Go tell it on the mountain - James Baldwin [81]
‘What for?’
‘For robbing a white man’s store, black girl. That’s what for.’
She found, and thanked Heaven for it, that a cold, stony rage had entered her. She would, otherwise, certainly have fallen down, or began to weep. She looked at the smiling policeman.
‘Richard ain’t robbed no store,’ she said. ‘Tell me where he is.’
‘And I tell you,’ he said, not smiling, ‘that your boyfriend robbed a store and he’s in jail for it. He’s going to stay there, too—now, what you got to say to that?’
‘And he probably did it for you, too,’ the other policeman said. ‘You look like a girl a man could rob a store for.’
She said nothing; she was thinking how to get to see him, how to get him out.
One of them, the smiler, turned now to the landlady and said: ‘Let’s have the key to his room. How long’s he been living here?’
‘About a year,’ the landlady said. She looked unhappily at Elizabeth. ‘He seemed like a real nice boy.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said, mounting the steps, ‘they all seem like real nice boys when they pay their rent.’
‘You going to take me to see him?’ she asked of the remaining policeman. She found herself fascinated by the gun in the holster, the club at his side. She wanted to take that pistol and empty it into his round, red face; to take that club and strike with all her strength against the base of his skull where his cap ended, until the ugly, silky, white man’s hair was matted with blood and brains.
‘Sure, girl,’ he said, ‘you’re coming right along with us. The man at the station-house wants to ask you some questions.’
The smiling policeman came down again. ‘Ain’t nothing up there,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
She moved between them, out into the sun. She knew that there was nothing to be gained by talking to them any more. She was entirely in their power; she would have to think faster than they could think; she would have to contain the fear and her hatred, and find out what could be done. Not for anything short of Richard’s life, and not, possibly, even for that, would she have wept before them, or asked of them a kindness.
A small crowd, children and curious passers-by, followed them as they walked the long, dusty, sunlight street. She hoped only that they would not pass anyone she knew; she kept her head high, looking straight ahead, and felt the skin settle over her bones as though she were wearing a mask.
And at the station she somewhat got past their brutal laughter. (What was he doing with you, girl, until two o’clock in the morning?—Next time you feel like that, girl, you come by here and talk to me.) She felt that she was about to burst, or vomit, or die. Though the sweat stood out cruelly, like needless on her brow, and she felt herself, from every side, being covered with a stink and filth, she found out, in their own good time, what she wanted to know. He was being held in a prison downtown called the Tombs (the name made her heart turn over), and she could see him to-morrow. The state, or the prison, or someone, had already assigned him a lawyer; he would be brought to trial next week.
But the next day, when she saw him, she wept. He had been beaten, he whispered to her, and he could hardly walk. His body, she later discovered, bore almost no bruises, but was full of strange, painful swellings, and there was a welt above one eye.
He had not, of course, robbed the store, but, when he left her that Saturday night, had gone down into the underground station to wait for his train. It was late, and the trains were slow; he was all alone on the platform, only half awake, thinking, he said, of her.
Then, from the far end of the platform, he heard a sound of running; and, looking up, he saw two colored boys come running down the steps. Their clothes were torn, and they were frightened; they came up the platform and stood near him, breathing hard. He was about to ask them what the trouble was when, running across the tracks toward them, and followed by a white man, he saw another colored boy; and at the same instant another white man came running down the underground steps.
Then he came full awake, in panic; he knew that whatever the trouble was, it was now his trouble also;