Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [152]
Chapter 19
I went to my first lecture with a sense of excitement. The theme was a sure-fire guarantee of audience interest and the rest was up to me. If only I were a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, I could simply stand before them with a sign across my chest, stating i KNOW ALL ABOUT THEM, and they'd be as awed as though I were the original boogey man -- somehow reformed and domesticated. I'd no more have to speak than Paul Robeson had to act; they'd simply thrill at the sight of me.
And it went well enough; they made it a success through their own enthusiasm, and the barrage of questions afterwards left no doubts in my mind. It was only after the meeting was breaking up that there came the developments which even my volatile suspicions hadn't allowed me to foresee. I was exchanging greetings with the audience when she appeared, the kind of woman who glows as though consciously acting a symbolic role of life and feminine fertility. Her problem, she said, had to do with certain aspects of our ideology.
"It's rather involved, really," she said with concern, "and while I shouldn't care to take up your time, I have a feeling that you --"
"Oh, not at all," I said, guiding her away from the others to stand near a partly uncoiled firehose hanging beside the entrance, "not at all."
"But, Brother," she said, "it's really so late and you must be tired. My problem could wait until some other time . . ."
"I'm not that tired," I said. "And if there's something bothering you, it's my duty to do what I can to clear it up."
"But it's quite late," she said. "Perhaps some evening when you're not busy you'll drop in to see us. Then we could talk at greater length. Unless, of course. . ."
"Unless?"
"Unless," she smiled, "I can induce you to stop by this evening. I might add that I serve a fair cup of coffee."
"Then I'm at your service," I said, pushing open the door.
Her apartment was located in one of the better sections of the city, and I must have revealed my surprise upon entering the spacious living room.
"You can see, Brother" -- the glow she gave the word was disturbing -- "it is really the spiritual values of Brotherhood that interest me. Through no effort of my own, I have economic security and leisure, but what is that, really, when so much is wrong with the world? I mean when there is no spiritual or emotional security, and no justice?"
She was slipping out of her coat now, looking earnestly into my face, and I thought, Is she a Salvationist, a Puritan-with-reverse-English? -- remembering Brother Jack's private description of wealthy members who, he said, sought political salvation by contributing financially to the Brotherhood. She was going a little fast for me and I looked at her gravely.
"I can see that you've thought deeply about this thing," I said.
"I've tried," she said, "and it's most perplexing -- But make yourself comfortable while I put away my things."
She was a small, delicately plump woman with raven hair in which a thin streak of white had begun almost imperceptibly to show, and when she reappeared in the rich red of a hostess gown she was so striking that I had to avert my somewhat startled eyes.
"What a beautiful room you have here," I said, looking across the rich cherry glow of furniture to see a life-sized painting of a nude, a pink Renoir. Other canvases were hung here and there, and the spacious walls seemed to flash alive with warm, pure color. What does one say to all this? I thought, looking at an abstract fish of polished brass mounted on a piece of ebony.
"I'm glad you find it pleasant, Brother," she said. "We like it ourselves, though I must say that Hubert finds so little time to enjoy it. He's much too busy."
"Hubert?" I said.
"My husband. Unfortunately he had to leave. He would have loved to've met you, but then he's always dashing off. Business, you know."
"I suppose it's unavoidable," I said with sudden discomfort.
"Yes, it is," she said. "But we're going to discuss Brotherhood and ideology, aren't we?"
And there was something about her voice and her smile that gave me a sense of both comfort and excitement. It was not merely the background of wealth and gracious living, to which I was alien, but simply the being there with her and the sensed possibility of a heightened communication; as though the discordantly invisible and the conspicuously enigmatic were reaching a delicately balanced harmony. She's rich but human, I thought, watching the smooth play of her relaxed hands.