Invisible Man (42 page)

“You don’t pitch no balls, Brother! Not a single one!”

“Let’s make a miracle,” I shouted. “Let’s take back our pillaged eyes! Let’s reclaim our sight; let’s combine and spread our vision. Peep around the corner, there’s a storm coming. Look down the avenue, there’s only one enemy. Can’t you see his face?”

It was a natural pause and there was applause, but as it burst I realized that the flow of words had stopped. What would I do when they started to listen again? I leaned forward, straining to see through the barrier of light. They were mine, out there, and I couldn’t afford to lose them. Yet I suddenly felt naked, sensing that the words were returning and that something was about to be said that I shouldn’t reveal.

“Look at me!” The words ripped from my solar plexus. “I haven’t lived here long. Times are hard, I’ve known despair. I’m from the South, and since coming here I’ve know eviction. I’d come to distrust the world … But look at me now, something strange is happening. I’m here before you. I must confess …”

And suddenly Brother Jack was beside me, pretending to adjust the microphone. “Careful now,” he whispered. “Don’t end your usefulness before you’ve begun.”

“I’m all right,” I said, leaning toward the mike.

“May I confess?” I shouted. “You are my friends. We share a common disinheritance, and it’s said that confession is good for the soul. Have I your permission?”

“You batting .500, Brother,” the voice called.

There was a stir behind me. I waited until it was quiet and hurried on.

“Silence is consent,” I said, “so I’ll have it out, I’ll confess it!” My shoulders were squared, my chin thrust forward and my eyes focused straight into the light.
“Something strange and miraculous and transforming is taking place in me right now … as I stand here before you!”

I could feel the words forming themselves, slowly falling into place. The light seemed to boil opalescently, like liquid soap shaken gently in a bottle.

“Let me describe it. It is something odd. It’s something that I’m sure I’d never experience anywhere else in the world. I feel your eyes upon me. I hear the pulse of your breathing. And now, at this moment, with your black and white eyes upon me, I feel … I feel …”

I stumbled in a stillness so complete that I could hear the gears of the huge clock mounted somewhere on the balcony gnawing upon time.

“What is it, son, what do you feel?” a shrill voice cried.

My voice fell to a husky whisper, “I feel, I feel suddenly that I have become
more human.
Do you understand? More human. Not that I have become a man, for I was born a man. But that I am more human. I feel strong, I feel able to get things done! I feel that I can see sharp and clear and far down the dim corridor of history and in it I can hear the footsteps of militant fraternity! No, wait, let me confess … I feel the urge to affirm my feelings … I feel that here, after a long and desperate and uncommonly blind journey, I have come home … Home! With your eyes upon me I feel that I’ve found my true family! My true people! My true country! I am a new citizen of the country of your vision, a native of your fraternal land. I feel that here tonight, in this old arena, the new is being born and the vital old revived. In each of you, in me, in us all.

“SISTERS! BROTHERS!

“WE ARE THE TRUE PATRIOTS! THE CITIZENS OF TOMORROW’S WORLD!

“WE’LL BE DISPOSSESSED NO MORE!”

The applause struck like a clap of thunder. I stood transfixed, unable to see, my body quivering with the roar. I made an indefinite movement. What should I do—wave to them? I faced the shouts, cheers, shrill whistling, my eyes burning from the light. I felt a large tear roll down my face and I wiped it away with embarrassment. Others were starting down. Why didn’t someone help me get out of the spot before I spoiled everything? But with the tears came an increase of applause and I lifted my head, surprised, my eyes streaming. The sound seemed to roar up in waves. They had begun to stomp the floor and I was laughing and bowing my head now unashamed. It grew in volume, the sound of splitting wood came from the rear. I grew tired, but still they cheered until, finally, I gave up and started back toward the chairs. Red spots danced before my eyes. Someone took my hand, and leaned toward my ear.

“You did it, goddamnit! You did it!” And I was puzzled by the hot mixture of hate and admiration bursting through his words as I thanked him and removed my hand from his crushing grasp.

“Thanks,” I said, “but the others had raised them to the right pitch.”

I shuddered; he sounded as though he would like to throttle me. I couldn’t see and there was much confusion and suddenly someone spun me around, pulling me off balance, and I felt myself pressed against warm feminine softness, holding on.

“Oh, Brother, Brother!” a woman’s voice cried into my ear, “Little Brother!” and I felt the hot moist pressure of her lips upon my cheek.

Blurred figures bumped about me. I stumbled as in a game of blindman’s buff. My hands were shaken, my back pounded. My face was sprayed with the saliva of enthusiasm, and I decided that the next time I stood in the spotlight it would be wise to wear dark glasses.

It was a deafening demonstration. We left them cheering, knocking over chairs, stomping the floor. Brother Jack guided me off the platform. “It’s time we left,” he shouted. “Things have truly begun to move. All that energy must be organized!”

He guided me through the shouting crowd, hands continuing to touch me as I stumbled along. Then we entered the dark passage and when we reached the end the spots faded from my eyes and I began to see again. Brother Jack paused at the door.

“Listen to them,” he said. “Just waiting to be told what to do!” And I could still hear the applause booming behind us. Then several of the others broke off their conversation and faced us, as the applause muffled down behind the closing door.

“Well, what do you think?” Brother Jack said enthusiastically. “How’s that for a starter?”

There was a tense silence. I looked from face to face, black and white, feeling swift panic. They were grim.

“Well?” Brother Jack said, his voice suddenly hard.

I could hear the creaking of someone’s shoes.

“Well?” he repeated.

Then the man with the pipe spoke up, a swift charge of tension building with his words.

“It was a most unsatisfactory beginning,” he said quietly, punctuating the “unsatisfactory” with a stab of his pipe. He was looking straight at me and I was puzzled. I looked at the others. Their faces were noncommittal, stolid.

“Unsatisfactory!” Brother Jack exploded. “And what alleged process of thought led to that brilliant pronouncement?”

“This is no time for cheap sarcasm, Brother,” the brother with the pipe said.

“Sarcasm? You made the sarcasm. No, it isn’t a time for sarcasms nor for imbecilities. Nor for plain damn-fooleries! This is a key moment in the struggle, things have just begun to move—and suddenly you are unhappy. You are afraid of success? What’s wrong? Isn’t this just what we’ve been working for?”

“Again, ask yourself. You are the great leader. Look into your crystal ball.”

Brother Jack swore.

“Brothers!” someone said.

Brother Jack swore and swung to another brother. “You,” he said to the husky man. “Have you the courage to tell me what’s going on here? Have we become a street-corner gang?”

Silence. Someone shuffled his feet. The man with the pipe was looking now at me.

“Did I do something wrong?” I said.

“The worst you could have done,” he said coldly.

Stunned, I looked at him wordlessly.

“Never mind,” Brother Jack said, suddenly calm. “Just what is the problem, Brother? Let’s have it out right here. Just what is your complaint?”

“Not a complaint, an opinion. If we are still allowed to express our opinions,” the brother with the pipe said.

“Your opinion, then,” Brother Jack said.

“In my opinion the speech was wild, hysterical, politically irresponsible and dangerous,” he snapped. “And worse than that, it was
incorrect!”
He pronounced “incorrect” as though the term described the most heinous crime imaginable, and I stared at him openmouthed, feeling a vague guilt.

“Soooo,” Brother Jack said, looking from face to face, “there’s been a caucus and decisions have been made. Did you take minutes, Brother Chairman? Have you recorded your wise disputations?”

“There was no caucus and the opinion still holds,” the brother with the pipe said.

“No meeting, but just the same there has been a caucus and decisions have been reached even before the event is finished.”

“But, Brother,” someone tried to intervene.

“A most brilliant operation,” Brother Jack went on, smiling now. “A consummate example of skilled theoretical Nijinskys leaping ahead of history. But come down, Brothers, come down or you’ll land on your dialectics; the stage of history hasn’t built that far. The month after next, perhaps, but not yet. And what do you think, Brother Wrestrum?” he asked, pointing to a big fellow of the shape and size of Supercargo.

“I think the brother’s speech was backward and reactionary!” he said.

I wanted to answer but could not. No wonder his voice had sounded so mixed when he congratulated me. I could only stare into the broad face with its hate-burning eyes.

“And you,” Brother Jack said.

“I liked the speech,” the man said, “I thought it was quite effective.”

“And you?” Brother Jack said to the next man.

“I am of the opinion that it was a mistake.”

“And just why?”

“Because we must strive to reach the people through their intelligence …”

“Exactly,” the brother with the pipe said. “It was the antithesis of the scientific approach. Ours is a reasonable point of view. We are champions of a scientific approach to society, and such a speech as we’ve identified ourselves with tonight destroys everything that has been said before. The audience isn’t thinking, it’s yelling its head off.”

“Sure, it’s acting like a mob,” the big black brother said.

Brother Jack laughed. “And this mob,” he said, “is it a mob
against
us, or is it a mob
for
us—how do our muscle-bound scientists answer that?”

But before they could answer he continued, “Perhaps you’re right, perhaps it is a mob; but if it is, then it seems to be a mob that’s simply boiling over to come along with us. And I shouldn’t have to tell you theoreticians that science bases its judgments upon
experiment!
You’re jumping to conclusions before the experiment has run its course. In fact, what’s happening here tonight represents only one step in the experiment. The
initial
step, the release of energy. I can understand that it should make you timid—you’re afraid of carrying through to the next step—because it’s up to you to organize that energy. Well, it’s going to be organized and not by a bunch of timid sideline theoreticians arguing in a vacuum, but by getting out and leading the people!”

He was fighting mad, looking from face to face, his red head bristling, but no one answered his challenge.

“It’s disgusting,” he said, pointing to me. “Our new brother has succeeded by instinct where for two years your ‘science’ has failed, and now all you can offer is destructive criticism.”

“I beg to differ,” the brother with the pipe said. “To point out the dangerous nature of his speech isn’t destructive criticism. Far from it. Like the rest of us, the new brother must learn to speak scientifically. He must be trained!”

“So at last it occurs to you,” Brother Jack said, pulling down the corners of his mouth.
“Training.
All is not lost. There’s hope that our wild but effective speaker may be tamed. The scientists perceive a possibility! Very well, it has been arranged; perhaps not scientifically but arranged nevertheless. For the next few months our new brother is to undergo a period of intense study and indoctrination under the guidance of Brother Hambro. That’s right,” he said, as I started to speak. “I meant to tell you later.”

“But that’s a long time,” I said. “How am I going to live?”

“Your salary will continue,” he said. “Meanwhile, you’ll be guilty of no further unscientific speeches to upset our brothers’ scientific tranquillity. In fact, you are to stay completely out of Harlem. Perhaps then we’ll see if you brothers are as swift at organizing as you are at criticizing. It’s your move, Brothers.”

“I think Brother Jack is correct,” a short, bald man said. “And I don’t think that we, of all people, should be afraid of the people’s enthusiasm. What we’ve got to do is to guide it into channels where it will do the most good.”

The rest were silent, the brother with the pipe looking at me unbendingly.

“Come,” Brother Jack said. “Let’s get out of here. If we keep our eyes on the real goal our chances are better than ever before. And let’s remember that science isn’t a game of chess, although chess may be played scientifically. The other thing to remember is that if we are to organize the masses we must first organize ourselves. Thanks to our new brother, things have changed; we mustn’t fail to make use of our opportunity. From now on it’s up to you.”

“We shall see,” the brother with the pipe said. “And as for the new brother, a few talks with Brother Hambro wouldn’t harm anyone.”

Hambro, I thought, going out, who the hell is he? I suppose I’m lucky they didn’t fire me. So now I’ve got to go to school again.

Out in the night the group was breaking up and Brother Jack drew me aside. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll find Brother Hambro interesting, and a period of training was inevitable. Your speech tonight was a test which you passed with flying colors, so now you’ll be prepared for some real work. Here’s the address; see Brother Hambro the first thing in the morning. He’s already been notified.”

When I reached home, tiredness seemed to explode within me. My nerves remained tense even after I had had a hot shower and crawled into bed. In my disappointment, I wanted only to sleep, but my mind kept wandering back to the rally. It had actually happened. I had been lucky and had said the right things at the right time and they had liked me. Or perhaps I had said the wrong things in the right places—whatever, they had liked it regardless of the brothers, and from now on my life would be different. It was different already. For now I realized that I meant everything that I had said to the audience, even though I hadn’t known that I was going to say those things. I had intended only to make a good appearance, to say enough to keep the Brotherhood interested in me. What had come out was completely uncalculated, as though another self within me had taken over and held forth. And lucky that it had, or I might have been fired.