Native Son Part 28

A strange sensation enveloped him. Something tingled in his stomach and on his scalp. His knees wobbled, giving way. He stumbled to the wall and leaned against it weakly. A wave of numbness spread fanwise from his stomach over his entire body, including his head and eyes, making his mouth gap. Strength ebbed from him. He sank to his knees and pressed his fingers to the floor to keep from tumbling over. An organic sense of dread seized him. His teeth chattered and he felt sweat sliding down his armpits and back. He groaned, holding as still as possible. His vision was blurred; but gradually it cleared. Again he saw the furnace. Then he realized that he had been on the verge of collapse. Soon the glare and drone of the fire came to his eyes and ears. He closed his mouth and gritted his teeth; the peculiar paralyzing numbness was leaving.

When he was strong enough to stand without support, he rose to his feet and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He had strained himself from a too long lack of sleep and food; and the excitement was sapping his energy. He should go to the kitchen and ask for his dinner. Surely, he should not starve like this. He mounted the steps to the door and knocked timidly; there was no answer. He turned the k.n.o.b and pushed the door in and saw the kitchen flooded with light. On a table were spread several white napkins under which was something that looked like plates of food. He stood gazing at it, then went to the table and lifted the corners of the napkins. There were sliced bread and steak and fried potatoes and gravy and string beans and spinach and a huge piece of chocolate cake. His mouth watered. Was this for him? He wondered if Peggy was around. Ought he try to find her? But he disliked the thought of looking for her; that would bring attention to himself, something which he hated. He stood in the kitchen, wondering if he ought to eat, but afraid to do so. He rested his black fingers on the edge of the white table and a silent laugh burst from his parted lips as he saw himself for a split second in a lurid objective light: he had killed a rich white girl and had burned her body after cutting her head off and had lied to throw the blame on someone else and had written a kidnap note demanding ten thousand dollars and yet he stood here afraid to touch food on the table, food which undoubtedly was his own.

"Bigger?"

"Hunh?" he answered before he knew who had called.

"Where've you been? Your dinner's been waiting for you since five o'clock. There's a chair. Eat...."

as much as you want.... He stopped listening. In Peggy's hand was the kidnap note. I'll heat your coffee go ahead and eat I'll heat your coffee go ahead and eat Had she opened it? Did she know what was in it? No; the envelope was still sealed. She came to the table and removed the napkins. His knees were shaking with excitement and sweat broke out on his forehead. His skin felt as though it were puckering up from a blast of heat. Had she opened it? Did she know what was in it? No; the envelope was still sealed. She came to the table and removed the napkins. His knees were shaking with excitement and sweat broke out on his forehead. His skin felt as though it were puckering up from a blast of heat. don't you want the steak warmed don't you want the steak warmed the question reached him from far away and he shook his head without really knowing what she meant, the question reached him from far away and he shook his head without really knowing what she meant, don't you feel well don't you feel well "This is all right," he murmured.

"You oughtn't starve yourself that way."

"I wasn't hungry."

"You're hungrier than you think," she said.

She set a cup and saucer at his plate, then laid the letter on the edge of the table. It held his attention as though it were a steel magnet and his eyes were iron. She got the coffee pot and poured his cup full. No doubt she had just gotten the letter from under the door and had not yet had time to give it to Mr. Dalton. She placed a small jar of cream at his plate and took up the letter again.

"I've got to give this to Mr. Dalton," she said. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Yessum," he whispered.

She left. He stopped chewing and stared before him, his mouth dry. But he had had to eat. Not to eat now would create suspicion. He shoved the food in and chewed each mouthful awhile, then washed it down with swallows of hot coffee. When the coffee gave out, he used cold water. He strained his ears to catch sounds. But none came. Then the door swung in silently and Peggy came back. He could see nothing in her round red face. Out of the corners of his eyes he watched her go to the stove and putter with pots and pans. to eat. Not to eat now would create suspicion. He shoved the food in and chewed each mouthful awhile, then washed it down with swallows of hot coffee. When the coffee gave out, he used cold water. He strained his ears to catch sounds. But none came. Then the door swung in silently and Peggy came back. He could see nothing in her round red face. Out of the corners of his eyes he watched her go to the stove and putter with pots and pans.

"Want more coffee?"

"No'm."

"You ain't scared of all this trouble we're having round here, are you, Bigger?"

"Oh, no'm," he said, wondering if something in his manner had made her ask that.

"That poor Mary!" Peggy sighed. "She acts like such a ninny. Imagine a girl keeping her parents worried sick all the time. But there are children for you these days."

He hurried with his eating, saying nothing; he wanted to get out of the kitchen. The thing was in the open now; not all of it, but some of it. n.o.body knew about Mary yet. He saw in his mind a picture of the Dalton family distraught and horrified when they found that Mary was kidnapped. That would put them a certain distance from him. They would think that white men did it; they would never think that a black, timid Negro did that. They would go after Jan. The "Red" he had signed to the letter and the hammer and curving knife would make them look for Communists.

"You got enough?"

"Yessum."

"You better clean the ashes out of the furnace in the morning, Bigger."

"Yessum."

"And be ready for Mr. Dalton at eight."

"Yessum."

"Your room all right?"

"Yessum."

The door swung in violently. Bigger started in fright. Mr. Dalton came into the kitchen, his face ashy. He stared at Peggy and Peggy, holding a dish towel in her hand, stared at him. In Mr. Dalton's hand was the letter, opened.

"What's the matter, Mr. Dalton?"

"Who.... Where did.... Who gave you this?"

"What?"

"This letter letter."

"Why, n.o.body. I got it from the door."

"When?"

"A few minutes ago. Anything wrong?"

Mr. Dalton looked round the entire kitchen, not at anything in particular, but just round the entire stretch of four walls, his eyes wide and unseeing. He looked back at Peggy; it was as if he had thrown himself upon her mercy; was waiting for her to say some word that would take the horror away.

"W-what's the matter, Mr. Dalton?" Peggy asked again.

Before Mr. Dalton could answer, Mrs. Dalton groped her way into the kitchen, her white hands held high. Bigger watched her fingers tremble through the air till they touched Mr. Dalton's shoulder. They gripped his coat hard enough to tear it from his body. Bigger, without moving an eyelid, felt his skin grow hot and his muscles stiffen.

"Henry! Henry!" Mrs. Dalton called. "What's the matter?"

Mr. Dalton did not hear her; he still stared at Peggy.

"Did you see who left this letter?"

"No, Mr. Dalton."

"You, Bigger?"

"Nawsuh," he whispered, his mouth full of dry food.

"Henry, tell me! Please! Please! For Heaven's sake!" For Heaven's sake!"

Mr. Dalton put his arm about Mrs. Dalton's waist and held her close to him.

"It's.... It's about Mary.... It's.... She...."

"What? Where is she?"

"They.... They got her! They kidnapped her!"

"Henry! No!" Mrs. Dalton screamed.

"Oh, no!" Peggy whimpered, running to Mr. Dalton.

"My baby," Mrs. Dalton sobbed.

"She's been kidnapped," Mr. Dalton said, as though he had to say the words over again to convince himself.

Bigger's eyes were wide, taking in all three of them in one constantly roving glance. Mrs. Dalton continued to sob and Peggy sank into a chair, her face in her hands. Then she sprang up and ran out of the room, crying: "Lord, don't let them kill her!"

Mrs. Dalton swayed. Mr. Dalton lifted her and staggered, trying to get her through the door. As he watched Mr. Dalton there flashed through Bigger's mind a quick image of how he had lifted Mary's body in his arms the night before. He rose and held the door open for Mr. Dalton and watched him walk unsteadily down the dim hallway with Mrs. Dalton in his arms.

He was alone in the kitchen now. Again the thought that he had the chance to walk out of here and be clear of it all came to him, and again he brushed it aside. He was tensely eager to stay and see how it would all end, even if that end swallowed him in blackness. He felt that he was living upon a high pinnacle where bracing winds whipped about him. There came to his ears a m.u.f.fled sound of sobs. Then suddenly there was silence. What's happening? Would Mr. Dalton phone the police now? He strained to listen, but no sounds came. He went to the door and took a few steps into the hallway. There were still no sounds. He looked about to make sure that no one was watching him, then crept on tiptoe down the hall. He heard voices. Mr. Dalton was talking to someone. He crept farther; yes, he could hear.... I want to talk to Britten please I want to talk to Britten please. Mr. Dalton was phoning. come right over please yes at once something awful has happened I don't want to talk about it over the phone come right over please yes at once something awful has happened I don't want to talk about it over the phone That meant that when Britten came back he would be questioned again. That meant that when Britten came back he would be questioned again. yes right away I'll be waiting yes right away I'll be waiting He had to get back to his room. He tiptoed along the hall, through the kitchen, down the steps and into the bas.e.m.e.nt. The torrid cracks of the furnace gleamed in the crimson darkness and he heard the throaty undertone of the draft devouring the air. Was she burnt? But even if she were not, who would think of looking in the furnace for her? He went to his room, into the closet, closed the door and listened. Silence. He came out, left the door open and, in order to get to the closet quickly and without sound, pulled off his shoes. He lay again on the bed, his mind whirling, with images born of a mult.i.tude of impulses. He could run away; he could remain; he could even go down and confess what he had done. The mere thought that these avenues of action were open to him made him feel free, that his life was his, that he held his future in his hands. But they would never think that he had done it; not a meek black boy like him.

He bounded off the bed, listening, thinking that he had heard voices. He had been so deeply taken up with his own thoughts that he did not know if he had actually heard anything or had imagined it. Yes; he heard faint footsteps below. He hurried to the closet. The footsteps ceased. There came to him the soft sound of sobbing. It was Peggy. Her sobbing quieted, then rose to a high pitch. He stood for a long time, listening to Peggy's sobs and the long moan of the wind sweeping through the night outside. Peggy's sobs ceased and her footsteps sounded once more. Was she going to answer the doorbell? Footsteps came again; Peggy had gone to the front of the house for something and had come back. He heard a heavy voice, a man's. At first he could not identify it; then he realized that it was Britten's.

"...and you found the note?"

"Yes."

"How long ago?"

"About an hour."

"You're sure you didn't see anyone leave it?"

"It was sticking under the door."

"Think, now. Did you see anybody about the house or drive way?"

"No. The boy and me, that's all that's been around here."

"And where's the boy now?"

"Upstairs in his room, I think."

"Did you ever see this handwriting before?"

"No, Mr. Britten."

"Can you guess, can you think, imagine who would send such a note?"

"No. Not a soul in this whole wide world, Mr. Britten," Peggy wailed.

Britten's voice ceased. There was the sound of other heavy feet. Chairs sc.r.a.ped over the floor. More people were in the kitchen. Who were they? Their movements sounded like those of men. Then Bigger heard Britten speaking again.

"Listen, Peggy. Tell me, how does does this boy act?" this boy act?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Britten?"

"Does he seem intelligent? Does he seem to be acting acting?"

"I don't know, Mr. Britten. He's just like all the other colored boys."

"Does he say 'yes mam' and 'no mam'?"

"Yes, Mr. Britten. He's polite."

"But does he seem to be trying to appear like he's more ignorant than he really really is?" is?"

"I don't know, Mr. Britten."

"Have you missed anything around the house since he's been here?"

"No; nothing."

"Has he ever insulted you, or anything?"

"Oh, no! No!"

"What kind of a boy is he?"

"He's just a quiet colored boy. That's all I can say...."

"Did you ever see him reading anything?"

"No, Mr. Britten."

"Does he speak more intelligently at some times than at others?"

"No, Mr. Britten. He talked always the same, to me."

"Has he ever done anything that would make you think he knows something about this note?"

"No, Mr. Britten."

"When you speak to him, does he hesitate before he answers, as though he's thinking up what to say?"

"No, Mr. Britten. He talks and acts natural-like."

"When he talks, does he wave his hands around a lot, like he's been around a lot of Jews?"

"I never noticed, Mr. Britten."

"Did you ever hear 'im call anybody comrade comrade?"

"No, Mr. Britten."

"Does he pull off his cap when he comes in the house?"

"I never noticed. I think so, Mr. Britten."