change the expression of his eyes at all.

'You're a lucky boy,' he said in a big intimidating voice, and got that phoney lipless smile that the coppers down at the old Thirty-seventh Street station in Cleveland were famous for when they beat a Negro half to death with a loaded hose. 'No bones broke. All in one piece. Just skinned up a little.'

I looked away from him without replying, threw back the covers, propped myself up on my elbows. The slight movement sent the pain through my body. I was nude. My knees, elbows, and one wrist were bandaged and taped and I was splotched all over with mercurochrome. I reached for my head, felt the thick turban of bandages. My face felt raw and my lips were swollen several times their natural size. I explored with my tongue and felt teeth out in front but I couldn't tell how many. I hurt in the groin as if I was ruptured.

I lay back and closed my eyes and tried to remember just what had happened. But my brain was fuzzy. It wouldn't come back clear. I remembered Madge screaming. Then I'd gone panicky. Then I remembered her lying there on the deck, saying, '_I'm gonna get you lynched_. . .' Well, she got me lynched all right.

But something was missing. Something important. Then suddenly I knew what it was. I hadn't even tried to rape her; I'd been trying to get away from her. I'd gone up there to case the new job for the gang and had run into her accidentally. She'd kept me there, cornered me, hadn't let me go. I'd wanted to go, but she hadn't let me. She couldn't get away with that. This wasn't Georgia.

I opened my eyes, propped myself up on my elbows again, and said, 'I didn't bother that woman. She's crazy!' My voice was a lisp. My lips felt like two big balloon tyres beating together. I had to push the words half formed through the gap in my teeth.

'I don't have nothing to do with that, sonny,' the guard said jovially. 'You'll have to tell it to somebody who knows more about it than me.'

'I'll tell anybody,' I lisped belligerently.

'There ain't anybody to tell,' he said. 'Now ain't that h.e.l.l?'

I'd see somebody first thing in the morning, I thought, swinging my feet over the edge of the bed and sitting up. I was dizzy and had to brace myself with my hands. h.e.l.l, I'd see the president of the company. I'd get it straightened out. I wouldn't make any charges against the fellows for beating me up; I'd let that go. But I'd make the company pay my hospital bill, pay for fixing my teeth. And I'd get that b.i.t.c.h fired if it was the last thing I did. She couldn't get away with that, even if she was a white woman. But I wasn't worried, wasn't in any particular hurry.

'You wanna get dressed now?' the guard asked, nodding toward a cabinet. 'Your clothes are in there.'

When I stood up to go after them my knees wobbled; I had to catch hold of the foot of the bed to keep from failing. I felt out of balance, uncoupled, like a little tin soldier out of whack. When I took down my things I noticed dried blood about the collar of my coveralls and the upper part of my underwear shirt. I must have bled like a hog, I thought. Leaning against the cabinet to steady myself, I got into my underwear and coveralls without tearing off the bandages. But when I bent over to draw on my socks I almost fell forward on my face. And my ankles were swollen so I couldn't lace up my boots.

The guard sat there watching me curiously. 'Just as good as new,' he remarked jovially. 'By G.o.d, I never saw a man what could take so much punishment.'

I didn't see my watch, billfold, key ring, leather jacket, tin hat, or identifications. 'Where are my other things?' I asked, lisping the words carefully.

He chuckled. 'That tap on the noggin ain't bothered your memory any,' he said, pulling my watch, keys, and billfold from his pocket. 'Here you are, sonny. You're lucky somebody was good enough to turn 'em in.'

I didn't ask about my badges and identifications; I was through, I wouldn't need them any more anyway. The crystal of my watch was broken and it had stopped. I checked my keys; they were all there. I thought of my bra.s.s tool checks but didn't ask about them. I'd get all that straightened out in the morning. Then I looked to see if anything had been taken from my billfold. My driver's licence, draft cla.s.sification, a small snapshot of Alice, and the other papers were there, but my money, two tens and four ones, was gone. I didn't ask about it either. I'd make the whole G.o.dd.a.m.ned bunch sorry for everything that had happened, I resolved, stuffing all of it into my pocket.