Native Son (21 page)

“Oh, Peggy!” Mrs. Dalton’s voice called.

“Yes!” Peggy answered.

Bigger looked up and saw Mrs. Dalton at the head of the stairs, standing in white as usual and with her face tilted trustingly upward.

“Is the boy back yet?”

“He’s down here now, Mrs. Dalton.”

“Come in the kitchen a moment, will you, Bigger?” she asked.

“Yessum.”

He followed Peggy into the kitchen. Mrs. Dalton had her
hands clasped tightly in front of her and her face was still tilted, higher now, and her white lips were parted.

“Peggy told you about picking up the trunk?”

“Yessum. I’m on my way now.”

“What time did you leave here last night?”

“A little before two, mam.”

“And she told you to take the trunk down?”

“Yessum.”

“And she told you not to put the car up?”

“Yessum.”

“And it was just where you left it last night when you came this morning?”

“Yessum.”

Mrs. Dalton turned her head as she heard the inner kitchen door open; Mr. Dalton stood in the doorway.

“Hello, Bigger.”

“Good day, suh.”

“How are things?”

“Fine, suh.”

“The station called about the trunk a little while ago. You’ll have to pick it up.”

“Yessuh. I’m on my way now, suh.”

“Listen, Bigger. What happened last night?”

“Well, nothing, suh. Miss Dalton told me to take the trunk down so I could take it to the station this morning; and I did.”

“Was Jan
with
you?”

“Yessuh. All three of us went upstairs when I brought ’em in in the car. We went to the room to get the trunk. Then I took it down and put it in the basement.”

“Was Jan drunk?”

“Well, I don’t know, suh. They was drinking….”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing, suh. I just took the trunk to the basement and left. Miss Dalton told me to leave the car out. She said Mr. Jan would take care of it.”

“What were they talking about?”

Bigger hung his head.

“I don’t know, suh.”

He saw Mrs. Dalton lift her right hand and he knew that she meant for Mr. Dalton to stop questioning him so closely. He felt her shame.

“That’s all right, Bigger,” Mrs. Dalton said. She turned to Mr. Dalton. “Where do you suppose this Jan would be now?”

“Maybe he’s at the Labor Defender office.”

“Can you get in touch with him?”

“Well,” said Mr. Dalton, standing near Bigger and looking hard at the floor. “I could. But I’d rather wait. I still think Mary’s up to some of her foolish pranks. Bigger, you’d better get that trunk.”

“Yessuh.”

He got the car and drove through the falling snow toward the Loop. In answering their questions he felt that he had succeeded in turning their minds definitely in the direction of Jan. If things went at this pace he would have to send the ransom note right away. He would see Bessie tomorrow and get things settled. Yes; he would ask for ten thousand dollars. He would have Bessie stand in the window of an old building at some well-lighted street corner with a flashlight. In the note he would tell Mr. Dalton to put the money in a shoe box and drop it in the snow at the curb; he would tell him to keep his car moving and his lights blinking and not to drop the money until he saw the flashlight blink three times in the window…. Yes; that’s how it would be. Bessie would see the lights of Mr. Dalton’s car blinking and after the car was gone she would pick up the box of money. It would be easy.

He pulled the car into the station, presented the ticket, got the trunk, hoisted it to the running board, and headed again for the Dalton home. When he reached the driveway the snow was falling so thickly that he could not see ten feet in front of him. He put the car into the garage, set the trunk in the snow, locked the garage door, lifted the trunk to his back and carried it to the entrance of the basement. Yes; the trunk was light; it was half-empty. No doubt they would question him again about that. Next time he would
have to go into details and he would try to fasten hard in his mind the words he spoke so that he could repeat them a thousand times, if necessary. He could, of course, set the trunk in the snow right now and take a street car and get the money from Bessie and leave town. But why do that? He could handle this thing. It was going his way. They were not suspecting him and he would be able to tell the moment their minds turned in his direction. And, too, he was glad he had let Bessie keep that money. Suppose he were searched here on the job? For them to find money on him was alone enough to fasten suspicion upon him definitely. He unlocked the door and took the trunk inside; his back was bent beneath its weight and he walked slowly with his eyes on the wavering red shadows on the floor. He heard the fire singing in the furnace. He took the trunk to the corner in which he had placed it the night before. He put it down and stood looking at it. He had an impulse to open it and look inside. He stooped to fumble with the metal clasp, then started violently, jerking upright.

“Bigger!”

Without answering and before he realized what he was doing, he whirled, his eyes wide with fear and his hand half-raised, as though to ward off a blow. The moment of whirling brought him face to face with what seemed to his excited senses an army of white men. His breath stopped and he blinked his eyes in the red darkness, thinking that he should be acting more calmly. Then he saw Mr. Dalton and another white man standing at the far end of the basement; in the red shadows their faces were white discs of danger floating still in the air.

“Oh!” he said softly.

The white man at Mr. Dalton’s side was squinting at him; he felt that tight, hot, choking fear returning. The white man clicked on the light. He had a cold, impersonal manner that told Bigger to be on his guard. In the very look of the man’s eyes Bigger saw his own personality reflected in narrow, restricted terms.

“What’s the matter, boy?” the man asked.

Bigger said nothing; he swallowed, caught hold of himself and came forward slowly. The white man’s eyes were steadily upon him.
Panic seized Bigger as he saw the white man lower his head, narrow his eyes still more, sweep back his coat and ram his hands into his pants’ pockets, revealing as he did so a shining badge on his chest. Words rang in Bigger’s mind: This is a cop! He could not take his eyes off the shining bit of metal. Abruptly, the man changed his attitude and expression, took his hands from his pockets and smiled a smile that Bigger did not believe.

“I’m not the law, boy. So don’t be scared.”

Bigger clamped his teeth; he had to control himself. He should not have let that man see him staring at his badge.

“Yessuh,” he said.

“Bigger, this is Mr. Britten,” Mr. Dalton said. “He’s a private investigator attached to the staff of my office….”

“Yessuh,” Bigger said again, his tension slackening.

“He wants to ask you some questions. So just be calm and try to tell him whatever he wants to know.”

“Yessuh.”

“First of all, I want to have a look at that trunk,” Britten said.

Bigger stood aside as they passed him. He glanced quickly at the furnace. It was still very hot, droning. Then he, too, went to the trunk, standing discreetly to one side, away from the two white men, looking with surface eyes at what they were doing. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets; he stood in a peculiar attitude that allowed him to respond at once to whatever they said or did and at the same time to be outside and away from them. He watched Britten turn the trunk over and bend to it and try to work the lock. I got to be careful, Bigger thought. One little slip now and I’ll spoil the whole thing. Sweat came onto his neck and face. Britten could not unlock the trunk and he looked upward, at Bigger.

“It’s locked. You got a key, boy?”

“Nawsuh.”

Bigger wondered if this were a trap; he decided to play safe and speak only when he was spoken to.

“You mind if I break it?”

“Go right ahead,” Mr. Dalton said. “Say, Bigger, get Mr. Britten the hatchet.”

“Yessuh,” he answered mechanically.

He thought rapidly, his entire body stiff. Should he tell them that the hatchet was somewhere in the house and offer to go after it and take the opportunity and run away? How much did they really suspect him? Was this whole thing a ruse to confuse and trap him? He glanced sharply and intently at their faces; they seemed to be waiting only for the hatchet. Yes; he would take a chance and stay; he would lie his way out of this. He turned and went to the spot where the hatchet had been last night, the spot from which he had taken it to cut off Mary’s head. He stopped and pretended to search. Then he straightened.

“It ain’t here now…. I—I saw it about here yesterday,” he mumbled.

“Well, never mind,” Britten said. “I think I can manage.”

Bigger eased back toward them, waiting, watching. Britten lifted his foot and gave the lock a short, stout kick with the heel of his shoe and it sprang open. He lifted out the tray and looked inside. It was half-empty and the clothes were disarrayed and tumbled.

“You see?” Mr. Dalton said. “She didn’t take all of her things.”

“Yes. In fact, she didn’t need a trunk at all from the looks of this,” Britten said.

“Bigger, was the trunk locked when she told you to take it down?” Mr. Dalton asked.

“Yessuh,” Bigger said, wondering if that answer was the safest.

“Was she too drunk to know what she was doing, Bigger?”

“Well, they went into the room,” he said. “I went in after them. Then she told me to take the trunk down. That’s all happened.”

“She could have put these things into a small suitcase,” Britten said.

The fire sang in Bigger’s ears and he saw the red shadows dance on the walls. Let them try to find out who did it! His teeth were clamped hard, until they ached.

“Sit down, Bigger,” Britten said.

Bigger looked at Britten, feigning surprise.

“Sit on the trunk,” Britten said.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Sit down.”

He sat.

“Now, take your time and think hard. I want to ask you some questions.”

“Yessuh.”

“What time did you take Miss Dalton from here last night?”

“About eight-thirty, suh.”

Bigger knew that this was it. This man was here to find out everything. This was an examination. He would have to point his answers away from himself quite definitely. He would have to tell his story. He would let each of the facts of his story fall slowly, as though he did not realize the significance of them. He would answer only what was asked.

“You drove her to school?”

He hung his head and did not answer.

“Come on, boy!”

“Well, mister, you see, I’m just working here….”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Dalton came close and looked hard into his face.

“Answer his questions, Bigger.”

“Yessuh.”

“You drove her to school?” Britten asked again.

Still, he did not answer.

“I asked you a question, boy!”

“Nawsuh. I didn’t drive her to school.”

“Where did you take her?”

“Well, suh. She told me, after I got as far as the park, to turn round and take her to the Loop.”

“She didn’t go to
school
?” Mr. Dalton asked, his lips hanging open in surprise.

“Nawsuh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Bigger?”

“She told me not to.”

There was silence. The furnace droned. Huge red shadows swam across the walls.

“Where did you take her, then?” Britten asked.

“To the Loop, suh.”

“Whereabouts in the Loop?”

“To Lake Street, suh.”

“Do you remember the number?”

“Sixteen, I think, suh.”

“Sixteen Lake Street?”

“Yessuh.”

“That’s the Labor Defender office,” Mr. Dalton said, turning to Britten. “This Jan’s a Red.”

“How long was she in there?” Britten asked.

“About half-hour, I reckon, suh.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I waited in the car….”

“She stayed there till
you
brought her home?”

“Nawsuh.”

“She came out….”

“
They
came out….”

“This man Jan was with her, then?”

“Yessuh. He was with her. Seems to me she went in there to get him. She didn’t say anything; she just went in and stayed awhile and then came out with him.”

“Then you drove ’em….”

“
He
drove,” Bigger said.

“Weren’t
you
driving?”

“Yessuh. But he wanted to drive and she told me to let him.”

There was another silence. They wanted him to draw the picture and he would draw it like he wanted it. He was trembling with excitement. In the past had they not always drawn the picture for him? He could tell them anything he wanted and what could they do about it? It was his word against Jan’s, and Jan was a Red.

“You waited somewhere for ’em?” Britten asked; the tone of curt hostility had suddenly left his voice.

“Nawsuh. I was in the car….”

“And where did they go?”

He wanted to tell of how they had made him sit between them;
but he thought that he would tell that later on, when he was telling how Jan and Mary had made him feel.

“Well, Mr. Jan asked me where was a good place to eat. The only one I knew about where white folks,” he said “white folks” very slowly, so that they would know that he was conscious of what was meant, “ate on the South Side was Ernie’s Kitchen Shack.”

“You took them there?”

“Mr. Jan drove the car, suh.”

“How long did they stay there?”

“Well, we must’ve stayed….”

“Weren’t you waiting in the car?”

“Nawsuh. You see, mister, I did what they told me. I was only working for ’em….”

“Oh!” Britten said. “I suppose he made you
eat
with ’im?”

“I didn’t want to, mister. I swear I didn’t. He kept worrying me till I went in.”

Britten walked away from the trunk, running the fingers of his left hand nervously through his hair. Again he turned to Bigger.

“They got drunk, hunh?”