Native Son (10 page)

“Yessum.”

“Every morning you’ll find the garbage here; you burn it and put the bucket on the dumb-waiter.”

“Yessum.”

“You never have to use a shovel for coal. It’s a self-feeder. Look, see?”

Peggy pulled a lever and there came a loud rattle of fine lumps of coal sliding down a metal chute. Bigger stooped and saw, through the cracks of the furnace, the coal spreading out fanwise over the red bed of fire.

“That’s fine,” he mumbled in admiration.

“And you don’t have to worry about water, either. It fills itself.”

Bigger liked that; it was easy; it would be fun, almost.

“Your biggest trouble will be taking out the ashes and sweeping. And keep track of how the coal runs; when it’s low, tell me or Mr. Dalton and we’ll order some more.”

“Yessum. I can handle it.”

“Now, to get to your room all you have to do is go up these back stairs. Come on.”

He followed up a stretch of stairs. She opened a door and switched on a light and Bigger saw a large room whose walls were covered with pictures of girls’ faces and prize fighters.

“This was Green’s room. He was always one for pictures. But he kept things neat and nice. It’s plenty warm here. Oh, yes: before I forget. Here are the keys to the room and the garage and the car. Now, I’ll show you the garage. You have to get to it from the outside.”

He followed her down the steps and outside into the driveway. It was much warmer.

“Looks like snow,” Peggy said.

“Yessum.”

“This is the garage,” she said, unlocking and pushing open a door which, as it swung in, made lights come on automatically. “You always bring the car out and wait at the side door for the folks. Let’s see. You say you’re driving Miss Dalton tonight?”

“Yessum.”

“Well, she leaves at eight-thirty. So you’re free until then. You can look over your room if you want to.”

“Yessum. I reckon I will.”

Bigger went behind Peggy down the stairs and back into the basement. She went to the kitchen and he went to his room. He stood in the middle of the floor, looking at the walls. There were pictures of Jack Johnson, Joe Louis, Jack Dempsey, and Henry Armstrong; there were others of Ginger Rogers, Jean Harlow, and Janet Gaynor. The room was large and had two radiators. He felt the bed; it was soft. Gee! He would bring Bessie here some night. Not right at once; he would wait until he had learned the ropes of the place. A room all to himself! He could bring a pint of liquor up here and drink it in peace. He would not have to slip around any more. He would not have to sleep with Buddy and stand Buddy’s kicking all night long. He lit a cigarette and stretched himself full length upon the bed. Ohhhh…. This was not going to be bad at all. He looked at his dollar watch; it was seven. In a little while he would go down and examine the car. And he would buy himself another watch, too. A dollar watch was not good enough for a job like this; he would buy a gold one. There were a lot of new things he would get. Oh, boy! This would be an easy life. Everything was all right, except that girl. She worried him. She might cause him to lose his job if she kept talking about unions. She was a funny girl, all right. Never in his life had he met anyone like her. She puzzled him. She was rich, but she didn’t act like she was rich. She acted like…. Well, he didn’t know exactly what she did act like. In all of the white women he had met, mostly on jobs and at relief stations, there was always a certain coldness and reserve; they stood their distance and spoke to him from afar. But this girl waded right in and hit him between the eyes with her words and ways. Aw, hell! What good was there in thinking about her like this? Maybe she was all right. Maybe he would just have to get used to her; that was all. I bet she spends a plenty of dough, he thought. And the old man had given five million dollars to colored people. If a man could give five million dollars away, then millions must be as common to him as nickels. He rose up and sat on the edge of the bed.

What make of car was he to drive? He had not thought to look when Peggy had opened the garage door. He hoped it would be a
Packard, or a Lincoln, or a Rolls Royce. Boy! Would he drive! Just wait! Of course, he would be careful when he was driving Miss or Mr. Dalton. But when he was alone he would burn up the pavement; he would make those tires smoke!

He licked his lips; he was thirsty. He looked at his watch; it was ten past eight. He would go to the kitchen and get a drink of water and then drive the car out of the garage. He went down the steps, through the basement to the stairs leading to the kitchen door. Though he did not know it, he walked on tiptoe. He eased the door open and peeped in. What he saw made him suck his breath in; Mrs. Dalton in flowing white clothes was standing stone-still in the middle of the kitchen floor. There was silence, save for the slow ticking of a large clock on a white wall. For a moment he did not know if he should go in or go back down the steps; his thirst was gone. Mrs. Dalton’s face was held in an attitude of intense listening and her hands were hanging loosely at her sides. To Bigger her face seemed to be capable of hearing in every pore of the skin and listening always to some low voice speaking. Sitting quietly on the floor beside her was the white cat, its large black eyes fastened upon him. It made him uneasy just to look at her and that white cat; he was about to close the door and tiptoe softly back down the stairs when she spoke.

“Are you the new boy?”

“Yessum.”

“Did you want something?”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, mam. I—I…. I just wanted a drink of water.”

“Well, come on in. I think you’ll find a glass somewhere.”

He went to the sink, watching her as he walked, feeling that she could see him even though he knew that she was blind. His skin tingled. He took a glass from a narrow shelf and filled it from a faucet. As he drank he stole a glance at her over the rim of the glass. Her face was still, tilted, waiting. It reminded him of a dead man’s face he had once seen. Then he realized that Mrs. Dalton had turned and listened to the sound of his feet as he had walked. She knows exactly where I’m standing, he thought.

“You like your room?” she asked; and as she spoke he realized that she had been standing there waiting to hear the sound of his glass as it had clinked on the sink.

“Oh, yessum.”

“I hope you’re a careful driver.”

“Oh, yessum. I’ll be careful.”

“Did you ever drive before?”

“Yessum. But it was a grocery truck.”

He had the feeling that talking to a blind person was like talking to someone whom he himself could scarcely see.

“How far did you go in school, Bigger?”

“To the eighth grade, mam.”

“Do you ever think of going back?”

“Well, I gotta work now, mam.”

“Suppose you had the chance to go back?”

“Well, I don’t know, mam.”

“The last man who worked here went to night school and got an education.”

“Yessum.”

“What would you want to be if you had an education?”

“I don’t know, mam.”

“Did you ever think about it?”

“No’m.”

“You would rather work?”

“I reckon I would, mam.”

“Well, we’ll talk about that some other time. I think you’d better get the car for Miss Dalton now.”

“Yessum.”

He left her standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, exactly as he had found her. He did not know just how to take her; she made him feel that she would judge all he did harshly but kindly. He had a feeling toward her that was akin to that which he held toward his mother. The difference in his feelings toward Mrs. Dalton and his mother was that he felt that his mother wanted him to do the things
she
wanted him to do, and he felt that Mrs. Dalton wanted him to do the things she felt that
he
should have wanted to
do. But he did not want to go to night school. Night school was allright; but he had other plans. Well, he didn’t know just what they were right now, but he was working them out.

The night air had grown warmer. A wind had risen. He lit a cigarette and unlocked the garage; the door swung in and again he was surprised and pleased to see the lights spring on automatically These people’s got everything, he mused. He examined the car; it was a dark blue Buick, with steel spoke wheels and of a new make. He stepped back from it and looked it over; then he opened the door and looked at the dashboard. He was a little disappointed that the car was not so expensive as he had hoped, but what it lacked in price was more than made up for in color and style. “It’s all right,” he said half-aloud. He got in and backed it into the driveway and turned it round and pulled it up to the side door.

“Is that you, Bigger?”

The girl stood on the steps.

“Yessum.”

He got out and held the rear door open for her.

“Thank you.”

He touched his cap and wondered if it were the right thing to do

“Is it that university-school out there on the Midway, mam?”

Through the rear mirror above him he saw her hesitate before answering.

“Yes; that’s the one.”

He pulled the car into the street and headed south, driving about thirty-five miles an hour. He handled the car expertly, picking up speed at the beginning of each block and slowing slightly as he approached each street intersection.

“You drive well,” she said.

“Yessum,” he said proudly.

He watched her through the rear mirror as he drove; she was kind of pretty, but very little. She looked like a doll in a show window: black eyes, white face, red lips. And she was not acting at all now as she had acted when he first saw her. In fact, she had a remote look in her eyes. He stopped the car at Forty-seventh Street for a red light; he did not have to stop again until he reached Fifty-
first Street where a long line of cars formed in front of him and a long line in back. He held the steering wheel lightly, waiting for the line to move forward. He had a keen sense of power when driving; the feel of a car added something to him. He loved to press his foot against a pedal and sail along, watching others stand still, seeing the asphalt road unwind under him. The lights flashed from red to green and he nosed the car forward.

“Bigger!”

“Yessum.”

“Turn at this corner and pull up on a side street.”

“Here, mam?”

“Yes; here.”

Now, what on earth did this mean? He pulled the car off Cottage Grove Avenue and drew to a curb. He turned to look at her and was startled to see that she was sitting on the sheer edge of the back seat, her face some six inches from his.

“I scare you?” she asked softly, smiling.

“Oh, no’m,” he mumbled, bewildered.

He watched her through the mirror. Her tiny white hands dangled over the back of the front seat and her eyes looked out vacantly.

“I don’t know how to say what I’m going to say,” she said.

He said nothing. There was a long silence. What in all hell did this girl want? A street car rumbled by. Behind him, reflected in the rear mirror, he saw the traffic lights flash from green to red, and back again. Well, whatever she was going to say, he wished she would say it and get it over. This girl was strange. She did the unexpected every minute. He waited for her to speak. She took her hands from the back of the front seat and fumbled in her purse.

“Gotta match?”

“Yessum.”

He dug a match from his vest pocket.

“Strike it,” she said.

He blinked. He struck the match and held the flame for her. She smoked awhile in silence.

“You’re not a tattle-tale, are you?” she asked with a smile.

He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. What she had asked and the tone of voice in which she had asked it made him feel that he ought to have answered in some way; but what?

“I’m not going to the University,” she said at last. “But you can forget that. I want you to drive me to the Loop. But if anyone should ask you, then I went to the University, see, Bigger?”

“Yessum; it’s all right with me,” he mumbled.

“I think I can trust you.”

“Yessum.”

“After all, I’m on your side.”

Now, what did
that
mean? She was on
his
side. What side was he on? Did she mean that she liked colored people? Well, he had heard that about her whole family. Was she really crazy? How much did her folks know of how she acted? But if she were really crazy, why did Mr. Dalton let him drive her out?

“I’m going to meet a friend of mine who’s also a friend of yours,” she said.

“Friend of mine!” he could not help exclaiming.

“Oh, you don’t know him yet,” she said, laughing.

“Oh.”

“Go to the Outer Drive and then to 16 Lake Street.”

“Yessum.”

Maybe she was talking about the Reds?
That
was it! But none of his friends were Reds. What was all this? If Mr. Dalton should ask him if he had taken her to the University, he would have to say yes and depend upon her to back him up. But suppose Mr. Dalton had someone watching, someone who would tell where he had really taken her? He had heard that many rich people had detectives, working for them. If only he knew what this was all about he would feel much better. And she had said that she was going to meet someone who was a friend of his. He didn’t want to meet any Communists. They didn’t have any money. He felt that it was all right for a man to go to jail for robbery, but to go to jail for fooling around with Reds was bunk. Well, he would drive her; that was what he had been hired for. But he was going to watch his step in
this business. The only thing he hoped was that she would not make him lose his job. He pulled the car off the Outer Drive at Seventh Street, drove north on Michigan Boulevard to Lake Street, then headed west for two blocks, looking for number 16.

“It’s right here, Bigger.”

“Yessum.”

He pulled to a stop in front of a dark building.

“Wait,” she said, getting out of the car.

He saw her smiling broadly at him, almost laughing. He felt that she knew every feeling and thought he had at that moment and he turned his head away in confusion. Goddamn that woman!