Native Son Part 38

The voice was quiet, firm, but kind; there was about the man's thin lips a faint smile that seemed to have always been there. The man stepped inside; he was tall.

"How are you, Bigger?"

Bigger did not answer. He was doubtful again. Was this a trap of some kind?

"This is Reverend Hammond, Max," Jan said.

Max shook hands with the preacher, then turned to Bigger.

"I want to talk with you," Max said. "I'm from the Labor Defenders. I want to help you."

"I ain't got no money," Bigger said.

"I know that. Listen, Bigger, don't be afraid of me. And don't be afraid of Jan. We're not angry with you. I want to represent you in court. Have you spoken to any other lawyer?"

Bigger looked at Jan and Max again. They seemed all right. But how on earth could they help him? He wanted help, but dared not think that anybody would want to do anything for him now.

"Nawsuh," he whispered.

"How have they treated you? Did they beat you?"

"I been sick," Bigger said, knowing that he had to explain why he had not spoken or eaten in three days. "I been sick and I don't know."

"Are you willing to let us handle your case?"

"I ain't got no money."

"Forget about that. Listen, they're taking you back to the inquest this afternoon. But you don't have to answer any questions, see? Just sit and say nothing. I'll be there and you won't have to be scared. After the inquest they'll take you to the Cook County Jail and I'll be over to talk with you."

"Yessuh."

"Here; take these cigarettes."

"Thank you, suh."

The door swung in and a tall, big-faced man with grey eyes came forward hurriedly. Max and Jan and the preacher stood to one side. Bigger stared at the man's face; it teased him. Then he remembered: it was Buckley, the man whose face he had seen the workmen pasting upon a billboard a few mornings ago. Bigger listened to the men talk, feeling in the tones of their voices a deep hostility toward one another.

"So, you're horning in again, hunh, Max?"

"This boy's my client and he's signing no confessions," Max said.

"What the h.e.l.l do I want with his confession?" Buckley asked. "We've got enough evidence on him to put him in a dozen electric chairs."

"I'll see that his rights are protected," Max said.

"h.e.l.l, man! You can't do him any good."

Max turned to Bigger.

"Don't let these people scare you, Bigger."

Bigger heard, but did not answer.

"What in h.e.l.l you Reds can get out of bothering with a black thing like that, G.o.d only knows," Buckley said, rubbing his hands across his eyes.

"You're afraid that you won't be able to kill this boy before the April elections, if we handle his case, aren't you, Buckley?" Jan asked.

Buckley whirled.

"Why in G.o.d's name can't you pick out somebody decent to defend sometimes? Somebody who'll appreciate it. Why do you Reds take up with sc.u.m like this...?"

"You and your tactics have forced us to defend this boy," Max said.

"What do you mean?" Buckley asked.

"If you had not dragged the name of the Communist Party into this murder, I'd not be here," Max said.

"h.e.l.l, this boy signed the name of the Communist Party to the kidnap note...."

"I realize that," Max said. "The boy got the idea from the newspapers. I'm defending this boy because I'm convinced that men like you made him what he is. His trying to blame the Communists for his crime was a natural reaction for him. He had heard men like you lie about the Communists so much that he believed them. If I can make the people of this country understand why this boy acted like he did, I'll be doing more than defending him."

Buckley laughed, bit off the tip of a fresh cigar, lit it and stood puffing. He advanced to the center of the room, c.o.c.ked his head to one side, took the cigar out of his mouth and squinted at Bigger.

"Boy, did you ever think you'd be as important a man as you are right now?"

Bigger had been on the verge of accepting the friendship of Jan and Max, and now this man stood before him. What did the puny friendship of Jan and Max mean in the face of a million men like Buckley?

"I'm the State's Attorney," Buckley said, walking from one end of the room to the other. His hat was on the back of his head. A white silk handkerchief peeped from the breast pocket of his black coat. He paused by the cot, towering over Bigger. How soon were they going to kill him, Bigger wondered. The breath of warm hope which Jan and Max had blown so softly upon him turned to frost under Buckley's cold gaze.

"Boy, I'd like to give you a piece of good advice. I'm going to be honest with you and tell you that you don't have to talk to me unless you want to, and I'll tell you that whatever you say to me might be used against you in court, see? But, boy, you're caught caught! That's the first thing you want to understand. We know what you've done. We got the evidence. So you might as well talk."

"He'll decide that with me," Max said.

Buckley and Max faced each other.

"Listen, Max. You're wasting your time. You'll never get this boy off in a million years. n.o.body can commit a crime against a family like the Daltons and sneak out of it. Those poor old parents are going to be in that court room to see that this boy burns burns! This boy killed the only only thing they had. If you want to save your face, you and your buddy can leave now and the papers won't know you were in here...." thing they had. If you want to save your face, you and your buddy can leave now and the papers won't know you were in here...."

"I reserve the right to determine whether I should defend him or not," Max said.

"Listen, Max. You think I'm trying to hoodwink you, don't you?" Buckley asked, turning and going to the door. "Let me show you something."

A policeman opened the door and Buckley said, "Tell 'em to come in."

"O.K."

The room was silent. Bigger sat on the cot, looking at the floor. He hated this; if anything could be done in his behalf, he himself wanted to do it; not others. The more he saw others exerting themselves, the emptier he felt. He saw the policeman fling the door wide open. Mr. and Mrs. Dalton walked in slowly and stood; Mr. Dalton was looking at him, his face white. Bigger half-rose in dread, then sat again, his eyes lifted, but unseeing. He sank back to the cot.

Swiftly, Buckley crossed the room and shook hands with Mr. Dalton, and, turning to Mrs. Dalton, said: "I'm dreadfully sorry, madam."

Bigger saw Mr. Dalton look at him, then at Buckley.

"Did he say who was in this thing with him?" Mr. Dalton asked.

"He's just come out of it," Buckley said. "And he's got a lawyer now."

"I have charge of his defense," Max said.

Bigger saw Mr. Dalton look briefly at Jan.

"Bigger, you're a foolish boy if you don't tell who was in this thing with you," Mr. Dalton said.

Bigger tightened and did not answer. Max walked over to Bigger and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I will talk to him, Mr. Dalton," Max said.

"I'm not here to bully this boy," Mr. Dalton said. "But it'll go easier with him if he tells all he knows."

There was silence. The preacher came forward slowly, hat in hand, and stood in front of Mr. Dalton.

"Ah'ma preacher of the gospel, suh," he said. "'N' Ah'm mighty sorry erbout whut's done happened t' yo' daughter. Ah knows of yo' good work, suh. 'N' the likes of this should'na come t' yuh."

Mr. Dalton sighed and said wearily, "Thank you."

"The best thing you can do is help us," Buckley said, turning to Max. "A grave wrong has been done to two people who've helped Negroes more than anybody I know."

"I sympathize with you, Mr. Dalton," Max said. "But killing this boy isn't going to help you or any of us."

"I tried to help him," Mr. Dalton said.

"We wanted to send him to school," said Mrs. Dalton faintly.

"I know," Max said. "But those things don't touch the fundamental problem involved here. This boy comes from an oppressed people. Even if he's done wrong, we must take that into consideration."

"I want you to know that my heart is not bitter," Mr. Dalton said. "What this boy has done will not influence my relations with the Negro people. Why, only today I sent a dozen ping-pong tables to the South Side Boys' Club...."

"Mr. Dalton!" Max exclaimed, coming forward suddenly. "My G.o.d, man! Will ping-pong keep men from murdering? Can't you see see? Even after losing your daughter, you're going to keep going in the same same direction? Don't you grant as much life-feeling to other men as you have? Could direction? Don't you grant as much life-feeling to other men as you have? Could ping-pong ping-pong have kept you from making your millions? This boy and millions like him want a meaningful life, not ping-pong...." have kept you from making your millions? This boy and millions like him want a meaningful life, not ping-pong...."

"What do you want me to do?" Mr. Dalton asked coldly. "Do you want me to die and atone for a suffering I never caused? I'm not responsible for the state of this world. I'm doing all one man can. I suppose you want me to take my money and fling it out to the millions who have nothing?"

"No; no; no.... Not that," Max said. "If you felt that millions of others experienced life as deeply as you, but differently, you'd see that what you're doing doesn't help. Something of a more fundamental nature...."

"Communism!" Buckley boomed, pulling down the corners of his lips. "Gentlemen, let's don't be childish! This boy's going on trial for his life. My job is to enforce the laws of this state...."

Buckley's voice stopped as the door opened and the policeman looked inside.

"What is it?" Buckley asked.

"The boy's folks are here."

Bigger cringed. Not this! Not here; not now now! He did not want his mother to come in here now, with these people standing round. He looked about with a wild, pleading expression. Buckley watched him, then turned back to the policeman.

"They have a right to see 'im," Buckley said. "Let 'em come in."

Though he sat, Bigger felt his legs trembling. He was so tense in body and mind that when the door swung in he bounded up and stood in the middle of the room. He saw his mother's face; he wanted to run to her and push her back through the door. She was standing still, one hand upon the doork.n.o.b; the other hand clutched a frayed pocketbook, which she dropped and ran to him, throwing her arms about him, crying, "My baby...."

Bigger's body was stiff with dread and indecision. He felt his mother's arms tight about him and he looked over her shoulder and saw Vera and Buddy come slowly inside and stand, looking about timidly. Beyond them he saw Gus and G.H. and Jack, their mouths open in awe and fear. Vera's lips were trembling and Buddy's hands were clenched. Buckley, the preacher, Jan, Max, Mr. and Mrs. Dalton stood along the wall, behind him, looking on silently. Bigger wanted to whirl and blot them from sight. The kind words of Jan and Max were forgotten now. He felt that all of the white people in the room were measuring every inch of his weakness. He identified himself with his family and felt their naked shame under the eyes of white folks. While looking at his brother and sister and feeling his mother's arms about him; while knowing that Jack and G.H. and Gus were standing awkwardly in the doorway staring at him in curious disbelief-while being conscious of all this, Bigger felt a wild and outlandish conviction surge in him: They ought to be glad They ought to be glad! It was a strange but strong feeling, springing from the very depths of his life. Had he not taken fully upon himself the crime of being black? Had he not done the thing which they dreaded above all others? Then they ought not stand here and pity him, cry over him; but look at him and go home, contented, feeling that their shame was washed away.

"Oh, Bigger, son!" his mother wailed. "We been so worried.... We ain't slept a single night! The police is there all the time.... They stand outside our door.... They watch and follow us everywhere! Son, son...."

Bigger heard her sobs; but what could he do? She ought not to have come here. Buddy came over to him, fumbling with his cap.

"Listen, Bigger, if you didn't do it, just tell me and I'll fix 'em. I'll get a gun and kill four or five of 'em...."

The room gasped. Bigger turned his head quickly and saw that the white faces along the wall were shocked and startled.

"Don't talk that way, Buddy," the mother sobbed. "You want me to die right now? I can't stand no more of this. You mustn't talk that way.... We in enough trouble now...."

"Don't let 'em treat you bad, Bigger," Buddy said stoutly.

Bigger wanted to comfort them in the presence of the white folks, but did not know how. Desperately, he cast about for something to say. Hate and shame boiled in him against the people behind his back; he tried to think of words that would defy them, words that would let them know that he had a world and life of his own in spite of them. And at the same time he wanted those words to stop the tears of his mother and sister, to quiet and soothe the anger of his brother; he longed to stop those tears and that anger because he knew that they were futile, that the people who stood along the wall back of him had the destiny of him and his family in their hands.

"Aw, Ma, don't you-all worry none," he said, amazed at his own words; he was possessed by a queer, imperious nervous energy. "I'll be out of this in no time."

His mother gave him an incredulous stare. Bigger turned his head again and looked feverishly and defiantly at the white faces along the wall. They were staring at him in surprise. Buckley's lips were twisted in a faint smile. Jan and Max looked dismayed. Mrs. Dalton, white as the wall behind her, listened, open-mouthed. The preacher and Mr. Dalton were shaking their heads sadly. Bigger knew that no one in the room, except Buddy, believed him. His mother turned her face away and cried. Vera knelt upon the floor and covered her face with her hands.

"Bigger," his mother's voice came low and quiet; she caught his face between the palms of her trembling hands. "Bigger," she said, "tell me. Is there anything, any anything we can do?"

He knew that his mother's question had been prompted by his telling her that he would get out of all this. He knew that they had nothing; they were so poor that they were depending upon public charity to eat. He was ashamed of what he had done; he should have been honest with them. It had been a wild and foolish impulse that had made him try to appear strong and innocent before them. Maybe they would remember him only by those foolish words after they had killed him. His mother's eyes were sad, skeptical; but kind, patient, waiting for his answer. Yes; he had to wipe out that lie, not only so that they might know the truth, but to redeem himself in the eyes of those white faces behind his back along the white wall. He was lost; but he would not cringe; he would not lie, not in the presence of that white mountain looming behind him.

"There ain't nothing, Ma. But I'm all right," he mumbled.

There was silence. Buddy lowered his eyes. Vera sobbed louder. She seemed so little and helpless. She should not have come here. Her sorrow accused him. If he could only make her go home. It was precisely to keep from feeling this hate and shame and despair that he had always acted hard and tough toward them; and now he was without defense. His eyes roved the room, seeing Gus and G.H. and Jack. They saw him looking at them and came forward.

"I'm sorry, Bigger," Jack said, his eyes on the floor.

"They picked us up, too," G.H. said, as though trying to comfort Bigger with the fact. "But Mr. Erlone and Mr. Max got us out. They tried to make us tell about a lot of things we didn't do, but we wouldn't tell."

"Anything we can do, Bigger?" Gus asked.

"I'm all right," Bigger said. "Say, when you go, take Ma home, will you?"

"Sure; sure," they said.

Again there was silence and Bigger's taut nerves ached to fill it up.

"How you 1-1-like them sewing cla.s.ses at the Y, Vera?" he asked.

Vera tightened her hands over her face.