If He Hollers Let Him Go Part 9

Finally, when they got through kicking Little Tokyo around, Leighton turned his bright friendly smile to me. 'Did I understand Miss Harrison to say you were an attorney?'

'No, I'm a shipyard worker,' I said.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' he apologized.

I let him dangle. There was another embarra.s.sed silence.

Then Alice said, 'Bob's going into law after the war. He's fighting on our production front now.'

Leighton gave me another of his bright friendly smiles. 'I imagine it's a very interesting occupation,' he said.

'It's a killer,' I said. He blinked a little.

'Tom has just finished reading _Strange Fruit_,' Alice said. 'He thought it was fascinating.'

Something about the way she p.r.o.nounced his name made me throw a quick searching glance at her, started me to wondering what her relations were with Leighton. I began watching both of them under lowered lids, half ashamed for the crazy suspicion that had come into my mind, jealous of the guy against my will. I'd seen so many light-complexioned Negro women absolutely pure nuts about white men, it scared me to think that Alice might be like that herself. I started thinking again of some excuse to get away.

He was saying, '1 was particularly interested in the characterization of Nonnie.'

You would, I thought, since she was so G.o.dd.a.m.ned crazy about a white man.

'I didn't like Nonnie at all,' Polly said. 'I can't even imagine a Negro girl who's been to college doing any of the things Nonnie was supposed to do.'

'That was it,' Alice said. 'She didn't do anything.'

Watching her furtively, I began getting so tight inside I could hardly breathe. She might be having an affair with Leighton sure enough, I thought. She wouldn't count that, just like she wouldn't count that stuff at Stella's. She'd probably be proud of it, I thought; probably feel that I shouldn't resent it even if I found out. .

Arline was saying, 'Oh, I know a girl just like Nonnie. She's a good friend of mine--at least I went to school with her--and she's just like Nonnie.'

'Did you read the book, Mr. Jones?' Leighton asked.

'Yes, I did,' I said, and dropped it.

He waited for me, and when he saw I wasn't coming he said by way of appeas.e.m.e.nt, 'Of course I think that Richard Wright makes the point better in _Native Son_.'

'Oh, but what Lillian Smith does is condemn the white Southerner,' Arline said. 'All Wright did was write a vicious crime story.'

'Personally, I think the white Southerner doesn't mind being just like Lillian Smith portrays him,' I said.

'I think Richard Wright is naive,' Polly said.

'Aren't we all?' I said.

'_Native Son_ turned my stomach,' Arline said. 'It just proved what the white Southerner has always said about us; that our men are rapists and murderers.'

'Well, I will agree that the selection of Bigger Thomas to prove the point of Negro oppression was an unfortunate choice,' Leighton said.

'What do you think, Mr. Jones?' Cleo asked.

I said, 'Well, you couldn't pick a better person than Bigger Thomas to prove the point. But after you prove it, then what? Most white people I know are quite proud of having made Negroes into Bigger Thomases.'

There was another silence and everybody looked at me. 'Take me for instance,' I went on. 'I've got a job as leaderman at a shipyard. I'm supposed to have a certain amount of authority over the ordinary workers. But I'm scared to ask a white woman to do a job. All she's got to do is say I insulted her and I'm fired.'

Leighton looked concerned. 'Is that so?' he said. 'I didn't realize relations between white and coloured were that strained in our industries.'

'Of course Bob's problem is more or less individual,' Alice apologized. 'He's really temperamentally unsuited for industrial work. As soon as he enters into a profession his own problem will be solved.'

'Yes, I can understand that,' Leighton said. 'But as far as the problem of the Negro industrial worker is concerned, I feel that it is not so much racial as it is the problem of the ma.s.ses. As soon as the ma.s.ses, including all of our minority groups, have achieved economic security, racial problems will reach a solution of their own accord.' He turned to me. 'Won't you agree with me to that extent, Mr. Jones?'

'No,' I said. 'It's a state of mind. As long as the white folks hate me and I hate them we can earn the same amount of money, live side by side in the same kind of house, and fight every day.'

He got one of those condescending, indulgent smiles. 'Then how would you suggest effecting a solution to a minority group problem?'

'I don't know about any other minority group problem,' I said, 'but the only solution to the Negro problem is a revolution. We've got to make white people respect us and the only thing white people have ever respected is force.'

'But do you think a revolution by Negro people could be successful?' he asked in that gentle tone of voice used on an unruly child.

But I tried to keep my head. 'Not unless there were enough white people on our side,' I said.

'By the same token,' he argued, 'if there were enough white people on your side there wouldn't be any need for a revolution.'

'There's a lot of 'em who don't do anything but talk. If we had a revolution it'd force you to act, either for us or against us--personally, I wouldn't give a G.o.dd.a.m.n which way.'

'Suppose your revolution failed?' he asked.

'That'd be all right, too,' I said. 'At least we'd know where we stood.'

His smile became more indulgent, his voice more condescending. 'I think that you will discover that the best course for Negroes to take at this time is to partic.i.p.ate and co-operate in the general uprising of the ma.s.ses all over the world.'

'Are you a Communist?' I asked him.

Everybody else looked shocked, but he didn't even flinch. 'No, not that I have anything against the Communists, but I believe in the same, sensible way of doing things. And there's just one solution for the Negro--'

All of a sudden I burnt up. I'd been trying to get away from the white folks to begin with. And I wasn't going to have this p.e.c.k.e.rwood coming down here among my people, playing a great white G.o.d, sitting on his a.s.s, solving the Negro problem with a flow of diction and making me look like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned fool in front of my girl, when all I could do around his people was to be a flunkey and get kicked in the mouth. And what was more, his G.o.dd.a.m.ned condescending smile was getting under my skin.

I cut him off with a sudden violent gesture and jumped to my feet. That broke it up.

CHAPTER XI.

When the last of Alice's guests had gone she came upstairs and stood in the doorway looking at me with a wide-eyed condemning stare. I shook a cigarette loose and puffed at it and let her stand there and stare. She had a h.e.l.l of a lot of gall at that, I thought. When she saw that her silent scrutiny wasn't going to beat me down she came into the room and took a seat, crossed her legs, and looked up at me with a Bette Davis pose.

'Bob, are you trying intentionally to make me dislike you?' she asked.

I dropped into a chair facing her, gave her back some of her own scrutiny, said nothing.

'Or is it that you dislike me now?' she kept on.

I wanted her to drop it. Last night had happened and was gone and if I said anything about it at all it'd just make us hate each other. I didn't want it that way. So I said, 'I'm sorry, baby, but I took as much of Leighton as I could. If I'd known you were going to have all the wizards here I'd have stayed away. I just came because I wanted to talk to you.'

'But you insulted Tom deliberately,' she charged. 'He hadn't said anything that should have offended you. He was merely trying to tell you something for your own good.'

'Well, I ain't for it,' I said.

She frowned. 'It isn't just that. That's just one incident. You always have a chip on your shoulder.'

All of a sudden I knew she was trying to put me on the defensive. 'Now what are you getting at?' I asked. 'I suppose I'm to blame for everything that happened last night?' I said it before I thought.

She got a hurt look on and said, 'So that's it? So you're trying to get even with me now?'

I started getting mad. 'G.o.dd.a.m.nit, if I'd wanted to get even I know plenty ways of doing it besides sitting up listening to your G.o.dd.a.m.ned friends,' I told her.

'I can't stop you from hating me if that's the way your mind works,' she said.

'All right, baby,' I said harshly. 'You said it, now let's skip it.' I knew if the thing started riding me we wouldn't have anything at all for each other any more.

'Is that why you told me, this afternoon when I called, about your affairs with other women?' she went on. 'Is it because you want to hurt me now?' The thing was eating into her: she couldn't let it go.

I spread my hands. 'That isn't what I said,' I denied. 'What I said was I knew plenty chicks I could go to bed with if that was all I wanted--'

'Isn't that all you want of me too?' she cut in.

'What do you want me to say, that I believe it was an accident--a drunken episode--that I still believe you're the finest, most wonderful chick on earth?' I asked her. 'Is that what you want me to say?' I blew a stream of smoke into the air. 'Okay, I say it. Now let's drop it.'

'You have an egocentricity that borders on a disease,' she informed me, getting a high and mighty air. 'You begin by attacking my character, and then when I point out some of your own weaknesses you say, "Let's drop it, I can't be criticized, i'm too--"

'Baby, please,' I said. 'I didn't mean it that way. I'm not trying to bring you down. I was only--'

She didn't let it touch her. 'I know you will find it hard to realize that anyone could be thinking about anything besides you,' she said. 'But believe it or not, I am thinking about myself. I am wondering why I put up with you, why I continue this farce--'

It was getting brittle now, acid, raw. 'All right, G.o.dd.a.m.nit, let's quit!' I flared. 'I'm willing to let it go, why in the G.o.dd.a.m.n h.e.l.l aren't you?'

But she wasn't satisfied; she went on as if something tight inside of her was driving her. 'You're rude and uncouth and unintelligent.' She paused to light a cigarette, and I let myself go limp. I was tired of fighting with everybody; I decided to let her get it out of her system so we could have some understanding.

'There are three men who sit on my doorstep who are superior to you in every respect. They are cultured, intelligent, sensitive, prominent in the community; and any one of them could support me if I married him. . . .'

I closed my eyes and tried not to listen.

'They understand the niceties a woman enjoys. They do anything in the world I ask them and it's a pleasure to be in their company... . You're anti-social, boorish, ill at ease,' she kept hammering. 'You're not especially handsome--you're darker than I like; you dress like a gangster, you're not acceptable socially in any respect, and yet I impose you on my parents and my friends--'

It was beginning to ride me now. I kept telling myself that she just felt beat because she'd let me see her the night before and now she was trying to get over it by digging me. But it wasn't working so well; it was all I could do to keep from blowing.

'Too true, baby,' I said, trying to keep it inside of me.

'You're insanely belligerent,' she continued. 'You think you can solve all of your problems with your brawn. You have a really staggering inferiority complex, amounting to a fixation. You're disrespectful, quite ignorant, simply impossible.'

I had enough of it. 'You know what you can do for me,' I grated, leaning forward in my seat.

She gave me a long clinical stare of appraisal and then smiled contemptuously. 'I've been tremendously worried every minute since you left me last night that you would be so hurt and angry I would never see you again,' she began, then waited for it to sink in. 'I have even considered going to your room to plead with you.' Now she was sneering at me. 'I find that you are not worth it,' she said. 'You are not only willing to take it, believing that I am such--'

I told her right out of the hollow chagrin in my guts: 'That's because you're a n.i.g.g.e.r. If you were a white woman--'

She was out of her chair and across the room and had slapped me before I could finish. It was a solid pop with fury in it and stung like h.e.l.l. I came up bhnd mad, grabbed her by her shoulders, and shook her until her teeth rattled.

'G.o.dd.a.m.nit, I'll kill you,' I mouthed. 'I'll--I'll--who in the G.o.dd.a.m.ned h.e.l.l do you think you are, you--you--' I couldn't think of anything bad enough to call her.

When I stopped shaking her she looked up at me with a funny docile expression and said in a low controlled voice: 'You are a filthy Negro,' and I said: 'What about you? You're no G.o.dd.a.m.ned angel.'

She sighed and said:'But for some strange reason I love you,' and went candy. Her eyes got limpid and her mouth got suddenly wet and her body just folded into mine.

Whatever she had, it was really and truly for me. I couldn't help it. I went soft as drugstore cotton and fell into her arms as if I was going home. I kissed her eyes, her nose, her throat; I pulled her housecoat away from her neck and kissed the curve of her shoulder. I could hear her soft throaty gasping as she pressed her body hard against mine.

Right in the middle of it the thing got me again. I couldn't help it. I asked her, 'Did you ever really do that?'

She went instantly cold, put her hands against my chest, and pushed me away from her so quickly I almost fell.

'Do you just have to do it?' she asked, her eyes condemning me. 'Do you just have to keep bringing it up?' She went over and sat down and put her face in her hands. 'You destroy every emotion I have for you.'

I stood there, clenching my fists, sucking for breath. I got a crazy feeling of being penned in by my own emotions; of getting out of my own grasp; of not being able to control my actions any longer. I didn't know whether to be mad, indifferent, or sympathetic; whether to turn and walk out, or sit down beside her and try to work it out. Finally I dropped back into my chair.

'Baby, I wish you'd try to understand,' I said. 'I don't want to think about it either. G.o.dd.a.m.n, it hurts me too. Probably more than you. Can't you understand that? I feel like a d.a.m.n simple fool.' I took a breath, let it out, felt my legs tightening so they lifted my feet off the floor. 'Every time I kiss you now I'm scared you might be laughing.'

She opened her eyes and looked at me for a long time. It was as if she was searching for something. Then suddenly her whole face took on a soft tender look and way back in her eyes there was something like a shadow of hurt. She got up and came over and sat on the arm of my chair. 'You're just a baby,' she murmured. 'Just a big little baby.' And lifted my face and kissed me like she never had before.

I put my arm about her waist and pulled her down into my lap and rubbed my face in her soft silky hair, smelling its faint perfume and feeling its soft caress. I felt all alive inside for the first time in days, on the brink of something wonderful. I felt as if all of a sudden everything was going to be all right; as if I was going to know all the answers and never have anything to worry about again as long as I lived.

She drew back her head and shoulders to look at me. Her gaze was level, pure, but not tender any more. 'Bob darling, won't you believe me when I tell you that I am not a Lesbian?' she said.

I could feel the frown pop between my eyes. 'But you'd been there before,' I said.

She broke away and jumped to her feet, wheeled to look down at me. 'So that's it,' she said. 'So that's why you came here tonight--to cross-examine me.'

I put my hands on the arms of the chair, stood up. I felt resigned, tired, let down, as if I was locked up and would never get out. 'You wanna know why I came here tonight?' I asked her. It didn't make any difference one way or another now. I could tell her. I didn't even give a d.a.m.n what she might think about me. 'Not because I wanted to, I'll tell you that. I didn't want to see you again until I could get you straightened out in my mind. I sure as h.e.l.l didn't come here to argue with you about all that mess that happened last night. I didn't come here to argue at all.' I took a breath. 'I came here because I had to. Because I thought you were my girl and I didn't have no other G.o.dd.a.m.ned place to go. Maybe that don't sound so bright, but it's the truth. I had to get somewhere to cool off, to get myself straightened out. I had to get off the G.o.dd.a.m.ned streets out of the G.o.dd.a.m.ned p.e.c.k.e.rwoods' eyes before I killed some son of a b.i.t.c.h and went to the chair.' I let my breath out, sighed, started turning away. 'Now I'm gonna quit bothering you with it and go home,' I said.

She stepped around in front of me, clutched me by the arms, held me, made me look down into her eyes. 'What is it, darling?' she asked. 'Tell me, please.'

'I don't know,' I muttered. I wanted to tell her; I wanted to get it out of me. 'Every G.o.dd.a.m.n thing. My nerves are on edge. I keep expecting trouble every minute. Everything's going wrong all at once--it's pressing me too hard. G.o.dd.a.m.nit! You! And the job! And just living in the world--'

'Has anything happened on the job?' she asked quickly.

I looked away from her. 'No, just the same old grind,' I lied. 'The white folks trying to see how much we'll take.' I paused, then said, 'But it don't never lighten up. I tell you, I can't take much more of it.'